#Halloween divider by saradika ! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

margowritesthings · 6 months

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BITE ME

pairing: Vampire!Arthur Morgan x Human!f!reader word count: 4091 words warnings: 18+ minors DNI, explicit sexual content, explicit language, piv intercourse, fingering (r receiving), biting and blood play, vampire feeding authors note: happy halloween my loves! this is a day late, but time isn't real anyway so we can all just pretend it is yesterday... right?? anyway, this au is now living rent free in my mind. i'm obsessed.

taglist:@cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries@delilah-grimes@mrsarthurmorgan7 @twola@the-marsh-harrier @wildfloweroutlaw @photo1030 @luvliewriting@pine4pple-b0i @sickvictorianangel

beta read by @cowboydisaster, divider by @saradika

The wooden panels nailed to the broken windows of the manor allow for tiny slats of moonlight to invade onto your skin, bathing you in a white glow. Peering through the gaps, you can see the distant campfire those bastard Pinkertons set up down by the swamp, but you know they’re surrounding you, boxing you into Shady Belle like fish in a barrel.

It’s been three days of a stalemate, the Pinkertons keeping their distance, brave enough to come with guns and firepower but just cowardly enough to not advance towards the monster they’ve heard only legend of, lest he rip their throats out and drain their life away. No, they’d rather wait around until they can drag his starved body out and be hailed heroes.

That “monster” sits mere feet away from you leaning against the wall, pale skin paler still, his chin tilted upwards as he fights the weight of his own skull. It’s killing you, watching your Arthur grow weaker by the hour. Three days of hiding out in Shady Belle, unable to leave for fear of being hunted for sport, but it’s been much longer since he last fed. They have you trapped, completely and truly. If Arthur held even half his usual strength, it would have been so easy to escape. He’d have overpowered them in seconds, no matter their numbers or firepower. But for that, he’d need to feed on the blood of another, which has made things much harder.

You try to relax your worried features when you see him start to wake, rubbing the crease out from between your eyebrows formed by the frown you hold whenever you watch him sleep, too scared to look away in case he stops stirring.

“Arthur…” You whisper on an exhale, quickly moving to sit beside him on the little bed. As always, his skin feels like marble, cold enough to seep through his shirt and scatter goose pimples over your arms. You’re used to the cold, what you don’t like is the thin layer of sweat coating him. Vampires shouldn’t sweat, but they also shouldn’t go so long without feeding, and the thought of this being a symptom of time running out terrifies you more than any number of monsters out camping in those woods.

“Hey, sweetheart…” Arthur shuffles to make room for you, guiding you to rest your head on his hard chest. There’s normally more muscle here cushioning you from his ribcage, but with Arthur so sick you can feel every bone beneath you.

“You get any sleep?”

There’s always the option to lie so he worries less, but Arthur knows you too well for that, so only the truth will have to do.

You shake your head, “Was keeping watch. They haven’t moved, think they’re still shit-scared of you, actually.”

Absent-mindedly, Arthur’s hand gravitates to the top of your head, stroking your hair in such a way that sends tingles down your spine. Even now, in the midst of perhaps the most danger you’ve ever been in together, his very touch has the power to calm you instantaneously.

He huffs a laugh, though you notice the slight wheeze to his breath when he does and another pang of worry hits you, “Course they are. Call themselves goddamn hunters, couldn’t catch a cold in Colter…” A pause, where you fill the silence with that tiny little laugh you’ve barely been mustering lately, then, “You should get some sleep, darlin’.”

“Not tired.” You protest, almost childishly, burying yourself further into Arthur’s chest. In truth, you’re exhausted, and even though he already knows it, you won’t admit it. You can’t tell him that you’re too scared to fall asleep in case you wake up alone, that there’s no point anyway because nightmares of him withering away to nothing here beside you will drag you back awake soon enough.

You both know this can’t go on for much longer. Something has to be done, and you know you have to be the one to do it. It’s just the convincing…

“C’mon, baby…” He starts, but you won’t hear it. You’re not going to sleep. You’re going to fix this.

“You have to feed on me.” You blurt out, glad to be nuzzled into your beloved’s shirt so you don’t have to see whatever expression your statement has pulled from him.

It’s not spontaneous, no sudden solution that has sprung into your mind this very moment. You’ve suggested it before, albeit never so forcefully, Arthur brushing you off like the idea is unfathomable. Explaining that he would never feed from you, terrified he’d lose control and hurt you. He could never hurt you. If there are such things as absolutes, that is one of them, you know it.

“No.” He’s blunt, clearly hoping his tone had enough force to end it there. But you’re strong, your will to keep fighting for him an everlasting force enough to match his.

“Arthur-” You unravel from him to sit up and meet his eye, yours pleading, his hardened.

“Darlin’, I said no. I mean it. I promised you I would never hurt ya’, and shit have I broke a lot of promises in my life… but not that one. N-Never that one. No.”

“You’re going to die, Arthur. If you don’t do this you’re going to die and you’re gonna leave me all on my own to face those bastards a-and,” Dammit, when did you start crying? “And I can’t do it without ya, Arthur you know I can’t-”

“Yes you can-”

“Well I don’t want to!” You shout, bursting the bubble of quiet around the Manor, your echo riding the wave of birds flocking out of the trees. Sobs threaten to break your strength, but you have to say this. It’s the very last card you have to play. After a few moments, tension between you growing palpable enough to cut with a knife, Arthur closes his mouth, letting you continue.

“Arthur, you’re all I have left… You think I’m a sharp enough shooter to get by them? Fine. But say I kill ‘em all, then what? Find somewhere to live and carry on? I ain’t… I can’t lose you, Arthur. But I can save you, if you let me. Please.”

Time feels as though it stops entirely when you see Arthur actually considering your words. Tears streak your cheeks, but your boots could ignite right on your feet and you might not notice in this moment. He looks so tortured in thought, no doubt imagining the life you would lead if you left him behind. He’s sure you’re strong enough, he knows you can do anything, but his heart breaks thinking of you all alone.

You reach for Arthur’s hands, feeling his cold skin tremble.

“I… What if I lose control? What if I hurt you? Sweetheart, you know what I get like when I-”

“But you won’t. You know how much blood I can afford to give you, and I know you, Arthur. You’d never hurt me.”

You elect not to tell him that any blood that runs through your body belongs to him already, your heart pumping it through your veins only for him.

You don’t tell him you’d die for him, because you know he’d never let you.

He’s silent, contemplating.

Please.

“...You start feeling faint or anything, you fuckin’ tell me, alright?” His tone holds an attempt at sternness, but it bothers you none. You can hardly hear him for the rush of relief flowing over you.

“I-I will. I promise.” And you mean it. The two of you are two entwined souls, neither trusting the other to have enough will to keep fighting if anything happened to them.

Arthur takes a deep breath in, almost like he’s giving himself an extra few seconds to back out of this, before sighing it out.

“Alright.”

The breath that hitched in your throat an age ago releases and you wipe your tears away hurriedly with the back of your hand.

“Oh, thank you, Arthur…” You’re so ecstatic, so grateful that he’s letting you save him that all you can do is launch yourself over to him, kissing him with all the passion the universe has offered you to gift him. Your hands fall to either side of his face, caressing his marble skin in a way that emits a tiny groan from him. Over the last few days, you’ve cuddled up to him a lot, but there hasn’t been much contact like this. Needy and wanting, loving and layered with everything from I Love You to Let Me Save You. Arthur is a starved man, but not just for blood. For you, body, blood and soul.

Arthur snakes one arm around your waist, even with his reduced strength still able to pull you over to straddle his lap. You’d have protested, citing that he’s too sick to be holding your weight like this, but now that this is really happening you’re getting kind of nervous, and the thought of being so close to him, arms wrapped around your frame while he feeds on your blood, comforts you hugely. And there’s no backing out, not from this, so straddle him you will.

Despite everything, Arthur’s cool touch sets you aflame. He trails his fingertips up and down your spine, his other hand firmly gripping your ass. His tongue teases your bottom lip until you open up to him, tasting him as he does you. He tastes…like Arthur. He might argue that he’s some monster, committing evil acts in the name of survival, but you know better. He’s your Arthur, he always has been.

The world melts around you, leaving just you and Arthur, loving each other, saving each other. That one long kiss breaks into smaller ones, until Arthur is peppering your lips, cheeks and nose with tiny kisses, glistening red eyes welling with emotion.

“It was always gonna be you, wasn’t it? You were always gonna save me…” He whispers, almost like he doesn’t quite believe it’s real.

“Always. And you’re gonna save me right back, cowboy. But first…” You look down between your two bodies, to the arm you’re holding out to Arthur.

“Are you ready?”

“Does it hurt?” You surprise yourself with your answer to his question, though you stand by it. You’re not scared, you could never be scared with Arthur. But nervous?

“A little. But I’m right here with you. And if you need to stop or take a break or you start feeling off, tell me or tap my arm.” You nod slowly, placing your hand into Arthur’s, “I need a yes, sweetheart… I can’t do this to you unless you’re sure.”

“Yes, Arthur. I’m sure. Please.”

There is one final, apprehensive glance in your direction, which you reply to with another tiny nod. He raises your flesh to his mouth, flashes of his white fangs visible now in the moonlight as he parts his lips.

It’s… strange. A small scratching feeling when his teeth puncture the skin of your wrist that pinches your brows together. There’s a second of nothing, before Arthur starts to feed and steals the breath right out of your lungs.

It’s like you can feel every vein in your body, all connecting and tugging your lifeforce through to your wrist for Arthur to feast on. You can tell the second the first drop hits his tongue, the shudder that wracks through his shoulders and down his spine. His eyes roll back in… pleasure? You’ve seen him feed before, usually such a violent affair, but this is different. You feel vulnerable to him, and as though you hold every ounce of control all at once.

When he groans, deep carmine eyes locking onto yours, you feel it all over, your thighs clenching around your suddenly wanting pussy.

… An unexpected side effect.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline, or the blood rushing around your body, or even the downright ravenous way Arthur is looking at you while he feeds on your blood, but you seem to be physically squirming on the bed, desperate for any kind of friction you can get. Fuck, you’ve never seen anybody react to being fed on like this… Then again, you’ve never seen feeding look or feel like this.

From even the smallest drop of you, what little colour that remains after his change has returned to Arthur’s skin and he looks much closer to alive than just minutes before. He looks himself again, right down to the cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. It does maddening things to you, not at all helping your growing state of arousal.

When his teeth sink out of your wrist, you watch crimson beads pool at two tiny punctures. Without breaking eye contact with you, Arthur lifts your hand back up to him, running the very tip of his tongue agonisingly slowly over the skin, pulling an honest to god whimper from your parted lips.

“You did so good, my good girl…” Arthur coos, an undeniably pleased look upon his face. He’s told you before, that with his heightened senses, Arthur knows when you want him. You also know how energised he gets after feeding, and how all of these factors are leading to a tension so intense between you you’re almost scared of the outcome.

There’s a smudge of blood on Arthur’s lip, one that you reach out to rub away with your thumb. Quick as the predator he is, he grabs your wrist before you can pull away, slipping your thumb into his mouth and sucking the blood gently off. Upon release, he drags one sharpened fang across the pad of your thumb and you shudder, craving that feeling of the bite more than you truly understand.

“A-Arthur…” You whimper, shuddering in pure anticipation and need.

“I know, sweetheart… Christ, I knew you’d taste good, but this? Fuck, you’ve ruined me, baby…”

You can’t wait a second longer, certain you’ll perish unless he is kissing you in the next moment. Entangling your grip into his collar, you find Arthur only too malleable to your touch, all but pouncing on you, locking your lips together. His tongue demands entrance as he easily positions you to be laying under him, Arthur covering the entire length of you and thensome.

“How do you feel, angel?” He asks between kisses, large hands roaming your body, tugging your clothes out of being tucked into each other to make it easier to take them off, “Y’alright? Don’t feel faint?”

“I’m okay. I just- I-I need you, please.” You’re pleading again, this time for very different reasons, “Did you get enough?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you, sweetheart…” He growls, pulling the buttons of your shirt open feverishly. And then his lips are back on your skin, kissing your neck, licking at the skin whilst his hands work your zipper. You moan again, some wanton part of you wishing he would bite down again, marking you all over.

Arthur is losing control in the best way, growling and grinding his erection against your leg as he tries to pull your jeans down. With a little help, he manages, tugging your undergarments with them so you’re completely bare for him.

“So fuckin’ beautiful… my perfect little feast. Fuck, I’m tortured by every second I’m not buried deep inside that weeping cunt of yours,” At that, he runs a finger over your slit, drenching the tip of his finger in your slick, “but I think you deserve a treat for being such a good girl for me…”

There’s no time to consider his offer as he plunges two thick fingers deep inside you, curling them, curling them to hit that sweet spot he knows so well. You scream, absolutely loud enough for any Pinkerton vampire hunters to hear.

“That’s it, huh? That what you needed? That pretty little cunt filling?” He taunts, thumb swirling over your already soaking clit. You can’t speak for crying out, but you manage a nod, feeling yourself stretch around a third finger in a way that has your heart racing even faster.

With your pulse pounding, you can really feel the wounds on your wrist starting to ache and burn. It's a strange sensation, but one that seems to blend into everything else in some twisted bout of pleasure.

Arthur must notice your eyes flickering to it, as he guides your hand back up to his lips with the hand not inside you, pressing the softest kisses over the holes in your skin.

“Look what you did for me… My saviour, my perfect girl…”

“I’d die for you, Arthur.” you confess, the sweetness of his kisses and the languid circles of his fingers pulling you so close to the edge you can feel tears forming behind your eyes.

“It’d never come to that, beautiful. I’d burn the world down before I let your life ever hang in the balance.”

You believe him, too, and the emotion is suddenly too much. You’re hurtling towards an orgasm and you need him closer and all you can seem to think to do is untangle your wrist from his grasp and slip your thumb into his mouth.

He knows what you’re asking for instantly, and you swear you see his inky pupils blow until his eyes are nothing but a reddened void.

“Oh, my pretty little feast…” He groans, pricking your thumb with a fang and sucking gently at the blood. It isn’t nearly as intense as your wrist, but you still feel that tugging everywhere and you can’t stop the lewd moans that fall from your lips as you come undone.

Writing, screaming his name, you feel Arthur suck harder on your thumb, moaning himself at the taste of you. It’s not nearly as much as he was taking before, but enough that your blood blooms over his tongue and fills every one of his senses. He is a man obsessed, and it’s the most beautiful sight as you cum for him.

The waves of euphoria crash over you, each more intense and wonderful than the last. Arthur orchestrates your orgasm through his own pleasure, drawing perfect patterns on your clit in time to his thrusts.

When you come down, he’s there, releasing you from his fangs again to free his lips for yours. Your lips lock together, his body crushing yours into the mattress. You love the feel of all his weight on you, especially when you can feel every pulse of his throbbing cock through the denim of his jeans. Jeans that must go, so you snake a hand into what little space you can between your bodies to reach for his buttons. Arthur helps you, and he’s soon naked on top of you. Wrapping nimble fingers around his shaft, you run your thumb over the rosy head of his cock, swiping at the bead of precum already leaking. He’s desperate for you, and it drives you wild.

You’re already guiding him to your soaked entrance, grinding your hips pathetically, needily. Arthur chuckles softly, taunting you with the smallest of hip movements to slide his tip into you, but stopping there.

“Arthur.” You whine, eyes pleading, cunt dripping for him. Your hands roam the expanse of his back, feeling each muscle twitch under your touch, scratching at the cool skin like a cat in heat.

“I know, baby, I know… I’ll make it better.” He purrs, finally sliding the entire length of his cock into your heat. It stretches you in that beautiful way only he can and you moan, deep and visceral. Your nails leave white scratches across Arthur’s back as your hands float up to cup his cheeks, pulling him into a deep kiss as his groin presses hard into yours.

“Oh, my beautiful girl… I’m gonna fuck you so hard they’re gonna hear you up in Saint Denis… them Pinkertons out there are gonna think I’m draining every last drop of that sweet blood out of your precious little body.”

Such a violent image, but somehow… you enjoy the thought. You’d bleed for him till the end of time, gladly… you’d lay down your life on a slab and be Arthur’s for the taking.

You can’t think of the words to tell him how much you want what he’s telling you, letting the passion guide you to bite down on Arthur’s lower lip. A taste of his own medicine. He has no blood of his own to give, but you’re biting down hard enough to have drawn some if he did, dragging another feral grown from the depths of his throat.

True to his word, with just a few perfectly timed thrusts, you’re screaming his name, cunt fluttering around his thick cock and squeezing every inch of it. That full feeling is so wonderful, so bone-deep and euphoric you’re on the precipice of another orgasm in seconds. He can tell, slowing down and hanging you right over the edge with a wicked grin on his face. You whine and whimper, clawing at the back of his neck to pull him even closer.

“What do you want, little feast? Use your words.” He pushes, still dragging his cock up against your walls in the most torturous of ways.

“I want… I-I need… I-I… urgh!” You cry out in frustration, each syllable leaving your lips earning another thrust that dizzies you to the point of cock-drunk stuttering. Fuck words. You’ll show him.

With a strength you didn’t even know you possessed, you pull Arthur closer, guiding him to the crook of your neck.

“Angel, I don’t know if I can control myself if I taste you agai-”

“Please…” you whimper, rocking your hips up to meet Arthur’s movements, clit grinding deliciously against his pubic bone.

Arthur’s eyes meet yours and you’re lost in them, convinced you’ve never been held so close to climax for so long before, but your body knows what it wants, what it needs to get there with Arthur.

“Fuck, if I could die, you’d be the death of me…” Are the last words he speaks before sinking his teeth into your neck, in perfect time with a deep thrust of his cock. You scream, in pain, in pleasure, all of it, finally falling over that cliff and crashing into the waves below. You drown in your orgasm, dragging Arthur down with you as he sucks the sweet ichor out of your veins. With your blood on his tongue and his name on your lips, you cum together. The vibrations of his carnal moans tickle your neck, layering yet another juxtaposing sensation onto you.

He releases, only to whisper sweet words of praise into your bleeding skin, “Look at you, giving me this… you’re doing so good for me, ain’t ya? My little angel, my good girl…”

And he’s biting down again, and you’re chanting his name, legs wrapped tight around his hips, tears you don’t remember shedding streaking down your cheeks. It feels like you stay there for an eternity, connected mind, body and soul. You would stay there for an eternity with him, if he’d only let you. But that’s another story…

It stings a little when Arthur unleashes his teeth from you, and you wince. His hand is there instantly, caressing the surely reddened skin as his brows pull together, “You okay? I didn’t go too far, did I? Y’feelin’ alright?”

You shake your head softly, a blissful smile gracing your lips, “I’m perfect.”

“Damn straight you are.” He remarks, slowly sliding out of you and lowering his weight onto the bed beside you.

“What about you? How are you feeling?” You ask, entwining your fingers together and holding them up into the moonlight. There's a streak of your blood crossing over a few of Arthur’s knuckles. It suits him.

“Never better.” He says honestly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Thank you, darlin’. I’ll never be able to thank ya’ enough for what you did, but I promise you I’ll get us out of here alive. Well… y’know what I mean.”

You giggle, sure you may never get used to the fact that the love of your life is dead.

“You don’t need to thank me, Arthur. You’ve given me your life a million times, it’s only fair I get to do the same.”

And you mean it. You would do it a thousand times over, giving your life to Arthur while he gives his afterlife to you, saving each other until the end of time.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead redemption 2

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munson-blurbs · 11 months

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Summary: Eddie's past in Chicago is revealed after he reaches his breaking point, but he's not the only one facing a crisis.

Warnings: mentions of drug use/addiction, neonatal medical trauma, panic attack, mentions of learning disability, brief allusion to Kurt Cobain's death, Reader's grandma has dementia.

WC: 7.2k

Chapter 7/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @vexed-n-hexed Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie was no stranger to bad report cards, failing grades, and dissatisfied teachers. You don’t fail twelfth grade twice without dealing with all three of those. He’d learned to shrug it off and move along with his day, mostly unfazed.

Those same things directed towards his son was a different story.

Ms. Marion’s words rattle around in his brain, wrapping around his lungs and choking him from the inside out.

Constantly interrupting

His heartbeat pulses in his ears, drowning out the background noise of other parents chatting as they wait their turn to meet with the teachers.

Incapable of paying attention and following directions

A bead of sweat trickles down the back of his neck to his spine, then another, until he feels his t-shirt sticking to his skin. Despite the stifling heat building up in his body, his teeth chatter together noisily as a deep shiver rips through him.

Socially and academically behind his peers

He knew this day might come; he should’ve been prepared for it to happen. Has he only been fooling himself, pretending like everything was going to be fine?

At this rate, he won’t be ready for kindergarten

Eddie swears he’s walking to the parking lot, one foot in front of the other, keys clenched in his right hand until he feels their serrated edges digging into the calloused skin of his palm. Yet he finds himself at your classroom door jamb, leaning up against it with a soft thud.

You’re struggling to stay awake after the long day you’ve had. You roll your shoulders, wincing as you hear the small pop. You’ve just finished the last conference with Frankie’s mom, Carol, and she was a bitch and a half. She’d insisted that her son was gifted and demanded that you recommend he start kindergarten early.

A noise draws your attention to the door, and you’re suddenly wide awake when you see who’s there.

“What’re you doing–hey, what’s going on?” Your curiosity morphs into concern when you clock Eddie’s ragged breathing and tear-streaked face. He’s repeating something, but his voice is so low that the words resemble a hum, and you can’t catch them until you get closer to him.

“Harris–falling behind–all my fault.” Eddie speaks as though he’s in a trance. His brown eyes are saucers, and more tears fall with each blink of his eyelids. “Falling behind–all my fault.”

You haven’t the slightest idea what he’s referring to, but you do know that you need to get him inside the classroom before anyone else sees him breaking down. You reach for his wrist, and he instinctively flinches and pulls away before seemingly snapping back to reality and resting his hand in yours. One calloused palm trembles in your smooth one as you lead him to the table where you’d just been speaking with Carol Perkins, only letting go to steady himself into the chair.

“Falling behind–all my fault.”

You take both of his hands this time, and he doesn’t draw back when you do. “Eyes on me, okay? We’re gonna breathe together.” It’s the same technique that you’d used with Harris on Halloween. In for three, out for three. Eddie watches you a few times before joining in, breath hitching slightly before evening out. “There ya go…here, let me get you something to eat.” You offer him a small, kind smile that he doesn’t reciprocate before rummaging through the bottom drawer of your desk and pulling out a little bag of mini pretzels and a half-pint of water. “These good?”

He manages a nod, eyes locked onto you even as he twists open the snack and absentmindedly pops one in his mouth. He’s still in a daze, but no longer at risk of hyperventilating. “Can you tell me what’s going on?” you cautiously ask, not wanting to trigger another panic attack.

A solid ten seconds passes before he answers. When he finally does, the hoarseness in his voice startles you. “Could you, um, close the door?”

“Of course.” The wheels of your swivel chair skid against the tile floor, but Eddie’s too engrossed in his own thoughts to notice. When you return to your seat, he doesn’t even register your presence until you say, “whenever you’re ready.”

“I, um,” he clears his throat. “I just had the parent-teacher conference thing with Ms. Marion. And, apparently, Harris is destined for failure, just like his old man.”

He relays everything the old woman told him; the racing thoughts all spill out like bees fleeing their hive.

“She starts off by saying that he’s already behind the other kids, which may not seem like a big deal now, but, apparently, it means he’ll fall farther behind as he grows up.” He gnaws on his lower lip and continues. “And then she said that him interrupting and not paying attention is because he ‘lacks structure at home,’” he adds with a grimace.

“But y’know what really fuckin’ got me?” he asks, rubbing his hands over his jean-clad knees until his palms are tinged red. “She said to me, ‘Some kids aren’t cut out for school, and if Harris is struggling with preschool, it’ll be a long road ahead of him.” Eddie’s eyes are shiny with the prospect of a fresh batch of tears. “What the hell am I supposed to say to that?”

You try to quell your temper for the sake of professionalism, but your boiling blood makes it almost impossible. “None of that is true. Harris having trouble doesn’t make him impossible to teach. And it doesn’t make you a bad parent.”

Eddie can’t manage eye contact when he says, “But what if I’m the reason why he’s having trouble?” His voice is so small that you can barely hear it.

“I’ve taught a lot of kids with a lot of different needs, and none of them–”

“You’re not listening!” Eddie slams his fist on the desk, rattling your jar of pencils, and you reach out to steady it. His eyes blaze with fury, but this time, it’s not towards you. “It is my fault, because I am a bad parent! I let this happen!”

You crease your brows. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” What, exactly, is his fault? What could he possibly have done?

Eddie shakes his head despondently. “I-I didn’t know…Harris’s mom, she…Christ, it’s a long story.” But you can practically see the words on the tip of his tongue, just waiting for permission to be spoken.

So you give it to him.

“You can talk to me,” you murmur, resisting the urge to grab his hand and lace your fingers through his. Just to comfort him, you tell yourself. “You can trust me.”

Eddie lets out a slow, low breath and looks up at the ceiling. There’s a long silence; for a moment, you worry that you’ve said something wrong. Overstepped your bounds. Harris technically isn’t your student anymore, and God only knows where you and Eddie stand.

Finally, Eddie begins to speak. “I met her out in Chicago when I was twenty-four? Twenty-five? She was a groupie, I guess. We never said we were seeing each other exclusively, but after a while, I realized that she was the only person I was sleeping with, so…” He shrugs. “A couple nights before my band and I left for tour, she told me she was pregnant. Too far along to, um, do anything about it. She apparently didn’t even think to test until she complained about gaining some weight and her friend brought it up.” His gaze shifts to the window over his right shoulder, and all you hear is the sound of his sneakered feet nervously tapping a fast rhythm against the tiled floor. “Look, I’m not proud of this, but I used to party. A lot. And at these parties, there were, um…”

“Drugs?” you supply before you can bite back the comment, clenching your fists at your side where he can’t see you chastising yourself.

Eddie just laughs, a throaty chuckle that escapes despite the seriousness of the conversation. “A shit-ton of ‘em. I was partial to coke; helped me stay awake when I wanted to crash. But I swear, I only used when I was partying. And when I found out I had a kid on the way, I stopped using completely. Cleanest tour of my life.” His lips turn up in a semblance of a smile that doesn’t come close to reaching his eyes. “Figured she’d do the same…she said she would, but…”

Your heart sinks; you know exactly where this is going, but you don’t dare interrupt him this time.

“I was at some dive bar in Cincinnati when I got the call that she was in labor; ran right off the stage and caught the first flight back home. I got there in time to watch him be born; and it was the best goddamn moment of my stupid life, until…” His voice breaks on the last word, and he can’t stop the tears from leaking out of his eyes. Or maybe he doesn’t want to. “He was six weeks early. Fuck, I shoulda known, but I was just so excited to be a dad. He was shaking so hard that his tiny little body was practically blurry, and, like a total moron, I’m going, ‘Is he cold? Does he need a blanket?’ No one would answer me; they just fuckin’ whisked him away before I could even hold him. And when they brought him back, they told me that he tested positive for cocaine and had something called Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome because of it. Said it can affect his learning, his attention span, everything. Kid wasn’t even two hours old and I’d already fucked him up.”

Your response seems meek; far too pathetic for the intensity of what he’s just admitted. “But it was his mom…”

He tucks his lips into his mouth, pressing them together until the outer edges turn white.

“Yeah, she was the one using,” he relents, but his tone is so thick with self-loathing that you couldn’t claw through it if you tried. “But where the fuck was I? On the road, thinking I could be a rockstar and take care of a family. If I had stayed back, I could’ve stopped her. I would’ve seen that she wasn’t just doing it at parties or shows; she was an addict. I could’ve gotten her help; I could’ve saved my son from being born a goddamn coke addict!”

“You can’t make someone stop doing drugs,” you say feebly, though you’re certain he already knows this.

“But I could’ve done something! Fucking anything! And it would’ve been better than not being there.”

You have to choose your next words wisely, mulling them on your tongue before talking. “Is she still involved in Harris’s life?”

He shakes his head forlornly. “I invited her to his first birthday party, and she came, surprisingly. All the way from Chicago. I thought maybe she was getting her life together. Then, right before we were gonna cut the cake, she came out of the bathroom with white residue under her nose. I told her to leave and not to come back until she got clean.” He barks out a gruff laugh, as though he still can’t believe it. “Haven’t heard from her since.”

You don’t know how to respond to this. It’s going to be okay seems too patronizing, because nothing about this is okay. I’m sorry? What are you sorry for? Harris’s mom is an atrocious excuse for a human being, and so is Ms. Marion? Kind of tips the balance towards the unprofessionalism you’re striving to avoid.

Eddie continues, not noticing your failure to respond. “The doctors would tell me that he was developing slower than he should be–walking and talking and stuff–but he always got there eventually. But hearing his teacher say that he wouldn’t…fuck, if that’s true, I’ll never forgive myself.” He puffs out his cheeks as he exhales; tendrils of hair flow upwards and flutter back down with the exaggerated breath, and you realize that he’s trying to ward off another crying spell.

You can’t remove the guilt that eats him alive, but maybe he’s not asking you to. “I’ve never met a more determined little kid than Harris Munson,” you say truthfully. “Name one time that boy gave up.”

“For better or for worse, I can’t think of any.” His eyes still don’t meet yours, but you see a flicker of happiness at the mention of Harris’s perseverance before his expression darkens again. “Call me stupid; that’s fine. But my son is gonna be better than I ever was.”

Your heart pangs with sympathy when he puts himself down. “You’re not stupid.” He bristles at your reassurance, puzzling you even more. “What?”

Eddie runs his tongue over his teeth. “That’s not what you said before.” The comment isn’t accusatory, just a simple fact, as though he’s talking about the weather. “On the first day of school, you told me to leave before I said anything else ‘ridiculously stupid.’”

“I just–”

“Look, I’m not saying the Cat-and-Mouse is the nicest thing to do,” he interrupts, cheeks aflame at the mere mention of it, “but I guess it really fucked with me for someone I…someone I just met…to call me stupid.” The phrasing is clunky and awkward, and he sinks his teeth into the tip of his tongue in a paltry attempt to stop the word flow.

You take in his shameful expression, mulling over a response. Knowing what you know now–that his little game was a poorly-designed coping mechanism after being put through the wringer–your comment was harsher than he deserved. “I was hurt, and I…I should’ve just said so. I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“Just an asshole?” He tilts his head, finally looking at you. The corners of his mouth turn up to form his first smile of the evening.

“Just an asshole,” you confirm playfully. Another silence fills the room, only interrupted by Eddie crunching on the pretzels you gave him. He’s nibbling on them from the outside, as though savoring each bite. “Mr. Munson?”

“Eddie,” he says, crinkling the empty pretzel bag in his fist and tossing it into the nearby waste bin. “Please, just call me Eddie.” Mr. Munson awakens memories of his father; specifically, the way the cops addressed him each time he got arrested for various offenses.

“Eddie.” Though you’d called him that on the night that you two had fooled around, the name feels foreign in your mouth. Too casual for what you’re about to propose. “Eddie, um, back to the stuff with Harris…” You swallow your nerves and push through, knowing that you need to do what’s best for Harris, even if you have to face his dad’s wrath. “If I suggest something, promise you won’t get mad.”

Eddie flinches, but not for the reason you think. No, it’s because he hates that you’re fearful of his reaction. He hates that he’s made you afraid of him. “Fuck. I mean, yeah. I promise.”

“What…what if we talked to the school psychologist about getting him evaluated for a learning disability?” The words tumble out, and you worry that whatever semblance of acquaintanceship will shatter, leaving you unable to pick up all of the pieces. And even if you can, even the best adhesive can leave visible fractures.

His jaw clenches; his shoulders draw up and biceps flex with a twitch, fight or flight instinct kicking in. This was a horrible idea; he’s already emotional from the conference with Ms. Marion, and now you’ve crossed a line. You’re so caught up in deciphering his body language that you don’t catch his softening eyes as he silently reminds himself that you’re on his side. On Harris’s side, at the very least.

“What does that involve?” he asks. It’s inquisitive, not judgmental, and you permit yourself a small sigh of relief at the narrowly-averted crisis.

You explain the process as Eddie intently listens, nodding to acknowledge that he’s following along. “Nothing invasive; just asking him questions and giving him some tests, and then if he does have a learning disability, we’d figure out what modifications we can make so he can learn alongside the other kids.”

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, considering your recommendation. “Will they know? The other kids, I mean. Will they know that he needs, like, extra help to learn?”

“Nope.” You shake your head. “I don’t know how Ms. Marion runs her classroom, but I always emphasize that everyone learns differently anyway.”

He nods, drumming his fingertips on the desk in a rhythm you can’t decipher. “Do you think…if we do the evaluation, would he go to kindergarten on time?”

“Well, as a teacher, I’m not supposed to say. But as a friend,” you shrug, “I think it’s worth a shot.”

As a friend. A friend. Friend. The word reverberates around Eddie’s brain, replaying like a melody he can’t pause. But he doesn’t want to stop it. He wants you to call him your friend over and over again, enveloping him in your kindness, never letting him go. He wants to wrap his arms around you in a hug and bury his face in the crook of your neck, while he laughs or sobs or a combination of both.

Do friends do that? Or is that something more complex than he can allow himself to imagine?

Your voice brings his perseverations to a grinding halt. “And you can be there while they evaluate him. So he won’t have to be alone.”

Another nod, another pregnant pause. He twists his curls around his pointer finger, brushing them over his lips. “Could you come, too?” he murmurs, quickly clarifying, “for Harris?”

“Of course.” You agree without a second thought, watching as his body unstiffens when he leans back in the chair with a sigh. “And if you want, I could tutor him after school once a week. Catch him up and stuff.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “You’d do that?”

“Mhm,” you beam. It’s like cracking a complex code after aimlessly spinning the dial, hoping to land on the right combination of numbers. “Just…it would have to be at my place, so I can stay home with Grandma. Medicare only pays for her aide to be there for a certain number of hours. I’m actually paying out of pocket so I could be here tonight.” While you’d initially been annoyed at having to spend your hard-earned money just to talk to ungrateful parents, this time with Eddie has made it worth every penny.

“Yeah, no problem,” he easily agrees, starting to stand and brushing some rogue pretzel crumbs from his jeans. “Oh, um, how much do you charge? For the tutoring?”

At this, you giggle. “Eddie, you’re not paying me to work with my,” you lower your voice mid-protest, even though the door is closed and no one else is around, “favorite student.”

Eddie crosses his arms over his chest defiantly, denim jacket creasing at the elbows. “Well, I’m not gonna let you work for free, so name your price.”

“Fine,” you huff, feigning annoyance. “It’ll cost one…pizza.”

“Seriously?” Eddie asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“Seriously,” you confirm, walking to the supply closet and grabbing your coat. The inside of the sleeves are chilly, having not been exposed to the heat churning through the classroom, and the temperature shift makes you shiver. “Saves me from having to worry about making dinner. And Grandma loves pizza, so it’s one less thing for her to argue about.”

The arguments in question were still happening frequently, though her verbiage was decreasing with each subsequent spat. Last night, you’d told her that she had to turn her TV down so you could sleep. Grandma had repeatedly yelled “no” and “hate you” until you gave up and smushed one half of your pillow over your exposed ear in a pathetic attempt to muffle the sounds of the infomercials blasting from her room.

“I can do that,” he agrees, following you towards the door and stepping out of the way so you can flick off the light, plunging the classroom into total darkness. “Any toppings?”

You think for a moment, tapping your forefinger to your chin as your other hand rotates the key in the door until you hear the soft click of the lock. You twist the knob just to make sure, only turning from the door once you’ve confirmed that it doesn’t open. “Ooh, we both love olives. Get those.”

Eddie scrunches his nose in disgust. “I’ll do half olives, half plain, so Harris and I won’t have to suffer.”

You stop in your tracks. Eddie’s chest bumps against your back. “Oh, I…”

“Shit, that wasn’t an invitation, was it?” He’s blushing, cheeks turning a deep crimson at his gaffe. “Sorry, totally misread–”

“No, no, I’d like the company.” You’ve come to appreciate how much easier it is to navigate Grandma’s moods when there are other people around, but you can’t ask someone to endure that just for your comfort. “‘S just that my grandma…well, you saw her at the hospital that night. She says things that are mean, or inappropriate, or don’t make sense…I don’t want Harris to hear that.”

Eddie just laughs, waving off your concern of Harris. “He grew up around me and Wayne. He’ll probably be teaching her some bad words.”

“Oh, God,” you shudder at the thought of Harris and Grandma swapping swear words. “Then, yeah, I’d love to have you over for dinner. Are Wednesdays at four okay? We can start tomorrow, if that works.”

“Perfect!” Eddie chirps, tossing his car keys upwards and dramatically snatching them mid-air. “I teach guitar lessons, so Wayne’ll drop him off. I’ll swing by around five with the olive pizza.” His pronunciation of the topping is obnoxiously whiny and snide, and you roll your eyes, pushing open the main doors to the school while he trails behind you.

You’re normally not at work this late, and it feels almost unnatural to walk out to a night sky. Clouds obscure the stars, and the dim streetlights do little to pave a discernible path. Eddie seems to be walking in the same direction, and there’s a sense of comfort knowing that you don’t have to navigate the parking lot alone.

The volume of Eddie’s voice lowers considerably as he says, “You’re…you’re kinda the best, y’know that?”

“About time you realized.” You smile as the two of you approach your car. You slide into the driver’s seat, tugging the seatbelt over your shoulder. “Where did you park?”

“Um…” Eddie squints, pointing to a spot clear across the lot. “Right there.”

Your jaw drops. “Eddie!”

“What?”

“Why’d you walk all this way, then?” Your keys sit in the ignition, waiting to be turned over.

“And leave you to trek across this vast terrain all by your lonesome?” He presses his hand to his heart, staggering backwards until he bumps into another parked car. “Ow, shit. So, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yup.” And as he closes your car door with a small wave, it occurs to you that you’re actually looking forward to seeing Eddie Munson.

Elise wasn’t exaggerating when she’d warned you that Grandma was in a mood today. In addition to the usual song and dance to the tune of “those pills aren’t mine,” she’s insisted on changing her clothes no less than four times in the hour since you’ve been home, grumbling that every outfit doesn’t look right. As you wipe down the kitchen counter, sweeping crumbs from your after-work snack into the garbage bin, you hear banging against the living room wall. Never a good sign.

“Grandma?” you call out as you abandon your chore and start towards her. She’s struggling to hold onto the large painting of a sailboat that should be mounted on the wall. You get to her side just before she can topple over, grabbing the artwork from her grasp. “What are you doing? Why did you take this down?”

She looks at it–and you–with utter disgust. “S’ugly,” she mumbles.

There’s no sense in telling her that it was her favorite or that she picked it out herself years ago. Instead, you heave a frustrated sigh. “Okay, well, we’ll just leave it here,” you say, carefully leaning the cherry-lacquered frame against the wall.

“No!” She shakes her head, tousled gray hair brushing against the wrinkles etched into her cheeks. “No, no!” Anger creeps into her voice, and tears appear along her lash line. Truth be told, your tears are not too far behind.

“Look, I’ll just…turn it around. See?” You swivel the painting so it faces the wall; all that’s visible now is the sad beige frame backing. It’s hard to believe that she finds this view more appealing than the soft watercolor brushstrokes of blues and greens, but you leave it as is, until she inevitably demands to know why it’s no longer hanging up.

The harsh buzz of the intercom brings your quasi-argument to an abrupt end. You can hear some shuffling, and then an older man’s raspy voice instructs, “say who you are so she knows you’re here.”

“HARRIS!” The little boy exclaims loudly. “Oh, and my Grampa Wayne!”

The sound of his voice alone is enough to bring a smile to your face. You press the button that lets them into the building, quickly ushering Grandma into her room and putting on the Animal Planet. A rerun of Wildlife SOS blares through the TV, and you can only hope that Harris won’t be too distracted by the noise. It certainly beats being the recipient of one of her incoherent rants.

The frantic knock on the door ushers away your anxious thoughts. “Ms. Sweetheart, I’m here!”

“Relax, buddy,” the older man–Wayne–gently reminds him.

You open the door, grinning as Harris barrels into the apartment. His little arms wrap around your waist as he envelops you in a tight hug. “Ms. Sweetheart! I’m at your house!”

“You are,” you agree with a laugh, patting his back with your palm before offering your hand to his grandfather. “And you must be Grampa Wayne.”

The older man chuckles as he shakes your hand in his own calloused one. The whiskers above his lips and on his chin are white, flecks of gray stubble peppered along his jawline. “‘S nice to put a face to the name. All I hear about lately is how wonderful Ms. Sweetheart is.” He bashfully scratches at the wisps of hair that lay flat along the crown of his head.

Taking compliments is not your strongest suit, but you manage. “Trust me, I’ve heard some great things about Grampa Wayne, too. I’m just glad Harris loves being my student as much as I love teaching him.”

“Huh?” Wayne’s forehead crinkles in confusion before he catches himself. “Oh, yeah, Harris. Right.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, Ed’ll be here at five.”

“He’s bringing PIZZA!” Harris shouts, unable to contain his excitement as he pumps a tiny fist in the air.

Wayne shakes his head, as if to say, this kid. “C’mere, Har. Give me a hug goodbye.” Harris all but leaps into his grandpa’s arms, spider-monkeying his legs around his waist. Emotion wells within you as the gesture reminds you of the easy way love used to flow between you and Grandma. No questions or doubts about who you were or how she would perceive you in that moment.

As soon as Wayne leaves, Harris tugs on the hem of your shirt, peering up at you with a gigantic grin. “Daddy telled me that you’re gonna teach me again! But not at school.”

“Mhm!” you say, guiding him over to the kitchen table. You’ve cleared a spot for the two of you to work. There’s a stack of flashcards in front of your chair, and Harris eyes them curiously. “Those are gonna help you learn letter names and sounds. You’ll be reading like a pro in no time.”

He eagerly nods, flinging one little leg onto the chair and climbing onto it haphazardly. He’s facing the back of the chair with his knees tucked underneath him, and he shifts until he’s sitting on his bottom, eye-level with the tabletop. “I can’t see anything!” he harrumphs grumpily.

“Here, you can face me,” you tell him, holding the chair steady as he swivels around again. “There ya go. This works out better anyway.” You tap the deck of cards on the table, watching as Harris kicks his feet in anticipation. “We’re gonna play a game with these,” you say, keeping your tone full of excitement. “I’ll hold up a letter, and you tell me what the letter’s name is and the sound it makes. And if it’s a little tricky, there’s a picture on the back that might help you out. Sounds good?”

Harris considers this, tongue poking out between his lips, and you can’t help but notice the way he mimics Eddie’s actions. “Can I see the picture even if it isn’t tricky?” he asks.

“Absolutely.” You shuffle the deck, making a dramatic show of closing your eyes and folding the cards into a bridge. “Let me give you an example.” You grab the card off of the top, the letter R printed in bold, black lettering. “This is the letter R. It makes the rrrr sound.”

“What’s the picture?” Harris squeals, clapping his hands together, the sound muffled by the cast on his wrist. When you flip the card around to reveal a cartoon robot, he cackles like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen. “He has triangles for eyes! That is so silly!”

“That is silly,” you agree with a laugh, putting the card at the back of the deck and holding up the next one for him. “Okay, now it’s your turn. Remember, just do your best. This is just so I can see what we need to work on.”

He nods, sitting up straight as he reads the letter F.

“Nice job, Har! And what sound does F make?” This is more difficult for him, and he squints as though it will help him remember.

“Umm, eh?” He knows it’s not correct, and you watch as his shoulders begin to slump dejectedly. “I…I don’t know.” His lower lip juts out, quivering as he admits it.

You keep your tone light and breezy. “No worries! We can always look at the picture, and if it’s still tricky, we can figure it out together.” You show him the french fries on the back of the card.

“French fries!” Harris exclaims giddily.

“And what sound does french fries start with?” You enunciate the start of the words, but he still can’t seem to get the pronunciation. His breath hitches with frustration, chubby fingers digging into his tousled curls to pull at them. “You can ask me for help if you need to. That’s what I’m here for!”

His tiny “need help” is almost inaudible, head drooping towards his chest in defeat. “Everyone needs help sometimes,” you say kindly, pointing to the flashcard to draw his attention back to it. “F makes the ffff sound. Go ahead, try it.”

Harris emulates you, bits of spittle flying as he makes the noise over and over again. “This is fun!” he cheers, eyes widening when he comes to a realization. “Hey, fun starts with the fffff sound, too!”

“Sure does!” You raise your hand for a high-five, shaking it in mock-agony when he slaps it. “Wow, Har, you’re super strong! Okay, let’s try the next one.”

With a few breaks to release some energy, Harris continues stumbling through the rest of the alphabet unceremoniously. He’s definitely behind, you realize, but not so badly that he’s unable to catch up with some extra help.

“Only a couple more to go,” you assure him, presenting the card with the letter P.

“P!” he yells, a grin spreading from ear to ear across his sweet face. “An’ it makes the puh sound!” He reaches out and plucks the flashcard from between your fingers, turning it to see the picture on the back. “It’s a princess.” His eyes flit between you and the pink poofy dress-clad cartoon. “Me an’ Daddy think you’re pretty like a princess.”

There’s no time to ask for further clarification before a loud bang erupts from Grandma’s bedroom. You swear silently, somehow still aware of the four-year-old beside you as you dash to her door. Instinctually, you grab the knob and twist, only to be met with resistance.

“Grandma!” you call out, pounding your fist as loudly as you can. “Grandma, open the door!” You hear the soft, slow pad of her footsteps, watching as the door knob turns slightly before it stops.

“‘S broke,” Grandma says from her side, and relief temporarily floods your senses with the knowledge that she’s unscathed enough to get to the door.

“No, it’s just locked. I need you to unlock it.” Another brief twitch, then nothing. “You…you have to turn the little dial on it. See how it’s horizontal—um, left to right? It needs to go up and down. Can you switch it?” Jiggle jiggle, silence. No attempt to toggle the dial.

“Ms. Sweetheart? ‘S everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, honey,” you lie through your teeth. “Why don’t you go look at the pictures on the—”

BZZZT!

“Pizza delivery!” Eddie croons through the intercom. “One half plain, half gross—sorry, half olive—”

“Eddie!” you press your finger to the button, cutting him off more sharply than you mean to. “Eddie, my grandma locked herself in her room, and she can’t remember how to open it.” Your voice catches in your throat, and you swallow the lump in a determined attempt not to break down in front of your guests.

There’s a pause before his voice floats through the box again. “Gimme a sec.” That’s all he says before he’s gone as quickly as he arrived, and you turn to face the inquisitive little boy who remains glued to your side.

“Har, why don’t you go sit at the table until Daddy comes.” Thankfully, he doesn’t put up a fight, and you’re able to turn your attention back to the crisis. “Grandma, can you please turn the dial?” But when you’re met with another disheartening turn of the doorknob, you have to accept defeat.

BZZZT!

“It’s me; let me up,” Eddie’s words are straightforward but not brusque or curt, and you buzz him in without wasting any time. He’s at your door in a hurry, and you open it before he can knock twice. He’s got the pizza box balancing in his right hand and a small rectangular container tucked under his arm. “Is she hurt?” he asks, handing you the box as you lead him towards Grandma’s room.

You shake your head. “I don’t think so. She’s been twisting the doorknob, but she doesn’t understand what I mean when I asked her to unlock it.”

He nods, examining the knob for a second before unfastening the box’s latch and pulling out a tool that resembles a miniature hook. Splitting his stance, he squints and pokes his tongue from his mouth, just as his son had done earlier. Within seconds, you hear the telltale click of the door unlocking, and you exhale audibly. Relief floods your body as your shoulders untense; you hadn’t even realized you’d pinched them together. Behind Grandma, the TV has toppled to the floor, screen now resting on top of the beige carpet, but that’s the least of your concerns.

“Are you all right?” you ask her, checking for scrapes and scratches, but she luckily appears to have escaped unscathed. “How did this even fall?” You pick up the TV, wincing as you get a glimpse of the spider web of cracked glass right in the center.

“Dunno,” Grandma shrugs, moving past you to get to the piping hot pizza that you’ve placed on the kitchen table. She slides into the chair you’d just been sitting on, pushing the pile of flashcards away clumsily. “‘M hungry.”

You look at Eddie and Harris and muster up a smile. “Guess it’s dinner time! Oh, Grandma, wait for a plate.” You grab four of the plastic pale blue plates from the cabinet to set the table, giving one to Grandma first. You place one at the spot Harris had just occupied, and one in front of the third and final chair–

“Shit,” you whisper under your breath before addressing the boys again. “Um, we only have three chairs. ‘S normally just me and Grandma, and sometimes her aide–”

“No worries,” Eddie waves off your concern, scooping Harris up and resting him against his hip. “Harris can sit on my lap.”

“Or I can sit on Ms. Sweetheart’s lap!” Harris squeals, wriggling out of his dad’s grasp. “Or Ms. Sweetheart can sit on your lap!”

You cough as Eddie turns bright red, cheeks the same shade as the marinara sauce buried under a thick layer of cheese. He sweeps Harris on top of his thighs and snags a slice of pizza for each of them. “Uh, yeah, no,” he mumbles, taking a gigantic cheesy bite in an attempt to end the conversation.

Dinner goes as well as it possibly can. Harris asks to try an olive, promptly spitting it onto his plate as soon as the taste hits his tongue. Grandma tells Eddie no less than five times that she likes his shirt, thoroughly embarrassing you, but he just politely says “thank you,” each time as though it’s the first. At one point, Harris gives him a bewildered glance, but before he can say anything, Eddie whispers, “I’ll explain later, bud.”

The rest of the meal is filled with conversations about work and school. Eddie tells a story about how a customer came into the store completely frazzled after listening to a Nirvana album. “She thought it was about Buddhism, and was very distraught when she got Kurt Cobain instead. Guess she missed the whole…” He mimics holding a gun to his head, and you laugh at the crude gesture, slapping his hand out of the way before Harris can see. Luckily, the boy is too engrossed in dissecting his slice to notice.

Grandma retreats to her room as soon as she finishes her dinner, and Harris gets bored soon after, squirming to the floor and dashing to the living room TV set–now the only working one in the house. That leaves you and Eddie at the table alone.

“I can take your plate if you’re done,” you say as you lean over, scoffing when Eddie starts to get up and bring his empty dish to the sink. “Hey, let me clean up. You brought the pizza.”

“Yeah, because you tutored Harris,” he reminds you, swooping in to grab your plate as well. “So we’re even.”

“Even?” you ask incredulously. “After you rescued my grandma and kept us company during dinner? Do you know how long it’s been since I had an actual conversation during a meal?”

Eddie chuckles at this. “I think ‘rescued’ is a bit dramatic. All I did was unlock a door; not exactly superhero stuff.” He shakes his hair back behind his shoulders.

“She could’ve been hurt,” you point out earnestly, following him to shoo him away from the pile of dirty dishes, “and without you, my only option was to take a battering ram to the door. I don’t even know where I would buy one of those.”

“Have you tried Melvald’s? They sell everything there. ‘S actually where I got Harris.” Eddie teases, hand inching towards the faucet.

“Eddie, sit down and relax. Don’t you dare turn on the water.” Your eyes widen as he locks his gaze with yours, flicking on the spout indignantly and grabbing the sponge without breaking eye contact. “Eddie, I mean it–”

He smacks the sponge against a plate and harshly brushes it up and down, still staring at you. “Oops,” he deadpans, rinsing it and haphazardly placing it in the dishrack before picking up another one. “Oops again.”

“Give me that!” you charge over to him, yanking it away before he realizes what you’re doing. You squeeze the bottle of soap over the already-saturated sponge just to emphasize your point. “Go watch TV with your son and let me clean up.”

He’s quiet for a moment, leaning back next to you. The hem of his shirt makes contact with some water that sprayed out of the sink, but he doesn’t notice; if he does, then he doesn’t care. “I don’t usually have anyone to talk to at night, either. And with Harris–I mean, I love him to fuckin’ death, but a guy can only hear so much about the latest episode of Mighty Morphin Power Rangers.” He clears his throat, but the words come out even softer somehow. “I like talking to you.”

The water runs uninterrupted by any movement as you look into his warm eyes. Flecks of gold punctuate the deep chocolate orbs that are drinking you in. They're the same eyes that you looked into on the night that he’d brought you back to his place. The eyes that shot daggers at you while he spewed venom at you in the music store. The eyes that could barely look at you when he’d somberly confessed his past, more motivated by anxiety than trust. The eyes that could flip your world upside down if you let them.

He lets his thumb graze yours as he grabs the newly clean plate from your hand, wiping it with a towel until it’s impossibly dry. You can’t look away from his lips, the way they practically scream kiss me. And you want to. Fuck, you want to so badly.

But you’re not stupid. Possibly naive, hooking up with him nearly three months ago and thinking it would have no emotional impact on you, but not stupid. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…

“Same time next week?” you blurt out, taking you both by surprise. It’s too abrupt to be natural, but you don’t care. You need to stop this before it starts. Again.

Eddie recovers quickly, though his nod is a bit delayed. “It’s a date. Uh, a tutoring date. For Harris.”

“For Harris.”

Harris is at your classroom door the next morning, knocking excitedly. “Ms. Sweetheart, I got something for you!” Digging into his backpack, he produces a plastic bag tied in a knot. Bradley’s Big Buy is stamped on the side, but the contents aren’t anything you’d find in the supermarket.

It’s a lockout kit; the same kind that he’d used last night to unlock Grandma’s door. There’s a note Scotch-taped to it, and you read it silently:

I hope it doesn’t happen again, but I wanted you to be prepared in case it does.

-Eddie

P.S. Don’t try to pay me back. It was much cheaper than a battering ram.

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ilovepedro · 7 months

Text

Tear You Apart | joel miller x f!reader

Main Masterlist

Summary: Joel hates Halloween, but he loves you. You drag him to your best friends’ Halloween party, who are dying to meet the older man that’s making their friend so happy. However, a side of him you’ve never seen before is unleashed after both your boundaries are pushed; and Joel reminds you who you belong to.

Word count: ~10k (jesus christ this got away from me)

Rating: 18+ MDNI (All ageless blogs will be blocked.)

Warnings: no outbreak AU, established relationship, age gap (reader is mid/late 20s, Joel is late 40s), possessive!Joel, (soft)dom!Joel, jealous!Joel if you squint, some angst (man harasses reader), Joel uses violence to defend your honor, semi-public sex (they fuck at a party in the guest room), oral (f and m receiving), thigh riding, mirror sex, squirting, fingering, unprotected PIV (wrap it up y’all), Joel calls reader a slut once, biting, some nipple play, creampie, cum eating, some fluff, Joel is dressed as a vampire, lil bit of OOC Joel, reader is female and has hair Joel can pull but has no physical descriptions, NO USE OF Y/N

A/N: Graphic is for aesthetic purposes only and does not depict reader, she is completely faceless and a reader insert through and through. Loosely based on Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge. Not beta’d, all mistakes are my own.

It's here! I hope y'all enjoy, I had so much fun with this one!

Special thanks to @nostalxgic @gracieheartsspedro @undrthelights @jenispunk and @mandoisapunk for listening to me scream about this for weeks. I love u girlies <333

Stunning graphic by @nostalxgic

Divider by @saradika

“It’ll be so much fun, babe, I promise! Jas and Matt have been dying to meet you too,” you tell Joel about the Halloween party your best friends are throwing. They’ve been dying to meet him, curious about the man who’s made their friend so happy the past 8 months.

You’re perched atop the counter, feet swaying as you keep him company while he works.

Joel’s crouched down on his knees, fixing the leaking faucet in your apartment that you’ve been complaining about for a week now. “I don’t know, darlin’, y’know ‘m no good at socializin’ ‘n stuff. ‘N why’re they so excited to meet an old man like me?” Joel grunts as he works under the sink.

“Because, an old man like you makes me really happy and they just want to meet the reason for my new ‘glow’ they like to call it.”

With one last grunt, he tightens the pipes and rises to his feet. “So you think ‘m old?” He huffs, brows furrowed, sweat beading down his temple. “What would you do if I said yes?” You tease, as you bite back a smile.

“Then I’ll jus’ have t’ show you what this old man’s capable of,” he says as he leans down to nibble at your neck. You yelp at the feeling, dissipating into laughter. You can feel him smirk against your skin. “That reminds me! I’ve already picked out our costumes,” you say, wrapping your arms around his back, tilting your head back to grant him more access as he litters kisses along your neck and collarbone.

“Oh yeah? ‘N what are we gonna be?” “Vampires. I’ve already got the fangs and a cape for you. I think it’s very fitting, considering what you’re doing right now,” you giggle, his patchy beard scratching your skin.

“Ain’t vampires like a hundred years old?” Joel lifts his head, meeting your gaze. “Even more fitting!” You press a quick, chaste kiss to his lips, hopping off the counter. He pulls you back by the waist before you can leave. “Watch it, darlin’,” playfully warning you.

“I’m kidding, baby,” you reassure him, reaching up to wipe the sweat from his temple. “Mm,” he grunts as he playfully smacks your ass. He leans down to press one more kiss to your lips - a soft, gentle one. You leave to order dinner for the two of you.

“Oh, and Joel?” “Yes, baby?” “I’m fully aware of what you’re capable of. You can show me after dinner, after you try your costume on,” you tell him before exiting the kitchen. He laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.

The shit he does for you.

“I feel silly, darlin’,” Joel mumbles as you finish applying the fake blood on his chin. “It’s a Halloween party, Joel! Everyone there will be wearing costumes, no need to feel silly,” you tell him as you adjust the collar on his cape and smooth out his white button up. His chest is slightly exposed, a few buttons undone.

“And for what it’s worth, I think you look really sexy. You’re really working those fangs.” You swear you see him blush as he shyly chuckles, the fangs peeking through his smile.

“You seen yourself, darlin’? Sexiest fuckin’ vampire ever. Jus’ wanna lay you out and eat ya for hours,” he says pulling you flush against his chest. His hands roam up and down your body, you’re adorned in a black mini dress and lacy black stockings. Fake blood dripping from your red and black painted lips and matching subtle fangs.

“Joel Miller! You kiss your mother with that mouth?!” You playfully smack his chest, flustered by his statement. “Nope, jus’ you, baby,” he laughs, nose nudging yours as he kisses you. You smile as you melt into the kiss, his arms, him.

You breathlessly pull away from him. “No more of that, or else we’re never gonna leave,” you say as you wipe the smudged fake blood and your lipstick from his lips. “I ain’t got a problem with that, honey.”

The bass is booming so loud you can feel the vibrations of the music from outside the house. There’s small crowds scattered throughout on the lawn smoking weed and cigarettes, the smell permeating the damp evening air.

The two of you walk up the porch, fingers laced in each others’. Joel holds a 12 pack of beers in his free hand, a bottle of tequila in yours.

You hear your name called from behind you near the porch, whipping your head around the see who is trying to get your attention. You spot a man in a devil costume, gasping as realization hits you.

“Oh my god, Matt! Hi! Jas said you had to work, so I wasn’t sure if you were gonna be here, how are you?!” Matt, your friend Jas’ - Jasmine - boyfriend and your good friend, engulfs you in an awkward hug as you continue to hold Joel’s hand.

“Of course I’m here! Wouldn’t miss meeting the famous Joel Miller,” he lightheartedly laughs. Your hand still in Joel’s, you pull back and bring Joel forward. “Joel, this is my friend and Jasmine’s boyfriend, Matt. Matt, this is my boyfriend, Joel,” you gesture in between them.

Joel lets go of your hand and extends it out to Matt. “Nice to meet ya, Matt,” he says politely. “Back at you, man. Jas never stops talking about how happy you make her, so it’s nice to have a face to the name,” Matt says as he firmly shakes Joel’s hand.

“Didn’t know I was a household name,” Joel jokes as he reaches for your hand again. Matt laughs and you bite back a smile.

“Yeah, you’re a popular subject in this house. Let’s head inside, Jas has been waiting for you two to show up,” Matt says as he opens the front door to lead you two into the party.

It’s loud in the house. Bottles, cans, neon shot glasses, and red solo cups are littered all over the house. Caution tape and cotton cobwebs are draped on the walls as jack-o-lanterns are scattered throughout the living room. The color-changing lights flash throughout the room. People are clumped in groups, dressed in varying costumes, dancing and conversing over the music.

You can sense Joel’s shift in his mood, feeling his nerves and you squeeze his hand to reassure him that everything’s good. He looks down at you and gives you a soft smile. You can’t help but smile back at him.

“Jas! Your special guest has arrived!” Matt shouts over the music as you three walk into the kitchen. Jasmine whips around at lightning speed, her angel wings bumping into the people surrounding her. She lets out an excited scream.

“You came!” She drops the cups she was holding on the counter and lunges at you, giving you a bone-crushing hug. “Of course I did! I wouldn’t miss the party of the year!” You let go of Joel’s hand and wrap your arms under her wings.

She gasps as she pulls back. “And I see you’ve brought the special someone! Hi, I’m Jas, it’s so nice to finally meet you, Joel!” She reaches out to hug Joel. He shifts a little, caught off guard by the hug, but adjusts to it immediately.

“Nice to finally meet you too, Jasmine. She talks about ya all the time, I know you two are thick as thieves,” he says while returning the hug with a smile. You can sense his relief.

“Oh, please call me Jas. And I could say the same about you! She never shuts up about you. I kept asking her ‘when am I finally gonna meet this mysterious Joel you keep talking about’ and it only took her eight months to introduce me,” she turns to you as she emphasizes her words.

“Pardon me, Jas. I was part of the stallin’. Just nervous to be around a younger crowd ‘n also want t’ make a good impression. I know ya mean a lot to her,” Joel tells Jas.

Jas softens at his words, her lips curling upside down with her hands pressed to her heart. “No need to be nervous! I like you already, Joel,” she says with a toothy grin. She turns to you again. “You were right, he’s as sweet as pie,” a rush of embarrassment floods your body, shyly smiling at her words.

“Oh, and you brought more alcohol?! Such a Southern gentleman! Thank you so much, you two,” Jas giddily exclaims as she takes sight of the bottle of tequila and 12 pack from you and Joel.

“‘Course, what kinda guests would we be showing up empty-handed?” Joel asks, handing the alcohol over to Jas. She and Matt place the beer in one of many coolers and the bottle at the make-shift bar on the counter.

“Good ones,” Jas says, disappointment lacing her tone. “Mostly everyone showed up empty-handed, so we appreciate this so much. Thank you again! Now, let’s get you two some drinks!”

Jas pours the four of you some shots and passes them around. “To new beginnings and a great night!” Jas shouts as she raises her glass in the air. “Cheers!” The three of you say, copying her actions. You toss back the tequila, immediately chasing it with a lime wedge, grimacing at the burn.

“Was smooth,” Joel says, completely unfazed by the taste and sensation. He chuckles at your reaction and pulls you into his side. His large hand rests on your waist, toying with the hem of your dress. You look up at him, giddy like a schoolgirl as you try to keep your composure under his touch, feeling electrified as he shows you off and claims you as his.

“If you don’t mind, could I steal you away for a bit? I wanna get to know you a bit more, if you don’t mind, brother,” Matt asks Joel while glancing in between the two of you. “No fair, babe! I wanted to interrogate him first,” Jas huffs while she mixes cocktails for you and her.

You and Joel laugh, his coming out a bit more uneasy than he intended. “Sure, man, I don’t mind. I promise to answer all your questions,” Joel says, letting go of your waist.

Jas hands you a red solo cup filled with something and Joel is about to be whisked away by Matt, but not before he leans down to press a swift kiss to your lips, careful not to ruin your makeup or his fake blood.

“He seems like a keeper,” Jas says smugly as the men walk away and the two of you sip your drinks. “You haven’t stopped smiling at him since you got here. You got it bad, babe.” You choke on your drink, a mix of embarrassment and disgust as the taste of the drink settles on your tongue.

“What the fuck did you even make?!” Jas laughs, “Your favorite! Rum and diet coke with a twist, but I might’ve put in a little more rum than diet coke.” You wince, but go back for another sip. Joel is driving so you could enjoy yourself, so why not?

“But in all seriousness,” Jas yells over the music while leading you two into the hallway away from the bustling kitchen. “You’re the happiest you’ve ever been and that’s all I want for you. I’m assuming he’s treating you right… right?”

You soften at her sentiment. “Yeah, babe, he treats me right. And I am happy, like beyond happy. He’s amazing, and you know I don’t just say that about any man so easily” you joke, the two of you giggling over your drinks.

“So the two of you have been together for what, 8 months now? I’m glad you could finally join us, and I hope you don’t take that the wrong way. Jas and I’ve just been so impatient waiting to meet you ‘cause she never stops talking about you,” Matt says while taking a sip of his beer, Joel mirroring him as they stand on opposing sides of the foyer.

“Yeah, 8 months now. ‘N no, no hard feelin’s, man. We just both wanted t’ be sure about each other before introducing each other to people. She told me you and Jas have been together for 4 years, so ‘m assumin’ ya know about her past experiences if Jas has told ya anythin’,” Joel says while taking another swig of his beer.

“Yeah, I know about ‘em all. Saw her go through some rough shit with her last ex. She’s been through hell and any friend of Jas is a friend of mine. I hope you get what I’m trying to say,” Matt says.

Joel nods in understanding. “Yeah, I do, man, don’t worry. ‘S a big reason why it’s taken me so long to come around, so I get where you’re comin’ from,” Joel tells Matt as he nudges him with his elbow. “And what’s the other reason, if you don’t mind me asking?” Matt awaits Joel's answer

“Ain’t it obvious? ‘M fuckin’ twice y’alls age,” Joel says, brows furrowed in confusion with a smirk on his face. “Ah, that, man? We’re all grown! And she’s got a mind of her own, she can make her own decisions. That shit don’t matter, man! Were you that nervous to meet us?”

Joel laughs gratefully. “Hell yeah, I was! I was worried we wouldn’t have anythin’ t’ talk about. Sometimes, she makes references ‘n I don’t understand what the hell she’s sayin’, but ‘m real glad that don’t matter to any of ya,” he says, raising his bottle to Matt. “Yeah, man, that don’t matter, as long as she’s happy! Which she seems to be,” Matt says. “Hope she is,” Joel mutters, the two of them clinking bottles together.

“It looks like they’re getting along! That’s a good sign. Matt normally isn’t open to meeting any of your dates, especially after Christian. He was a complete asshole, but I’m glad things are better for you now, babe. Seriously,” Jas tells you, the two of you huddled together on the loveseat, sipping your 5th rum and diet cokes.

You’re definitely feeling the effects of them now, your head feels warm and fuzzy along with the rest of your body. “Joel was so nervous to come tonight, Jas - more nervous than me. His age obviously doesn’t bother me, but does it bother you? Be honest,” you ask her, nervously fiddling with your nearly empty cup.

“No, babe, not at all. And you should know this! You know I’ll always support you as long as you're happy. You weren’t happy with any of those assholes from the past, which is why I wasn’t supportive of your relationships with them,” she says.

You shift in the loveseat, casting your gaze towards the floor. “But, I support you now,” she quickly adds, placing her hand on top of yours, forcing your eyes to meet hers. “I support this. He’s good for you, I can tell. And I think you’re good for him too.” You both smile at each other. This time, you lunge at her, pulling her into a bone crushing hug.

“Thank you,” you say into her ear, embracing her for a moment. The two of you pull away.

“Matt needs to hurry up so I can talk to Joel, he’s hogging him,” she says as she rises from the loveseat. “I’m gonna get a refill, want one?” She asks, holding her hand out to you.

“I’m good for right now, I think I’m already drunk, so I’m gonna slow down for a bit. I’m gonna go find Joel though, I wanna dance!” You tell her, rising from the loveseat with her hand in yours.

“You think he’ll dance with you? Don’t get me wrong, I love that he makes you happy, but he doesn’t seem like the dancing type.” “Babe, he’s already wearing a costume and came with me. I think he’ll do just about anything I ask of him,” a smug smile plastering your face. Wobbly from the liquor, you carefully make your way towards Joel and Matt.

“Hey, baby,” you slur, interrupting their conversation as you clutch Joel’s strong forearm to gain some sort of balance. “Woah, you good there, babydoll?” Joel asks, catching you as you struggle to stand still. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Just drank a lot without moving, so I’m feeling it. I hope you two had a nice talk because I’m about to steal him away. Sorry, Matt,” you shrug.

Matt has a shit eating grin on his face. “No worries… babydoll,” he barks out a laugh. You feel warm, and not just because of the alcohol. Heat radiates all throughout your body, your stomach flipping at Joel’s affection and Matt’s teasing. Joel playfully swats Matt on the shoulder. “Watch it, man.” Matt doubles over at Joel’s lame attempt to warn him. Joel feels his face heat up with embarrassment. Matt takes great joy in seeing the two of you flustered.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Matt says while putting his hands up in surrender, leaving you two alone in the hallway. The first time the two of you’ve had a moment to yourselves since arriving. You look up at him, chin resting against his thick bicep. He looks down, his eyes hazy with a mixture of love and lust.

“Hi, baby,” he says while pressing a kiss to your head, beer bottle now placed on a decorative wooden table. “You and Matt getting along? Seems like it.” “Yeah, he’s a cool guy. Real protective of you.” He wraps his free arm around your waist, maneuvering the both of you so that your chests are pressed together. “Well, Jas is like my sister and he’s been with her for years, so he’s kind of like a brother to me in a way. Both of them just want me to be happy.”

He takes in your words, rubbing small circles on your lower back. “Are you happy, babydoll?” He seems to know the answer, but you can feel his confidence waver. You scoff in disbelief, that you can’t help but mess with him. “That’s a crazy question, Joel. Of course I’m not happy, I actually can’t stand you. I only keep you around to fix stuff for me.” Joel rolls his eyes and smirks.

“Mmm, is that so, darlin’?” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your neck, sucking on that spot near your collarbone. You throw your head back into a fit of giggles. “I’m just joking, Joel. Of course I’m happy, baby. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.” He hums into your neck, lightly kissing the spot before lifting his head. “Me too. I love you, darlin’,” he says, meeting your eyes. You wrap your arms around his neck, toying with the curls at the nape of his neck. “I love you too, baby.”

You tiptoe to press a kiss to his lips, completely melting into his embrace. He moves one hand from your waist to cup your cheek, pulling you in closer. Both of you sighing into the kiss, relishing in your solitude.

“How much do you love me, Joel?” You breathlessly ask when you pull away. He quirks his brow. “More than anythin’, baby… why?” He can’t help but feel curious as he sees a smirk make its way onto your face. “You love me enough to dance with me?”

Dancing has never been his scene, socializing has never been his thing, but you’re everything.

Your fangs peek through as you bite your bottom lip awaiting his answer. He sighs, “‘Course I do, darlin’. Y’know I’d do anythin’ for ya, also can never say no to ya. I showed up to this party in a goddamn vampire costume, didn’t I?” You can’t help the giggle that escapes you, going in for another kiss. Joel moves his hand down your ass and squeezes it, eliciting a yelp from you and breaking the kiss.

“Joel!” You scold him, no trace of malice in your voice. He just laughs, letting go of your waist and taking your hand in his. His empty beer bottle now perched on the table in the foyer, along with many others as the two of you make your way to the makeshift dance floor in the living room.

The color changing lights flash to the beat of the music. You feel the floor vibrate beneath your boots. You can’t hide the smile on your face. Joel is a little awkward at first, unsure of what to do with his hands and in general. You guide him, taking his hands in yours and place them on your waist. You rhythmically grind your hips against his to the beat of the music.

He’s a bit stiff. “Loosen up, babe! We’ve danced together before, I know you can dance!” You shout in his ear over the blaring music. “We’ve only danced in private, darlin’, not with an audience!” You playfully roll your eyes. “Babe, everyone here is either drunk, high, or both! No one cares!” His hesitation meets his eyes, but he powers through.

Joel grabs your hips and turns you around, your ass now grinding against his clothed hard-on to the beat. You smile and throw your head back in a fit of laughter, your hand reaching around to caress the back of his head. You both sway to the beat, sweating from the alcohol and the amount of people in the house.

The song transitions into the next and you turn around in Joel’s grasp. “I’m gonna go get another drink, do you want another beer?” You shout into his ear, holding onto his wide shoulders for balance. “Sure. Thanks, baby! I’m gonna see if I can find Matt again,” he shouts back. You lean up to press a quick peck to his lips before beelining to the kitchen.

The music is still loud, but not nearly as loud as it is in the living room. The paper thin entry door to the kitchen only somewhat drowns it out. There’s only a handful of people lingering in the corner of the kitchen and near the bar.

You politely make your way to the bar, excusing yourself as you shimmy between the group. You grab a red solo cup and make yourself another rum and diet coke with a twist, opting to keep mixing liquors to a minimum.

You make your way to find Joel, cocktail in hand, when you realize you forgot his beer. Spinning around, you turn back to grab him one from the cooler. You rise to leave and bump into someone as you try to make your way back to the hallway, your drink sloshing over the side a bit.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” You look up and see who you’ve bumped into - a younger man, around Matt’s age, dressed as a pirate. He’s nowhere near as tall as Joel, shorter and slimmer too.

“No worries, sexy. If you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask,” he slurs out. You can smell the alcohol on his breath. You nervously chuckle, going to leave until your only exit is blocked by him. “Hey, where ya goin’?” He asks, offended at your attempt to leave. You tense as you feel your body go into fight or flight mode.

“I’m so sorry for bumping into you, I didn’t see you when I turned around. I’ll get out of your hair,” you say as you try to move around him. He continues to block the door. “Aw, don’t leave, baby! Is it ‘cause I didn’t say sorry back?” You give him a tight lipped smile, still struggling to get away.

“Sorry for bumping into you,” he sighs. “I didn’t realize I was that close to ya while you were bent over showing me that pretty little ass digging in the cooler.” A flash of heat washes over you, rage surging through your body. You try to size him up, swallowing down the fear, and assert yourself.

“Could you move please? I’d just like to get back to the party,” you sternly, but kindly ask him, despite him being undeserving of your kindness. He moves closer, backing you into the counter, caging you. “You here with anybody?” “Yes, my boyfriend. Now please, move,” you try to duck underneath him, but he grabs you by the waist.

“Wait, that old dude?! You serious?! I saw you two dancing, but I thought that was a joke. Come on, baby, you can do better than that old man, especially when I’m right here,” he shouts. Panic settles in as you struggle to escape his grasp.

The kitchen door swings open with Matt and Joel in tow, but unbeknownst to you with your view still blocked by this creep. “Hey, the hell’s goin’ on here?” Joel barks. The creep whips his body around and laughs. “Oh, so you’re the boyfriend. Thought she was fuckin’ with me when she told me she was here with you.”

Joel steps forward, chest heaving as he sizes up the man harassing you. “Hey, cool it, Joel. And you, Anthony, get the fuck out of here, you’re not even supposed to be here,” Matt shouts, intervening. With his back turned, you manage to escape Anthony’s grasp and you in and rush into Joel’s arms.

“You alright, baby? What happened?” Joel asks as he crushes you into his embrace, cupping your face in his hands. As you’re about to answer, Anthony cuts you off with a scoff while walking towards you two. “Nothing fucking happened! That bitch was fucking rude, she tried to leave while I was still talking to her!”

You see something you’ve never seen before flash in Joel’s eyes before he turns to Anthony - something protective, angry, primal. He fiercely places you behind him, blocking you from Anthony. “The fuck did you just call her?!” Joel’s voice booms over the music as he shoves Anthony into the kitchen island. Shoving Anthony again, Joel yells, "the fuck did you do to her?!"

“Hey, what the fuck, man?! I didn’t do shit! She’s the one who’s being fucking dramatic! All I asked was for a drink and a dance!” Seething, you find the courage to stick up for yourself.

“You know damn well that’s now what happened, you fucking jerkoff! You fucking grabbed me after I rejected your ass and tried to leave!” You shout from behind Joel. All three men are looking at you, along with the small crowd in the kitchen.

Joel shoves him again and shouts, “You fuckin’ touchin’ my girl?! The fuck’s wrong with you?!” Anthony shoves him back. “Fuck you, man! I didn’t even know she was your girl!” Joel grabs him by the collar of his shirt.

“Don’t fuckin’ matter if she’s my girl or not, you don’t go puttin’ your fuckin’ hands on women after they said no,” Joel snarls. Matt tries to pry Joel off Anthony, but it’s no use. Joel’s got a death grip on Anthony’s collar.

“Let me go, you fucking psycho. Go stick your limp dick in your whore’s loose fucking pussy!” It all happens so fast that you don’t see it, but you hear it - a resounding crunch. Anthony groans as his nose gushes blood and Matt finally yanks Joel off him. “The fuck’s wrong with you?! You fucking broke my nose! All for that bitch over there?!” Anthony quite literally spits as blood dribbles onto his lips.

Joel grabs Anthony by the collar again and shoves him to the ground, following suit to pin him down. Anthony tries to swing at Joel and misses. Joel delivers one sickening punch after another to Anthony’s face.

You stand frozen in shock as Joel delivers another punch to Anthony’s face, his lip busted open, eyes bruising. It’s wrong, you know it’s wrong, but something about Joel defending you sends a rush through your body and a burning sensation to your core. None of your past partners have ever stood up for you before. Not even when you were openly harassed in front of them.

Seeing this angry, feral side of Joel has you all riled up for an entirely different reason now. You know you should stop him, but your feet are glued to the floor, unable to move and intervene.

Matt rushes to stop the fight before it escalates even more as Anthony lay there helpless on the floor, no match for the older, broader man. “Joel! Joel! Enough, man! I think he got the message,” Matt shouts over the commotion of the fight and the music, wrestling Joel off Anthony.

Jas runs in through the door at the sound of Matt yelling. She wiggles her way through the crowd that’s gathered to see the fight to your side, pulling you back from the scene. You hadn’t realized how close they'd gotten to you while fighting. She cradles you in her arms, screaming Matt’s name.

That pulls you out of your trance. Shuddering out of Jas’ grasp, you rush to the thrashing trio. “Joel!” You scream at the top of your lungs. Joel is about to deliver another punch when he hears you.

He snaps his head around and meets your gaze. You silently plead with your eyes to stop. You glance at Anthony as Joel rises to his feet. He lay on the floor groaning in pain, but that doesn’t stop Matt from forcefully getting him up and shoving him out the door.

Joel strides to you, gripping your face in his now battered hands. The two of you breathlessly lock eyes. You can hear Jas clearing out the crowd that’s gathered in the kitchen, but it sounds muffled, all your focus being on Joel.

“What the hell happened?!” Jas screeches while cleaning up the floor, a few cups and bottles were scattered on the floor in the midst of the fight, if you can even call it a fight. A few specks of blood stain the floor and that gets your attention. You grab a random rag on the counter and swiftly wipe it up as Jas continues picking things up off the floor.

“‘M sorry, Jas. Was my fault, not hers. Guy was just a prick,” Joel quietly says, guilt and shame evident in his voice. You quickly shake your head. “It wasn't your fault, Joel. That guy, Anthony, was harassing me when I came to get a drink for me and Joel. He blocked the door so I couldn’t leave. Then he grabbed me by the waist and caged me in between him and the counter and well... you can guess what happened next,” you explain to Jas, quick to justify Joel’s actions.

“Anthony?! What the hell was he doing here?! He wasn’t invited, we made that very clear to him,” Jas screeches. You and Joel give each other the same confused look. “Why wasn’t he invited, babe?” You ask Jas.

“Because he was trying to make a pass at another friend of ours the last time we hung out. He didn’t get his ass beat, but we did tell him he wasn’t invited tonight. I’m gonna fucking kill him and whoever he came with,” she explains, exasperated and angry.

“Well now I don’t feel so bad for beating the shit out of him,” Joel mutters, a humorless chuckle escapes him. “Oh, Joel, don’t feel bad. If anything, I’m sorry that he got past us. This could’ve been prevented had Matt and I been more vigilant,” Jas says, tears pricking her eyes.

“Hey. No one is to blame, but him. This is all on him, no one else. Am I clear?” You say, but both of them stay silent. “I’m okay, guys. I promise,” you firmly state.

Matt barges into the kitchen, frantically rushing to Jas’ side. “I’m so sorry he got past me, I told him last time to watch himself and that he wasn’t invi-,”

“Matt, stop,” you cut him off. “I was just telling Joel and Jas that it’s no one’s fault, but his. I’m okay, guys. I promise. Beating yourselves up isn’t gonna change what happened. I’m just grateful that you guys walked in when you did,” you tell them.

Joel huffs again. You reach for his uninjured hand. “Hey. You did good. You saved me. I’m okay, baby,” you say with a reassuring squeeze to his hand and a gentle smile on your face. Joel’s lips slightly quirk up at your expression. You glance down at his other hand and clear your throat.

“Let’s get some ice on that. You could’ve broken it, we need to clean you up,” you tell Joel, gently inspecting his battered hand. “It ain’t broken ‘n you don’t gotta do all that, baby. No need to fuss over my dumbass. I did this to myself,” Joel groans.

“Oh! Let me get you something to ice that with,” Jas says, completely ignoring what Joel said and walks to the freezer to pull out a bag of frozen vegetables.

“There’s also a first aid kit in the guest room bathroom, if you two want to freshen up in there. I understand if you two want to leave, but the space is there… if you want,” she sheepishly says. You gratefully take the make-shift ice pack she hands you and squeeze her hand in the process.

“Thank you, babe. We’ll take you up on that,” you tell her, grabbing Joel’s hand to lead him out of the kitchen. Matt and Jas follow suit. “Upstairs, down the hall, last door on the left. Take your time,” Matt says, glancing between you and Joel, clapping a hand on Joel’s shoulder.

He and Joel nod at each other. Matt looks at you, concern lacing his features as his brows knit together. You give him a sheepish smile, an unspoken “I’m okay.” He gives you the same nod, and gestures towards the stairs.

You and Joel make your way upstairs and to the guest room. Joel follows in behind you, shutting and locking the door behind you.

The music is still loud, but slightly muffled now, the need to yell gone. You pad into the bathroom to get the first aid under the sink, returning to the bedroom. Joel sits on the edge of the bed, hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees and his face in his hands.

“Hey,” you say, placing the first aid kit down next to him. His head snaps up and you can see the guilt in his eyes. “‘M so sorry, darlin’. I just got so fuckin’ mad. Mad that that fuckin’ prick was gonna hurt ya and mad at myself for not bein’ there sooner. Shouldn’t’ve let ya go in there alone,” he quietly says, voice barely above a whisper.

You push his legs apart a bit, making room for yourself on his lap to straddle him. You cup his face in your hands. “Hey, no. None of that, okay? I’m okay, baby. I promise. Like I said downstairs, the only person at fault here is that asshole. No one could’ve known he was gonna try anything, let alone be here. You can’t blame yourself for something you didn’t do. Besides, you stopped him before he really tried anything,” gently caressing his cheeks with your thumbs.

He stays quiet for a moment. “‘M still sorry, darlin’. Your friends probably think ‘m some crazy fuckin’ old man.” “Joel, stop. You heard them yourself, they’re grateful you stopped him. And for the love of god, stop saying you’re old! You’re not even 50.”

You pull his head into your chest, his head pressed against your heart, basking in the silence. You pull away to press a kiss to his forehead before reaching for the first aid kit.

“Now, give me your hand. You need to ice it,” you say, reaching your hand out for his. He begrudgingly groans, slapping his large hand into yours. “I said you ain’t gotta do all that, baby. It’s fine.” “Joel Miller, stop arguing with me.” “Or what, darlin’?” You smirk, “or else, I’m not gonna suck your dick later.” His eyes nearly pop out of his head.

“‘N why’re you gonna suck my dick later? Hmm?” You unravel a piece of gauze as he ices his hand, rummaging through the first aid kit for some alcohol wipes and medical tape.

“I mean, you defended my honor. I gotta pay you back somehow, don’t I?” You tease, grinding against his clothed cock while cutting a piece of tape. He grunts at the friction. You reach for his hand, he mindlessly places it in yours with his mind preoccupied now.

“You liked me punching that guy for you, didn't you, babydoll?” Joel whispers. Your brows quirk up, smizing at him, "what would you say if I did?” He chuckles.

“I’d say you’re a dirty girl.” You pause, making eye contact with him, the muffled music vibrating the walls. Warmth blooms in your belly, traveling straight to your cunt. Your hands are shaky as you remove the makeshift ice pack from his hand and wipe his hand with an alcohol wipe. He doesn’t even wince at the sting, solely focused on you.

You clear your throat, the energy in the room shifting. “Then I guess that makes me your dirty girl,” you whisper, teasingly grinding against him again while trying to secure the gauze with medical tape. Joel growls at your words, and snatches the supplies from your hands and tosses them on the ground.

“Get on your knees,” he rasps. Your eyes go wide. “But I wasn’t d-,” you’re cut off, and suddenly your lips brush against Joel’s as he pulls you in by your hair with his battered hand. “Get on your fuckin’ knees, baby girl,” Joel says, rising to his feet and gently lifting you off his lap.

A wave of arousal pools in between your thighs. You scramble to position yourself, your dress flashing your cleavage in the process. You settle in front of his clothed cock, a visible bulge poking through the fabric of his black dress pants.

“Show me how dirty you are, baby girl. Go on, don’t get all shy on me now,” he says, eyes blown wide and black with lust. You glide your hands up his hips and grip the waistband of his pants, slowly dragging them down to reveal his twitching cock, trapped in his underwear.

Teasingly cupping his heavy, hard length in your hands, Joel groans as you slowly pull down his briefs to pool around his ankles along with his pants.

His cock springs free from the confines of the fabric, red and throbbing. Your mouth waters at the sight. “Get to it, pretty girl, or else ‘m not cumming in that pretty pussy later,” Joel taunts.

You grab his length in one hand, the weight of it making your head spin. Stroking him as you teasingly kiss along the vein that runs up his cock, making your way to the head. You run your thumb over the tip and Joel hisses at the sensation. You take only the tip in your mouth, lightly sucking on it.

“Stop fuckin’ teasin’, babydoll,” Joel growls, tugging at your hair to make you look up at him. You bat your lashes at him before diving in. Hollowing out your cheeks, you take him in slowly. He’s so big, you always have to take your time when you suck him off.

You only make it halfway down his cock before you’re gagging around him. Joel groans at the noise and the way your throat constricts around him. “Too big for you, princess?” He taunts.

“Mmm mm,” you hum, looking up at him with tears welling in your eyes. You pull back a bit, leaving a messy trail of spit on his throbbing cock. Catching your breath, you make your way down him again.

“Fuck, baby, your mouth always feels so goddamn good,” Joel grunts. You hum at his praise, the vibrations cause him to twitch in your mouth. Bracing yourself once more and steadying your breath, you bob your head.

“So fuckin’ wet ‘n warm, baby, my good fuckin’ slut suckin’ my cock so well, fuck,” Joel groans, his words going straight to your cunt, clenching around nothing.

Moaning, you slurp around him with spit dripping all over your chin and his cock, your lipstick and mascara smeared. You breathe through your nose as you take him all the way, his tip hitting the back of your throat.

Joel moans loudly as you hum with tears streaming down your face as you deepthroat him. “Oh, good fuckin’ girl, my perfect fuckin’ girl,” Sucking up and down on his thick, long cock, you make your way to the base once more. Your nose nudged in his wiry bush, you cup his balls in your hand and toy with them.

Joel involuntarily bucks his hips, pushing himself further down your throat. You gag around him once more, sending more tears running down your face and even more spit collecting around him and on your chin.

“Fuck! Stop, come here, baby,” Joel hisses, yanking you off him by your hair. You gasp for air as a string of spit and precum dribble from your lips, makeup completely ruined. You whine as he lifts you off your feet, desperately seeking his cock anyway you can have it.

“Don’t wanna cum yet, still need to cum in that pretty pussy,” he says, kicking his pants off his ankles while settling you on his lap, facing him again. He crashes his lips onto yours, finally after what feels like hours of not kissing him. The kiss is sloppy and ferocious, teeth clashing together, the taste of him mixed into it. Joel hungrily sucks your tongue into his mouth and swallows your moans.

He lifts the hem of your dress and pushes your lacy thong to the side, his fingers ghosting over your glistening folds. “Suckin’ my cock got you that wet, babydoll? Hm?” Nodding, you whimper as he sucks his fingers into his mouth, licking your slick off them. He groans at the taste of you as you whine.

“Joel,” you whine, pouting at him. “So needy, baby. Later, sweet girl,” he chuckles as he holds your hips in place and bounces you on his thigh. You cry out at the friction it creates. “Right now, I want ya to ride me like this, baby girl. Think ya can do that for me? Huh, pretty girl?”

You whimper at his words. He bounces you on his lap again, causing you to whine again. "I asked you a question," he growls. “Yes, Joel,” you hiccup. “Good girl,” he says, pressing a kiss to your chest. You slowly grind against him, your slick coating his bare thigh. The relief you’ve been seeking feels euphoric, your thong rubbing against your swollen clit with each thrust on his strong, sturdy thigh.

You grind faster against him, holding onto his broad shoulders to balance yourself. “Take what ya need, babydoll,” Joel rasps as he yanks down the front of your dress and matching lacy bra, exposing your breasts. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, your back arching into him. You let out a high-pitched moan, a new wave of slick running down your cunt and onto his thigh.

It’s slippery as you grind against him, your thrusts growing sloppy. Joel sucks your other nipple into his mouth, kneading your other breast with his bruised hand. He bites down, tugging on your nipple. Your eyes fly open, gasping as he smirks into your chest.

“Joel,” is all you manage to stutter out. He bounces you on his leg as you continuously grind on him. He groans at the sight of your breasts bouncing in his face. It’s all too much, panting as you clench around nothing as you continue to relentlessly grind your aching clit against his thigh.

“Come on, babydoll. Know you’re close, let go for me,” he says as he litters kisses all along your exposed chest. His words send you over the edge, endless moans streaming out of you as you cum all over his lap. “That’s it, babydoll. Atta girl,” he mutters as you twitch in his lap. Your breath stutters as you come down from your high.

He crashes his lips into yours, capturing them in another hungry kiss. He moans into your mouth while gathering you in his arms before tossing you on the bed. You squeal, landing on your back. Your tits bounce in the process, the both of you realizing you’re both still clothed.

“You like this dress, babydoll?” Joel asks, hovering over you, his lips ghosting over yours. “Mmhmm,” you respond, sucking your bottom lip in between your teeth. “I’ll buy you another one,” he says, ripping the thin black dress down the middle. You gasp, shocked at his ferality.

“Joel! What’s gotten into you tonight?” You squeak as he shucks off his costume. “Tonight reminded me I could lose ya at any moment,” he mumbles hovering over you once more. You pause, frowning at his words. “You’re never gonna lose me, Joel.” He doesn’t respond, instead he silently litters kisses on your chest.

“Joel, were you jealous?” You ask, brows knitted together. He sighs, “No… just hated seein' that prick so close to ya. Hated the way he treated ya and I fuckin' hated the way these boys here kept lookin' at ya when we came in.” You twirl the curls at the nape of his neck.

“What way, Joel? And you know I don't care about any of those boys.” He presses another kiss to your jaw. You can sense the shift in his mood - that he’s still in his head about the situation. “I know, baby, I know, but I do. These fuckin’ boys ain’t got no respect for you and are always jumpin’ on ya the minute I walk away,” Joel rambles.

“Do you trust me, Joel?” You ask, cupping his face in your hands to meet his gaze. “With my life, baby. It’s them, I don’t trust. Seein’ that prick with his hands on ya… just saw fuckin’ red. Shouldn’t have to deal with assholes like them,” he mutters, tearing his gaze from yours.

“I know, Joel, but shit happens. I promise you, I’m okay, baby. At least I’ve got a big, strong man to protect me. He did a pretty good job tonight,” you playfully hum, eliciting a breathy laugh out of him. “Yeah, you think he did good?” He asks, going along with your bit. “Mhmm, seeing him fuck up that guy for me was so sexy. I knew I had to have him,” you say, biting back a toothy grin.

“He’s a lucky man, darlin’.” You smirk, playfully teasing him, “actually, I think I’m the luckiest. He’s great at eating pussy, I wish he was doing that right now. He promised me more earlier.”

Joel’s brows quirk. “Careful now, baby. You know what happens when you act like a brat now, don’t you, darlin’?” “Mhmm, that’s why I’m acting like one,” you giggle. He growls as he pulls back from you, unhooking your bra and yanking your thong and stockings down in one swift motion.

He trails kisses up and down your body, sinking his teeth into that spot right below your ear, eliciting a soft moan from you. “You’re gonna get it now, little girl,” he rasps, sending a shiver down your spine.

Nipping at your neck and pressing a kiss to your chin, he snakes his battered hand down your body, landing on your sex. He spreads your lips and gathers your slick on his fingers, sucking them into his mouth once more. “My favorite fuckin’ meal in the world, I gotta have a taste, baby,” he hums.

He swiftly crouches on his knees at the edge of the bed. You yelp as he drags you down with him to position himself in front of your pussy. You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching him take in the sight of your weeping cunt. His eyes are black, blown wide with lust. You feel heady, panting as the world becomes muffled just like the music playing outside the room.

Anticipation blooms in your belly as Joel presses kisses to your inner thighs and works his way up to your pussy. One kiss to your lips has you throwing your head back, moaning. Joel continues to kiss your lips and avoid your clit. Not quite giving it the attention you’re looking for. You buck your hips up into his face, seeking relief.

He pushes them back down, pinning you to the bed with his uninjured hand. “Uh uh, none of that. I’m gonna give ya what ya want, baby girl, just gotta be patient. C’mon, be a good girl for me, sweetheart,” he says between your thighs. You moan, mindlessly nodding at his words.

A soft smack is pressed to your hips. “C’mon, baby girl, lemme hear you. Use your words. Ya gonna be a good girl for me?” You lift yourself up again, eyes hooded as you look at Joel. “Yes, Joel. Gonna be your good girl,” you whine.

“Atta girl,” he rasps. No warning, he dives in, licking a stripe up your lips and onto your clit. Your eyes fly open, “Joel,” you gasp. He hums as he slowly flicks your clit with his tongue. The relief is intoxicating. He laps at the new wave of slick dripping from your pussy, moaning into you. Him getting off on eating you out makes you even wetter.

He licks through folds, gathering more of your juices on his tongue. “Feels s-so, so good, baby,” you stutter. He moves to fuck his tongue in and out of you, moaning at the way you clench at the tip of his tongue as a high-pitched moan escapes you. “M-more, Joel, more!” You yelp, tears welling in the corners of your eyes.

You gasp as he presses two thick fingers onto your pulsating clit, flicking it relentlessly as he fucks his tongue into your sopping core. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, Joel, fuck right there, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you chant, eyes squeezed shut.

He groans into you, your words sending a bead of precum leaking down his cock - the vibration sends you tumbling over the edge. He laps at your cum like a starved man, wasting no drop as you ride out your orgasm.

You barely have time to register what’s happening while you come down from your high as Joel manhandles you off the mattress and into his arms again.

“Turn around,” Joel snarls, gripping you by the waist as he lifts you off him, helping you reposition yourself in his lap, his angry cock brushing against your slit.

You both hiss at the contact, your back pressed against his chest now. You rut your hips into Joel’s seeking relief. Joel tightly grasps your hips. “Did I say you could move?” His voice is husky in your ear, it sends a shockwave to your aching core.

You still. “Good girl.” You whimper at his praise. Joel brings a hand around and brushes two fingers against your lips. You suck them into your mouth.

“Mmm, such a good girl, baby. Doing what you’re supposed to without me asking,” he says. You hum around them, hollowing out your cheeks.

Joel pulls them out and you whine at the loss of contact, your frustration growing. A gasp escapes you when he swiftly presses his warm, wet fingers against your throbbing clit.

You moan loudly, involuntarily wriggling in his grasp. He presses a smack to your thigh. “Stop moving, little girl.”

Mustering all your strength to stay still, you sit atop him. His leaking, swollen head dribbling precum onto your ass as you settle in his lap, his fingers still pressed against your aching clit. “F-feels so g-good, baby,” you huff, breathless from the stimulation.

“Mmmm, yeah, pretty girl?” Joel hums. “Uh-huh,” is all you manage to say. Joel moves his fingers from your clit down to your soaked folds. “If you be good and stay still for me, baby, I'll fill you up. ‘S that what this pretty pussy needs, huh? My pretty pussy need my fingers?” You throw your head back against his chest, “yes, Joel. N-need your f-fingers,” you gasp.

Mustering all the strength in your being, you sit as still as you possibly can, awaiting your reward. Joel resumes flicking your clit as he snakes his other hand down to your dripping hole and teasingly prods his thick fingers at your entrance. “Think you’ve been a good girl, baby? Think you deserve my fingers?” He taunts, swirling circles just outside where you need him most.

“Yes, Joel, please, I need them, baby, need you,” you beg, huffing all in one breath, completely flustered from his teasing. “Such a good girl, I don’t even gotta ask you to beg,” he smirks.

He shoves two thick fingers in your aching core, gasping as he fills you up. He fucks them in and out of you, curling them with each stroke as he lightly brushes your g-spot from the angle. He has you seeing stars.

“Joel, Joel, Joel,” you chant, gasping for air as he brings you closer to your orgasm. Suddenly, he pulls them out of you and his other hand leaves your clit. Tears well in your eyes, you grow frustrated from being edged. Without warning, Joel lifts you up and settles you on his angry, throbbing cock, leaking with precum everywhere.

You gasp as his thick, leaking cock enters you in one swift motion, filling you to the brim. “Fuck, baby. So goddamn tight.” You whimper at the delicious sting of the stretch, never fully getting used to his size no matter how many times you’ve fucked.

You slowly lift yourself off his cock to adjust to his size only for Joel to slam you back down, eliciting a scream from you. Your vision goes fuzzy for a second before coming to your senses.

The pain from the sting morphs into pleasure as you begin to bounce up and down on his cock at an eager pace. Moaning with your head thrown back against his sweaty bare chest, you squeeze your eyes shut.

“Atta girl, babydoll. Fuck look at you. You look so fuckin’ sexy, look at yourself. Open your eyes and look at how well you take my cock, baby,” he rasps, roughly grabbing your face in his battered hand to lift your head up to face the mirror in front of the bed.

Your eyes flutter open, looking into the mirror at where Joel pumps in and out of your cunt. The wet squelch and the sight of him fucking into you has you clenching around him.

Joel moans in your ear as you squeeze him, spurring you on to keep bouncing. He brings a hand to your chest and cups your breast, aggressively pinching your nipple.

You wail at the sensation and throw your head back, wrapping your arm around his neck to tug at the hairs at the nape. He sucks on the column of your neck, biting hard into your sensitive flesh as he toys with your nipples.

Sloppily grinding on his cock, you begin to lose your strength. “Joel, please,” you plead. “Come on, babydoll. Know ya can do better than that if you’re gonna beg for it. You did it earlier,” Joel taunts as he pulls your hair to reveal more of your neck to him, a bruise blossoming.

“Please, Joel. N-need more. Need you to, hah, need you to fuck me, please! Please fuck me, baby,” you sob, desperate tears falling down your face. “That’s better,” he rasps.

He takes over, relentlessly fucking up into you. “Fuck, Joel,” keening as he destroys your cervix. The angle has him so deliciously deep, your third orgasm quickly approaching.

“Fuck, baby, y’look so goddamn pretty bouncin’ on my cock. ‘S like you were made f’me.” He snakes a hand over your tummy, pressing down on it.

You gasp sharply at the pressure. The tight hold on your stomach and the way he’s crashing into your g-spot is too much. Your bodies stuck together with cum and sweat.

Speechless at the newfound pressure, your vision is spotty with stars, eyes rolling back so hard you go cross-eyed, a writhing mess in his vice grip. His large, calloused hands roaming your body.

“Fucked you so dumb, your fuckin’ eyes are crossed. ‘S matter, baby? Cat got your tongue? You were begging just a minute ago for more,” Joel says, smug as his nose nudges the back of your head as he nibbles on your earlobe. You mumble incoherently through your moans as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder.

An unfamiliar pressure rises in your belly, only feeling this sensation with Joel once while he went down on you in the beginning of your relationship. You try to muster the strength to keep your eyes open, but the pressure is overwhelming.

You’re squeezing Joel in a vice grip. “Fuck, baby! Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight, you’re close. I can feel it,” he grunts, ruthlessly bucking his hips up into yours. The pressure burns white hot as he hits your g-spot with every stroke. The coil in your belly snaps, your cunt gushing all over Joel with no warning, wailing through your climax.

Joel groans in pleasure, smug and proud of himself for making you squirt. “Oh good girl, good fuckin’ girl, baby,” he drawls while fucking you through the high of your orgasm. Him following close behind, his pace growing sloppy. You can feel him twitch against your fluttering walls.

“Fill me up, Joel,” you gasp, still riding out the waves of your orgasm. “Yeah, you want my cum, baby? Look at me ‘n tell me whose pussy this is. Then, I’ll fill you up,” he taunts.

“Yours, Joel. It’s all yours. I’m yours, baby,” you slur, struggling to keep your eyes open as you watch him in the mirror. “What was that last part, sweetheart? Didn’t catch that. Who do you belong to, pretty girl?” He smirks, fighting off his own release until you say what he wants to hear.

“You, Joel,” you whine, the overstimulation setting in. “Say it again,” he growls. “You, baby, you!” You shout, and that’s all it takes to send him over the edge. He shoots his warm load into you, coating your aching walls. There’s so much, it’s leaking out onto your thighs mixing with your own release.

Joel’s breath stutters as he comes down from his high and sees how big of a mess the two of you made. His cum leaks out of you, mixing with your slick and dribbling into the puddle of your release beneath you. He reaches in between your thighs and gathers cum on his fingers.

“Open your mouth, baby,” he says huskily in your ear. He brushes his fingers against your lips. You welcome them into your mouth, too fucked out to protest. You moan at the taste of the two of you as you suck the cum clean off his fingers.

He pulls his fingers out, turning your head to face him. He crashes his lips into yours in a heady kiss. Your head spins as he groans into your mouth, letting him taste the tangy, salty mixture of the two of you. You pull apart for air, the sound of muffled rock music and panting fills the air.

Your gaze meets Joel’s, a shy chuckle escaping you. “We made a huge mess,” you giggle. Joel goes beet red and breaks out into a toothy grin. “We did. ‘M sorry about your dress, darlin’. Promise I’ll buy ya another one.” You playfully roll your eyes. “It’s okay, Joel. I’m just trying to figure out how I’m gonna get out of here with no clothes,” you tell him.

“Guess I didn’t think that through. You can wear my button-up, I’ve got a work shirt in the car, darlin’,” he offers while pressing a kiss to your shoulder before lifting you off him. You both hiss at the loss. Joel sets you down on the bed, padding to the bathroom rummaging in the cabinets for something.

He returns with a damp washcloth, wiping up the mess you two made off your lower half. You hiss at the sensation when he cleans up your used cunt. “Sorry, honey,” he says while carefully cleaning you up. “It’s okay." He cleans you up in silence, padding to the bathroom to discard the washcloth while you lay back on the bed.

He joins you in bed, sighing as he settles in next to you. You wrap your arms around his middle as he rests his arm behind your neck, rubbing small circles on your arm with his finger.

"What are we gonna tell Jas?" You ask. He whips his head to look at you, the two of you staring at each other for a moment. You two burst into a fit of laughter.

"We'll figure it out together, darlin'. Like we always do," he sighs.

You stare up at him, eyes glazed over, "like we always do."

taglist: @pedrospartner @littlegrungegirlaf @morallyinept @pedrodascal @party-hearses @tinygarbage @bastardmandennis @janaispunk @lizzie-cakes @harriedandharassed

thank y’all sm for reading! 🫶🏼

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller one shot #joel miller tlou #fic: tear you apart

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daisynik7 · 7 months

Note

hello it's me again not sure if it's alright to request one more (literally just ignore this if not) and its also not y2k but i'd like to request work song by hozier for nanami especially "no grave can hold my body down, i'd crawl home to her" angst with a happy ending during/post shibuya (no dying please) and reader is also a healer like shoko

thank you so much and congrats again 🫶🏼

Work Song

No grave can hold my body down, I’ll crawl home to her

Pairing: Nanami x f!reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

cw: mentions of d*ath, bl*od, burn injuries, canon-divergent, set in the canon-universe during the Shibuya Incident Arc, MAJOR spoilers up to Shibuya Arc, angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship, happy ending

Summary: You’re a healer working with Shoko inside the medical tent at Shibuya Station while Nanami, your boyfriend, is in the line of fire for the battle ahead. After an especially life-threatening attack, Nanami, on the brink, runs into an old friend, who helps guide him back home.

Author’s Note: @75songs thank you so much for sending in another request for the y2k karaoke party, always appreciate your love and support! I ADORE this song and have honestly always thought it was perfect for Nanami. I am an anime only and am not caught up with season 2 yet, so I didn’t want to read too much into what exactly happens during this arc, so some of the details may be inaccurate, just a heads up. This one got me in my feelings. I will forever hold a grudge against Gege for what they did to Nanami. Anyways, likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated! Thanks so much for reading! Divider by @/saradika.

October 31st. Maybe in another timeline, another reality, you and Nanami would be celebrating Halloween tonight, passing colorful candies and decadent chocolates to kids going door-to-door across the neighborhood. You’d force him to dress up in a silly costume, one that matches yours, despite his reluctance at first. Deep down, you know he likes this; domestic bliss, especially with you. The idea that the two of you could live a peaceful life together, away from the dangerous world of curses and Jujutsu sorcery. You discuss it constantly, dream about it, strive for it. A few more years, he says, and he’ll retire. There’s still more work to be done, people to be saved.

You’re inside the medical tent beside Shoko, helping her set up the cots, anticipating injured sorcerers to arrive soon with the battle underway. Masamichi Yaga, Jujutsu High’s principal, stands guard outside, determined to keep the medical team, especially Shoko, safe from any posing threats. There’s no way to know what’s happening until people start arriving, in need of medical attention. You’re a healer too, but not nearly as skilled as Shoko, your mentor. Still, she encourages you to join them tonight, needing all the help they can get.

“Are you feeling okay?” she asks, setting up the last bed. Observant as ever, she notices your quiet demeanor.

You nod, giving her a weak, unconvincing smile. “Yeah.”

“Nanami is going to be fine,” she assures you, sensing the root of your anxiety. “When this is all done, the two of you should take a vacation together.”

Relaxing a bit, you reply, “We already have our trip to Malaysia planned in a few months.”

She smiles kindly. “There you go. Something to look forward to.”

Her words ease some of the tension, but there’s dread settling in the pit of your stomach, and it won’t go away until you see Nanami again in one piece.

The waiting game finally ends as soon as the first wounded sorcerer shows up in the tent, initiating nonstop chaos. You assist Shoko diligently, making sure everything is prepared for her to perform her Reverse Cursed Technique for those who need it, and patching up those who don’t, with less severe injuries. You’re constantly on the lookout to see a familiar face, trying to get an update on what’s happening out there. None comes, until you see Kiyotaka Ijichi limping towards the entrance, blood spread across his shirt. You and Shoko rush towards him, carrying him over your shoulders, leading him to an empty cot, gently laying him down.

Shoko, showing panic on her face for the first time all night, inspects him carefully. “Ijichi, can you hear me?” She’s always had a soft spot for him, often telling you how endearing she finds him, always a nervous wreck in front of her. Seeing him like this is surely jarring, even for her, who’s as tough as nails.

He nods weakly, mumbling something incoherent, blood sputtering from his mouth. You remove the shattered glasses from his eyes, wiping his lips with gauze. Shoko starts to work on him, directing you to check on the other patients. Before you can follow orders, you feel his weak grip on your wrist. You turn to face him, focused on his lips as he quietly utters, “Nanami.”

Your ears perk up at the mention of your boyfriend’s name, leaning in closer to hear the rest of what he has to say, taking his time through labored breaths. “He…saved…me…”

You do your best to keep your composure, nodding at him silently, blinking away the tears welling in your eyes. Unsure how to respond, you leave them, going to the other side of the tent to check on the remaining sorcerers.

With everyone else in stable condition, you take a minute outside the tent to sob into your hands, praying that Nanami is still alive. Unaware of your surroundings, you’re startled when Yaga approaches, his large figure sitting beside you. “You alright?”

You wipe away your sniffles on your sleeve. “Just…nervous.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, sighing. “Yeah, I get it. But Nanami is one of our strongest sorcerers. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

Again, more words of comfort, but not enough to ease the nervous flutter in your belly. Yaga recognizes this and adds, “Nanami would fight through the fires of hell instead of letting himself die. Not because he wants to live for himself. But because he wants to live for you.”

You face him now, processing his statement. He chuckles, lifting his sunglasses to meet your gaze. “That man has never been so smitten in his life. He’d crawl out his grave just to be with you, I guarantee it.”

~~~

The last thing Nanami remembers is desperately wishing he was in Malaysia with you instead of at Shibuya Station right now. He wakes up, sitting in one of the seats on the platform. It’s eerily quiet with no one in sight. The distinct sounds of trains on the rails or the hustle and bustle of people moving along is strangely absent, and it occurs to Nanami that this may be a dream.

He's sure of it when he feels a nudge to his side, turning to face Yu Haibara sitting next to him. There’s a warm smile on his boyish face, dressed in his Jujutsu High uniform, exactly as he was many years ago when Nanami last saw him, alive and well. The same bright, earnest eyes he remembers vividly of his best friend. He swallows hard, an uneasy feeling surrounding him. Is he seeing a ghost? Or is this the afterlife?

Haibara laughs, and Nanami is snapped out of his reverie and taken immediately back to 2006, when he first met his friend during orientation. He can’t help but grin, happy to see him still so lively. “Well, aren’t you going to greet your old friend, Nanami?”

Nanami does, hugging him, astonished to feel him in his arms almost like a real person. Almost. “What are you doing here?”

“Just came to visit you, that’s all.”

Nanami lets him go, studying him carefully, looking for any signs of decay. When he spots none, he asks him, “Am I dead?”

Haibara shakes his head. “Not quite. But you’re pretty damn close.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. So you better hurry and get home quick.” Haibara points towards the railings, now illuminated at one end by a blinding flash of light. “Yuji’s waiting for you.”

“Itadori? How do you know – “

Haibara then says your name with a big smile. “Yeah, I know her too. They’re all waiting for you, Nanami. You don’t want to keep them waiting any longer, do you?”

It takes a while for Nanami to get up, and when he does, he’s off balance, legs wobbly, body unsteady. Haibara helps him, offering his shoulder, the two of them walking slowly towards the light. “I really like her, you know. Your girlfriend.”

“You do?” Nanami asks, hobbling beside him.

“Yeah. She’s really nice, really pretty, and she eats a lot, especially with you,” he chuckles. “You know how much I like that.”

“Yeah I do.”

“And I’m a good judge of character, so I think she’s perfect for you. If that means anything,” he says, proudly.

“It does. It means a lot.” They’re near the edge of the platform now and Nanami will have to hop down to reach the end of the tunnel.

“Are you going to marry her soon?” Haibara asks, pausing just before the edge.

Nanami nods, grinning. “I’m planning to propose during our vacation in Malaysia.”

“Good. Good.”

He’s tempted to stay longer, wanting a few more moments with his friend, but he knows that time is ticking. He hugs him again, squeezing him tight. “Take care, Haibara.”

“You too, Nanami. I’ll be looking out for you.”

His chest constricts, jumping off the platform, landing roughly on the railings, blinking away the tears in his eyes. It’s sweltering now, the light emitting an intense heat from within. He gives Haibara one last glance, cherishing the happy expression on his face as he waves goodbye to him before walking into the light.

Seconds later, Nanami wakes up with a gasp of breath, vision blurred, a droning pounding beating against his ear drums. It soon fades and only Yuji’s panicked voice yelling from behind him is heard. He’s being dragged by the armpits, away from the battle. Smoke radiates from his entire form, and he can barely move. In fact, he can barely feel anything at all.

They reach the medical tent, Itadori yelling for help the whole way. Yaga is the first to reach them, his usual calm demeanor wavering at the sight of Nanami, body half-burned from the explosion. They carrying him delicately inside, resting him on the only empty cot left. He wants to close his eyes; he’s so exhausted, and sleep is the only thing to bring him peace right now. That, or you.

As if his prayers were heard, you appear at his side, truly a vision, even while you sob for him, holding his mangled hand in yours, begging for him to stay with you. He can die happy now, seeing your face, knowing that you’re here, alive, heart beating, surviving. Can he do the same? Can he survive this? All he knows is that he’s trying with every fiber he has left in his being. He won’t leave you, not like this. Not without experiencing life on the outside with you.

It’s in this moment that he vows to endure. Even if he has to crawl out of his grave to do it, he’s determined to be with you again.

~~~

November 1st. Maybe in another timeline, another reality, Nanami is gone. Not in this one, though. Instead, you sit beside him, healed and in one piece thanks to Shoko, fingers laced with his, careful not to squeeze too tightly. Yuji and Ino are at his other side, talking animatedly about how amazing Nanami was the entire fight, and all he can do is lay there, smiling. Happy to be alive. Happy to be with you.

#nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami fluff #nanami kento fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #jujutsu kaisen x reader #y2k karaoke event #milestone event

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thetriumphantpanda · 7 months

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i work from nine to five; hey hell, i pay the price | Marcus Pike

Summary | You use the office halloween party as a way to prove you can push yourself out of your comfort zone. You didn't expect that to mean that the apple of your eye, Marcus Pike, would take an interest in you.

Pairing | Marcus Pike x Plus Size F!Reader

Word Count | 4.4K

Warnings | Explicit smut, workplace 'romance', negative talk about bodies, body issues, plus size reader, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PiV sex, dirty talk, mention of food and alcohol, halloween vibes, costumes, pet names, but nothing else.

Authors Note | I told myself I wasn't going to do halloween writing, and then I had a very vivid image of Marcus Pike bending me over his desk at a work party.... So I did some halloween writing. As a woman who lives life in a bigger body, this one goes out to everyone else who has felt the way reader has felt. These are MY OWN experiences, attitudes I've had given to me, and given to myself, they aren't universal, we all feel differently about ourselves, but if you've ever been made to feel less than because of the way you look, just know I see you and that Marcus Pike would absolutely take you apart regardless of how thick your thighs are. If you liked this, please consider supporting me through my Ko-Fi.

Divider by @saradika

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

You tug at your skirt a little, trying to pull it down over your thighs. It seemed like a good idea at the time, to choose something skimpy for the office Halloween party. A way to challenge yourself, finally start to work through the years of bullying at school, and the off-hand comments from your almond-mom who had always told you things like, ‘you could stand to lose a few pounds’, or ‘surely a salad would be a better idea?’.

It had been such a relief when you’d gotten this job two years ago, finally earning enough on an FBI salary to move out of your family home and into your own space. A space where you weren’t judged for how many fries you had on your plate, or how the pair of trousers you’d chosen to wear made your belly look. It had been good for you, and ever since, you’d been trying your best to challenge yourself to do things you never thought you’d ever have the confidence to do.

Things like standing in the office, in a pair of fishnet tights, with a skirt so short that if you bent over, Dave from Finance would get a complete eyeful. Looking around though, you couldn’t help feel like it had been a terrible idea. Amy from HR looked absolutely phenomenal in her devil outfit – a red bodycon dress that looked like it had been painted on, showing not a single imperfection on her body – and Jessica, who worked reception, in a Catwoman jumpsuit that hugged her figure perfectly. You don’t think it would ever go away, the comparing yourself to everyone else, even though you knew that Amy and Jessica would totally have their own insecurities about things.

You were trying to make yourself at small as possible, crowding yourself into the corner of the room, hand clutched around a plastic cup full of ‘spooky punch’, that Hannah, the office manager had put together, which comprised of mostly vodka, some orange juice and what looked like a whole bottle of green food coloring, with some eyeball candy floating around in it. She’d put together a Halloween playlist, which was currently blasting The Monster Mash at a decibel you think should be illegal, and everyone had contributed to her spooky buffet, which was just normal food cut into shapes – like your addition of frozen pizza that you’d cut out with a ghost-shaped cookie cutter. You know you should go and mingle. Adam, on your team has already tried twice to get you to join their little group, so you relent, and walk over, giving everyone a warm smile. It’s all going well, until Alison, nods her head in your direction and stats speaking.

“Did you work late?” She asks, to which you shake your head.

“No, why?”

“Oh,” She grimaces, “I just didn’t think you’d dressed up, is all.”

And you know it’s mainly because she’s oblivious to mostly everything, but it smarts. Sure, the orange turtleneck is something you’d worn to work before, as are the black platform heels, but the skirt that ghosts the bottom of your ass and the fishnet tights that are still probably one size too small are not something you usually wear, nor are the fake glasses, with thick black frames, or the fucking magnifying glass you’re clutching. You sigh, make your excuses and walk over to the buffet table, picking up one of the slices of pizza you’d brought. Once you’ve eaten that, you reach for one of the cupcakes at the back of the table. It’s iced like a pumpkin and the cake looks to be chocolate, which is your favourite. You’re peeling off the wrapper and about to take a bite when someone interrupts you.

“They’re delicious.”

You’d recognize that voice anywhere. Marcus Pike. Head of Department. Not your boss, but your boss’ boss, and the most beautiful man you think you’d ever laid eyes on. You’d sat in on meetings that he chaired, supposed to be taking notes but instead focused entirely on him and how he commanded the room. The way he talked with his hands, and how much you wish you could have him run those over your thighs. Or the way he would chew on his bottom lip when he was concentrating, wondering whether he’d like it if you did that if he were to ever kiss you.

“Oh.” You exhale softly, suddenly uber aware of the fact he’s probably just watched you eat the ghost-shaped pizza, and now, not a minute later, getting ready to bite into the cupcake, you go to set it down on the table, but he stops you, hand gently holding onto your wrist.

“Please,” He says softly, “I made them, so I need the ego boost.”

You smile a little, finally meeting his eyes, “You just said they were delicious, what do you need my opinion for?”

“I remember the raspberry muffins you made last week,” He smirks a little, “And the apple turnovers the week before those, and everything else you bring in, I need to know what the office star baker thinks about my effort.”

You’re going to refuse, say you’re already full, despite the pizza being the first thing you’d eaten that evening, that you’ll take it home with you and report back on Monday, but his beautiful brown eyes are soft, almost pleading, so you sigh, peel the rest of the wrapper off and take a bite. It’s actually delicious. He’s put some kind of orange flavouring in the icing, and the cake itself is really good.

“You were right,” You smile, “It is delicious.”

He smiles, like he’s won a prize and it makes you feel a bit fuzzy inside, that this man next to you has been affected by your praise.

“Great costume, by the way.” He compliments, and you don’t miss the way his eyes trail over your body.

“You mean you don’t think I ran out of time and came in my office clothes?” You tease.

“You’d wear that skirt to the office?” He’s smirking at you, and also offers you a wink, which has your hand dropping to the table, holding yourself up, why on earth was Marcus Pike flirting with you? “It’s good, Velma, right?” He motions to the magnifying glass abandoned on the table.

You chuckle a little, “First prize, got it first time,” You then take a moment to take in his costume, he’s wearing a brown jacket over one of his usual shirts, a brown satchel is draped across his body and he’s got a hat on, but it’s the whip that really gives him away, “Indiana Jones?” You say quietly.

“The one and only.” He smiles, opening his arms a little.

You think it must be the amount of vodka that Hannah put in the punch, but even so, your next question shocks you, “Do I ask where you got the whip from?”

He looks around dramatically, “Just checking Amy from HR is out of earshot,” Then he leans in a little closer, “It’s from my own personal collection.”

You reach your hand out, letting your fingers run over the material where the handle is holstered in his pocket. It feels expensive, although it’s not like you have much experience with them to pass judgement on what’s expensive and what isn’t.

“Feels expensive,” You hum, “Guess that head of department salary has to get spent on something.”

He reaches down and takes your hand in his gently, running soft circles over the skin on the back of your hand, “You really do look lovely tonight,” He speaks softly, “Enjoy the rest of the evening.”

And then as quickly as he was stood in front of you, he’s gone. You let out a breath that you didn’t realise you’d been holding in, focusing on the way your chest is heaving and you can feel your pulse in your head. You pick up your plastic cup and down the liquid that’s left in the bottom, wincing at the strength of the vodka, then deciding you need a top up.

You mill about for a little bit longer, but still feel like a bit of a spare part. You’ve shown your face, spoken to everyone you should have, and now there’s a glass of wine and a bubble bath with your name on it back home. You pick up your coat from the back of a random office chair, grab your bag from your own desk, and sneak out as quietly as you can. You’re halfway down the hall, almost to the elevator, when you hear a voice from behind you.

“Running away?”

You turn around, Marcus Pike is leaning against the doorframe to his office. He’s taken the satchel off, and the whip is no longer in his pocket. He’s crossed one ankle over the other, arms crossed over his chest.

“Feeling a little like a spare part,” You shrug, “And there’s a glass of wine calling my name at home.”

He nods in understanding, “You drink whiskey?” He asks.

“If I have to.” You answer back.

“Well, how about you stay and have one with me,” He offers, “Leave that wine for another day.”

You shift awkwardly from foot to foot, because why on earth would Marcus Pike want to have a drink with you? It feels like someone somewhere is having a good old laugh at your expense, but you feel your feet leading you towards him, brushing past him and into his office.

You’ve been in here a handful of times before, mainly to drop of reports and papers, and only once whilst he’s been there. It’s been a very professional relationship up until now, no flirting, nothing inappropriate. You drape your coat over the arm of the small couch he’s got there – you imagine he sleeps on it when he hasn’t got time to go home during crunch time of investigations. Your bag sits on the floor next to it.

He leaves the door open, giving you an out if you want it. He points to the couch, tells you to sit down, which you do, pulling once again at the tiny skirt, trying to cover the way the skin of your thighs bulge through the holes of the fishnet tights, ultimately failing, as Marcus reaches into one of the drawers of his desk, pulling out two crystal tumblers and a bottle of whiskey. He fills them both equally, handing one to you, but he doesn’t sit next to you, he just leans against the edge of his desk.

“I always thought it was a myth,” You muse, “Agents with whiskey in their desks.”

He smiles at you, “It’s in there for big wins,” He explains, “Cracking cases and that kind of stuff.”

You nod your head, taking a small sip of your drink, wincing as it drags down your throat, “What’s tonight’s big win?” You ask, fluttering your eyelashes and then cringing a little at yourself.

“You looking that sinful.”

You’re taking a sip when he says it, so you end up spluttering quite unattractively at his words. Is he serious? You dab at the corners on your mouth, setting your glass down on the floor, “Sorry,” You mutter, “But are you for real?”

He smirks, “As real as you and I.”

He pushes himself off the desk, puts his drink down on it as he moves. He takes three wide strides until he’s stood in front of you. You look up from where you’re sat, hands folded in your lap. He reaches out, drags the fake glasses from your face, throws them absentmindedly onto the couch next to you. You’re breathing heavily as reaches out with one of his hands. The flat of his palm cupping your jaw, whilst his thumb traces along your bottom lip.

“Do you want me to close the door?” He asks, voice lower than you’ve ever known it.

You have no words, your tongue refusing to work, so you nod instead, because as much as you’re still thinking someone is going to come in and tell you you’re being pranked, you also want to know what he’s going to do next. He’s back to you in moments once he’s closed the door and turned the lock. The light above is harsh, but it’s needed, because the blinds are closed.

He's standing in front of you again, this time both his palms are cupping your cheeks, and he’s leaning down, ever so slowly, until his lips are a hairs breath from yours. God, you want him to push the last few millimeters and kiss you, but he’s stopped. Waiting. And you don’t want to break first. You’ve done it before, gone to kiss someone, and then felt them laugh just before you can, because why would they want to?

“You gonna kiss me, pretty lady?”

“I want you to kiss me first.” You admit on a shaky breath.

You’ve got your eyes closed, so you can’t read his eyes, look for the sense of regret in them, so it’s a shock when you feel his lips on yours. It’s so soft, barely there, before he’s pulling away, still close enough to feel his hot breath over your skin though.

“There,” His thumbs are moving across the skin of your cheeks, “Now you.”

So, you do. You reach your hand around to the back of his neck, pull him into you and really press your lips to his. His bottom lip slots between yours and you suck it gently into your mouth. You smile a little at the sound that comes from his throat, then he’s opening his mouth against yours and you’re following, doing exactly the same, letting his tongue behind your teeth as it melds with your own. His hands are dropping from your face, trailing down your shoulders. He leans forward into you a little, his hands under your arms to tug you up.

You drag your mouth from him to stand up, his hands dropping to your hips to guide you behind his desk. There are nerves bubbling under your skin because you know what he wants as he pressed your ass into the wood. He wants you to sit on it. To be fair to the department, it’s a sturdy looking desk, but the thought of the way it’s going to creak under your weight makes you want to crawl into a hole. Marcus doesn’t push though, just brings his mouth back to yours, letting his hands wander a little, dragging them back up your body to palm your tits through the layers you’re wearing.

“I think you did this on purpose,” He speaks against your mouth, “Like you knew this woman had always driven me wild.”

You don’t mean to, but it makes you laugh, “Don’t tell me Velma from Scooby-Doo was your sexual awakening?”

He laughs back, doesn’t confirm it, but doesn’t deny it either. He’s looking down your body, having pulled back a bit, “Fuck,” He mutters, “Every time I look at you, it gets better.”

“The magic of a slutty Halloween costume.” You shrug.

He nods his head, but speaks again, “It’s not just that though,” He’s speaking softly now, “I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, wandering around the office all the time, driving me mad.”

This would normally be the time that you’d try and fight against the compliments being thrown your way. Tell them they must be lying, or joke that they need to get their eyes tested. But somehow, it doesn’t feel like you should do that here. There’s something about Marcus that makes you think he wouldn’t lie, wouldn’t string you along this far just to have a laugh at your expense, so you don’t do it, for the first time in your life.

You reach up to his shirt, undo two of the buttons, “You know,” You hum, “I think exactly the same as you, with your whip or not.”

He breathes out, taking hold of your wrists to stop your movements, “Let me make you feel good?” He asks.

You meet his eyes, feeling heat rise across your face, but you nod anyway, because you’ve come this far, and you can already feel wetness pooling in your panties. He drags his hands down your body, grips your hips and forces you to sit on the edge of the desk, dropping to his knees in front of you. He’s looking you straight in the eyes, as he pushes the material of your skirt to gather at your waist. Your legs open further, and Marcus groans when your movement reveals the see-through black lace of your panties. It hadn’t felt right to dress as a sexy Velma and wear your normal underwear, is how you justify it.

You’re expecting him to tell you to lift up so he can drag your tights off you, but instead, he hooks a finger through the material at your groin and fucking rips them apart. It makes you gasp. You’d chide him for ruining them, but at this point you don’t care. They were cheap, and if it means you’re going to have his mouth on you quicker, then you’re not going to complain.

Marcus leans forwards, you can feel the heat of his breath splaying across the lace material, and then he drags his tongue across the length of your folds over the lace of your panties. Even with the material barrier between your skin and his mouth, you’re tipping your head back in pleasure, letting out a breath as he repeats his movements, dragging his fingers just behind his tongue on his last pass of movements. It’s not enough.

“Please, Marcus.” You beg quietly.

“What do you want, pretty lady?” He asks, looking up at you with angelic eyes, as if he couldn’t possibly think what it is you want from him.

“Your mouth.”

“You already have it.” He points out, proving his point by licking another stripe up your panties.

“Marcus,” You sigh, “Move the… fuck… move the damn material out of the way.”

He lets out a huff of amusement, “See,” He says, doing exactly as you ask, hooking his fingers under the material and moving it to the side, “All you had to do was ask.”

He doesn’t waste any more time now. Letting his tongue dip between your slick folds, dragging the wetness that’s pooled at your entrance up to your clit, where he flicks softly with the tip of his tongue. You feel his thumbs spreading the lips of your cunt, baring you to him so he can really start to work you up. He presses the flat of his tongue to your clit, working it gently as your hand settles into the curls on his head, anchoring him there. He’s doing all the things you love, moving between wide stripes of the flat of his tongue, and quick flicks with the tip, until your hips are grinding against his face and you’re biting down onto your bottom lip to keep quiet.

“You taste so fucking sweet, pretty lady,” He speaks against your skin, surprising you a little as he pushes not one, but two of his fingers into your soaked cunt, “Feel good?”

“Oh God,” You breathe out as he hooks his fingers inside you, pressing against a spot you had no idea even existed inside of you, “Don’t stop… don’t fucking stop.”

He doesn’t, the obedient man that he is. He starts dragging his fingers in and out of you, whilst his lips wrap around your clit, pulling it into his mouth, laving it with attention from his tongue, which sends you over the edge.

Your thighs are clenching around his head as your body convulses. All you want is to cry out, call his name into the room, but even though you can hear the music from the party down here, anyone could be walking past, and it would be just your luck that it would be Amy from HR. His mouth is working you through those aftershocks as your thighs ease the pressure around his head.

He's breathing as heavy as you are when he stands, slotting himself between your open legs. You can feel the hard length of him pressing against your silken center, as he dips his head to kiss you again, your taste intoxicating on his tongue.

“Can I fuck you?” He asks, almost desperately, “You gonna let me?”

“Please.” Is all you can get out, as he drags you off the desk, flipping you around so your front is pressed against the wood of the desk.

He’s got his hand on the nape of your neck, pressing you down. You can hear him undoing his belt, dragging the zipper of his jeans down. You shuffle a little, widening your stance as he takes his place behind you. You can feel him dragging his cock through your folds, gathering the slick he’s pulled from you, before he’s plunging into you in one go. It takes everything you have not to scream. He’s big. Stretching you like no-one has before and it feels so fucking good.

Marcus is still gripping the back of your neck as he starts moving, his other hand gripping the plush cheek of your ass, spreading you open even more as he slowly drags himself in and out of you. He’s going slowly, and you think that the way his breath is hitching in his throat means he’s struggling to keep his composure, so you decide to have a little fun.

When he’s pulled almost all the way out of you, you turn your head as much as you can with his hand resting there, looking over your shoulder at him as you wiggle your ass, slowly backing into him, letting your cunt suck him right back into you again.

“Baby, you can’t do that,” He pleads, his fingers digging into the skin of your ass, “Carry on like that and this will be over before it’s begun.”

“Don’t care,” You mutter, “Harder, please.”

He starts pounding into you now, the sound of his skin slapping against yours is obscene. You’re both trying as hard as possible to keep the moans and groans as quiet as possible, and you can’t help but wish he wants more, that he’ll take you home sometime, unwrap you and let you scream for him, but you decide to focus on the here and now.

“Touch yourself.” You hear demanded from behind you, “I want to feel you come on my cock.”

You snake your hand underneath you, pushing the discomfort of how your arm is trapped between your body and the desk, and start tracing quick circles over your clit. You’re already sensitive, hanging on the edge from his mouth, so you press harder, move your wrist faster.

“Feel so fucking good, baby,” Marcus groans behind you, “Close, ain’tcha?” He asks, “Go on baby, let go for me, let me feel you.”

And it’s his voice that does it, that finally tips you over the edge, has your cunt clenching around him, walls fluttering and teeth biting into your bottom lip as your knees give way. Thankfully, Marcus is gripping at your hips, which helps to keep you upright.

“Where, baby?” He asks, voice strained, and you don’t catch what he means, “Quick baby, where do you want me?”

“Anywhere.” You groan out, “I don’t care Marcus, just come for me.”

You think for a moment he might stay inside you, which would be fine, you thank the implant under the skin of your arm, but at the last minute he’s pulling out of you, feeling the hot slick of his cum on the skin of your ass as he lets out a low groan out of his mouth. He’s breathing heavily behind you, pulling his jeans back up. You try and move, to push yourself up, but you’re worried if you move further you might collapse.

“Stay there.” He says gently, leaning over you to pluck a few tissues from the box on his desk, gently wiping away the mess he’s caused, pulling your panties back into place and letting your skirt cover as much of your ass as it can in your position.

“You okay?” He asks softly, helping you to stand, tucking a bit of your hair behind your ear.

You nod, because you are, you’ve never been fucked so thoroughly, never been made to come so hard in your life, but there’s an anxiety settling in your stomach. What always happens now is they’ll tell you they had a great time, but don’t think they want to see you again, which is going to be even more embarrassing because you have to work with this man.

It's almost as if he can sense your anxiety, because he’s cupping your cheek again, leaning to give you a soft kiss on the lips, “Would you maybe want to go out sometime?” He asks, “I know we’ve done things out of order, but I’ve wanted to ask for a while.”

You smile, because it does make you happy, that the man you’ve fancied for the best part of a year actually wants to take you out, “As long as you promise to take me back to yours after and let me see you naked?”

He blows out air from his mouth, but his eyes are twinkling, “You drive a hard bargain,” He muses, “But you’ve got yourself a deal.”

He’s moving from you now, over to the couch, picking up your coat and your back, motioning you over so he can help you into your jacket, hooking your bag onto your elbow, then moving to gather his own things, “Wait, right now?” You ask, sounding surprised, as he shrugs his jacket on.

“I know a great diner just down the road.” He shrugs, picking up his satchel.

He’s walking back to you, but you put a hand on his chest, “Aren’t you forgetting something?” You ask, watching a confused look fall over his face, you dart your eyes to his desk, where the whip from earlier is lying abandoned, “I’m only coming back to yours if you bring that.”

You watch as a smirk splays across his lips. He snatches the whip from his desk, shoving it into the satchel, “Well, pretty lady, lead the way.”

#Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike fic #Marcus Pike fanfic #Marcus Pike fanfiction #Marcus Pike fluff #Marcus Pike smut #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x f!reader #Pedro Pascal #The mentalist #the mentalist fic #the mentalist fanfic #the mentalist fanfiction #plus size reader

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thornsnvultures · 7 months

Text

the big bad wolf

wolfman!steve harrington x plus size!fem!reader

summary: when your boyfriend ditches you at steve harrington's halloween party for another girl, you go to leave, only to run into the man himself. steve's costume doesn't look like much but you're about to find out there's more to him than meets the eye. <3k words

cw: 18+ NSFT, a shitty boyfriend, flirty!steve, making out, oral sex (fem rec), pussy slapping, nipple play, super hairy!steve, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, knotting, mid sex transformation, bad little red riding hood jokes (steve calls her little red)

a/n: moodboard by me, divider by @/saradika

"What are you supposed to be?"

Your sniffling is cut short and you jump in surprise, not realizing you weren't alone. Steve Harrington stands in the shadows, leaning up against the side of his house, the lit end of his cigarette the only thing just barely illuminating his face. You brush at the rumpled edges of your costume, straightening out the many layers of fabric as you try to pull yourself together and not look so pathetic in front of Hawkins royalty.

"Can't you tell?" You huff, not in the mood to be toyed with.

"Red dress, red cape, basket of goodies," Steve smirks, his eyes catching on your exposed legs and staying there as he takes another drag. "What brings you to my neck of the woods, Little Red?" Steve steps closer, inching his way towards you as he drops his cig and stomps it out. "On your way to grandma's? I think you might be lost, Little Red."

The smirk on Steve's face makes your insides boil. You've already been put through enough tonight, you don't need any more from him.

"I'm not lost. Just needed some fresh air."

"I like the getup," Steve smirks, circling you, fingers lightly toying with the ends of your skirt.

You pull yourself away from Steve's curious fingers, backing away from him even as he advances on you. Like he's getting a kick out of fucking with you.

"What are you supposed to be anyway?" You ask, waving your hands in confusion at his costume, or lack there of. He's mostly shirtless, his surprisingly hairy chest is exposed behind an open denim vest. Your stomach flipped taking in his sweaty, well defined torso and thick arms. It was strange that he looked this sweaty at the end of October, maybe he oiled himself up? Or ran a few laps around his fancy pool before his party guests came over? You stifled a laugh, biting your lips.

"You can't tell?" Steve lifted his arms and did a little spin. You might've checked out his ass in his perfectly fitted jeans when he did. "I'm the big bad wolf."

His grin at least was wolfish, he looked at you like he wanted to eat you up. Steve laughed when you didn't say anything, just quirking a brow at him, clearly not amused by his teasing.

"Yeah okay, Steve." His smile dropped when you rolled your eyes but you were past caring. You needed to get out of here, away from this stupid party and the idiot you came here with. Not that he cared if you left or not. You felt your throat close up and willed yourself to stop, to not fall apart now, especially not in front of Steve who would only tease you more.

You looked back inside one more time only to catch a glimpse of your date, who had ditched you halfway through the night for some other girl. His hands were around said girl, swaying to the heavy, pulsing music blasting inside.

Steve was watching you watch them. You knew he figured out your little dilemma when his wolfish grin returned. That was it. You're walking home. Maybe not the best idea, walking that far on your own on Halloween night in this silly getup, but anything would be better than hanging around here.

"Hey! Wait up, Little Red!" You heard Steve follow you as you stormed through the crunching fallen leaves that the chilly autumn air had left strewn across Steve's lawn.

"Go bother someone else," you snapped, spinning around to face him. Steve was much closer than you anticipated when you stopped. You were face to face with his solid chest, nearly colliding with him if you hadn't pulled back at the last second.

"You're not walking home, are you?" Steve's hands were on your arms now. Big and warm and firm, holding you in place so you couldn't bolt.

"It's none of your business," you still tried to tug out of his grasp but it was no use, a fact that terrified and excited you in ways you didn't want to think to hard about.

"Oh I know," Steve nodded his head, pouting in a patronizing way that made you want to slap him. "But I can't bear to watch you stray from the path," he nodded to the woods behind his house, pitch black but for the full moon shining through the leaves of the trees. "There's monsters on these woods, little girl," Steve tugged you closer until his lips were by your ear. "You'll get eaten right up."

His words, and the heat of his breath on your skin, sent a shiver down your spine. A bird flew by just then with a screech making you jump in his grasp. Steve chuckled and let you go

"If you want to walk home, Red, be my guest. Or...," Steve dragged out that small word, tugging at one of the bows on your dress, one right by your breast. Your chest heaved with the shaking breath you took as you b watched him, inadvertently pressing your flesh into his hand more. Steve smirked and tugged at it again. "I can make sure you get home safe and sound."

"But it's your party-"

"Nobody in there gives a fuck about me," Steve growled. You suddenly felt like his declaration was true, maybe he was the big bad wolf. His mood had soured significantly, but he still looked at you expectantly, waiting for your answer.

"Okay. Sure. Thank-," you began to whisper, looking down at your feet.

Steve grabbed your chin, cutting you off and forcing you to look up at him. "You can thank me later. Let's get you to grandma's house."

Steve grabbed his keys and hopped in his Beemer with you. He was right. No one stopped him to ask where he was going, when he'd be back. You guessed a guy with parents constantly out of town, the rules for house parties were a bit more relaxed.

Steve, it seemed like, was anything but relaxed. Even after he lit up another cigarette in the car, he was wound tight.

His hand never left yours either. He held it as he dragged you to his car and for most of the car ride he kept his right hand on your thigh. Occasionally he would rub circles on your skin with his thumb or give your plush thigh a squeeze. Almost like he was grounding himself with your presence. His hands were burning hot on your skin.

When he finally pulled up to your building, he stopped you with his hand on your arm before you could open the door to get out.

"Steve?"

"You haven't said thank you yet."

"Thank you." You moved to get out again but Steve was still holding your arm.

"Uh-uh, Little Red. Try again. You have something I want."

You swallowed tightly at the hungry look in his eye. "The goody basket is empty," you shook it around, trying for a laugh to break the tension. Steve couldn't be implying what you thought he was. This was Steve Harrington, he could have any girl in Hawkins he wanted. Apparently, at least for tonight, that girl was you.

"Very funny," Steve grabbed your chin again, this time pulling you close until his lips were on yours. And you were letting him. God his lips were soft. Plush and smooth. He tasted so good you found that one kiss wasn't enough. Neither were two or three.

"You taste so good, Little Red," Steve groaned into your mouth. "Bet you taste good all over."

A whine spilled from your lips that shocked you with how needy it sounded. Steve was an asshole, sure, but he had already done more for you tonight than your boyfriend. Sorry, ex-boyfriend.

"Let me taste you, baby. Give me what I want."

"Do you always get what you want, Steve?" Your question is said before you realize you're saying it. You knew the answer already.

Steve chuckled and stroked your cheek with his thumb. "More or less. Are you going to be a good girl for me and give me what I want? I'll warn you, I do bite." Steve nips at your jaw and you shudder and paw at his bare arms.

"Yes. Take it, take me."

Steve rushes the both of you into your apartment, helping you when you fumble with your keys. Your roommate isn't home, out at some party of her own. So you don't feel so bad about the noises you make when Steve finally gets you inside.

You move to unzip your dress but Steve bats your hands away. "Leave it on. For now." He does, however, tear your tights off, shredding the thin white fabric off like it's made of tissue paper. "Steve," you whine as he spreads your legs up and open.

"Hold these for me," he grabs your hands and puts them on your thighs, making sure you're holding yourself open just the way he wants as he sheds off his denim vest. "So pretty, baby." Steve brings his hand down with a harsh slap down your clothed pussy. His thumb works over the wet spot already growing in the center and he kneels in front of you at the edge of your bed.

Steve tugs your underwear up your spread thighs and off of you. You don't see where they go after, but you don't hear them hit the floor.

Steve bites and licks at your thighs, his teeth sharp like pin pricks, ones that send shivers down your spine and make your pussy weep even more. He sucks marks into your thick thighs, taking you apart before he's even got his mouth on your cunt. But once he does, holy fuck, it feels like heaven.

His mouth descends on your pussy and you bother holding back your scream. Steve's tongue is long and deliciously thick, wrapping around your clit and sucking the soul out of you, filling you with his tongue until you're seeing stars.

"That's it, baby, that's it. Come all over my face. Tastes so fucking good." Steve adds one thick finger after another until you feel so full like you're about to burst. And with a few more licks you do, tugging on Steve's hair, your thighs squeezing his head as you ride out your orgasm on his tongue.

Steve gently kisses your bruised thighs, your soft belly. His face looks... different, harsher. You can't quite explain it, especially not in your post-orgasm haze.

"My, my what big teeth you have," you laugh as Steve nibbles up your belly, finally tugging you free of your silly costume. You lift up so he can slip it all the way off and admire your breasts, aching and waiting for his mouth.

"All the better to eat you with, my dear." Steve's words are a little slurred and you can't help but wonder just how pussy drunk he is. You know he wasn't drunk drunk, or if he was he hid it well until now.

Steve licked and sucked at your nipples, taking his time to pay attention to each one, plucking and pulling at them until you were keening, writhing on your bed and begging for more.

You gripped his forearms as his fingers worked deftly over your body. Were they always this...hairy? Not that you had a problem with hair, you loved a guy with body hair and Steve seemed to have plenty of it. Just, more than you remember.

"Steve, please," you whined, feeling yourself inching closer to the edge from the attention he was paying to your breasts. His leg wedged between yours and you found yourself unable to stop from grinding against his muscular thigh, greedy for more.

"Please what? What do you need, Little Red?" Steve's voice was deep, almost like a growl, the sound shooting straight to your pussy.

"Need you. Need you inside. Fuck me," you begged, not caring how pathetic you sounded. It had been so long since you felt this good. If your ex was getting this kind of action with someone else, fuck it, you would to. Steve wasn't playing around anymore. He was giving you what you needed, taking from you what he wanted. And you wanted to give it to him, to give him everything.

You ran your fingers through the hair on his chest when Steve bent down to kiss you, a deep, blistering kiss that made your mind go numb even as you questioned again if his chest hair was this thick earlier.

Steve pulled away with a growl and quickly tore off his jeans, chucking them across the room.

"Oh fuck," you groaned at the sight of Steve's cock before he flipped you over on the bed. Part of you was concerned about him fitting, but that part was quickly squashed when you felt him rub the tip through your folds.

"You on birth control?"

"Yes," you gasped, the word barely leaving your lips before he was pushing inside, bare. "Oh my god, Steve."

Steve pulled out again to lift your hips more, adjusting you to the angle he needed before slamming back inside. You screamed into your pillow, clawing at your sheets as Steve worked his cock inside, fucking deeper into your cunt with every thrust. You could feel every ridge and vein rubbing deliciously against your walls.

"That's it, baby. Doing so good for me." Steve kissed down your spine and his lips felt... different. You could barely focus on anything but the delicious stretch of his cock, but that mouth. It felt like... fangs, like he could barely fit his sharp teeth in his mouth.

Steve nuzzled into your hair, your neck, breathing you in a he rutted into you at a brutal pace. If his big hands weren't wrapped around your waist, pulling you back to meet his heavy strokes, your head would've broken through your headboard by now. You could feel his chest hair rubbing across your back, feel his heart hammering, breathing hard.

"Steve," you whined, overwhelmed by all these confusing, amazing sensations.

"Shh, I got you, baby." Steve reached under you, squeezing your belly before dipping between your thighs to rub your swollen, achy clit. Your mind was racing with unanswered questions, but they were pushed to the back of your mind until the pleasure was all you could think about. You felt so fucking full from his cock, pounding into you over and over, so deep in your guts you could feel him in your throat.

"Feels so good, baby. Taking my cock so well. Think you can handle more?"

"More?" You didn't know what more was or if you could even handle it but you wanted it, you were already nodding your head saying, "yes yes yes".

Just as you felt a pressure in your pussy begin to swell, like a balloon expanding inside your pussy, pushing at your walls like nothing you'd ever felt before, you turned your head and locked eyes in your vanity mirror with... something.

It was Steve, but it wasn't. He looked like a Wolfman straight out of the movies. Something horrible with giant fangs and fur along his jaw, torso and arms, but something so... Steve. It was Steve, but it wasn't.

Steve looked shocked, not realizing the damn mirror was there, but he was already coming. His monstrous yellow eyes softening at the sight of your blissed out face. He exploded inside you, filling your cunt with a shout, a long low growl, as he filled you more than you've ever been filled. His fingers on your clit pushed you over the edge with him and you came, clenched down on the protrusion on his cock that was keeping his cum locked inside you.

Steve removed his hand from between your legs and you saw it, the claws at the ends of his fingers.

"Steve," you gasped

"I'm sorry. I tried to warn you," you scoff, "I shouldn't have- I thought I could control it," he clenched his fist as he spoke, hiding his claws from you.

You could barely wrap your head around it, how the man you knew had suddenly become a beast. But you've also never been fucked so good in your life. It was a lot to take in.

Your mind reeled as Steve turned you on your side, still locked inside your pussy, which felt bizarre but oddly comforting, and snuggled up behind you, wrapping his strong arms around you.

"You really are the big bad wolf."

"I told you so."

"I thought you were fucking with me," you smack Steve's arm and he chuckles behind you, the low sound vibrating through your chest. "Why would I believe you?"

"Your right, I should've said something. I thought I could control it, but with the full moon and how fucking sexy you looked in the costume-"

"I looked ridiculous."

"You looked so hot. It's just my luck that your boyfriend's a piece of shit."

"Lucky me," you laugh, leaning back into Steve's chest. "So what's up with your dick?"

"Oh yeah." You're sure Steve's blushing under his fur. "It's my knot. We might be stuck together like this for a while."

"Hmm. Fine. You can show me what other weird stuff you've got going on tomorrow then."

You close your eyes, relaxing into Steve's hold on you. For a moment he think you've fallen asleep until you speak again.

"Oh my, what a big cock you have," you mumble, already half asleep.

Steve laughs, being careful not to jostle you too much. "All the better to fuck you with, Little Red."

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x plus size!reader #steve harrington x you #wolfman!steve harrington #werewolf!steve harrington #steve harrington fan fic #steve harrington fan fiction #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington halloween fic #my fics

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hellishjoel · 4 months

Text

tequila!

6k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter

summary: a night off and some well deserved drinks put you and frankie in the same spot on a friday night.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), food and alcohol consumption, intro to triple frontier friends, reader is mentioned having hair and wearing perfume, swearing, pet names (princess), jealousy, angst, hot girls cry in the bathroom, smut, fingering (f! receiving), cum eating, discussions of men being douchebags. if I missed anything, please let me know!

A/N: it’s been since halloween! how are we doing?! here’s more frankie and princess figuring out their shit and actually communicating! can we get a round of applause? thank you to @undercoverpena for the emotional and plot support! thank you to @saradika-graphics for the dividers!

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The town was small, but you guys knew how to kick it.

Pool balls clattered, people cheered, and butts of beer bottles clinked in celebration.

This was exactly what you needed, a night off and a fucking drink.

You tried to tell yourself that your spat with Frankie a month ago hadn’t taken its toll on you, but he was plaguing your thoughts. The fastest way to forget your inhibitions? To forget Frankie?

Tequila.

Sideways was known for breaking health code violations and overserving its customers. Despite their negative Yelp reviews, they were the only bar in town packed on this Friday night.

You were two and a half drinks in with your girlfriends, the ones you never get to see from working late shifts. They were sweet and funny as hell. They were the pick-me-up that you really needed after what happened with Frankie.

It was still sitting in the back of your mind, playing on a loop like Christmas songs do in the winter.

“What do you want from me, huh?”

“I don’t know.”

Heat scorches your throat, burning and scraping at the inside as you accept a shot from a stranger. Not your smartest decision, but you suppose you haven’t been making a lot of those as of late anyway.

Just as you take a deep sigh, you see it. That stupid hat and nest of dark curls accompanied by broad shoulders. What was Frankie doing here?

You try to drop your head, avert your gaze, but it's pointless. The moment your eyes meet, time warps into slow motion. His usual honey-brown eyes look oaky-brown in the low light ambiance Sideways provides. His face softens at the sight of you, taking you in. Even as he walks past your small table, his head cranes to keep you in sight.

Then his friends slap his back and keep him moving, their large and loud group weaving through the sea of strangers. And it’s over. He’s gone, probably somewhere tucked in the back of the bar ordering drinks. Time returns to its normal pace, and the loud hum of drunk twenty-somethings returns.

“Jeez, Fish, that’s like the second bullseye tonight.” Frankie’s friends playfully clap with mustaches tickled with white foam from their beers.

Frankie shrugs a shoulder, glances at your table, sees your pretty smile and the way your hair swishes before his eyes return to the dart board. An angry huff leaves his lips before he raises his arm, eyes narrowed on the dart board a good seven feet away from him, before he releases the dart like a lightning fast whip and he sinks it right into the center.

His friends howl, a little smile on his lips at their approval.

“Make that three!” One chimes in. “He’s hot tonight, folks! Get’em while he’s hot!”

Despite being with his friends and cheap alcohol, Frankie didn’t feel very happy. Not after what went down after the last time he saw you. And now, you were here, which was making the pistons in his brain fire a whole lot faster. He wonders what happened, why you threw up your hands that night and pushed him away.

Work has been hell trying to avoid you. Nothing more than giving him orders and brushing past him with your pretty smelling perfume that has put him in a trance since the first day he started at the diner. Now you were here, huffs of people in between you two, and he could still pick out the sweet blossomy smell he considers to be your own.

“I need a fucking drink,” Frankie mutters, plucking the darts from the board as he slaps them in the hands of his buddy for his turn.

Frankie pushes through people to the bar, gently rapping his knuckles against the dark wood of the bar for a beer. His head dips down to look for his wallet, pulling it from his back pocket. The last thing he expects when he looks up is… not you.

“Do you know that girl or something?” Your friend nudges, eyes still locked on the glowing redhead who had approached Frankie at the bar.

“No.” You mutter, sucking in at the side of your cheek as you watch her put the moves on an adorably awkward Frankie.

“You sure seem to act like you know her, you won’t stop staring.” She teases before she’s distracted by one of your girlfriends spilling off her barstool.

All you can see is the way she blocks your view of Frankie, doing all the typical flirtatious moves you can get away with when you’re hot. Twisting her hair around her finger, smiling at Frankie like he was the funniest guy in the world, leaning into his front. She had a gorgeous body, tight waist, glowing smile, and a huge fucking rack she purposely accentuated when she threw her head back in laughter.

First off, you hate the way she looks at him like he’s already hers. Second, when did Frankie become so goddamn funny?

You huff out a sigh and throw back another tequila shot as soon as it’s delivered.

Jealousy wasn’t your thing. Frankie just knew how to pinch your fucking nerve. It’s so fresh still, you know? Now here he was, talking to another girl. Part of you feels like you deserve it. You cut him loose, there were no more strings that tied you two together. So why did you feel like this? Angry, annoyed, sad. Jealous.

Fuck that.

“Another tequila?” The bartender perks up upon seeing you nudge your way to the front of the bar’s counter.

You give him a tight nod and a blank mhm leaving your mouth, leaning over the counter as you wait.

His cologne shatters your thoughts. “Hey.”

You look up to see Frankie has turned away from his girl, eyeing you over. You couldn’t deny how good you looked tonight, taking advantage of your one night off to wear something that accentuated your figure.

And it was catching more eyes than Frankie’s. The woman beside him glares at you as if you took her favorite toy on the playground, as if she had dibs.

You hate to admit that your eyes drift as well, a certain sexually charged energy between you both. His classic khaki jacket and ballcap accompanied by a dark wash pair of jeans. His stupid hands are stuffed in his stupid pockets, and his stupid chocolate curls curve up toward the brim of his hat.

Frankie’s eyes fell to your sweet neck, then to the curves of your body, your mouth going dry at the way he was drinking you up.

“Hey,” you muster up, giving him a tight-lipped grin as you nod as a greeting.

You want him. He looks so fucking good tonight. But he already had a date going, you didn’t need to interrupt. You nip at your lower lip and force yourself to stare elsewhere.

“Rum and coke, please, Frankie,” The woman coos, an attempt to stray Frankie’s attention from you. She’s obviously seen the way he looks at you, both of you practically eye fucking each other right in front of her. You kind of got a kick out of getting under her skin, though.

“Hi,” you say as you reach your hand past Frankie, offering the woman a handshake and your name. “I work with Frankie.”

She gives you a snotty little hmph, nodding tightly instead of shaking your hand.

“I’ll meet you at the table with my drink.” She insists to Frankie, leaving the two of you on your own, but not without a squeeze to his broad arm and a certain look in your direction.

“Wow,” you fake applaud, “she’s a real keeper, Frankie. No, really, I mean it. Didn’t know you had a thing for girls with tits bigger than their face.”

“I just met her ten minutes ago,” Frankie mutters as he’s served his beer and the girl’s rum and coke, as well as your tequila shot being delivered.

You try not to roll your eyes too obviously. “Well, she’s certainly all over you.”

“What do you care?” He counters, finally facing you again, his eyes still lingering on your body for longer than you know he should. “You came up here to us, princess. If there’s something you wanna say, say it.”

A larger group comes in through the front door and pushes through to the bar, a light gasp leaving you as you’re shoved into Frankie, your fronts aligning. You feel his toned torso and smell his fresh cologne as his hand instinctually clutches your waist to keep you upright.

Both of you take one another in again, not being able to fight the tension between you both that could be cut with a knife.

The last time you were this close was Halloween. The last time he touched you was Halloween. Now, he was touching you again, and god, all you wanted was for him to flip his hat around, duck down, and kiss you. Kiss you hard, make up for all the time you had lost.

Have you ever missed someone so much you feel physically sick? You had no idea how much your little talks in the kitchen meant to you until you forced Frankie to let you go. You had the overwhelming urge to run away, like he was too close, he would learn everything about you, and he’d leave after finding out you’re just a broken plate that can’t be glued together.

You were unfixable. And Frankie was a fixer, down to his bones, and in his heart, he would try to mend you back together, only to be disappointed after many failed attempts. You wouldn’t put him through that, and more importantly, you didn’t want anyone to try. It would just hurt you more.

But you looked at each other a little too long to be just friends.

If there’s something you wanna say, say it.

I can’t.

Frankie’s eyes sink as you throw back the shot, feeling the liquid burn your throat and then your chest again. This is what you’d rather feel than hurt.

“Well,” you say, a bit raspy from the fresh alcohol. You gently push your hand into Frankie’s abdomen in an attempt to squeeze out from between him and a random drunkard, nails sinking into his toned torso. “Have a good rest of your night. See you at Tommy’s.”

Your shoulders swivel back and forth as you carve through the bar to the rest of your friends, toppling over people to get back to your seat as you sigh defeatedly. God, why are you torturing me?

It’s an hour later, followed by two tall water glasses. Your friends have ordered some appetizers off the menu to soak up the alcohol. And because you were all damn hungry. Your eyes stray to Frankie’s table every few minutes.

You couldn’t help it, you were overthinking. Was he looking at you when you looked away? Was he not looking at all, too into Miss Red? The more you thought, the more your chest felt like it wanted to give way. But you weren’t prepared for what you saw the next moment you looked up.

Big Red decided to make her move, her long fingernail catching Frankie’s chin and swiftly guiding him to face her as she leaned in and kissed him.

She kissed him, your Frankie, she kissed him. Put her pink lipstick on his mouth and marked him as her own.

Goosebumps flood over your skin, eyes sinking as you watched helplessly from across the room. Suddenly, it was all too much. The loud talking, the buzzing of people, the alcohol, her and him, it was all too much.

Your feet find the floor before you can stop yourself, you feel like you might shed a tear in your race to the bathroom. You tug on the handle, and it’s locked.

“Occupied!” Some snotty girl whines.

“Hurry the fuck up,” you shout amongst the crowd of people to ensure she can hear the urgency in your voice. Your throat feels thick with wetness.

Finally, the door opens, and the woman looks you up and down in annoyance. You don’t care. You put a hand on her shoulder to guide her out of the doorway, trying to push yourself in and close the door. Not before a familiar pair of thunderous boot steps echo in your ears.

You let out a grunt as you attempt to slam the door, but you see a hand curve around the frame. He speaks your name, it’s Frankie. Your stomach falls, and you quickly shake your head, feeling angry tears threaten to spill.

“Fuck off,” you say behind gritted teeth, attempting to use your body to finish closing the door. But he’s a hell of a lot stronger than you.

“Come on, princess, open up, just wanna talk.” He pushes himself in, tall figure looming over yours as you look away with annoyance. He flips the lock and presses his hand above the wall you’re leaning back on. “What’s wrong?”

Anger surges through your voice, planting your hands on his chest as you attempt to shove him away again. You find yourself confused when your own hands curl in on his shirt and bring him closer. “I told you to fuck off, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” He says as his hands attempt to cradle your face, but you shove them down.

“Then stop looking,” You quickly shake your head, the heat of his hands making your stomach churn.

Suddenly, you don’t want to cry, you want to shout.

“I saw you kiss her!”

Frankie’s eyes met your glaring ones, your lips parting as you let out panted breaths.

“I didn’t kiss her,” he starts to say before you interject.

“I saw you! Why are you lying to my face?” You accuse, feeling your body flush with warmth as your hands gently push at his pecs. “Get away from me.” You mutter, but Frankie always returns despite how many times you push him away.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere until you listen to me, okay?” Frankie goes to cup your cheeks again, but the warning look on your face makes him groan in annoyance and drop his head before he comes back up to look at you. “She kissed me, I didn’t kiss her back, and-and I didn’t want her, okay? I want you, I want you, I want you, goddamit, I want you!”

You quickly shake your head, feeling your hoop earrings gently hit your cheeks. “No.” You whisper, feeling small under his gaze. And he’s looking at you again like you put the sun in the sky. You absolutely hate it in some ways, but he looks at you with such clarity that it makes your heart flutter. Like he knows his place is with you.

“No, what?” He challenges. You find yourself fisting at his shirt, both in comfort and also a way to keep him at a distance.

“No, you don’t want me, Frankie,” Your face is pinched in anger, eyes searching for his intentions. You watch as his face sinks at your words, hurt by what you’ve said.

“How can you fuckin’ say that? How can you say I don’t want you? You don’t get to decide that for me, alright?” His voice is stern, eyes narrowed in on yours as he fills the space between you two, no matter if you take a step back, he’s right there on your toes. “I like you.”

“You don’t know me, not really,” You say.

“I want to, though. I’m scared as hell to want you, but here I am, telling you I want you anyway because that’s how much I care. I want you more than I fear the rejection on Halloween happening all over again.”

All you can do is shake your head, feeling the mixture of angry sad tears start to melt at your eyes again. You hurt him so badly on Halloween, yet he was still here trying to say how much you mean to him.

“Frankie,” your lower lip wobbles, straying eye contact.

“No, listen to me, I’ve got more to say,” he says as he cradles your face once more, and this time, you don’t push him away. His beautiful brown eyes pour into your own, and you feel so drunk that he’s kissing your soul with his eyes.

“I haven’t even missed you,”

“Bullshit, I know you fuckin’ miss me because I miss you.” He sees through all your lies, you feel transparent as he holds you close, backing you up against the sink as he strokes a thumb along your cheekbone.

“No,” you start to say, shaking your head as tears cloud your vision.

“No, no, no,” he mocks, “Is that all you can say?”

You despise how much your throat feels swollen, and your words sound thick with wanting to cry. “I just wanted you to fuck me, but then I got greedy, and I wanted you to love me, too. But that would be a waste of your time, Frankie, you need to listen to me.”

The admission felt like a dam breaking inside of you, and Frankie only pulls you closer. Suddenly, the buzz of everyone else outside the bar died down, and all you could think or hear was Frankie.

“Loving someone is never a waste,” Frankie whispers.

You playfully scoff and wipe under your eyes around his hand. “You don’t love me.”

“No, not yet. But I could. I know I could. Because this past month has been hell without talking to you. I don’t wanna walk around the diner, pretending like you don’t exist or that you don’t do something to me. You do everything to me, you are everything.”

Frankie starts swiping away the tears you didn’t even know were falling, taking them away with the pads of his thumbs.

“I think of you at two in the morning when I can’t sleep, you’re always the first place my mind runs to. You stayed over once, once, and my body just fuckin’ craves the way I got to hold you. It was addictive, how it felt to finally be close to you, when you finally let me in.”

You force yourself to close your eyes and try to breathe, his words feeling like the powers a hurricane carries. Your shaky fists are still clutching his shirt at his sides, not willing to let him go after his confession.

After you gather a few breaths, you meet his eyes. “Frankie, once you care, you’re fucked.” It’s a warning.

Now, he’s the one shaking his head. “I don’t believe that for a minute. I’ve cared for you ever since I started working at Tommy’s, and even more when you kissed me at the Christmas party last year.”

You playfully scoff and break a smile. “We were both drunk.”

Frankie shrugs. “Yeah, and I wished I was sober so I could remember every bit of how good it felt. Now we’re almost a year later. It took me from December to August to make another real move on you, and I don’t want to let you go. Not after having the real thing. This feeling doesn’t just go away. I miss you.”

You nip at your lower lip, goosebumps flying across your skin away.

“I just don’t want to get hurt,” you whimper, your forehead gently leaning into the support of his large palms. Your glassy eyes make him melt.

He hushes you gently, your voices growing softer the closer he comes to you. Your noses gently brush, making your wet eyelashes flutter. Frankie sighs before he speaks. “If you promise to stay, I’ll promise not to leave.”

Frankie’s care for you was evident. You knew pushing him away was wrong, trying to save yourself only wounded you both. But what a waste it would be not to try with someone who was as good-hearted as Frankie.

The douchebag you once knew was long gone. In fact, it feels like he started to drift away after last December. Because he had made up his mind a year ago that he wanted to be with you, and he would change for the better to make it happen. He’s been showing you all this time what you mean to him, that he wouldn’t hurt you.

You must have left him hanging for too long because he parts his lips to speak your name.

“Stop talking,” you whisper as you lean up and crash your lips against his. No more words needed to be said.

You can feel Frankie’s cheeks perk up from his smile, both of your mouths upturned, happy to be in one another’s arms again. Being apart felt like a drought, and he was finally touching you. And both of you were fucking starved.

Frankie’s once soft movements turn greedy. As do yours. Hands are gliding over waists, teeth are tugging lips, and your core physically buzzes as Frankie flips his hat to face backward without breaking your kiss. Jesus Christ. His tongue glides against your bottom lip and you easily part your lips to grant the access he so desperately craves.

“Lemme make it up to you,” Frankie mutters against your mouth, tasting remnants of his ale and he, your citrussy-lime tongue.

“Please,” you beg.

He doesn’t waste another moment, nipping at your bottom lip and making you mewl while his large palms find the back of your thighs. His strength makes lifting you look easy, gasping into his mouth as he sets you on top of the sink while his hands fasten on your waist once more.

You push his hand towards the button of your jeans and he pops it open with one hand.

“Fuck,” you moan out, jaw dropped as his hand pushes past the band of your panties, large fingers gliding down through your slick, then back up your valley. A breath catches in your throat, your back archiving off the mirror as Frankie takes the opportunity to bury his head into your chest, planting kisses along your breasts over your shirt. He eventually moves his lips up your body, across your sweet neck, to where he nibbles on your jawline.

Your jaw drops against his cheek, your faces smooshed together as you feel his familiar stubble scrape against your soft skin. It’s like there’s a non-stopping rollercoaster in your mind, with his fingers moving up and down your soaking pussy, you can’t fucking think.

A weak cry leaves your lips against the shell of his ear as he plunges two fingers into your entrance. You brace an arm around his shoulder and pull him into you, ensuring he keeps his damn fingers stay buried in your cunt.

“Please,” you whimper, grinding your hips with vigor against his hand, his wrist rolling with you.

“That’s it baby,” his silken voice purrs with praise, “let go for me.”

You become completely pliant under his touch, under the lead of his fingers. He was already filling you up, you couldn’t imagine being filled up by the girth of his cock after a month without it.

With two fingers inside of you and his thumb working sweet circles around your clit, you feel as if you might explode. He walks a line between kissing and sucking on your neck, the surface of your skin becoming clammy and raw.

There’s a sense of safety in his arms, his tense bicep that’s hardened from the one that’s working up into you.

You barely acknowledge the knock on the door, forcing yourself to bite down onto Frankie’s shoulder and his jacket flap to keep yourself from spilling out loose moans. Loud music and even louder chanter is muffled by the door.

“Fuck, fuck, Frankie-” you moan, mouth stuffed and jumbling your words.

Frankie clamps his free hand over your mouth, guiding your head to rest back against the mirror once more, your hot pants fanning against his palm.

“So fuckin’ loud, don’t remember you bein’ this loud for me.” He says with a wide cocky smirk. You will yourself to roll your eyes, but they end up staying at the back of your head as you continue to fuck yourself against his fingers.

He curls them inside of you, your back arching as you feel your stomach swirl with excitement. Your small hands clench at his jacket, gasping shakily as your high nears closer.

Your muffled moans stay concealed by Frankie’s hand clamped over you, letting your weak moans and cries land into his palm. It felt so good, the way your clit twitches under his control and his fingers work effortlessly to plunge deeper and deeper into your depths.

There’s another incessant knock at the door. Fuck, there was no way to be quiet.

Frankie smirks wider as your walls clench around his fingers, one long moan of his name landing muffled against his fingers as his eyes fixate on your own, spilling your orgasm across his fingers.

“Good girl, just needed to get off, didn’t you?” He belittles.

You sigh weakly against his hand, hearing still fuzzy from feeling so over the moon. A slow, tired smirk grazes your lips as you playfully push his face away.

“Such a douchebag.” You mutter, nipping at your lower lip while Frankie gently removes his fingers from your entrance. You feel empty, you hate it.

Frankie raises his two fingers to your lips, your eyes studying the pretty cream he’s gathered amongst the mix of your slick.

“Taste yourself, baby.” Such a fucking charmer. You can’t help the heat that gathers at the back of your neck, shyly leaning in and wrapping your lips around the tips of his fingers. You lock your eyes with his own as you flatten your tongue and hollow your cheeks, sinking your mouth lower and taking him to the knuckle.

Your heart pounds thinking about his cock angrily twitching against his thigh, desperate for his own release. But he’s always put you first. And you always make his loyalty to you worth his while.

Frankie’s cocky face slowly melts as you swallow around his fingers, lips parting as he looks over you in a sense of pride.

Another damn knock on the door. More like an incessant pounding.

He forces himself to release his fingers from your mouth.

“What?” Frankie protectively barked, voice laced with annoyance.

“Fish?” A voice called from the other side. One of his friends.

He looks at you apologetically, grabbing you by your hips and lowering you off the sink. His hands are already on the hem of your jeans, and securing the button while you zip the fly and hurry to make yourselves presentable.

Frankie puts his hand on the knob, ready to flip the lock. He feels compelled to kiss you one more time. He spins on the spot and cups your cheeks, meshing your lips together and pulling your chin up to face him. He savors it, lets his tongue tangle with yours to get that last taste of come on your tastebuds.

He forces himself to let you go, finally opening the door.

“Santi? What, man?” He asks in annoyance, seeing his friend on the other side.

“Sorry, sorry,” he pauses to look past Frankie, to you, a sly little smirk on his lips after he’s put two and two together. “Listen, uh, Benny’s been arrested.”

Frankie shares a look of confusion with you. Frankie and Santi both stand there a little dumbfounded, unsure of what to do.

“Well, come on, he can’t stay there all night. Let’s go.” You urge. It’s enough to snap the two out of their surprised trance. Frankie takes your hand and leads you towards the bar’s exit, pushing people aside with his arms and broad shoulders so no drunk asshole knocks you around in the crowd.

You’re surprised to see his friend, who you’ve gathered is Santi, doing the same. It felt like you had two incredibly handsome escorts. Or maybe a better term would be guard dogs, pretty and sleek Dobermans.

After saying goodnight to your friends and grabbing your purse, Santi catches up you both while Frankie drives his truck.

“This drunk guy came up and started hitting on this girl he knows from.. somewhere.. I don’t know, but then he started getting all belligerent when she rejected him, and Benny stepped in. They started knocking each other around, it was so fuckin’ crowded in there, and I didn’t know where you went. Surprised you guys didn’t hear all the commotion.”

You weren’t surprised you missed the whole fiasco. Frankie had you coming so hard that you saw Jesus Christ himself.

“So, what?” Frankie prodded, annoyance laced in his voice as he drove over the bumpy road, glancing in his rearview mirror every few moments to see you. “The police got called and they both got arrested?”

Santi makes an affirmative humming noise, looking out the window as they pull up to the town’s police department.

“Fuck,” Santi swears as he hops out the back of the truck. “I haven’t done this in a few years. Don’t remember how it goes.”

You jump in before you can stop yourself. “We need to go in, ask for his name, and figure out what he’s being charged with. We pay his bail, he completes his release paperwork, and as long as he didn’t bad mouth any cops in there, we should be in and out, bada-bing-bada-boom.” You say as you clap-wipe your hands in demonstration of how painless this process should be. But Frankie and Santi still look starstruck.

“Don’t ask. Let’s go.” You say as you hop out of the truck, the two men following suit.

You imagined their friend Benny to be this mean, big, bad guy. But you guys didn’t see the way this man smiled upon seeing his friends come to pick him up. He was the definition of a Golden Retriever if we’re still speaking in dog lingo.

Tussled dark blonde hair, big blue eyes, and a smile that would make any person melt. He just wasn’t what you were expecting when you heard that one of Frankie’s drunk asshole friends was arrested. Maybe you expected another stoner-type who didn’t give a fuck. You were wrong.

“Arrested for defending a woman’s honor,” Benny scoffs as he digs his possessions out of a large envelope. You eye the way he delicately places his watch back on his wrist before bumming a cigarette from Frankie. The glow of the lighter illuminates his face a mute orange before the end of his cigarette caught blaze. Then you were all surrounded by the blue of a midnight sky again.

“What, like you wouldn’t do it again?” Santi teases, stuffing his hands in his pockets as the cigarette slowly made its way down the line to Frankie.

“Fuck that, I’d do it again tomorrow if I had to.” He chirps with a laugh. “Fish, you should have heard the way this guy was badmouthing this woman, I mean, the most vulgar shit that came out of his mouth just because she wouldn’t let him buy her a drink.”

“M’glad I wasn’t there. There would have been two guys arrested tonight.” Frankie mutters, the cigarette passing from him to you.

“Wouldn’t believe how often that shit happens.” You mutter before you take a drag. Benny leans forward to take a look at you, maybe just now realizing you were even here.

“Yeah?” He probes for more as you slowly nod, tipping the ash off the end of the cigarette.

“My friend was called a cunt last week after saying no to a guy wanting to sit next to her at the bar. He knew the seat was taken, our other friend just went to the bathroom. He purposely waited until she was alone to make a move.”

“No shit.” Santi hummed curiously.

“Seriously. Called her a fat bitch, said he’d hope somethin’ really bad would happen to her. If I was there, I would have knocked his teeth in.”

Benny slowly smiles, nodding proudly. “I have no doubt. Just wish you didn’t have to do that stuff in the first place.”

You sigh as you glance at Frankie, who’s looking at you with sympathetic eyes. But he knows you don’t really like it when he looks at you like that, so he quickly glances at his shoes.

“Wait,” Benny whispers with a goofy grin. “Fish, is this the girl from the diner you always talk about?”

Even in the dark of night, Frankie’s sweet glowy blush tints his face. Or maybe it was the alcohol, but he wouldn’t have driven if he was that out of it.

“Yeah, yeah, Benny, this is her.”

“Oh shit, hi,” Bennys says as he stands in front of you and offers you his hand to shake. “I know this is kind of a bad start, gettin’ me out of jail and all, but I’m Benny Miller, nice to meet you in person. My guy here,” Benny pauses to playfully yank around Frankie’s shoulder, “he’s always tellin’ us stories about the diner. Can’t think of one you’re not mentioned or the star of the show.”

The smile on your face can’t help but grow as you playfully eye Frankie who is being all too quiet. You hand Frankie the cigarette as a distraction, shaking Benny’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Benny. And trust me, I’ve met guys under worse circumstances. Like working with them at a diner.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Frankie mutters playfully around the cigarette in his mouth.

The whole group erupts into laughter, Benny and Santi both taking the opportunity to say their proper greetings and apologies for busting up your night with their friend.

“I should probably get back to my brother.” Benny hums, motioning his head back to the bar’s general direction. “If he thinks I had to do another overnighter, I owe him twenty bucks.” He teases as you all start piling back into the truck.

Frankie drops Santi and Benny back off at the bar, the entirety of the building shaking with applause and whistles to see that their noble heroes have returned. A very specific pretty blonde rushes up to Benny and thanks him with a kiss.

“And he still gets the girl.” You hum, watching from the passenger side window.

“He always does, that one.” Frankie teases, his hand coming over to rest on your upper thigh, thumb making gentle circles over your jeans. “Lemme take you home.”

You swallow down a lump in your throat, gently resting your hand over Frankie’s. “Is home your apartment?” You ask, slowly raising a hopeful eyebrow as he nods.

“Can be.”

A nod to that, Frankie starts his truck down the road again.

You need to tell him the truth, that this didn’t make you official. That you were still wary, trying to learn how to ride a bike again, sort of thing.

“What?” He asks, knowing you’re thinking too loud in your head.

You part your lips to speak but realize you shouldn’t feel bad about what you have to say. “I’m not ready for a full commitment. You’re not my boyfriend, Frankie, not yet. I just wanna take things slow. See if this is what we both really want.”

The right side of Frankie’s mouth twitches up into a smile. “We’ll figure it out. If no label is what you want right now, I’ll wait.”

You can feel your heart swell at his understanding. The last thing you wanted was for Frankie to start announcing to the world that you were dating. Not when you didn’t feel fully ready. You had bad relationship habits, ones you were ready to finally outgrow. But you didn’t want him to be subjected to your learning process. So you both could wait.

Frankie’s hand rotates palm side up, fingers apart. You slip your hand over his, your fingers interlocking as he starts the familiar route back to his apartment. This would be a lot of work, and you both had to be patient.

“Take things slow...” Frankie slowly murmurs. “Does this mean we can’t have sex?”

“No, fuck that.” You both laugh, squeezing his hand in your hold.

here's my masterlist!

follow hellishfics and turn on notifications to see the next time I update!

#frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x reader #fuck yeah frankie #francisco morales #catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #francisco catfish morales #pedro pascal

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saradika · 8 months

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would you by any chance be able to do some halloweeny type masterlist headers pls?🥰

i’m making a new account and i love all of your dividers and headers and wanna keep with your themes❤️

Ahh hi, thank you so much! And sure! I made some up - I def got too excited about these, haha. These ended up a mix of Halloween/fall vibes. Hope you like them!!

If you missed it, I have: witchy, and skeleton (part 2 here) themed headers! And have more dividers here 🎃🍁💖

[Free] Masterlist Headers & Dividers!

Please consider liking or reblogging if you use 💕

#Halloween #masterlist headers #dividers #line dividers #graphics #requests #Anon #saradika’s graphics

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krirebr · 6 months

Text

Don't Touch Me, I'm a Real Live Wire

Pairing: Dark!Ransom Drysdale x Dark!Female Reader, past Andy Barber x Reader

Word Count: ~1.9k

Summary: You take a trip to Boston - A sequel to We Are Vain and We Are Blind

Warnings: Horror elements, lots of discussion of murder, a little gore, discussion of past cheating, Ransom and Reader being generally creepy and gross, mind control - All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Divider by @saradika

Masterlist

A/N: Surprise, they're back! I just could not get these two out of my head, so here we are with a little Halloween treat. If you haven't read We Are Vain & We Are Blind, this has massive spoilers for how that ends, so you'll want to read it first. Otherwise, enjoy and happy Halloween!

As always, any comments or reblogs are very appreciated. I'm so obsessed with these two, so if you have any questions or thots about their further adventures, please send them my way!

All titles for this AU come from Psycho Killer by The Talking Heads

“Andrew, it’s time to wake up.”

His eyelids fluttered and you saw his eyeballs move, but he didn’t fully wake, so you brushed the hair off his forehead and said, a little bit louder now, “Andrew, sweetheart, wake up.”

He let out a happy, sleepy little hum as he opened his eyes and smiled to see you lying next to him. You smiled back, excitement thrumming through you, as his smile gave way to confusion. You didn’t move, just watched eagerly as his brain slowly caught up. When it finally did, he pushed away from you. “What the fuck? What are– You can’t be here!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, buddy,” Ransom said from his place at the foot of the bed.

Andy surged up, getting out of bed and to the other side of the room as fast as he could go. You got up much more slowly, unhurried, and placed yourself in front of Ransom as he continued. “If you’d been smart, we wouldn’t have been able to get in. But you left her name on the lease, didn’t you? Stupid boy.” He pulled you flush to him and splayed a possessive hand across your stomach, hooking his chin over your shoulder.

“Who the fu– Wha– Why–” Andy spluttered.

“Oh poor baby,” you cooed. “You’ve always been so useless before your second cup of coffee, huh?” Ransom’s chuckle huffed against your neck.

Andy took a deep breath and pulled himself up straight. He called your name, sternly. You hadn’t missed that. “You and your fuck boy need to get the fuck out of my house.”

You could feel Ransom roll his eyes. His whole body moved with it. You were smiling still. You hadn’t stopped since you’d opened the bedroom window and slipped through.

“We’ve already been over this,” Ransom said. “You were lazy and left her name on the lease, so in the eyes of any laws that matter to us,” he grinned, “she has every right to be here and we don’t need an invitation.”

You watched Andy’s eyes flit to his phone plugged in to charge on his bedside table. “I’m serious,” he said in his lawyer voice, “you need to leave right now or I’m calling the cops.”

You and Ransom just stood there and waited. The second you saw Andy decide to go for his phone, you were across the room in a blink. You locked eyes with his. You’d been practicing for this. “Stop,” you compelled, feeling your voice vibrate with it. He froze and you felt high off of it. “Stay,” you added and when he didn’t move, you patted his head and said, “Good boy.”

“What is happening, why can’t I move?” he asked, panicked, as you turned your back on him. “What did you do to me?”

You ignored him and returned to where Ransom was intently looking through the room.

“So this is where you lived,” Ransom said, looking around with his hands on his hips.

“Mhmm,” you answered.

“It doesn’t suit you,” he said. “So small.”

You let out a little laugh. “There are other rooms.”

He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.” You did and you had to agree with him. You hadn’t been sure what to expect coming back here. A pang of longing maybe. Some sort of homesickness. But you felt nothing. This was someone else’s home from someone else’s life.

Andy was still carrying on in the background, getting louder now that he was being ignored. You turned to look at him and Ransom wrapped his arms around your stomach, lightly nipping at your neck. “That,” he said, nodding to Andy, “is a choice I’ll never understand.”

You shrugged. “It made sense at the time.”

He hummed into your neck, placing a hungry kiss there. “Only because I hadn’t shown you what you could be, yet,” he sighed. “What was hiding inside of you this whole time.” You pushed yourself back into him, grasping his hands where they met on your stomach. “Poor little thing,” he continued, “desperately needing something without knowing what. No wonder you came running right to me.” Your eyes fluttered shut, as one of his hands slowly traveled up your abdomen to the space between your breasts. “Look at you now, all this power–”

Andy yelled your name and you looked up at him. “Everyone’s searching for you! Your parents are worried sick. They won’t stop calling to see if I’ve seen you. Tineka’s convinced I’ve buried your body somewhere. And this whole time, you’ve just been what? Fucking some guy?”

You frowned at the mention of your parents. You felt something at that. Sadness maybe, but it was so far away. Like you were experiencing someone else’s memories.

“Shut up,” Ransom said calmly, but you could feel the power in the command. Andy immediately went silent.

Ransom walked you over to the bed without giving up his grip on you. “So this is where the magic happened?” You snorted. “How many other women did he fuck in your bed?”

“Three,” you snarled. “That I know of.”

He ran a hand over your hair as he looked over at Andy. “I don’t know why you had to go looking elsewhere when you had such a perfect grade-A pussy waiting for you at home,” he said and ran his nose up the column of your throat. Your want thrummed through your entire body—every part of you. There hadn’t been a single second of a day that you hadn’t needed him since he turned you. You were always hungry for him. He’d told you it would calm down once you’d had more time to adjust. You weren’t sure you wanted it to.

“I’m thinking you just didn’t know how to use it,” he continued, talking to Andy but letting his hands roam all over you. “You know, the first time I went down on her, she acted like she’d never had a real orgasm before. I had to be the one to unlock all her power after you’d tamped it down. To show her how good she could feel and be all the time. Forever.”

At that, you craned your head back to catch Ransom’s lips in a passionate kiss. His hands wandered up to your breasts, squeezing just right. You moaned into his mouth. You were so tempted to push him down on the bed, take him right there, but that wasn’t what you'd come here for. Wasn’t what you were starving for.

You broke the kiss and looked back at Andy. He was furious but mingled with that, you could also see fear. It made you gleeful. You wanted more. You locked eyes with him and let your fangs drop. There was the briefest moment of confusion on his face, but then the penny dropped and he finally understood what was happening. Still held in place by your command, he couldn’t cower, but you could see how much he wanted to.

Ransom was still pawing away at you, but you were getting tired of the foreplay. “I’m hungry,” you whined.

He laughed, “You’re always hungry, my insatiable little thing.”

“I’m ready. Let me bite him.”

Ransom hummed into your neck. “You gonna play with him a little before you kill him?”

You let yourself relish the abject terror on Andy’s face before you answered. “I’m not going to kill him.”

Ransom’s hands fell to your hips as he took a step back and turned you around to face him. “What do you mean you aren’t going to kill him?”

“I want to taste him, feed on him, and then make sure he’ll never tell anyone he saw us, and leave. I want him to know that I can come back any time I want. I want him to go crazy with it. I want to make him feel the way you made me feel.”

“Baby,” he said, his tone slightly cajoling, “you know why I had to do that.”

You nodded. You did. He’d explained it to you and you’d understood. He had to break you down before he could build you back up—before he could make you into what you were always meant to be. You reached out to him and grazed your fingertips over his cheek. “I know,” you said, “and you know I’m so grateful for it. But it doesn’t change how scared I was. And that’s how I want him to feel. For the rest of his life.”

Ransom sighed. “You’re still so young, honey. You haven’t shown the best restraint so far. Are you sure you’ll be able to stop?”

“I’m getting better,” you pouted.

“You are,” he agreed, “but remember how upset you were after that waitress? I just don’t want you to be disappointed in yourself if this doesn’t go how you’d planned, little rabbit.”

“I can do it,” you said firmly. “And you’ll help me.”

He rolled his eyes fondly. “Yeah, I’ll help you. But I still say we should just kill him and be done with it.”

“Noted,” you said with a gentle smile and a quick peck to his lips. You turned back to Andy and slowly erased the distance between you. You traced his cheekbone with a sharp fingernail and gave a feral grin as you watched him do what he could to flinch away from you. “I want to hear him beg,” you said, without breaking eye contact with him.

Ransom groaned behind you. “It’s going to be annoying.”

“No, it’ll be good. He’ll beg so pretty, won’t you, darling?”

“Fine,” Ransom sighed behind you. You could just imagine his irritated face as he grasped your waist and sandwiched you between the two men. “You may speak,” he said over your shoulder.

Andy breathed your name. Once, twice. “I don’t know what’s happened to you, but you don’t have to do this. Whatever he’s making you– This isn’t you. I know it isn’t. I know you. You don’t want to do this, you don’t. Listen, listen, I– I still love you. I do.” He was frantic, babbling. It was incredible. “Come on! It’s me. I know I hurt you, and, and I’m sorry. But you still love me, I know you do. Don’t do this. Please. Please, you can’t do this. You can’t fucking do this!”

“I’ll tell you one thing, bud,” Ransom said, his mouth so close to your ear, every inch of him pressed up against your back. “You never fucking knew her.” He squeezed your waist. “Come on, baby, let’s do what we came here for.”

You pressed back into Ransom for the briefest moment and then lunged forward latching onto Andy’s neck, holding him close in your arms. As his blood filled your mouth, you groaned in pleasure. He was so fucking good, everything you dreamed. You sucked hard, feeling him losing strength beneath you when Ransom suddenly pulled you back.

“Pace yourself, little rabbit,” he said.

You looked down at Andy, quickly losing color. “But he’s so good,” you whined. “I want more.”

“I know you do, and you’ll have it. But first, give me a taste.” He forced you to let go of Andy, who collapsed onto the floor and turned you around. He licked Andy’s blood off your lips. “Mmm,” he hummed in consideration. “He’s fine I guess. Nothing compared to you.” You smiled into it as he kissed you again. “Come on, let’s get him on the bed. We still have all night.”

#dark ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #dark reader #dark!ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x female reader #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x you #andy barber #andy barber x reader #dark fic #dark!fic #knives out #defending jacob #chris evans fanfiction #fanfic #kris wrote something #we are vain & we are blind #don't touch me i'm a real live wire

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lives-in-midgard · 4 months

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🎄Christmas With The Maximoff Family 🎄

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Summary: After celebrating Easter and Halloween with Wanda and her kids it's time to celebrate the Christmas season.

Word Count: 945

A/N: Hey everyone! Here is another fic with the Maximoff Family. I think I should really make a Masterlist with the fics I wrote for them as a family now. Hope you enjoy! 💗

Divider made by @saradika.

Prompt 19: Family time AU

(prompt from @buckys-wintersoldier)

Masterlist | Fluffcember Masterlist

It was just a few days after Wanda and you took down the Halloween decorations around the house, and when you asked her to help you move the Christmas decorations from the garage into the house. You had the idea to surprise Billy and Tommy with it when they got home later. So, you and Wanda went to the garage right after breakfast. You looked around and immediately found the boxes with Christmas things you put there when you moved in. You were so excited to celebrate your first Christmas with them. You can’t wait to experience all the activities and traditions that lie ahead.

“Wow, detka, you really love Christmas.” Wanda said when she saw how much it was.

“Yeah, I really do.” Wanda laughed and then helped you carry everything into the house. With the help of her magic, you finished very quickly. You looked around for a while and didn’t really know where to start because now you not only have your things, but also Wanda’s Christmas decorations. Wanda decided to put on some music and then the two of you started decorating. While decorating, you would sometimes look at her and smile. If you had to stand on a ladder to hang something up, Wanda could use her magic.

“Let me help you detka.” Wanda said when she saw you. She quickly walked towards you until she was standing next to you. You didn’t know what Wanda was planning until you suddenly flew through the air and landed perfectly in her arms. You looked at her and started blushing and hiding your face in her neck. Wanda started giggling and gently dropped you back to the floor. You both smiled at each other. Then Wanda leaned in, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and kissed you. As you broke the kiss you said.

“But now we have to move on before Agnes comes home with the boys.” Wanda looked at the clock and then nodded.

“Oh yeah, we really have to.” After half an hour you were finished and went into the kitchen with Wanda to start cooking. You were putting the food in the oven and were about to kiss her again when suddenly the door opened, and you heard Billy and Tommy come in. Wanda looked at you a little annoyed.

“They always come at the right moment.” You chuckled and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then took her hand and walked into the living room.

“Wow, that looks so cool.” Billy said and both kids looked around smiling.

“It was your moms’ idea.” Wanda said, looking over at you. You blushed and nodded. It still felt new to be called their mom by Wanda and other people, but you were so happy with them.

“I also wanted to decorate but Ralph said it was too early.”

“Oh, Agnes, don’t listen to him. Do what you want to do!” Wanda advised her. They talked for a while, but you couldn’t hear about what, because Billy and Tommy were now asking you about some Christmas traditions, they would like to do this year.

“Let’s talk to your mama about it later, okay.” You suggested. And that’s exactly what you did later that day. Wanda made a list of all the activities you would like to do.

Time passed and you did many things that you wanted to do. You went ice skating, built a gingerbread house, and watched movies together. When it started snowing, you had a snowball fight and had a really nice time together. You and Wanda made a homemade Advent calendar for Billy and Tommy. They were very excited and happy to open it every day. One day you suggested going to a Christmas market and the boys went there to meet Santa. On a snowy afternoon you wanted to decorate the Christmas tree together. It was such a beautiful and special memory for all of you.

You and Wanda also had some special moments just for the two of you. One time when you were baking cookies together it ended in a fight and the two of you ended up full of all sorts of things. Then you had to take a shower and then snuggled up in bed to watch a movie.

You had such a wonderful Christmas time together and now it was finally Christmas morning. When you woke up, Wanda placed a soft kiss on your forehead. You cuddled for a while and talked about whatever came to mind.

“I love you so much, Wands.” You said after a while.

“I love you too, detka.”

“I can’t wait to see Billy and Tommy’s reaction to their gifts and yours to my gift.”

“Me too and I can’t wait to see what you’ll say to mine.” You stayed in bed for a few more minutes until you heard Billy and Tommy knock on the door.

“Mama, mom!” They shouted and you both chuckled.

“Come in, boys.” Wanda yelled back and the door opened as quickly as possible. They ran to the bed and jumped in.

“Slow down boys.” You said but also had to laugh because they were so excited.

“Can we see what Santa put under the tree?” Billy and Tommy looked between the two of you. You looked over at Wanda and nodded at her.

“Sure, let’s go.” She said, jumped off the bed but waited for you and Wanda to get up and go downstairs with you. As the boys ran to the tree, you took Wanda’s hand and kissed her on the cheek.

“Merry Christmas, my love.”

��Merry Christmas, detka.”

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jksprincess10 · 7 months

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Attraction spell || Vampire ! Joel x Witchy reader

CW: DDDNE, noncon/dubcon, stalking, blood play, using blood as lube, ambiguous ending, unprotected p in v, fingering, praise kink, choking, pain kink, rough sex, minimal editing. (around 1400 words)

Divider by saradika

Notification blog

This place almost feels like it's between life and death. It's overrun by dust, but it's as warm as human flesh.

And you, you look so alive, so warm, as he peers through the window of your small witchcraft store. A lot more curious people seemed enticed by your shop on Halloween day, or Samhain as you'd call it, so he had to wait until things quieted down. Usually, you waited long hours until you had costumers, reading, cleaning, playing with tarot cards. He knew each and every one of your habits. But today, you were a busy bee.

When all the kids leave happily with their pumpkins stuffed with candy, he looks down at his beat-up watch. Only a few minutes before closing time.

You clean your workspace and make sure every herb is in the right spot. You looked at your low candy inventory and grab one for yourself as you start cleaning the floors, a lollipop between your lips.

You do not hear the door open. Weird... usually, the bell rings. But there's a man, alone, in your shop. You try to repress the goosebumps you feel all over your arms and the scream of surprise that threatens to leave your lips.

His fingers are touching every nick knack, every shiny rock before he looks at you with a smile that makes you uneasy.

He's unnaturally beautiful with deep brown eyes and matching curly hair. You on suck the lollipop one last time before you take it out of your mouth to speak.

"Oh hi there! Didn’t hear you come in. I was just starting to clean before close, but feel free to ask for help." You offer in an overly enthusiastic tone.

Joel watches the red candy closely, drenched in your saliva, before looking at your eyes, where he detects the sweet feeling of fear.

“Sorry darlin’, didn’t mean to startle ya.” He has a southern drawl to his voice; he wasn’t from around here. His accent almost didn’t match his face. “Was lookin’ for a love spell. Hopin’ a sweet witch could help.”

“Hmmm.” You leave your broom aside and turn around to look at your shelves lines with different transparent jars, all labeled in your clean, cursive writing. “Love spells aren’t very ethical. But – I can make an attraction spell for you, does that work?”

You don't hear him move, even though he’s wearing heavy boots, and when you turn around, he’s right there. Crowding you behind the small space of your counter and your wall of shelves. He’s tall and broad, and he makes you feel like a vulnerable mouse he could just crush under his feet. Your breath gets stuck in your throat, and you feel yourself suffocated by his mere presence. Under his cologne smell, you detect the slightest hint of the coopery smell of blood.

You keep your calm. It wasn’t your first time dealing with creeps.

“That works, darlin’.”

“I’ll just need your name.” You move away from him swiftly to collect your ingredients.

“Why?” The man asks, clearly annoyed.

“Can’t put my intention a spell behind without a name.”

“Joel.”

“Alright, Joel, let’s get started.”

You do your best to ignore him as you put the herbs in a small fabric bag. You do your best to ignore your hands that are violently shaking. You do your best to ignore how you’re making a mess on your clean counter, herbs littering the space. Before you can even feel him there, you feel a sharp pain in your neck, like a deep puncture. You almost fall, but strong hands hold you in place, fingers splayed over your stomach.

“What the f-”

“Shh sweetheart, le’me enjoy my meal, yeah?”

You can’t scream, you’re suffocating. When he pulls his fangs out, you feel weak, but thankfully, he holds you up. You hope this is just a really bad nightmare and you’ll wake up in your bed in seconds…

He licks your neck, cleans his mess. You repress the butterflies in your lower abdomen.

“M’sorry, a man has to eat. Been watching you for a long time.” His voice is deep and rough next to your ear. “Knew just how sweet you’d be.”

He spins you around in his arms, just so you can see how sincere he looks. Brown irises were replaced by a deep crimson that matches the – your blood dripping from his lips. You try to push him away, but his grip is iron-like.

“You had what you wanted, let me go…” You whisper weakly.

“Hmhm. Don’t have my fill of ya just yet.”

You spin, too fast. He pushes on your lower back, so the top of your body is laying against your shop counter. You feel his hips against you, he’s so close.

“Please Joel, don’t hurt me.”

“M’not gonna hurt you. Gonna make you feel real good. Stay still.” While he tears off all your clothes, he takes a bite on the other side of your neck, but this time, he lets the blood run down your neck for a little while, watching like a satisfied predator. He uses two of his fingers to collect the blood dripping from the wound, and he uses those same fingers to enter your heat. You’re closing around him, resisting.

“Relax. Not gonna hurt you.” He repeats.

“O-Okay.”

You’re breathing in and out until you’re more relaxed. Joel waits until he feels your walls relaxing to start moving his fingers, stretching you. He curls his digits, finding that spot deep within you. You let out a moan.

“There ya go, hun’. Enjoy yourself.”

You’re wetting his fingers, creating a beautiful potion of your juices and your blood. He thrusts his fingers roughly, in and out, creating a symphony of wet sounds and moans in the empty store.

“Knew you’d be such a good girl.” Joel’s words push you over the edge.

Your walls flutter around his fingers and he feels you getting even wetter. He takes his fingers away from you and spins you around. You’re a wreck: blood still spilling from your neck wounds, completely naked, your clothes torn in shreds by your feet. He smiles, his shiny canines fully out. His lips close around his digits, sucking off the blood and the remains of your orgasm.

His eyes roll into the back of his skull, and you can’t help the deranged thought that crosses your mind: he’s breathtakingly beautiful. But so are most monsters.

“You could’ve at least kissed me before fucking me, Joel.”

“I’m sorry.” But he smirks. He’s not.

Joel’s hands are on your face, grabbing, pulling at you until his lips are crashing against yours, a wave of depravity and sharp teeth scratching your bottom lip. His hands go from your cheeks to your throat, putting pressure there, as if to stop the blood from dripping. The air is leaving your lungs slowly, and you feel like you’re actually going to die, until he props you up on your counter. You watch him with dark eyes as he unzips his pants. He’s tanned all over. You thought vampires would be paler, but maybe it was a myth.

You sit back, resting on your palms as you watch him working his erection. You wrap your legs around his middle and follow his length disappearing between your legs. Your head lay against his broad shoulder. He barely gives you a moment to adjust before his hips are snapping harshly against yours. Pants are escaping from your lips as he moves rapidly. But your mind wanders. To find something that could save your life.

You doubt that the vampire would let you go after this, especially if he’s been stalking you. He pulls on your hair to look down at your face, feeling how you suddenly got distracted. He stills inside you. He knows.

“Whatever you’re thinkin’, doll, you’re not getting out of this.” Joel groans menacingly.

Before you can react in any way, you’re facing the ground, your face squished against the creaky floorboards, his weight pushing you down.

“I-I wasn’t tryin’ to…”

He pulls on your hair and stuffs three thick fingers in your mouth to shut you up, making you gag.

“Be a good girl and shut the fuck up.” The vampire lets go of your hair and puts his palm beside your head to support his weight. Joel is breaking into your walls again, picking up where he left off at the same punishing pace. His length is so deep, it almost hurts, but the line between pleasure and pain had been blurred for a while now. You suck on his fingers to muffle your screams while he pounds into you violently. After a few more thrusts, he stills and erupts between your walls, filling you up.

Finally, he frees your mouth and lets you turn around, still caged by his massive body.

“Just kill me already.” You whisper weakly.

“Oh no, baby.” He coos in a sickly-sweet tone. “I’ll keep you. For eternity.”

#jksprincess10's spooktober #halloween fanfiction #joel miller halloween fanfiction #vampire!joel #vampire!joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller tlou #vampire fic #dark!joel #dark joel fic #dark joel miller

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Summary: Conflict arises with Harris's new teacher, filling Halloween with more tricks than treats. But it's nothing a visit with Ms. Sweetheart can't fix.

Warnings: allusion to Reader and Eddie's one-night stand, panic attack, Reader's grandma has dementia.

WC: 5.6k

Chapter 6/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

Guns N’ Roses t-shirt: check. Goodwill jeans with makeshift holes in the knees: check. Bandana tied snugly around his forehead: check. Arms littered with an assortment of temporary tattoos: check.

Eddie grins as he assesses his son’s costume, reaching into the thrift store bag as he pulls out the pièce de résistance: a denim jacket, only two sizes bigger than Harris would usually wear. It was a bit over what he’d been hoping to spend, but he’d reasoned with himself that it could also be worn after Halloween. It was an investment, he’d decided, not a splurge.

His smile falters when Harris indignantly stomps his foot, crossing his arms over his chest. While Eddie had hoped his son would go with more badass tattoo options, perhaps a skull and crossbones or even a snake, he had insisted on a Sesame Street theme. Cookie Monster munches on his signature treat as Harris pouts.

“No, Daddy!” he whines, twisting away when Eddie holds the jacket closer to him. “I can’t wear that!”

“C’mon, Har,” he tries, scouring his brain to come up with a convincing enough lie. “Axl Rose wore jackets all the time!”

Harris doesn’t just shake his head; he swivels his entire body back and forth in protest. “I don’t care! No one’s gonna be able to see my tattoos!” He holds out both arms in front of him; nearly every square inch (besides the section blocked by his cast) is covered. Eddie had spent most of last night diligently applying them precisely where Harris had asked, lest there be a tantrum. There was, unfortunately, a headless Elmo from when Harris had asked–no, demanded–that he try by himself. Still, Eddie figured that only one casualty was a win.

“Those are some sweet ol’ tatties,” Eddie muses, biting back a laugh at the two-dimensional Big Bird on his son’s forearm. “But wouldn’t it be cool if you wore the jacket into school and then–BAM!--took it off and surprised everyone with them?

Harris appears to consider this, mouth tucked into his cheeks. “Can I show Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Sure, bud. We’ll stop by her classroom when I pick you up.” Whatever gets us out of the house in weather-appropriate attire. “But first, show me your most metal pose.”

The boy opens his mouth wide and sticks out his tongue as far as it extends, scrunching his face dramatically until the corners of his eyes crinkle. His middle and ring fingers press into his palm, thumb crossing over them, with his forefinger and pinky raised in the quintessential rock ‘n roll symbol.

Eddie swoops down and smacks a wet kiss to Harris’s cheek. “That’s my boy!”

Standing among the crowd of parents at pick-up, Eddie opts out of making banal small talk and instead chooses to look at the bulletin board. The previous art project that had been hanging against the faded blue paper–”self-portraits” that the students had made on the first day of school–have been replaced by finger paintings of orange blobs that vaguely resemble pumpkins. There wasn’t one for Harris because he was in Ms. Sweetheart’s classroom then, so it’s his first art project in his new class. He eagerly scans the board for Harris’s, frowning when he can’t find his name.

Maybe it’s still drying, he tries to convince himself, imagining his son over-saturating the paper with globs of paint. It wouldn’t be entirely out of character.

Ms. Marion’s classroom is a sea of costumed children. A boy dressed as one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles stands by his mom. A Cinderella, a black cat, and a Thomas the Tank Engine surround Ms. Paula. As soon as Eddie spots Harris, he smiles and waves him over, hurriedly scribbling his signature on the sign-out sheet.

He expects Harris to zoom past the other kids, fueled by the standard Halloween diet of sugar and chocolate, but he just kind of…mopes to the doorway. His shoulders slump dejectedly, and though he keeps his gaze low, Eddie can still see the film of mist staining his innocent eyes.

“Har, what’s wrong?” He waits for an answer, and when he doesn’t receive one–an oddity for his perpetually chatty son–he tries a new tactic. “Wanna show me where your artwork is? I must be gettin’ old, because I couldn’t find it on the board out there.”

“‘S not there,” Harris mumbles, scratching off a flaking piece of the Rosita tattoo on the back of his hand. “I didn’t get to finish.”

Eddie watches as the tears start to slip down his cheeks, and he brings him into the hallway before Ms. Marion or Ms. Paula sees what’s going on. He can’t be certain, but his paternal instincts tell him that they’ve contributed to Harris’s sad state. “Why not?”

“I-I t-tried, but M-Ms. Mar-Marion and Ms. P-Paula got m-mad at me.” The words come out between choked sobs. “‘C-Cuz I c-couldn’t sit d-down.”

“What do you mean?”

“I k-keeped st-standing up, ‘cuz m-my legs wanted to st-stand.” The explanation tumbles out of him so quickly, as though he’s trying to beat the clock. “And they s-said if I did-didn’t sit down, I c-couldn’t do art. But I k-keeped f-f-forgetting, and th-they t-taked away my pay-pay-paper and said, ‘sit in the c-corner!’”

Eddie’s breath hitches, and he has to clear his throat before speaking again. “Did…did that happen in Ms. Sweetheart’s class? The legs thing?”

“Mhm,” Harris manages, “b-but she let me stand and d-do ju-jumps to get the wig-wiggles out. She just t-t-telled me not to do ju-jumps with s-s-scissors, ‘cuz of s-safety.” His breathing increases to a rapid pace, face flushing red as his chest heaves. “B-But Ms. M-Marion ye-ye-yelled at me!”

Eddie’s brows pinch together, and he gently presses his calloused palms against Harris’s narrow shoulders, desperate to prevent him from hyperventilating. “Harris, you gotta calm down. I can’t understand you when you’re crying like this!” Despite his efforts, his frustration bleeds into his tone, and he winces when the latter sentence ends with an unwanted snap. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s just an art project.”

“Harris?”

The sound of your voice draws the attention of both Munsons. You let out a small oof as Harris flings himself against your legs, and though he practically flew the five foot distance between his father and you, now is not the time to remind him about using his walking feet.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” You crouch down, taking his hand in yours, and notice his quick, shallow breaths. “We’re gonna breathe together, okay? Eyes on me.” You demonstrate inhaling for three seconds, holding for three seconds, and exhaling for three seconds. “Now let’s do it together.”

He hesitates but ultimately follows your lead, and you guide him until his breathing slows enough for him to sputter, “I t-tried to sit, b-but I c-couldn’t.”

You haven’t the slightest idea what he’s referring to, but Eddie fills you in. You feel the heat of anger creeping through your body, not just for the way your co-worker treated the sweet boy, but for her insolent approach to teaching as a whole.

“We can go to my classroom,” you offer, silently sighing in relief when the boy nods in agreement. “I don’t know if I have the supplies to make the same project as Ms. Marion, but if you have a few minutes, you can draw something now. I bet Mr. Will would love to help you; he’s a super-duper artist.”

Just as you’d predicted, Will jumps at the opportunity to help Harris with his impromptu art project, encouraging him to draw something that makes him happy. While he does that, you comb through the mess left behind from the Halloween party you’d thrown. You’d sooner toss one hundred cupcake wrappers in the trash before attempting a conversation with Eddie Munson. He’s simply too unpredictable; kind and thoughtful one day, harsh and guarded the next.

One of the wrappers in your hand drops to the floor and you reach forward to pick it up, pinching the pleated material between your pointer and middle fingers. You can feel Eddie’s eyes on your form, the way the backs of your thighs are slightly exposed when you bend over, and you stand up quickly.

“Are you the Magic School Bus lady?” He takes in your lavender dress with planets and stars stamped all over it. Oh. He wasn’t checking you out; he was just trying to figure out who you’d dressed up as. Good. Anything else would be inappropriate.

So why does a twinge of disappointment radiate through you?

You glance at your costume; with all of the commotion, you’d forgotten you’d even been wearing one “I mean, would I even be a teacher if I didn’t jump at the chance to be Ms. Frizzle?” You motion over to Will, decked out in green from head to toe with two yellow horns glued to a headband atop his mop of brown hair. “Have you met my trusty sidekick, Liz the Lizard?”

Eddie laughs. “Yeah, Byers actually used to play in my D&D club back in high school. Made some pretty sick art pieces to liven up that dingy excuse for a room.”

You look between the two of them, trying to do the mental math. “Will, didn’t you say you’re twenty-four?” And if Eddie is thirty, that means…

“I, uh, had a little trouble graduating,” Eddie sheepishly admits, ruffling the back of his hair and offering a tight grimace. “But I got there eventually. Class of ‘86, baby!”

“Worked out for me,” Will shrugs with a grin, looking up from Harris’s drawing. “You were the best DM Hellfire ever had. Although, rumor has it that Erica Sinclair gave you a run for your money.”

Harris picks up a yellow marker, furiously scribbling a circle in the left-hand corner of his paper. You try peering over to see the whole drawing, but he presses his whole body against the table, successfully thwarting your plans. “No peeking!” he warns, not putting his feet back on the ground until you’ve averted your gaze. “‘S a surprise.”

You put your hands up in surrender. “All right, all right. I’ll be surprised.” You raise your eyebrows at Eddie, who shares a similar response in return.

“Dunno when he got so bossy,” he snorts before calling out to his son, “Har-Bear? Five more minutes. We gotta get home to trick-or-treat with Grampa Wayne.”

“Ooh, that sounds like fun!” you echo as Harris grabs a purple marker from the box. “What’s your favorite candy?”

“Hmm.” Harris uses his free hand–the one with the cast–to tap his chin, continuing to color with the other one. “M&Ms. But only the plain ones. Daddy doesn’t let me have the peanut ones ‘cause he says I could choke.”

You shoot a sly, knowing look at Eddie. “I’m sure that’s the only reason. Such a selfless father.” You cross your arms over your chest and cock your head innocently. “And what do you do with all of these confiscated peanut M&Ms, Mr. Munson? Donate them?”

Eddie tucks his lips into his mouth to mask his grin. “Listen, the jig is gonna be up at some point,” he mumbles out of the corner of his mouth, loud enough so you can hear but soft enough that Harris can’t. “Let me enjoy my free candy while it lasts.”

“No judgment here,” you say with a small laugh, “they’re one of my favorites, too.”

“TA-DA!” Harris shouts, startling you, Eddie, and Will. He holds up the construction paper and smiles widely. To anyone without kids–or who didn’t teach preschool for a living–it would look like a bunch of colorful scribbles. But you can tell that he’s drawn a group of people standing by a tree (or a really, really tall flower) underneath the sun.

“Wow, Harris! That’s amazing!” you clap your hands together to punctuate your enthusiasm. “Who are all those people?”

Harris’s pointer finger travels left to right across the paper as he names each person: “That’s me, Grampa Wayne, Daddy, you, and Mr. Will!” The stick figure that represents you has a purple scribble on it, which you realize must be the costume you’re wearing. “An’ we’re all smiling because we’re happy!” Sure enough, each person has a curved red line at the bottom of their face. But there’s something else that catches your eye.

All of the people have a small space between them, except for you and Eddie. The circle that Harris drew to represent your left hand overlaps with the circle that is Eddie’s right.

You glance at the real Eddie, and if he notices, he doesn’t give any indication. “I love it, buddy.” He takes the drawing and inspects it closely. “Yup, this one’s definitely going on the fridge when we get home.” He flicks the paper for good measure. “Go clean up the markers so we can head out, Axl Rose.”

Among the noise of markers clattering back in the bins, you lean in to Eddie, inadvertently inhaling the scent of his cigarettes and cologne. For a brief moment, you’re transported back to the night fate had led you to cross paths; the thought of his lips on your neck in the stairwell has you clenching your thighs and swallowing thickly as you murmur, “I can ask him to make a new one with just you, him, and his grandpa.”

Eddie shakes his head. “N-No. I like this one.” He lets one hand drop to his side and it grazes yours. His rings brush your knuckles, and you instinctively draw back at the sensation of the cool metal and the zing of heat that pulses at his light touch. “Sorry,” he mumbles, not making eye contact.

“S’okay.”

He blinks a few times and redirects his attention to his son. “What do you say to Mr. Will and Ms. Sweetheart for letting you do your art project?”

Harris’s little chest swells as he inhales deeply, storing up as much oxygen as he can fit in his lungs before bellowing, “THANK YOUUUUUUU!”

Eddie brings his palm to his ear canal, rotating his forefinger as though trying to repair a punctured eardrum. “Love the enthusiasm,” he says through gritted teeth. “Seriously, though. Thank you both so much.”

“Of course,” Will says warmly, picking up the marker bin and placing it in its space on the shelf.

“Anything for Harris.” You smile, motioning towards the little boy already by his father’s side. “Have fun trick-or-treating tonight, bud! I can’t wait to hear about all the yummy candy you got.”

Harris scrunches his nose in contemplation. “Are you going trick-or-treating, Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Nah,” you laugh, “I’m gonna stay home and give candy to all the kids who come by.” And pray that Grandma doesn’t curse them out, you silently add.

“Oh.” Harris pauses, grabbing his dad’s hand. “Okay, bye!”

Eddie chuckles as his son pulls him towards the door. “That’s my cue. Um, Happy Halloween,” he adds awkwardly, waving once before disappearing down the hallway.

There’s so much more that he wants to say: you’re the best; you saved the day; you should be my son’s teacher instead of that old, bitchy bat. But he didn’t have time. Maybe another day. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

Wayne arrives just a few minutes after Eddie and Harris get home. As soon as his gruff voice comes over the intercom, Harris excitedly buzzes him in. “Grampa Wayne’s here!” he yells, even though Eddie’s standing right next to him. He grabs the pillowcase from the couch; it was originally white, but after Eddie accidentally threw in a red sock with the white laundry, it’s tinted light pink.

No sooner does the older man cross the threshold into the apartment, Harris is trying to drag him out again. “Let’s go, before all the good candy is gone!” he whines. His eyebrows pinch together and he drops his grandfather’s hand. “Oh, wait, I gotta show you something.” He scampers off into the kitchen, and Wayne winces when he hears the rattle of magnets falling to the floor.

“I’m okay!” Harris calls out, running back with a piece of paper in his hand. “Look what I drawed at school today!” He gives Wayne the rundown of who’s who.

Wayne analyzes each person in the picture, stopping at the overlapping circles between you and Eddie. “This is great, Har-Bear,” he muses. “Are, um, are Daddy and Ms. Sweetheart holding hands?”

“Mhm,” Harris casually confirms, taking the drawing back. “‘Cause they’re married.”

Eddie chokes on air as Wayne does a double-take. “Congrats, Ed,” he jokes, clapping a hand to his nephew’s shoulder. “Gotta say, I thought I’d at least get an invite.”

“Shut up,” Eddie grumbles, rolling his eyes. “Harris, why do you think that Ms. Sweetheart and I are married?” He wracks his brain for answers, but he can’t come to a logical conclusion. Did I talk about her in my sleep? Oh, shit, what if it was when I had that dream—

“Because you gived her a present,” Harris says, eyes innocent and wide. “And when grown-ups love each other, they give each other presents.”

“Oh, he gave Ms. Sweetheart a present, huh?” On the surface, Wayne’s words are as innocuous as Harris’s, but Eddie hears the teasing buried just beneath.

Harris nods. “Mhm. He gived her a tape!”

“It was the Toni Braxton one that she came into the shop for…that day that, uh…” Eddie raises his eyebrows at his uncle, who nods in acknowledgment. He brings his focus back to his son. “It doesn’t mean that we’re married. People have to go on dates and fall in love before they get married.”

The young boy absorbs this information. “So you should go on dates and fall in love with Ms. Sweetheart!” His face lights up at the idea of it, and it breaks Eddie’s heart to let him down.

So, he doesn’t.

“Why don’t you hang that back up so we can get outta here and get you some candy, huh?” He forces a smile and watches his son scamper into the kitchen before turning back to Wayne and shaking his head.

Harris peels a magnet off of the fridge, the one Eddie bought him on their Daddy-Son day. It has a sea lion balancing a beach ball on its snout, with HAWKINS ZOO printed in bolded letters along the bottom.

Lowering his voice to a whisper, he speaks directly to his drawing. “When Daddy and Ms. Sweetheart fall in love and get married, I’ll finally have a mommy.” He presses his hand flat against the paper as though he’s sealing in the wish. He stays like that for a moment until his dad calls his name, and he clutches his pillow case as they head out the door.

Eddie assumes that the love and marriage talk is done for the evening, but the feeling of relief doesn’t last long. The trio of Munson men is halfway down the stairwell when Wayne starts instigating. “Hey, Har, is Ms. Sweetheart pretty?”

“WAYNE!” Eddie grits his teeth and shoots a sharp look at his uncle. The last thing he needs is for Harris to get his hopes up about a blossoming romance between his dad and his former teacher.

“Oh, yeah!” Harris gleefully agrees, oblivious to the mounting tension. He grips the railing and jumps from the second to last step onto the tiled landing below. “Super pretty! Like a princess.”

The eldest Munson turns to Eddie. “Didja hear that? Pretty like a princess.”

“I heard him,” Eddie replies tersely.

“Daddy?”

No. Don’t ask me. Harris Wayne Munson, do not ask me what I think you’re going to—

“Do you think Ms. Sweetheart is pretty?”

Although he anticipated the question, Eddie still freezes. If he disagrees, Harris will inevitably want to know why not. And if he’s being honest with himself, he can’t name a single ugly thing about you.

He does think you’re pretty. He thinks you’re beautiful. Gorgeous. Stunning. And even though he’s literally seen you naked, fully on display for him–a memory he revisits more often than he’s willing to admit–it’s the thought of what you did today that solidifies your beauty. The way you’d effortlessly calmed Harris down without Eddie even having to ask. The frown on his face almost instantly became a smile, the flow of his tears ceasing and turning into the giggles that brought sunlight into Eddie’s life. You did that.

Any woman can be sexy, but you? In that moment, you were perfect.

Fuck.

“Daddy? Hello?”

At the sound of Harris’s voice, Eddie realizes that he physically hasn’t moved from his spot on the stairs. His hand is gripping the banister so tightly that it leaves an imprint in his palm. “Yeah, buddy,” he manages through his Sahara Desert throat. “I think Ms. Sweetheart’s pretty.”

“Like a princess?” Wayne’s eyes twinkle mischievously. It’s been a long time since he’s been able to tease his nephew about a crush, and he’s not passing up this limited opportunity.

“Yeah. Like a princess.”

Education outsiders might think that Halloween is one of the worst days to be a teacher. The lethal combination of sugar and excitement barely contained in tiny costumed bodies seems like a recipe for disaster. But any teacher worth their salt will tell you that there is a day far, far worse than Halloween: November 1st.

On Halloween, there is the expectation for fun. There’s a costume parade, classroom trick-or-treating, and even a little party. The kids are out of control, but who cares? It’s Halloween.

But on November 1st, there is work to be done. And you’re expected to teach the months of the year to 10 four-year-olds who are suffering from candy hangovers and won’t stop asking why they can’t go trick-or-treating again today.

You and Will are preparing for battle as students trickle in, excited to show off the candy stashes they acquired the night before. Abby Carver cries because she ate her Reese’s cup and now she’s sad that it’s gone. Joshua Harrington is continuing to “sling webs” at the other kids despite your incessant reminders that he is no longer Spider-Man. A fight over a KitKat bar breaks out not even five minutes into the day, and you confiscate it before someone causes serious bodily harm.

Two fingers lightly tap on your shoulder—too high up to be a kid—and you whirl around with an irritated, “what?”

“Whoa,” Eddie says, concern etched into his otherwise soft features. He takes a small step back, nearly tripping over a rogue Lego that somehow made its way out of the toy area. He stumbles but catches his balance easily. “Everything okay?”

“‘S a warzone out here,” you try and joke, but you feel it fall flat. You’re too tired for humor. Grandma may not have yelled at the trick-or-treaters like you’d feared, but she did get increasingly angrier with each knock on the door. After the fifth time of her snarling at you to “shut the hell up” (like you could simultaneously be on both sides of the door), you’d relented and just put the candy bowl on the welcome mat, scribbling “TAKE ONE” on a yellow sticky note, adhering it to the plastic container.

Two decades earlier, Halloween at Grandma’s house had a completely different connotation. She’d have a little pizza party all set up for you, and she’d buy a big bag of your favorite candy, in case you didn’t get enough during your door-to-door quests. And she’d always let you watch whatever spooky movie your heart desired, regardless of your parents’ rules.

“That’s what grandmas are for,” she’d said with a wink, and the two of you curled up to watch Little Shop of Horrors. Her demeanor matched the hokey magnet on her fridge that read, If I knew how fun my grandkids would be, I would’ve had them first. You’d stay like that until you both fell asleep, only being roused by your parents arriving to pick you up. The good old days, before Grandma waking up involved watching the confusion in her eyes as she tried and failed to place you.

“C-Can I help you with something?” Your guard goes up immediately when you notice that Harris isn’t with him. The time you’d spent together after school yesterday had been nice, fun, even, but you couldn’t trust that today would be the same. Not after what happened a few short weeks ago.

“I, um…I just swung by to give you this.” He reaches into the inner pocket of his denim jacket; it’s the same one that he lent to Harris when he’d forgotten his at home. A flash of yellow paper catches your eye, and he unfurls his palm to reveal a small bag of peanut M&Ms. “You said they were one of your favorites, right?”

You look at the treat, not willing to reach out and grab it. What if it’s a joke? An elaborate ploy to reel you in, just to shout “gotcha” when you finally let your walls come down?

“Are they poisoned or something?” you quip, crossing your arms over your chest. “Did you spike them with Ex-Lax?”

Eddie’s lips part in surprise before he collects himself. “Guess I deserve that,” he mumbles. “But, no. They’re not. I swear on James Hetfield’s life.” He drags his fingernail over his heart in an X-formation.

You take the bag, inspecting it for any sign of tampering, but you come up short. The edges are sealed, and there are no pinpricks as far as your eyes can see. “Dipped into Harris’s stash for me?”

“Hey, these bad boys are technically mine for the taking until he figures out that he can eat them without dying.” Eddie chuckles lightly, peering at you through impossibly long lashes. “But, yeah, I was hoping you’d accept these as part of my apology. Or apologies, I guess. For, uh, for not calling when I said I would, and all of the awful shi—awful things I said to you.” His voice is barely above a whisper as he steps closer and says, “I am so fucking sorry.”

You make a small tear in the bag, tapping it against your palm until an M&M falls out. Popping the blue candy in your mouth, you allow the shell to start dissolving on your tongue before crunching on the peanut, hoping you can process what he’s said by the time you’re finished chewing.

This is what you’ve been waiting for—an actual heartfelt apology. His brown eyes reflect nothing but shame and remorse, and you can tell by the way that he’s fidgeting with his rings that he’s anxiously awaiting your reply.

His vulnerability softens you slightly, and considering you haven’t keeled over after ingesting the candy, you throw him a bone.

“This fun size bag covers the ‘not calling’ part, but I’m gonna need a lot more candy if you want me to forgive you for what you said at the music store.” You keep your tone light; teasing, even, but there’s a layer of truth to it. He can’t merely waltz into your classroom with a gift and expect you to forget his hurtful words.

Eddie nods, his frizzy curls brushing the tops of his denim-clas shoulders. “I know. I’ve said some pretty terrible things in my life, but that might’ve been the worst. And, um,” he fumbles his words, desperately searching for the right ones. Semantics has never been his forte. “You didn’t deserve that. It’s not true; your grandma didn’t want to forget you. And…neither do I.” When you raise your eyebrows, he starts to backtrack. “Because you’re so great with Harris; like, you understand him and stuff. He’s always talking about you.”

Daddy, do you think Ms. Sweetheart is pretty? The question replays like a song he can’t shake from his head, its melody familiar but the notes still keeping him on edge. Pretty like a princess, only instead of saving her, I’m the one who needs to be rescued. So much for Prince Charming, huh?

The M&M melts in your mouth while you formulate a response to his candid admission. Sweetness seeps into your taste buds as you try to straddle the line between careful consideration and overthinking. Speak too quickly and you might say something you’ll regret. Take too long and you’ll make this even more awkward.

“W-Well, I’m glad to hear that.” Short, simple, to the point. Your words are slightly slurred by the candy obstruction, but what else is there to say? You could add that you forgive him, but you’re truthfully not sure that you do. His words scarred, had taken your already mangled self-worth and snapped it into pieces, and so did his reasoning for hurting you. Despite the love and kindness you’d shown his son, Eddie had fully believed that you were responsible for spreading personal information that would wound him. It was exactly as Jeff had said: Eddie struck below the belt at the first sign of conflict, so determined to protect himself that he didn’t even realize that he was attacking the people on his side.

The sound of books clattering to the floor snatches your attention from him, and you whip your head to your little classroom library to see two kids standing over a pile of fallen books, guilty looks stamped on their faces. “I’ve gotta go,” you blurt out, dashing off to assess the damage. You’ve never been so grateful for your students causing mischief.

The hour hand crawls to the number two; at one point, you swore the clock was moving backwards. The chaos of the morning was only a preview of the rest of the day’s fiascos, but you and Will had navigated as best as you could.

“Jesus,” he murmurs once the kids have all been dismissed, gingerly rubbing his temples, “that was brutal. I can handle the day after Halloween; I can handle Fridays, but when they coincide? Nope, never again.” He slumps into a chair dramatically, letting his arms drape over the sides.

“Gonna have a glass of wine when you get home?” you joke, wiping Play-Doh residue from a tabletop.

Will nods. “Or a whole bottle.” His focus shifts to your desk, and he nods his chin in that direction. “I see you have something to look forward to tonight, too.”

You follow his gaze, widening your eyes when you see the object he’s referring to. A bag of peanut M&Ms–much bigger than the one you’d inhaled this morning–sits on top of your desk calendar; resting next to it is a cassette. You walk over, curiosity getting the better of you. The cassette is Guns N’ Roses’ Appetite for Destruction; you recognize the iconic cover as soon as it comes into view. It’s not your usual music choice, but you’ll listen to almost anything.

There’s a piece of paper taped to the giant yellow M&M bag, folded in equal triads. Messily scrawled across the front in black ink is Ms. Sweetheart. You gently pull the adhesive loose and open the letter, nervously running your forefinger across the irregular edge where it was obviously torn from a composition notebook.

Fun size mistake=fun size bag of candy

Family size mistake=family size bag of candy

I’m really good at fucking things up, but really bad at fixing them. I wish I could say that I didn’t mean to hurt you, but we both know that I did.

You don’t have to forgive me, but I need you to know how sorry I am.

-Eddie

P.S. Not sure if hard rock is your thing, but I saw this at work and it reminded me of the kindness you showed our favorite little Axl Rose yesterday.

“Who’s it from?” Will asks, breaking into your thoughts. “A secret admirer?” He brings his clasped hands to his cheek in mock dreaminess.

You manage a laugh as you fold the note back up and tuck it under the calendar. “If it is, he’s really bad at it, because he signed his name.” When did he even sneak in here to do this? Kind of scary that someone could walk in and you didn’t even notice.

“Aha! So it is a guy!” Will pumps his fist triumphantly, though you’re not quite sure what he thinks he’s won.

“Just Eddie Munson, thanking us for letting Harris draw here yesterday.”

It’s not a total lie, but Will sees right through it. “Uh-huh. Thanking us? So that note is also for me? Can I read it?” He starts towards your desk, outstretched hand reaching towards where you’d tried to hide it, but you playfully swat them away.

You glance at the clock and frown. “If you leave a little early, I won’t tell anyone.”

Will flips you off; over the last two months, you two had developed a sibling-esque relationship that came out more once the kids had left for the day. He grabs his backpack from the supply closet and slings it over his shoulders. “You’re lucky I’m exhausted, or I’d stick around and keep bothering you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You roll your eyes, knowing full well that he’s itching to leave regardless. “Gotta save up your energy for when Marshall visits.”

Will blushes at the mention of his long-distance boyfriend’s name. He still wasn’t out to many people, but when you’d casually mentioned the date Jess had with a girl named Robin, he’d felt comfortable opening up to you. “I can’t wait!” His grin is so wide you swear it’ll stretch right off of his face. “Thanks again; you’re the best.”

That leaves you alone with your gigantic bag of candy, a Guns N’ Roses cassette, and an apology that you have no idea what to do with.

Once again, Eddie Munson has given you more questions than answers.

taglist:

@kelsiegrin @lma1986 @munsonology @stuckontheceiling @avobabe87 @eddapwinchester @peachysink @browneyes8288 @jeremyspoke-inclasstoday

@chamomileh0ney @dream-a-little-nightmare @emma77645 @kurdtbean @sheneedsrocknroll92 @tlclick73 @luceneraium @lolly-in-a-strange-land @dylanmunson @bakugouswh0r3

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honeyedmiller · 7 months

Text

Mask | Joel Miller

pairing: joel miller x f!neighbor!reader

warnings: alcohol consumption, partying, mutual pining, neighbor!reader, no outbreak, Joel’s anxious for a tiny bit, reader has a slight mask kink, porn with a plot lol. 18+, minors dni.

word count: 5.6k

synopsis: Joel throws his annual Halloween party and you’re both determined to settle your aching need for each other.

simply in honor of kinktober & inspired by @nostalxgic’s joel x ghostface edit

not revised, per usual (what’s new tbh) sorry for any mistakes.

divider by @ saradika 🖤

“So I’ll see you this weekend then, right darlin’?” Joel Miller, a.k.a. the neighborhood dilf, asks you. You were going for a run when he stopped you right in front of the sidewalk of his house, inviting you to his annual Halloween party he throws every year.

You absolutely loved Halloween, so you couldn’t pass up his offer.

“Of course you will. Can’t wait.” You toss him a smile, and he nods before you’re on your way back to your house, which was only two doors down from his.

It was Monday, so you had to figure out what you were going to be for the party this weekend. You wanted to be something that would catch the older Miller brother’s eye. You’ve been trying for a while now to express your interest in him, and either he’s just very oblivious, or he just doesn’t want you.

You’re hoping it’s moreso not the latter.

Unbeknownst to you, Joel’s younger brother Tommy had pointed it out to him several times. Joel always thought you were so beautiful. He was just apprehensive about asking you out, mainly because he hadn’t been out in the dating scene for awhile. He was rusty when it came to impressing women.

Little did he know, all the neighborhood women would gawk over him every time he even stepped outside of his house.

Joel’s daughter, Sarah, hated the way these women talked about her dad. It was weird to her that these married women would talk about someone other than their husbands in such a vulgar manner.

Funnily enough, you were the only single woman in this neighborhood. The only one with no kids and no husband.

Sarah’s taken a liking to you, as you’ve watched after her a few times Joel and Tommy would be home late from work. You were close to her dad’s age, beautiful, smart, and most definitely Joel’s type.

There was always this weird tension between you and Joel. It wasn’t awkward. It was moreso full of desire and neediness for the other, but again, Joel just didn’t know how to go about expressing that he wants you in such a way.

You ended up settling on letting him take the reigns, because if he wanted to ask you out then he’d have full control.

The week went by, and you finally decided on what you were going to be: an angel. A little cliché, you must admit, but you already had most of the costume in your wardrobe. You just needed wings and a halo, which you picked up from the Halloween shop earlier in the afternoon. The party started at eight, so it gave you a couple of hours to get ready.

You started off with your hair, giving it a dream-like appearance before diving into your makeup. You were going for a bombshell look to give a mixed element of sultry and sweet.

Once you were sure Joel would at least do a double take on you, you slipped on the parts of your costume one by one. You went for a white lace corset top with a short white skirt, angel wings, the halo, and a pair of silver sparkly strappy heels.

You dusted diamond bomb body glitter across your collar bones and gave yourself one last look in the mirror. Your pink lipstick gave you the perfect innocent pout you were going for while your eyeshadow and lashes accentuated the color and shape of your eyes.

You grab your little clutch and tossed your phone, lipstick, lash glue and keys inside before grabbing the six pack of beer you bought and locking up, heading two houses down. The music was already blaring and the laughter and chatter of people from all over the neighborhood was prevalent as it echoed through the chilly night.

You stopped on the Miller’s porch, wondering if they’d even hear if you rang the doorbell. You thought it’d be rude if you just let yourself in. You decided to ring the doorbell anyway, and not even a minute later, Tommy opened the door.

“Hey you! You look real pretty.” He grinned, and you smiled politely.

“Thanks Tommy, so do you.” You joke, admiring the Greek God costume he was sporting. That costume choice was very fitting for Tommy Miller’s ego.

“Thanks sweets,” He chuckled, eyeing the six pack in your hand. “Let me take that, and c’mon in.” He nods his head toward the loud house, and you stepped in as he followed suit.

It was nice seeing all of your neighbors so dressed up and having a fun time. It was a side you rarely got to see from any of them.

“Drinks are in the kitchen and there’s a variety of food and snacks in there as well if you’re hungry.” Tommy shouts over the thumping music, and you nod.

“Thanks Tommy.”

You headed to the kitchen to mix yourself a drink, nerves easily seeping in as you weren’t the best in social situations. Your anxiety often got the best of you, and some liquid courage would definitely help your case.

You were pouring yourself some Malibu rum mixed with cranberry juice when a voice called from behind.

“Well I’ll be damned, you sure do look good darlin’.” That Southern drawl that had your core aching constantly rung through your ears, and you bit your lip to try and fight off a smile.

You turned on your heel to face the older Miller brother, adorned in a black long sleeve, black jeans, black boots, and black leather gloves. He held a ghostface mask in his hand, and your eyes trailed back up to his gaze before giving him a more seemingly collected smile.

“Hey Joel,” You say, taking a sip from your drink. “Nice costume.” You smirk, eyes averting back down to the mask in his hand.

“Sarah forced me to actually dress up. Said I couldn’t be a lumberjack again this year.” He chuckled, and you smiled and shook your head. Sounded exactly like something she’d do.

“Where’s your, uh, dress?” You tease, noticing he wasn’t wearing the exact full getup.

“Got too damn hot so I took it off.”

“Mm. Well, you look real good, Joel.” You toss a sweet smile his way, sipping on your fruity drink in the infamous red solo cup.

Even in the fairly dim-lit kitchen, you could see the sprinkle of pink dust his cheeks.

“Thanks, darlin’.”

“‘M sure all the moms of the neighborhood are drooling just looking at ya.” You tease, a hint of playfulness in your tone.

“Even if they are, I only got my sights set on one person.” He shrugs, taking a step closer to you. Your breath catches in your throat and you back up against the counter as he stands right in front of you, so close that you can feel his breath fanning your face.

He reached behind you on the counter, eyes never leaving yours. He smirked slightly at your reaction to the proximity between you two as he grabbed the bottle opener that was laying on the counter, retracting his hand.

“C’mon, let’s go enjoy the party.” He smiles softly at you, holding out his leather-bound hand. You take his hand as he leads you out of the kitchen, weaving between the neighbors. You stop here and there to greet them before you eventually make your way to the living room.

You see people playing beer pong in the backyard, chatting with other neighbors, and playing cornhole. Early 2000’s throwbacks were bumping over the speakers, and you assumed Tommy was in charge of being DJ for the night.

Joel sat down on the leather couch, patting the spot next to him. You sat down, wiggling your hips so your legs could get comfortable against the somewhat sticky leather. Joel draped his arm across the back of the couch, and Tommy made his way up to his brother so he could take the bottle opener from Joel.

The opener clinked against the top of the bottle, a release of pressure sounding as the cap was taken off.

“Thanks Tommy.” Joel semi-shouts, leaning back into the couch even further. His arm slides down, now wrapping itself around your shoulder. Tommy raises an eyebrow at his brother.

“Finally manned up and got the balls to ask her out?” Tommy’s words are a bit slurred now, and you can tell he’s teetering from being heavily buzzed to completely drunk.

“Tommy, don’t you have some other people to patronize?” Joel rolls his eyes, grip tightening on your shoulder.

Even the slightest touch from Joel sent an electric shock down your spine and into your core, which was already aching and throbbing with pure need and desire.

Tommy holds his hands up in surrender, chuckling.

“I’ll leave ya alone, but for the love of god, just do it already.”

Joel gives the younger brother a warning glare, pointing the neck of his beer at him, then to the back sliding door.

“Out.” Joel grits, and Tommy’s sporting a shit-eating grin as he walks away from you two.

“So what was that about?” You lean into Joel so he can hear you better. The look on your face conveys pure amusement.

Joel knew he couldn’t beat around the bush with this one, so he simply confessed. “Been wantin’ to ask you out on a date for awhile now.” His lips form into a thin line after he takes a nervous swig of his beer.

You raise an eyebrow at him, feeling rather bold yourself so you place a hand on his lower left thigh as you lean in even closer.

“Yeah? And when were you going to? I’ve been waiting.” You grin, eyes averting down to his lips before moving back up to his gaze. The action doesn’t go unnoticed, and it finally feels like he’s able to grasp something that had been slipping out of his hands for months.

“I was plannin’ on it, but I kept puttin’ it off cus I didn’t think you felt the same way.” He shrugs, taking another sip of the half-full bottle of beer that was now balanced on his lap.

That was half the truth.

The other half was him just simply being petrified, anxiety taking over his whole being at the thought of going on an actual enjoyable date after, god, fourteen years? Nonetheless with a brilliant, gorgeous woman like yourself?

He’d been so accustomed to taking care of Sarah (hell, Tommy too), making sure she was always his first priority. Sure, he’s had hookups here and there down the line, but none of them ever meant anything at all. It was always just a rendezvous in passing. Never anything serious.

But, when he first laid his eyes on you, he knew he wanted a real connection. He wanted something real with you, a relationship of his own that he could be proud of as you two built from the foundation up together.

“Joel.” You whisper, eyes darting back and forth between his. The once beautiful dark brown eyes seemed to turn black with lust, but remained soft as they scanned your features.

“Darlin’ I think it’s about time we do somethin’ about… this.” He gestures between you both, and a saccharine smile curls onto your lips.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

His eyes flitted to your lips this time, and the tension was insanely hot and heavy. You could barely even hear the thumping music anymore as your heart nearly leaped out of your chest from how hard it was pounding.

You two just stared at each other, quite literally enthralled with one another. You wanted to kiss him so bad, but in front of all these neighbors? They were good people, but were nosey as hell. Loved to gossip.

You didn’t need them in your business and you’re sure as hell Joel didn’t want them in his either.

You opened your mouth to say something, but were cut short by Tommy yelling into the living room.

“Shots in the kitchen everybody, c’mon!” He pointed at the two of you, and you laughed at his utter display of just not giving a fuck.

You tap Joel’s thigh with your hand. “C’mon cowboy, let’s go appease your brother before he calls us both out for not joining him.”

You stand up from the couch slowly, well aware of the fact that the back of your thighs were sticking to the leather at this point. You held your hand out to Joel once you were up, and he gladly took it. You both maneuvered your way into the kitchen, a small crowd of your neighbors already gathered around the island in the middle.

Tommy poured tequila shots into miniature red solo cups, passing them out to each individual around him. He put the plated cut up limes on the counter and two salt shakers on each side of the plate.

You lick a spot on your free hand and grab the salt, tapping it onto your hand before grabbing a lime. Tommy waits for everyone to be settled before raising his shot glass to the crowd before him.

“To my brother Joel for agreeing to throw this party yet another year. And to, y’know, Halloween.” Tommy chuckles, and everyone cheers to Joel. You look up at Joel as you lick the salt off your hand, toss back the shot, and stick the lime in your mouth.

Something in the way you looked at him when you moved to fluidly made his cock ache. The hungry look in your eyes, and the sweet smile you offered after you took the lime out of your mouth.

“Joel!” A voice squeaked, breaking your eye contact with him. You both turn to look at your neighbor, Tiffany, who was dressed as a sexy police officer.

“Hey, Tiffany.” Joel greeted, curtly nodding at her.

“Great party. I think it’s nice you invited the whole neighborhood.” She giggled, twirling her pin-straight brunette hair around a manicured finger.

“‘S all Tommy, really.” He shrugs, looking back down at you. You watch the two of them in amusement, noticing that Tiffany was getting closer to Joel. She eventually wrapped her arm around his bicep, to which he stiffened at her touch.

“Well, it’s sooo fun. You like my costume?” She inquires, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth. She looks up at him, feigning innocence, but he’s truthfully not paying attention to her. She seems to notice that he’s more focused on you, and she rolls her eyes.

She’s always been pretty rude to you since you moved into the neighborhood, and you didn’t know why. Now you had an inkling. You could’ve sworn she was married, so a devilish smile curled onto your lips as you tilt your head to the side.

“How’s your husband, Tiffany?” You ask, and she shoots you a glare.

“Fine, thanks.” She scoffs, and Joel shakes her hand off of his bicep.

“Let’s take another shot, darlin’.” Joel suggests to you, and you grin up at him.

An idea popped into your head, and you were hoping he’d go along with it.

“Wanna do a moonlick shot with me, Miller?”

He looked down at you in shock, abruptly pausing his movements.

“Mhm.” Was all he could muster up. Most of the crowd still lingered in the kitchen, so you knew you were about to put on a show.

And, well, licking salt off of Joel’s neck seemed extremely gratifying for the both of you.

You poured another shot of tequila into your little shot glass, grabbed the lime and salt, and stood in front of Joel again.

Tiffany watched you both closely, realization suddenly dawning on her.

She thought there was no way you two would actually do a moonshot in front of all the neighbors gathered in here, but with how heavy the tension was between you and Joel, you both didn’t care at all at this point.

Your eyes scanned the room swiftly, thanking the universe that Mrs. Adler was nowhere to be found. You’d never hear the end of it from her if she saw you and Joel like this.

You wrapped a hand around the back of Joel’s neck, standing on your tippy toes as you brought your face into the crook of his neck.

The warmth of his body sent chills down your spine. He smelled like an earthly musk. It was heavenly.

He gripped your waist as you moved your lips closer to his neck, finally poking your tongue out to slowly lick up the side of his warm flesh. You leaned back down to sprinkle some salt into your hand, pressing it into the wet spot on his neck. You grabbed your like and tequila shot, holding the backside of the lime up to his mouth. He graciously bit into it, and you smirked at him as you went to move your face back into the crook of his neck.

You licked the salt off of Joel’s neck, eliciting a groan from deep within his chest. His arm wrapped completely around your waist as you threw the shot back, taking the lime from his mouth with your own. You put the lime into the small shot glass before looking back up at Joel.

The fire behind his eyes was inevitable, and he finally closed the gap between you two. He enveloped his plush lips to yours, and you tossed both hands over his shoulders and let them dangle as both arms securely wrapped around your waist.

A few of the neighbors in the kitchen whistled, a “finally” thrown into the mix, and Tommy being utterly obnoxious by cheering his brother on.

Joel’s chest swelled with a bit of pride knowing he made his little brother proud.

Your lips moved in perfect sync, your core suddenly throbbing terrible as you felt your slick completely coat your panties. You moaned softly into the kiss, having barely any willpower to break apart from him.

Joel knew you wanted him as much as he wanted you, especially physically in this moment. He wasn’t going to waste another opportunity to finally let himself indulge in something he’s wanted for so long.

“My room?” He asks breathlessly, and you nod. You briefly noticed that Tiffany wasn’t standing in the kitchen anymore, and you smirked to yourself in a little victory.

Joel grabbed your hand and started to lead you out of the kitchen, but Tommy stopped you both.

“Hey, where ya goin’?” Tommy was completely unaware of how much of a cockblock he was being at the moment.

Joel faced his brother and pursed his lips into a thin line.

“Upstairs. Cover for me, yeah?” Joel says, and Tommy’s shit-eating grin returns.

“Oh hell yeah, big brother. Have fun.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and Joel rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He slips his ghostface mask back on to try and blend in a bit more with the crowd, both of you slipping upstairs seemingly unnoticed.

Once you were in Joel’s bedroom, he locked the door and took the mask back off, setting it on his bedside table.

Joel mentally thanked himself for making his bed this morning. The man was notorious for leaving the duvet completely crumpled.

You took in your surroundings. His room was cozy and simple, but felt like home. You smiled up at him, shimmying your wings off before hanging them on the bedpost. Joel took the halo gently off of your head.

“Reckon you definitely don’t need’ta be wearin’ this.” He chuckles, putting it to the side.

“Mm, I think you’re right.” You step forward, hands landing on his solid chest as you move them up to the sides of his neck. You can feel the vein in his neck, pulse racing under your touch.

“Listen, darlin’,” Joel starts, gently grabbing your wrists. “I haven’t done… this… in awhile. I really like you, too, and I really don’t want this to just be a one-time thing.” He confesses, and your heart melts at his words.

“I really like you too, Joel. I don’t want this to be a one-time thing, either.”

“Good.” He breathes, cupping your face into his hands before smashing his lips to yours. You moan into the kiss as he leads you back toward his bed. The back of your knees hit his mattress and you sink down onto it. Joel lays you down before parting your legs with his knee, putting pressure onto your throbbing cunt.

You find yourself unintentionally grinding your hips so your core is rocking against his leg, desperate for friction by any means. Joel feels how hot and wet you are, even through the fabric of your panties and his jeans.

“Christ, doll. Y’this fuckin’ soaked for me already?” Joel tsks, and you can’t help but let out a lewd moan.

“Yes, Joel,” You pant. “Wanted you for so long, can’t—fuck,—can’t wait any longer.”

“Baby, you don’t know how much that fuckin’ turns me on. You touch yourself thinkin’ about me?” He questions, slowly bringing a hand underneath your skirt to rub your soaked core over your panties.

“God, fuck, yes. All the time.” You admit, eyes squeezing shut as your breath begins to increase rapidly.

Joel groans at your confession, cock constricted by his jeans just begging for release.

“‘M gonna ruin every single man for you, baby.”

“Ruin me, Joel.”

That’s all he needed to hear before hastily sliding your panties off of your legs. He spread your legs as he got down on his knees, admiring how your pussy glistened in the low light of his room.

“Fuckin’ perfect little pussy.” He murmurs, lifting your skirt up all the way. You gasp as Joel kisses your inner thighs, dragging his tongue up your tender flesh, littering kisses along the way before he finally places a soft kiss to your core.

Joel wastes no more time teasing you and delves his tongue right into your folds, not wanting to hold out any longer on tasting you.

And, good god, you tasted heavenly. Ironic for being dressed up as an angel, but you really played the part.

You moaned loudly as he drank you up like a glass of water in the middle of the night. He was relentless with his tongue, the muscle swirling around your folds, flicking onto your clit, then moving down to your entrance to prod in and out of you.

His mouth felt divine. You truly don’t think any man has ever eaten your pussy this good, and you’d be damned if another man besides Joel ever did again.

“Joel, holy fuck.” You cry, and he moans praisingly into you. The vibrations sent a shock up your spine, causing you to arch your back off of the bed.

All of your senses ignited with just Joel. His mouth, his touch, his scent, everything about him was surrounding you all at once. You genuinely don’t know how you went about not doing this any sooner.

Joel moved his tongue back up to your clit, flicking over it expertly as he inserted his ring and middle fingers into you. You cry out once more, instinctively grasping onto his hair as you slightly tugged on it. He switched from flicking his tongue over your clit to sucking on it instead, fingers driving in and out of you at such an enchanting pace.

His fingers were so much longer and thicker than yours, so the feeling of it was becoming all too consuming. He hit that sweet spot inside of you once he started to curl his fingers upward, and you nearly choked on a gasp.

“Fuck, yes, right there right there right there—” You chant, feeling your orgasm rapidly approaching as it bloomed quickly within the deepest depths of your core, clawing its way out to the surface. “‘M gonna—”

“Let go, sweet girl. I’ve got you.” Joel praises, and your orgasm comes crumbling down, washing in electric waves through your body. You moan loudly, crying out Joel’s name as you gripped his duvet.

Joel admires how you writhe beneath him, riding out your intense orgasm. You’re nearly breathless, panting rapidly as you lay on his bed completely dazed. Once you finally composed yourself enough, your eyes fall on his face. Half of it was covered in your slick, and you whine at the sight.

“How was that?” He asks, standing up.

“I’m convinced you’re a fucking wizard or some shit.” You breathe, and he gutturally laughs. You love the sound of it, tucking it away in your memory to keep.

“Nope, just regular ol’ me, baby.” His smile is soft as he gazes down at you, and you lean up on your elbows, shaking your head.

“Nothing about you is regular. You, Joel Miller, are extraordinary.” You slowly get up from his bed on shaky legs, but he grips you for support. You switch spots with him, turning him around to softly push him onto his bed. He sits down and watches you closely, admiring how you look at him. It makes his stomach do a flip, and a blush tinges his cheeks ever so slightly.

“My turn to take care of you.” You whisper, sinking to your knees before him. You undo his belt buckle, pop the button of his jeans, and slide his zipper down. He lifts his hips for you as you pull down his jeans and boxers simultaneously.

Joel’s cock easily hits the shirt over his stomach, weeping and dribbling with pre cum. Your mouth watered as you took in the sight, appreciating the pink and tan silky flesh before pumping it a few times, causing Joel to suck in a breath and squeeze his eyes shut.

He lets out a low groan as you tug back to the top slowly, lowering your head to swirl your tongue around the tip. The salty taste of pre cum coats your tongue, and you hum in praise before licking a warm stripe over the vein of his cock. He curses, head lolling back as he tries hard not to cum right then and there.

It’s been far too long since someone’s touched him like this, and now that he has the woman he’s been fantasizing about daily at his discretion, he knows he won’t be able to contain himself for long.

His cock was heavy on your tongue as you slid more of him into your mouth slowly, trying to keep yourself from gagging. Your throat constricted slightly as the tip of his cock met the back of your throat, nose nearly buried in coarse, curly hair at the base.

“Fuuuck, sweet thing, ‘m not gonna last long if you keep doin’ that.” He moans, loving the feeling of your soft lips wrapped around his cock.

You flatten your tongue against him and start to bob your head up and down, setting a rhythm you could easily keep up with. Hearing him moan your name while you pleasure him shot straight to your core, aching for more of him.

You moan against him as your nails lightly scratch what’s exposed of his tan thighs, and you open your eyes to look right into Joel’s.

The nearly sinister look in his eyes when you look up at him makes you want to touch yourself while you made him feel good.

“Such a good girl, takin’ my cock in your mouth so well. Look so fuckin’ gorgeous like this.” He praises, cupping your cheek gently. He was refraining from touching your hair and face because he didn’t want to ruin your hairdo or your makeup, despite how badly his fingers were nearly itching to either cup your face harshly or thread his thick fingers through your hair.

You took him all the way into your mouth once more, swallowing around the tip of him before moving up to the tip to focus on just that. You swirled your tongue again, licking the slit on his head before Joel’s breath caught in his throat.

“Shit, baby, don’t stop, ‘m close.” He feels like he’s floating when his orgasm shoots down his spine not even seconds later, and you moan around him as you swallow everything he gives you.

He pulls you up gently but hastily from the ground, kissing you before pushing you onto the bed again. He had to be buried inside you now. He gave his cock a couple of strokes to harden himself again as he stood over you, a feral look in his eye.

Your eyes glanced over at the ghostface mask sitting on his bedside table, and his eyes followed yours. He quirks an eyebrow up at the mask, looking back at you.

“Want me to put it on?” He asks, and you felt your cheeks get hot.

“You don’t have to.” You’re suddenly shy, but the thought of Joel fucking you with a ghostface mask on turned you on immensely.

“I’m asking you.” A hint of questioning demand was behind his tone.

“Yes. Put it on. Please.”

“Kinky little thing, aren’t ya? Gotta mask kink?” He teases before grabbing the mask, slipping it on before towering back over you.

Seeing his tall, broad frame hovering over you like this with the mask on makes your pussy clench, a delicious lick of satisfaction shoving its way into your mind.

“Gonna fuckin’ ruin this pussy.” Joel’s voice is slightly muffled, but somehow the mask makes it sound deeper. You bite your lip and look up at him as he spreads your legs apart, coating the tip of his cock with your slick.

He pauses abruptly, as if remembering something.

“Should I get a condom?”

“Only if you want. I’m on birth control.” You give him a reassuring nod, and he visibly relaxes.

He continues where he left of, sliding his tip between your folds a couple of times more before slowly pushing into your entrance.

You both moan loudly at the sensation, feeling so warm and full and whole. Joel pushes into you until his hips are flush against yours before pulling out slightly. He grabs your legs and tosses them over his shoulders, a new feeling of deeper pleasure rippling through every fiber of your being.

“Fuck, feel s’good.” You toss your head back against his bed, reveling in the feeling of being stretched out.

“So do you, baby. Pussy’s so perfect. Was made f’me.” Joel starts to snap his hips against yours, the sound of skin slapping on skin echoing off the four walls of the master bedroom.

Joel’s hands snake around your ankles on his shoulders as he drives himself deeper into you, pounding his hips into the back of your thighs.

The way you clench around him nearly has him choking, wanting to come undone right then and there.

You gazed up at Joel—well, ghostface—with your eyebrows threaded and jaw slack. There was something so deliciously fucking hot about the way his head was tilted to the side as he looked down at you, fucking you into oblivion.

He bent down ever so slightly to wrap his leather-bound hand around your neck, squeezing the sides. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as all of your sensations suddenly became so full of him again.

You were seeing stars, silent screams escaping your mouth as you tried to move up onto the bed. Joel gripped your thighs harshly and tugged you back down, pulling out of you swiftly to smack your pussy before completely filling you once more.

“Joel, fuck, oh god, oh god, JoelJoelJoel—”

“Yeah, that’s it. Fuckin’ pretty slut likes when I pound into her sweet pussy, hm? Likes getting choked?” Joel’s words drip with venom. You couldn’t even form a coherent word, leaving you to nod frantically.

“Fuck, baby girl, I need you to cum for me.” His voice is strained and desperate, needing to feel you pulse around him again. He brings a hand down to your clit to rub tight, deft circles around it.

You couldn’t even process one more thought before that same blooming, clawing sensation nearly paralyzed your body as you stiffened, orgasm completely washing over your body. You jolted up, crying out Joel’s name.

“I know baby, I know. Fuck, ‘m close, where d’ya want me?” He rips off the mask and tosses it aside, eyes meeting yours once more.

“In me, need to feel you.” Your words are slurred, starting to sound just like Tommy. But you two were very, very different types of drunk.

Joel spills into you, hips stuttering as he groans, jaw clenched. He leans down to kiss you fervently, moaning into your mouth as his orgasm finally rides out. He slowly pulls out of you, hissing at the sensation. You softly whine at the loss of such fullness.

He tucks himself back into his boxers and jeans, pulling them up, re-buttoning his jeans and re-buckling his belt. He sits beside you on the bed, warm leather landing on your thigh as he traces circles into your skin.

“Fuck, baby, that was just,” He pauses, trying to catch his breath. “Unreal.” He huffs, falling next to you so he’s laying down on the bed beside you.

“It was. Thank you.” You shudder at one last aftershock of your orgasm, and Joel chuckles.

“Anything for you, baby.” Your heart skips a beat at his words, and you roll onto your side to face him.

“Kinda don’t wanna go back downstairs. They’re all gonna see this angel really isn’t such an angel.” You huff a laugh, shaking your head.

Joel kisses your forehead before standing up, reaching for your hands to help pull you up from his bed.

“Gotta show Tiffany how good you got fucked somehow, right?” Joel grins, and your jaw drops.

“Joel Miller, you petty man!” You laugh, slipping on your wings and halo once more.

But, he was right—

You totally wanted to show everyone just how good ghostface really fucked you.

tags: @nostalxgic ; @ilovepedro ; @party-hearses ; @tinygarbage ; @cool-iguana ; @bastardmandennis

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sweetenerobert · 6 months

Text

HEY THERE, CITY BOY

ghostface!joel miller x dad!male reader

genre: neighbor joel, no outbreak au, explicit, minors dni

summary: joel’s possessive/dark side comes out after finding out your going out on a date

warnings:strong language, threatening, dark!joel, possessive!joel, stalking, forced cuckhold, dacryphilia, face fucking, infidelity, knife play (knife gets put to your throat), joel is 40, reader is 38, unprotected P in A, dirty talk, oral (m giving), pet names,, creampies

word count: 4.1k

a/n: how this idea came to life was i was watching like ten minutes of scream and i texted @morallyinept about it and here I am. Hope you guys like it!, dividers by @saradika also HAPPY HALLOWEEN

October 23rd Austin, Texas Miller Residence

Marigold and Sarah were in Sarah’s room, conversing with one another in her bedroom, snacking away on various sweets and chips—typical high school girl conversations: classes, tests, drama, boys — and eventually family members.

Joel had passed Sarah’s room, hearing the hushed whispers from the two teenage girls in his daughter's bedroom. Joel had no interest in learning about what Kelsie said to Anthony or why Johnny and Matthew fought in the cafeteria. But he was interested in what Marigold knew about her father — his city boy.

He tried to keep the floor from whining under his foot as he pressed his ear against Sarah’s bedroom door. Joel knew this broke the privacy/boundaries rule, but he was eager to learn what was happening with you.

“So… anything new with your dad? Is he still seeing that guy?” Sarah asked, chewing on a gummy worm.

“I notice my dad’s happier. It’s adorable, ever since he broke up with that one guy, my dad deserves the distraction from work and the real world,” Marigold explains.

“Supposedly, they’re supposed to go out on the thirty-first.”

“Ironic, it's a spooky season, and they’re going out that day specifically?” Sarah asks.

Marigold shrugs and chuckles. “That’s my dad for ya’ always gotta have fun with dates.”

Sarah laughs. But Joel was seething behind Sarah’s door, that his anger could make Sarah’s door burst. He hated seeing you with anyone else — especially finding out that you were happy and Joel wasn't the reason why it made him want to explode.

But Joel had a better idea.

October 25th Austin, Texas Your Living Room

You had finished work at the bakery today — finished a lot of orders, and you just wanted to lounge around the living room. You realized you were home when you noticed how scary-quiet the house was when you first walked in. You guessed that Marigold must be hanging out with Sarah — hence the quiet atmosphere in your house. You shrug your shoulders and grab the TV remote on the coffee table. Turning the TV on and just browsing until you found a show you liked.

Your mind wandered off to Joel, and you hated yourself for thinking about him. You broke up with him because all the hiding and lying became too much for you to handle. It constantly stressed you out, so you did the mature thing and broke it off. You shook your head from any thoughts of Joel and focused on the luminescent screen before you.

Hearing your phone ring in your pocket made you roll your eyes. Muting the TV, digging your phone out of your pocket, and seeing the caller ID read 'UNKNOWN' made you uneasy. "If anything from the city taught you anything, never answer the unknown numbers. Could be robo calls." You mutter.

Hitting the decline button and throwing on the cushion next to you. You kept your concentration on the TV and tried to ignore the outside world.

Ring, Ring

Hearing your phone ring made you groan. "Mare, this better be you." Seeing the same ID reading 'UNKNOWN' this time, you swallowed that uneasy feeling and hit the accept button, bringing the phone next to your ear. "Hello," You spoke.

"Hello." You heard a voice you'd never heard before. It sounded gravelly and hoarse at the same time. Made your body feel cold the second you heard it. "Hello?" It came out more like a question than a statement.

"Who is this?"

"Oh, you might just have the wrong number then." You completely disregarded their question.

"Maybe. Sorry to waste your time."

"I get it. Maybe you were in a rush? It happens to me all the time as well," You dismiss.

"S' my fault. I was trying to dial a number from memory. Musta’ typed the wrong numbers in different places."

You start chuckling at his confession. "Sorry, that was rude to laugh at that."

"S'fine, your laugh is cute." You blush at his statement.

"Um, anyway, I'll let you go now —" You start.

"Wait. I wanna keep talkin' to you." The voice admits.

"Really? I think the other person's waiting for you to call them back.”

“I wanna keep hearin’ your voice.”

“How come? It’s not the most attractive thing I ever heard.”

“Cause I want to know what your voice sounds like when your throat’s been slit.”

Hearing that confession made your skin get cold — goosebumps traveling you, your hands clammy, your body felt heavy. It felt like time shut down. You quickly hung up the phone and breathed as if your life depended on it as you looked at your idle phone lying on the cushion.

“Who —breath— the hell —breath— was that?”

October 27th Austin, Texas Your Kitchen/Bedroom

Your ex-wife had come to visit you and Marigold, and Marigold was ecstatic. You’d decided to make dinner for both girls in your life. You hadn't heard from the creepy voice in a day, and you relived thinking it was all some stupid prank played by some teenager who somehow got a hold of your number.

As you’d finished making the dish and making plates for your two girls, you heard your phone ring on the table. “Hey, Dad. Someone’s calling you. Want me to answer it?”

“Uh. I got it. Let me put this pan back on the stove,” You shouted. Placing the pan back on the now-off-stovetop, wipe your hands on your clothes as you jog to grab your phone. Holding your phone, you feel your heart sink as the caller ID reads ‘UNKNOWN’ again.

You wanted to throw your phone, Bury it — hell, burn it. But you didn't want to draw attention to yourself. “It’s no one important.” You smirk and shove your phone in your pocket — declining the call.

Settling with your plate on the table, you are ready to dig in, but that's when you hear your ringtone muffled in your pocket. Your ex and Marigold hear it, too.

“Dad, it seems important if they had called you again — answer it,” Marigold nods.

You didn't want your daughter to witness fear in her father’s eyes. You didn't wish Marigold to be in fear for seeing the worry running all over your face. You didn't want to answer the phone but already knew they were persistent.

“Okay,” You breathed, shakily — trying to hide it.

You stood up from your seat, pecked your lips on Marigold’s forehead, and walked towards your bedroom — answering the phone and pressing it to your ear.

“Hey there, city boy. I was gettin’ impatient.”

“What do you want from me? Threaten me some more?” You questioned.

“I didn't know you swung that way. Do you get turned on by someone threatenin’ you?”

“Shut the fuck up,” You spat. “What do you want from me?”

“You should watch your tone if you're a father; how would your daughter react, knowing er’ father has a sailor's mouth?”

“You know nothing about me,” You seethed. You were making a fist with your free hand — so hard you could draw blood with your nails. “I’m done talking to you, goodbye.”

“If you hang up, I swear I will bust down that door and slash your daughters and wife’s throats and gut them like the fish they are.”

His threat made all the color drain from your body; your knees were wobbly — your throat felt clogged — and the ability to breathe became impossible. You felt powerless when you heard your daughter and ex-wife were in danger.

“Oh, what happened?” The voice mockingly cooed. “All bark but no bite?” He knew his threat made you feel powerless — weak.

“Fuck you, you want me motherfucker? Come and get me,” You snapped, ending the phone call and throwing your phone on the bed, shaking your head to get rid of the anger seething through your body.

Once you finally calmed down, you walked towards the kitchen, seeing the two best people to make your anger finally sizzle away.

“You guys talked about me while I’m gone?”

“Yeah, Mare was just telling me that you met someone new. Tell us about him.”

October 31st Austin, Texas Your Bedroom/Living Room

You were currently pacing back and forth in a white tank top, your boxers and your socks being calf height. Your phone is propped up against your dresser as your best friend, Jett, watches you pace.

“You’re annoying me with all that pacing,” Jett comments. You rub a hand down your face in an attempt to calm yourself down. “Better, now?” Jett asks.

“Nope,” You state, pacing again.

“You're stressing yourself out for nothing; he’ll like you. What’s the big deal?” Jett shrugs.

“It's because I’ve never gone out on a date since I came out. So I’m just nervous as all hell. Should I tell him I’m sick? I’m going to tell him I’m sick.” You nod, grabbing your phone, but Jett’s voice bellows through the phone, shouting protests.

“If you as so much as cancel on him, I will waste my tank of gas and smack the shit out of you and then leave.”

“You live an hour away,” You commented.

“And? What’s the issue?”

You shake your head. “Look,” You start, placing your phone back in its original place. “We’ve hung out before — and that’s all it’s been, hanging out, but I feel like I could blow this whole thing up.

“If I could smack some sense into you through this phone, I would,” Jett spoke.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” You smirk, crossing your arms.

“If a guy goes through all this trouble to finally stop just using you for sex and actually wants to be in a committed relationship with you, what does that insinuate?”

“He’s desperate because no other man was willing to give it up that easy? You shrug.

Jett slides a hand down her face in annoyance, hearing her best friend. "It means he's genuinely interested in you, dummy. Allow him to show his vulnerability.”

“Who are you, and what have you done to my best friend?” You ask.

Jett rolls her eyes and flips her middle finger at you.” “Fuck off,” She chuckles. "When is he coming?"

You shrug. "He said that he would be here —" You started. You heard the doorbell go off downstairs. "Who's that?" Jett questioned.

"Lemme go see. Talk to you later, Jett."

"Bye," Jett states, hanging the phone up. Walking out to your living room, you felt anxious. This pit in your stomach rose to your throat as you walked downstairs. Then your thoughts rose back when you thought about the unknown caller.

You were freaking out if he was on the other side of the door, waiting for you — like predators do to their prey and waiting for the opportunity to pounce.

As you stood in front of the wooden door before you, your breath started to shudder. Gripping the doorknob made the feeling of breathing — unbearable.

Somehow getting enough oxygen in your lungs and pushing out carbon dioxide, you twist the knob and pull the door towards you. You push a breath of air as you notice your date, Hugo. You could feel your muscles lose their tension as your hand was the door.

Hugo had auburn hair matching his full auburn beard. He wore the same brown bomber jacket when you first met him, wearing blue jeans and black boots. You smiled when you noticed the smile riding his face. "Hey, I thought you weren't going to be here until 7," You shrugged.

"I wanted to surprise you. Did I come too early?" Hugo asks.

"Well, you never do that," You start, and Hugo chortles. "But, I was stressing about this whole night. Never been on a date before."

"Never?" Hugo asks.

"Well, in the sense of with another man. I guess I was questioning if you actually liked me," You confessed.

Hugo stepped closer to you — towering over you with his height. In one swoop, he manages to lift you up — wrapping your legs around his waist, you chuckle. Walking into your living room, Hugo closes the door with his foot. Hearing the door slam made you feel like a teenager in love.

Your lips made contact with his as your hands traveled through his hair. His hands were on your waist like a puzzle piece — perfectly placed into shape. Hugo lays you down on the couch; his body melts through your tank top.

His kisses trail down your neck like a spider crawling down your skin. His mustache tickles your neck — making goosebumps travel down your body. You grab his face and bring your lips back onto yours — tangled together, lips trying to connect but can't find the exact shape. With each kiss, it gets more passionate — intense, fireworks exploding inside your brain.

As you wrapped your hand in the strands of his hair, his hands slid from your waist onto the inner bend of your knee, holding your leg, driving his hard-covered cock into yours.

Your mind drifted away from Hugo, and you thought of Joel. How he would have one hand on your throat and the other on your leg would be lifted just like this. You hated that you thought of him, in this moment, with someone you moved on from.

“Wait, Hugo,” You breathed.

Hugo backs away from you, sitting up. Watching you breathe heavily on your back. “Are you okay?”

You nod as you feel the cotton under your head. “Yeah. Just lemme find something to wear.” You fix your position so that you're sitting next to Hugo.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? I understand. You want to save the best for last,” Hugo winks, and you chuckle. You stand up, and you walk up the stairs towards your bedroom. Opening the door and closing it behind you, you lean on the door and manage to catch your breath. Hugo was your future. Why were you thinking about your past with Joel? You hated that Joel infiltrated your mind like a bad memory.

Closing your eyes and trying to collect your thoughts as you thought about Joel. Your phone rang, and you opened your eyes, exhaled a long breath, grabbed your phone, and hit the green answer button reflectively.

“Hello there, city boy.”

You noticed that their tone sounded angry, frustrated, and pissed. It made you feel have the memory of being a kid scolded by a parent.

“Hello?” You shrugged.

“Your such a fuckin’ whore, you know that?”

“Thanks, I guess. Where is this coming from?” You questioned.

“You’ll find out soon enough, baby boy. Trust me.”

The phone line went dead. You looked at your phone in confusion and disbelief. Ultimately, you ignored those feelings as you shoved your headphones and blasted music into your ears as you glanced around your closet, trying to find an outfit.

October 31st Austin, Texas Living Room

As you walked down the stairs, you felt chipper and happy. As the music drowned your ears earlier, you forgot about the voice and Joel altogether. “Okay, Hugo. Are you ready to have the best date ever or—”

“Oh my god!” You exclaimed—the sight before you shook you to your core. Seeing Hugo beat up, bruises littering his face and neck, and cuts all around his body as If he looks like a cutting board. His arms and legs are tied to a chair in your kitchen and placed in the middle of the living room like a trophy, and a piece of duct tape covers his lips.

You cup your hands over your mouth and immediately rush to Hugo’s aid. You kneel in front of him, trying to untie his restraints. “I’m sorry I didn't hear you, Hugo. I was playing music — fuckin’ Mare introducing me to alternative music.”

Hugo was saying something under the tape, but you couldn't understand what he was saying. You glanced up at him. You can see his eyes almost pop out of your head — he was trying to warn you, but you couldn't tell what was happening.

“Shh, I promise you’ll be okay. You have nothing to worry —”

Your head immediately jerked back as a firm grip was on your hair as you were being dragged away from Hugo. You can hear muffled protest through the tape. You tried to fight back — smack the grip in your locks but ended up feeling a cut on your knuckle.

Feeling the pulling stop, you tried to crawl away, but the grip was still tight as the hand made you stay upright on your knees. You see a shiny object in the corner of your eye. From looking at Hugo, you can see the fear in his eyes.

In your field of view, you see a large hunting knife near your eye as the figure taunts you. Placing the knife near your throat — terrifying Hugo. “You know, I really shouldn't enjoy how much this turns me on, city boy; seein’ this asshole tied up as you're forced on your knees does it for me — more than I should admit.”

“You're a fucking sicko,” You spat.

You hiss as you feel the blade press up against your neck deeper, cutting slight skin tissue. “Careful what you say. One wrong move, and I could cut that pretty throat.”

You could see Hugo seeth with anger. He kept bouncing in the chair like a bull when it saw red. “Oh, asshole doesn't like it when I threaten his boy — oh, sorry. My boy.”

“Maybe we should give im’ a show, city boy. Turn around, or I'll cut your throat.” You take a breath as you slowly turn around on your knees and see the face of the voice that’s been tormenting you for the past couple of days — the mask of the voice.

White plastic with elongated eyes and a long elongated mouth, the sight made your stomach churn as he held up a knife to your throat. With his other free hand, he slips the bottom half of the long cloak he was wearing down, and you see his hardened cock flop out. You felt bile rise to your throat as you looked at the eyes of the mask.

“Suck.” That was all you heard before you wrapped your mouth around the tip. Your mouth slowly kept going back and forth as you heard grunts from the voice above you. You wanted to get this over with. You didn't know what this person’s intentions were after you were done, but you hoped you and Hugo would be alive at the end.

“C’mon. That’s how you suck? I’m gettin’ bored.”

His free hand grabs your hair as he thrusts his hips towards you. With each thrust, you could feel the cock in your mouth twitch, causing your throat to gag and tears start to fall from your eyes. “Oh baby, that’s a sight; you look so perfect with your tears slidin’ down your face.” His thrusts became more animal-like and more of your tears kept slipping down your face as more gags escaped your throat.

“Baby, I could shoot my cum in that throat right now,” He starts. He pulls your face away from his cock as you take a deep breath and start coughing — catching your breath. “But I’d rather cum in that pretty ass of yours,” He states, grabbing your chin. In one motion, he causes you to turn away from him and make you land on your hands. You glance up at Hugo, and you notice his eyes read, ‘I'm sorry, there’s nothing I can do,’ it makes your heart tear a bit.

No warning, you feel your pants slide from your ass, and his cock slip inside you, and you scream in pleasure, but it sounds like a pain to you. His thrusts were quick, rough, and something you missed when you were Hugo. You couldn't tell if you loved or hated this feeling as much as you denied it was happening. “Damn, baby. You're so fuckin’ tight. He might not fuck as good as I do.”

“Fuck off,” You pant. A hard yank to your hair as you’re near the mask sends shivers down your spine. “Nah, I’m too busy, fuckin’ you.” Your head being in the position it was, you got a clear view of Hugo’s face. You can see the sadness littering his eyes. “Aww, how sad. He must know that he can't satisfy you the way I can,” The voice panted.

Your nails could’ve made scratches into the wooden floor under you. Your neck could crack if he kept pulling you like this. He could kill you if he wanted to. You could feel the cold blade press up against your neck. You were scared, but your cock kept betraying you. Deep down in your gut, you had a feeling that you knew who this was under the mask, but you couldn't pinpoint who exactly yet.

“Baby, you gonna cum?”

“N-” You tried to state, but they cut you off, feeling the knife press deeper. “Before you start bullshitin’ me. Remember, I can kill you right here and your pretty boy toy, too. Now, baby, are you going to cum?”

You wanted to lie, even if you knew if you were going to die. But you couldn't handle the idea of Marigold growing up with a dad — the idea of Marigold being the one to find you crept through your head through his threat.

You nod your head and close your eyes. “Good, me too.” He grunts. His thrust made loud claps with your ass. Each thrust jerked you forward and pushed the knife press a little deeper into your neck. It was like he was on a mission, and he was each thrust closer to completing his mission.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” You spat.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum for Ghostface, baby.”

You exclaim as you feel your cum release itself from the chamber you had hidden from. “Fuck, baby. I’m gonna get you pregnant. Here it comes.” You hear the voice exclaim and thrust himself deeper inside you. As he lets go of your hair, you collapse on the floor, your arms lying on either side of you. You could feel his cum swim out of you as you lay on the floor — exhausted.

He gets up, fixes his cloak, stands up, walks towards Hugo, and bends his face to lean closer. “You upset that I made him cum with my cock and not yours?”

Hugo roars, hearing that question. He curses the man in front of him out as much as he can with tape plastered over his mouth. “Ugh, I’m getting sick of this.” He brings his fist up, connecting with Hugo’s jaw, and that makes Hugo’s head go limp. Taking a breath, Ghostface stands above you, watching as you take deep breaths on the floor.

“Please tell me y’know who this is.”

“Joel,” You answer flat.

“How?”

“The way the voice called me city boy, you did it as if I was going to be punished — like the old days,” You admitted.

You heard Joel chuckle as he helped you up off the floor. You stared into the eyes of the man who threatened you, held a knife against your throat, and overall gave you an orgasm you’ve been craving for so long. You push the mask off his face, and you see the same grin you're used to seeing. “Why didn't you try to fight back, hell, even bite my dick off?”

You crossed your arms and looked at Joel. “Would it be wrong to admit I just wanted an orgasm?”

Joel chuckles and shakes his head. “You're a sicko.”

“Says the jealous man, who threatened me for a couple of days — made me paranoid and just fucked me in front of my date. Yeah, I’m the sicko.”

Joel shakes his head as you laugh at him. You look at the clock near your wall and notice it read 7 o’clock.

“Damn, it's seven already. How long do you think you knocked out Hugo?”

“Probably got a glass jaw, an hour at most.”

“Wanna join me in the shower for old time's sake?”

“I’ll follow the leader this one time.”

You start walking the best you can with Joel on your tail. And you turn around on the stairs, and you stop. “What do you think you're doing?”

“Followin’ you.”

“Without the mask? You used to be smarter than you look.” You start walking up the stairs as Joel walks down the stairs, grabbing the mask and glancing at the knife on the floor and grabbing it, too.

“You actin’ smart, city boy. I’ll show you what I do to smart boys.”

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