#approve of while I live under their roof and all that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

s-4pphics · 5 months

Text

click! 4 (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: you need a roommate, and you love eggplant. [college au]

WORD COUNT: 6.7k

WARNINGS: photographer/roommate!ellie, ocs an artist with a rep and black, angst… these hoes toxic, crazy sexual tension, kissing!!! :), fondling, dry humping, fingering!!, some dirty talk uh oh, slight unrequited love, bad communication… like awful, more slut shaming, mentions of awful parents, brief mention of alc and weed

This eucalyptus face mask is not doing what it’s supposed to!

Ultimate calming effect! Relaxation is at your feet and on your face!

… Yeah, right. Why is your blood pressure touching the ceiling, then?

It’s fucking Sunday and it’s dark outside. It’s not even seven yet. You can hear rustling in the living room and you know Ellie’s prepping for today. Your anxiety is through the roof and in the clouds!

Why the fuck did you accept this much responsibility again? What if you look like a fucking idiot and she fires you? Is this even a job if it’s a one-time thing? Your hands are sweating. Is it too late to jump out your window and plummet to your death?

Meow! Meow!

“Good morning, baby girl! Are you hungry?” You hear Ellie coo through the wall and your heart sores. You'd be smiling so wide if this mask wasn’t solid concrete.

You walk into the living room and are blinded by the bright ceiling lights. Your bill is going to skyrocket!

“Hi.”

Ellie, cat in arms, jumps at your voice, spinning to face you. Your skin is on fire as her eyes glaze over your appearance, cheeks tinting and fingers twitching under the thick fur.

“Hey… you look… you look nice,” She mutters back, and you smile.

“Thank you.”

Meow!

Ellie’s brow arches at the baby. “Yeah? You think so, too?”

Meow! Meow!

Ellie sets her down and lets her roam, shoving her hands into her sweats. She takes a step closer. “What’re we gonna name her?”

“Toothle— “

Ellie rolls her eyes, “Oh my god, that’s so fucking basic.”

“Well, excuse me! I’ll shut the fuck up!” You snark playfully, “What were you thinking, Ms. I don’t fuck with animals?”

“I already told yo— “

“AHT, AHT!” You hold a finger up to hush her and she scoffs, “Toothless is one of the best animated characters of our time! Loyal, cute as fuck! Fuck everybody else in that movie! Show the drag—”

“Pickle.”

“What.”

“I’ve been calling her Pickle! Her name is pickle.” Ellie’s smiling at the pattering kitten, and, for some reason, you don’t fight her on it. She looks so happy; Pickle it is.

She’s clicking her tongue at Pickle who rubs against her covered leg. With those gray sweats on, she’s luring two cats over—

“You ready?” Ellie exhales. Your eyes widen, yanked out of your drifting thoughts. You nod gently, jitters kicking in your fingertips.

“Sorry you had to wake up this early. It takes a while for me to edit and all that, but— “

“Ellie, don’t worry! I’m — I’m excited! Just, uh… Just guide me, I guess. You’re the one with the vision.” You’re not sure if the shoot or Ellie is making you nervous. She smells so good, freshly showered and warmth radiating off of her.

“… Guide you?” She smirks.

Suddenly, the air is hot. “Yeah, like… tell me what to do… f-for the shot.” You awkwardly point at the set.

“Giving me permission to use you?” She wisps and your lashes flutter, head bobbing dumbly in approval. The other cat has made her appearance! She’s meowing! Somebody stop her!

“Alright, then… go sit.” Ellie’s head nods towards the black stool in the middle of the backdrop, and you’re moving like a trackstar, plopping down on the stool. Ellie clicks her tongue again and Pickle meows.

“Gonna put her in my room for now. Don’t wanna scare her.” She scoops Pickle up and waddles into the short hallway, giving kit-kat one last kiss before softly shutting her door.

Your catless roomie is in front of you in an instant, fiddling with that big ass umbrella before adjusting her tripod.

“So, explain. What does all this do?”

“Um…” she looks through her camera lense. Right at you, “Different things. Has to do with light control for the most part. Red is your color, by the way.”

You gaze at your fit; You’re going to cry. “Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

Some silence passes before Ellie grumbles, “You’re slouching.”

Your shoulders instantly straighten. Maybe too much, “No, I’m not.”

A blank look from Ellie as she peeks from behind the lense, “Don’t slouch. You’re the star, remember?” She jabs jokingly. You take a deep breath. Another clumsy adjustment trying to find a pose.

Ellie snorts as she watches you struggle, and you pout. “I'm sorry! I don’t know…” You move like a robot and she laughs. Why is she walking closer? Oh, fuck—

“Here.” Her hands grab your shoulders, and you go lax, right in her grasp, allowing her to move you however she wants. Her touch is melting your skin through your sleeves.

“Just… stay there.” Three wide steps, and she’s behind her camera, “Chin down a little.” She mutters. She’s encouraging with every instruction you follow, and you’re relaxing. Your movements are small, but by the series of bright flashes, they must be good enough to capture. You hope. Please, God.

“Stay right there. That’s perfect.”

“That’s it. Yeah, put your leg there.”

“Twist your body a little.”

I like that look, that’s good. Keep doing that.

You don’t know what your eyes are doing, but Ellie's eating it up. She doesn’t know what her words are doing for your confidence. She’s in your ears, in your presence, encouraging everything you’re giving the flashing camera. Your poses get bolder, eyes going softer the more you inspect her.

“Chin down again. Like… look through your lashes…”

Ellie’s so focused on you and it’s making your mouth water. She’s so calm and controlling, but not overbearing. She lets you take the reins and yanks them when she’s got something. The twist of your wrist, the flutter of your lashes, the doting expression on your face. It’s sparking something in her, you can see it from where you sit. She's so attractive when she’s working.

And then she smiles and your heart leaps. Flash.

“You like this.” She notes.

Another flash when you smile, “A little. This is fun.”

“Oh, yeah? I’m getting booked for your grad pics?”

Not if you fail statistics! “Gonna have to ask my dad! He’s picky!”

She hums with a light chuckle. “You look good in these. He’ll like me.”

More flashes, and there’s scratching at Ellie’s door. She sighs like it pains her to continue, “Hold on, baby! Almost done!” She coos at Pickle.

She mutters, “I’m gonna take, like… ten more. The mood’s gonna change a little if that’s cool.”

You stop yourself from slouching. “Sure, uh… what do I do now?”

“Imagine love as a vice. Think about the turmoil that comes with losing that feeling for somebody.”

Your mind instantly whirls to Dina and your heart cracks. What a turn of fucking events!

“Um… is that like… isn’t that like, a lot?”

Ellie’s unfazed, “Emotions are a lot. That’s the point.”

You don’t like this anymore. Vulnerability. Blegh. “… Okay.”

She’s waiting on you, but you’re frozen. You can’t stop thinking about every moment you and Dina spent together. Everything was so… good. It was filled with happiness. You anticipated every day that came because it meant you’d see her.

“Alright?”

You look up at Ellie’s call. You ignore her.

“Am I emoting well?” You snicker sarcastically. You’re aching inside.

She studies you, all over your face, but you’re stunted. You don’t know what to say.

“Yes.” She whispers, and you nod, mind wandering to the darkest parts of your memory. You miss being happy. The camera’s flashing, but you’re unperturbed. How much will you be able to ruin before you die? If your wallowing is jeopardizing the shot, Ellie doesn’t comment on it. You focus on the clock ticks coming from the kitchen.

Ellie’s gentle voice pulls you from underwater after a while, “Okay… I think that’s it.” Your breath is ragged and your fingers won’t stop twitching. You’re up from your seat with a breathy okay, sliding into the kitchen and stealing a water bottle from the fridge. There’s cluttering behind you but you’re desperately downing your drink.

She's closer than you think. Right behind you, actually! You almost choke when her hand softly closes around your bicep.

“Hey, um… You okay?”

You swallow harshly and nod, blinking away tears; She’s so close, “Love fucking sucks.” You joke wetly.

A laugh that caresses your ears escapes her, “Damn. Fuck that shit, then.”

“Finally, someone gets it! Fuck, like…” You set your water down and wipe away heavy droplets with your free arm. Ellie’s eyes travel over your face, lands of green sparkling in her pupils.

“I really appreciate you doing this for me.” She whispers.

“Of course!” Your smile is delicate, “I hope there’s something in there you can use.”

Her head shakes, smile as gentle as rose petals, “I got it, trust me.”

The silence that follows is heavy, your breaths in sync. “Was… Are you okay?” You’ve never seen her eyes this delicate. You nod, eyes dropping to her mouth on instinct. You’re suddenly back in your car, you and Ellie leaning over the center console to get to each other. Her breath is hitting your face again, and you’re itching for her to kiss you.

She’s reading your body language the closer she gets, checking in, memorizing every green light you’re giving her.

“Ellie…” You can’t even hear yourself. Her hand unravels from your arm, frosting your sizzling cheek like snowflakes. Her warmth is engulfing you, and with one last breath, her lips connect with yours. It's short lasting, though. Ellie pulls away, shock plastered on her face.

She's stuttering and slowly backing away… or something like that. You’re not listening, nor do you want an apology. You grab the drawstring dangling from her gray hoodie and yank her closer, mouth pressing against hers.

Ellie’s stiffness melts, weightless against you as your mouths mold together. She's sighing, arm wrapping around your waist, warmth simmering between your closed bodies. Your arms wrap around her neck as she inches forward, small steps until you're pressed against the marble.

The kiss is slow and steady. You both give in to each other, studying, memorizing every inch of her mouth. Gentle smacks sound in the silent space of the kitchen, clammy hands traveling anywhere they can reach: the nape of her neck, massages on your hips, steadying your stumbles as you push against her. Your fingers inch upwards until they're at her sloppily done bun, loosening the hair tie and pulling as gently as you can, soft strands wrapping around your digits like vines.

Ellie’s humming and her hips push against you, so you pull again, smiling gently into the kiss. She pushes again, harder this time, hips languid as they trap you against the counter. Your thighs widen for her, and she takes the lead, hands digging into your thighs and lifting you onto the granite.

The kiss turns desperate swiftly after, Ellie’s tongue pushing past your mouth, her hands slowly pulling your tucked shirt from your pants. You’re biting at her lip, caressing her thighs over her sweats, trapping her between your legs, keeping her close.

One last wet smack and you’re traveling down her jaw to the side of her neck, littering kisses all over her burning skin. You try not to make your inhales too obvious, but you can’t help it. Her scent drives you up a wall.

She follows your lead, trailing sloppy kisses down your neck, sucking the skin, lightly scratching at the skin on your hips. She yanks you closer, nearly sitting you on top of her, ass barely on the counter—

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!

You both jolt like you’ve been caught, a thin line of spit connecting your bottom lips.

“Expecting someone?” She mumbles dazedly, and you silently deny. “Are you?”

“Be serious.” She says flatly.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!

The pounds on the door aren’t shit to Ellie, apparently; Her lips are back on you in a second. A gasp surges through you, “Oh, fuck! What if someone saw Pickle and they’re tryna— “

“She’ll be fine,” she whines between suckles on your throat.

You whimper wantonly, but the knocks get aggressive. It has to be Carol! You don’t want Ellie to stop, but you push her.

“E—Ellie— “

She releases you with an annoyed huff, giving you enough room to hop off the counter. Scratches and meows alert you once more, and you run to the front door, whisper-yelling to Ellie, “Hide Pickle! Hide her!”

“Okay, okay, damn,” She sighs in annoyance, heading back down the hallway. You can hear Ellie’s soft shushes to the kitty, meows swiftly replaced with purrs. You think Pickle has chosen her favorite parent.

You yank the door open and your heart plummets.

“Hey, uh… hi.” Abby’s voice cracks and her nose is glowing red. Your heart pulls in your chest at the sight of her soft eyes.

“Hi, Abby,” You say softly. She shyly peers at her feet. “How are you?”

A soft smile spreads across her face, “I’m not here to talk about me, I wanna apologize. I, um… I wanted to call but I thought I’d do it in person.”

“No need. I’m sorry, to— “

But Abby isn’t having it, dropping onto one knee in the middle of the complex hallway, taking your hand in hers, “Oh, how I treated Thee, for I am full of regret. What do I owe Thou the pleasure of forgiveness?”

You holler laughter, “Bitch, is that a question? What the fuck do I say to that.”

“… I actually don’t know, what the fuck— “

“You’re actually the fucking worst, get up,” You’re pulling your friend to her feet and wrapping your arms around her neck, pressing light kisses to her cheek. She lifts you and carries you inside, kicking the door shut.

“Was it Carol?”

You barely hear your roommate from behind you. Abby sets you down, and you’re met with a… blank Ellie. This version of her is almost unfamiliar.

“Hm?”

“Was,” Her eyes flicker towards your friend, “Was it Carol?” Your eyes flicker to Abby, confused as ever.

“Um, no, thank God, right?” You laugh awkwardly, “Ellie, this is Abby. Abby, this is Ellie, my new roomie.”

Abby slaps on her signature smile, extending her hand in greeting, “Nice to meet you. I heard a lot.”

Ellie’s eyes flicker between Abby’s hand and her face, eyes squinted. She only nods before murmuring to you, “Pickle’s fed. Lock the door if you leave.”

Your mouth drops, but before you can say anything, Ellie’s door slams shut, lock clicking, barricading herself, shut off from the outside. Pickle scurries into your open space at the noise. A stunned Abby finally drops her hand and turns to you with an expression reading I told you so. Your heart jolts and it’s painful.

“C’mon,” Abby coos, hands massaging your shoulders, “I owe you pancakes.”

You try to smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. Not like it should at the mention of a free meal. For some reason, you feel guilty.

IHOP needs to have their holiday menus all year round; These cinnamon roll pancakes are fucking lethal! You shoved your platter down and already want seconds. Abby’s too sweet to you.

“Abby.”

“Hm?” She gnaws at her turkey bacon.

“I’m in a predicament.”

“What’s the matter.”

“I think I like Ellie.”

Your friend pauses before sighing, “Alright. So, what’s the plan?”

“To die, I think. That’s the only plan.”

“Don’t say that,” she chuckles. You shrug.

“We made out and I liked it,” You whisper, “Like, a lot.”

“Did y’all smash?” You shake your head.

“Are you gonna tell her?”

You scoff, “Did you miss the part where I said to die? I’d rather die. She hates my fucking guts all over again.”

“I don’t think she does.”

“You don’t know her, Abby— “

“I know a jealous munch when I see one,” She smirks, “I was one for a long time.”

Your jaw drops, “Really? With who?”

She grins, but it doesn’t meet her eyes, “Don’t worry about it.”

You pout. Why didn’t she tell you?! Poor thing. You place a comforting hand on top of hers.

“Promise to tell me before graduation. I need some shit to look forward to.”

“Like you’re gonna remember.”

“Fuck off! I never forget anything!”

“Yeah, anyway, your roomie was jealous— “

Your shoulders drop and your eyes roll. Ellie and jealousy? Together? Bullshit. Tomfoolery. Fake news.

“Abby, I can't tell her— “

“Can’t or won’t?” Abby arches a brow, “You know what you do and don’t want. You’re creating stupid rules that combat your feelings and wonder why you end up hurt. Cut it out.”

… Either face your fears of abandonment or die alone. Interesting ultimatum. You choose the latter.

“You’re very easy to read, believe it or not. You like her. Accept it or move on,” Abby mumbles around her extra-crispy hash brown.

You sigh. You’ve accepted it a long time ago; That's the issue. The only thing that can help you right now is more fucking cinnamon roll pancakes. Abby better leave this apology tab open.

You’re hit with the usual warmth of the apartment the second you step in, finding Ellie on the couch with her feet kicked up, mindlessly fiddling with your favorite pen. Her silence makes your skin crawl; You never know what she’s thinking.

“So, what,” You shrug, setting your to-go bag on the counter, “Are you just gonna pout or are we gonna have an adult conversation?”

“I don’t think you’re capable of that,” She mumbles.

“What does that mean?”

“It means what it sounds like. You’re fucking immature and inconsiderate.”

Your heart nearly stops, “I’m— “

She slices through your words, “Save that I don’t know what you mean bullshit for someone else. If you and that bitch are still fucking, why the fuck did you kiss me?”

Her accusation makes you snap, “First of all, I haven’t fucked Abby in weeks! And even if I did, that’s none of your fucking business! I can do whatever the fuck I want and I don’t need to explain myself to you! And you kissed me first so don’t start!”

A grin grows on Ellie face, head tipping back onto the couch as she laughs to herself, sighing in disbelief, “I never thought I would regret a kiss so much in my fucking life, oh my god.”

You scoff, ignoring the sudden ache in your chest, “Fuck you.”

“You want to.”

You hate how heat builds in your stomach, “I want to?” You snark, “You shoved your tongue in my mouth a few hours ago. You want to. Don’t fucking piss me off.”

You stomp to your room before Ellie can say anything above her laughter. Your door slams and you pace across your small room. You ignore the stress building deep in your joints; The term is almost over. You don’t need this fucking bullshit on your back right now!

To think you and Ellie were starting to get on good terms. If she wants to play that game, then fine; You’ve mastered the sport at this point! The kiss meant nothing to you either!

You hope her Christmas is fucking awful and she finds nothing but a pile of fucking rocks in her marijuana sock. What a cunt—

Meow! Meow!

Your heart pulls at the small scratches at your door. You need your baby to give you some love since a certain someone won’t. Pickle calls out until you open the door, but your sad smile disappears at the sight of that someone propped against your door frame.

“She wanted her mommy.” Ellie nods down at the kitten rubbing against your leg.

“Fuck you.” You spit.

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you!” You shout and lean closer, but she doesn’t seem threatened. That same sparkle in her eye is back, and, suddenly, your body’s flaming for another reason. The tip of her nose twitches, once, twice, three times, and you refuse to hold back any longer.

You grab her face and kiss her. Kiss her as hard as you can. She’s so fucking aggravating; Why can’t she ever mind her fucking business? You’re sick of her clocking your pussy! The kiss is hot and quick and it sends vibrations down to your toes. It’s not until gentle purring fills your ears that you gasp and separate from your roommate.

You bend down to pick up your little princess. Ellie’s lips reconnect with your neck the second you're upright. “Did she eat?” You mutter.

“Mhm. Twice.” You nod and kiss her small, furry head, “She’s gonna be scratching at the door.” You ponder to yourself.

“We’ll make it quick,” She mumbles in between harsh sucks to your throat, nibbles at your lobe. You escape the attention for a split second to grab Pickle’s small toy mouse from your dresser, tossing it down the hall and into the living room. Her small paws skip across the floor as she slides the trinket all over the hardwood.

“We’re not fucking.” You say harsher than necessary.

“I didn’t ask.”

You gently shut the door and jump Ellie’s bones, releasing all your pent-up frustration and anger into another kiss. The formerly gentle tugs of her hair are replaced with harsh yanks that expose her throat. Seconds pass and she’s pushing you onto your unmade bed, body bouncing before she climbs on top of you, reconnecting your mouths in the sloppiest kiss you’ve ever shared… It’s doing something to your cooter, though. You’re wet as fuck.

Ellie’s fully onto top of you, body almost overheating from the layers of clothes between you. Her hips are sharp when they push into yours, swallowing all your stunned gasps and pleasured sighs. Your body is on fire and it’s making you lightheaded, but she feels so good on top.

Ellie’s cursing against your mouth and she bucks into you, right against the muscle of your thigh, and you just watch the flames spread in her orbs. Not the comforting greenery that you could get lost in for days. The trees are black and surrounded by clustered rubble. She’s grunting against your cheek, her nose hitting yours with every thrust.

A bold hand creeps between both your bodies and slips right into her wrinkly sweats, beneath her underwear, fingers drenched in seconds. You smirk when she whimpers your name between swears, palming the bud that throbs like a beating heart. Blush tints her cheeks the wetter she gets, pooling in your hand as you grind into her clit.

Ellie’s cute. You’ll give her that. So, you rub her harder.

“Agh, fuck, fuck— “

You're snickering to yourself but Ellie doesn’t care. She’s whining like a little bitch and humping you like a dog…

Does she top? You should ask her after this. Post-nut gay quiz.

“Finger me, put your— oh shit— “

“Hmm…” You suck your teeth, “Nah.”

She glares down at you, leaving fiery holes in your cheek, “Don’t f—fucking piss me off right now.”

You halt all your movements. “That’s all you’ve been doing since you got in this bitch. Shut the fuck up and take what I give you…” You pause, “Or get the fuck off me. Your choice.”

A full one-eighty, truly. How she goes from looking at you with intent to kill to a wounded puppy in seconds. Poor thing wants a treat. Your entire hand is drenched in her juices; She can wait a little longer.

“You ate my fucking Doritos.”

“W—What?” She sounds like she’s going to cry. You can’t stop smiling.

Slow circles on her clit, and her body wracks on top of you, “The ones I hid in the cabinet… Nasty little thief. Gonna buy me some more?”

Her breathing is so rapid, “You’re so s—stupid fuck— “

“You’re gonna do more than that… gonna show me what’s in that fucking portfolio like you promised.” You whisper, hot against her face.

This is the strangest dirty talk you’ve ever partaken in, but Ellie’s losing it on top of you. She hasn’t shut up yet. She’s hiding her face in your neck, words vibrating against your skin. You don’t know what she said, so you stop again. She sobs.

You sound sweeter than candy, “What was that?”

Ellie doesn’t answer. Just pants into your skin. You pat her clit a few times and she jerks to attention. “I asked you a question.”

“Feels,” She heaves, “Feels so fucking good— “

“I didn’t ask you that.”

“I’ll show you — fuck, okay? Okay, okay, m’so close— “

Your thumb brushes against her clit, “I wanna see it after you nut.”

She gasps words miles per minute, “I promise, Ipromise, touch me keep touching me— “

Ellie attempts to grind into your hand once more, but you stretch, slippery fingers sliding lower until the tip of your index catches onto her pulsing hole. You can barely hear, but she’s begging. Thank God you trimmed your nails.

You push in gently, Ellie’s teeth grazing the skin right underneath your ear. A shiver runs down your spine. She grins before biting down on it. You moan into the boiling air. Your finger gets swallowed by her walls; She’s so fucking tight and soft and she’s clenching with every moan, your thighs squeezing around her hips.

Ellie continues to grind on top of you, practically riding your finger, her moans increasing in volume.

“E-Ellie, look at me, sit up—“ She doesn’t hesitate, clammy forehead resting on yours as you stare into her glossy, lustful eyes. They’re fluttering with every deep grind of your arched digit and your heart skips a beat.

“Gimme one more, stretch me out,” she exhales onto your lips

“Sure?” You breathe.

She groans, “Yeah, fuck, m’gonna cum when you do— “

“You gotta cute face,” you whisper and giggle when her eyes squeeze shut in embarrassment, middle finger popping past the small entrance

“Fuck, babe, s’right there— “

Your walls clench at the name. Now you’re whining, “Gimme it. Hurry up so I can play with my kid.”

“O-Our fucking kid—“ She chokes.

You hum playfully, “Oddly domestic. Is this what marriage is like? Quickies in the laundry room when the baby’s watching Cocomelon?”

“No — fuck, do you ever shut the fuck up?” You can’t even move from hard her walls are choking you, “M’cumming, Jesus fucking— son of a— “

Ellie’s walls grip your fingers as she trembles on top of you, lips crashing onto yours as she groans in your mouth, and you smile. You should’ve spit on her tongue, but you held back. She’s not ready. Fucking gremlin.

Her orgasm rocks her into exhaustion, her body going completely limp on top of you as her hips twitch into your touch. You stare up at the ceiling, mind racing.

You technically didn’t fuck! Your pussy is quite convincing. You didn’t, but you want to!

“We didn’t fuck.” You mumble.

She huffs dryly, voice low. Here comes the goosebumps! “Sure.”

“We didn’t,” you bemoan and pull out, slick smearing on both your clothes before you present the wet digits in front of your face. Ellie finally lifts her head to join the inspection of your drenched, wrinkly fingers. She smells good.

“Go wash your hands,” she croaks.

“Mind your business.” You suck them clean and she snorts, rolling off and onto the bed. You sit up to open the door for Pick-Pick, but Ellie grabs your bicep.

“What?”

“You… You don’t want to…?”

You look around blankly.

“Do you want me to do something… like an exchange?”

You’re not sure how to answer, but thankfully, curious meows and light scratching distract the both of you. You’re moving like a robot into the living room, Ellie right on your tail, cooing at the baby who rubs all over her.

You take a seat on the… lavender-scented cushion. She bought a new freshener.

“Ellie.”

“What.”

“I don’t like you.”

A scoff from her, “I don’t care.”

You pause. “… Wanna sniff my punani?” You mock.

She takes a seat, swiftly followed by Pickle, and turns her head in your direction, lip between her teeth, “Can I?”

“What.”

“Just a whiff.” She hums between snickers. The sensors in your brain are on fire. Ellie is so confusing.

You scratch your ear, stealing her habit, “You… You want to?”

She grabs your discarded pen from the coffee table, “You want me to?”

Yes. “No.”

Ellie nods and continues to fiddle with it, obnoxiously clicking it over and over. She doesn’t fight you on it. How embarrassing. You really need head.

Your eyes meet your sock-covered feet, “… I was just kidding,” You mumble.

More pen clicking. “Come here for a second.” Your feet carry you at her grumble, plopping down onto the lavender-scented cushion. New freshener.

“Is this gonna be… a regular thing?”

Your head shakes a ton. It most definitely will not. You can’t take your eyes off how Ellie flips her pen. Her hands are bewitching. You need them in your throat again.

“I think we… just needed to get it out of our system?” You suggest. Unfortunately, it seems neither of you are convinced.

Pickle climbs up your sweatshirt, head rubbing against your chin. You peck her nose, “Why do you think that.” Ellie asks.

“I’m not fucking someone I live with.” Your words are blunt, but Ellie doesn’t seem shaken by them.

“Why.”

“Because.” You say with finality.

She sighs, “Because you’re scared of getting your feelings hurt by someone you care about again?”

The bomb she drops is unexpected, but causes even more damage. Your shoulders immediately tense, on guard, “What the fuck…” How did she…

Ellie winces, “Don’t uh… don’t be mad…”

“Why the fuck— how do you even know that?”

“Dina told me.” She blurts and you jump from your seat, glowering at the girl who sheepishly taps her fingers on the couch.

“The fuck do you mean Dina told you— “

More word-vomit. How long was she holding this shit from you? “S-She was my roommate. She’s the reason I got evicted— “

Your throat is closing, “…Is this a fucking joke?”

Ellie cowers at your tone, “Not really.”

“When the fuck were you going to tell me that you’re friends with my fucking ex?!”

“We’re not friends!” She says meekly. “And you weren’t official— “

“It doesn’t fucking matter, Ellie! What the fuck!” Your efforts of holding tears back fail, as usual. You’re sick of crying in front of this broad. “She fu—fucking ruined my life!” The stares you get will never fail to make you sick.

Ellie’s eyes remind you of glass. Breakable. You holler through sniffles, “Is that why you called me a fucking slut! Because that bitch told you some fake ass, fucked-up story about me whoring around campus?!”

“Dude, I’m— “

“I fucked over the sweetest fucking girl on campus, right? The world’s best fucking pitcher got her heart broken by some low-life fucking artist with no future!” You rant until your breath is short, “I was fucking in love with her! I-I wanted to be with her, I would’ve died for her! I’m— “

Your hands desperately grasp at your chest to get your heart to ease the knocking against your ribcage.

“You think I-I’m fucking easy, right? That’s why you came onto me earlier? ‘Cuz I’m a fucking whore?! A desperate sl—slut with no self-worth— “

The space you found comfort in is rapidly filling with darkness; You’re being sucked into a void of nothing and you can’t think. Ellie doesn’t move, just stares over you with feeble pupils, hand clutched around that pen, the end of it leaving an indent in her sweats.

Pickle plops down onto your feet as you cry. You take her into your arms and hold her as close as possible, scurrying into your room. You fall back against the door and it slams, sliding down the wood as Kit-Kat nuzzles your chin. She’s the sweetest fucking thing in the world. How could such an angel be left in the snow to die?

Time moves in a blur as you weep. Your mom would’ve held you if she were here.

What you would give for some parental guidance. You almost called your father.

Almost.

Click, click, click, click, click—

One, two, three, four. Breathe in, Breathe out. Five, six—

Thank God for your fucking custom pen. The noise is enough to distract her from breaking down in your tiny living room. She should’ve snagged Pickle before you did; She needs a fucking hug.

Ellie hates being yelled at. More than anything. More than you. God, she fucking despises you.

You look and sound nothing like her mother, but you’re oddly alike. She pondered whether or not that was the reason she was drawn to you; She always finds herself trapped in spaces with fucking deflectors.

She hasn’t even begun editing the photos from earlier. At this point, she doesn’t even want to use them. It’s a shame your eyes are so expressive; She would’ve burned the pictures she took of you the second you left with that bitch if she wasn’t so crunched for time. She needs to submit them so she can get the fuck out of here.

You’d be an excellent actress; You have emotions down pact on camera. The dark part of her brain convinced her that you were thinking of her with that doting, yearnful look in your eye.

The photography company keeps sending her emails about completing her work profile and her fucking portfolio submission. That’s the only form of motivation she has left, and even then, she hasn’t revisited those photos. She doesn’t have much time to make them perfect.

Ellie swallows the lump in her throat over and over, thumb pressing down, down, down. She can’t stop clicking your fucking pen. Just don’t cry.

Your sobs almost get her there, almost push her over the edge, but she shuts her eyes and counts each click, matching them with every heave she releases. You, somehow, sound just like her fucking mom.

And Ellie, despite the backwards relationship between the two of you, still fucking kissed you. She should’ve died right there in front of you. What a fucking joke.

But she couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to. She’s never experienced affection like that; It was passionate and made her itch with a desire she hasn’t felt in a long time. All she wants is for someone to love her, hold her like you did, touch her like you did. She’s never felt that euphoric in her life, never witnessed so many bright colors at once.

Whoever told her being alone was easy was a fucking liar. No one should wake up and want to die every day, so why does she? Everyone thinks she prefers silence, but she doesn’t. Ellie craves contact in all forms. In any form. Desperately.

Why did it have to be you? Why the fuck did it have to be you.

Her brain is telling her she can’t wait to move out, so why is her heart amidst decay whenever she thinks about it? She’s going to suffocate in here, so she rises, pen still in hand, and snags her puffer and beanie from the couch. Her feet shove into her boots and she’s out, the front door slamming shut. She didn’t even bother to lock it.

Ellie takes the stairs and leaves the building on autopilot, no destination in mind. Just stomping through the splintering cold like a fucking yeti. Every breath oxidizes in a cloud before her as she recalls where she fumbled with you.

Dina.

Ellie’s cold hands frost her face as she wipes it, making sharp turns and stumbling on ice. She wants to go home; She misses her dad.

Dina seems to be the only thing you two have in common. You both might hate her more than each other. The horror she felt when her ex-roommate taped that eviction notice on her door is incomparable. Ellie was a struggling entrepreneur and practically fucking homeless overnight. All because Dina’s new fucking side piece.

Ellie and Dina, friends. Wait until she tells you about how she almost beat her and her girlfriend’s ass. If you’re even willing to listen at this point.

Ellie continues to walk, hands tucked under her armpits. At least she’s not simmering anymore in her rage anymore. She blocks down the way when she realizes she forgot her fucking phone. This would’ve been a perfect time to cry to her old man.

You’re not out of Ellie’s system at all. You’ve, unfortunately, claimed residency inside of her.

You’re scribbling with spilled wine on your shirt, outside noise muffled by the plugs in your ears. You don't recall leaving your room, grabbing a bottle and downing its contents, but the remnants of broken glass acts as a decent reminder.

Your hand is cramping from its grip on a new pen, but you can’t stop gliding the tip across the sixth sheet of printer paper. You hate what you’re drawing; The details are perfect, inked scratches practically muscle memory, and you despise it. It’s always her.

You’re going to be alone for a very long time. You’re too destructive for companionship, you’ve learned. How ironic: the one aspect of life you crave is becoming your demise, and your downfall is going to be tortuous. Recovery is never long lasting for you.

So, you sketch. And scratch. And erase, start again, hoping, praying, for an outcome that doesn’t feel so lost. You’re destroyed and desperate to find comfort. Was your father right when he called you sick at age twelve? Maybe something is truly wrong with you. Maybe one of the reasons why you constantly push and mask and hide.

Every insecurity you’ve garnered in high school is flourishing in adulthood, thick as vines and as strong as tree bark. Deflection is an art that you’ve mastered out of preservation; Too bad it’s trapped you in isolation.

The green in Ellie’s eyes holds stories. Somehow, this month feels like centuries. Centuries of studying the mass area of blossoming, healthy land beneath her pupils. Her eyes are sacred, almost too sacred to manipulate, but you draw them anyway.

You want to touch her again. You want her to touch you. Just one last time. You’re already a fucking failure; One last mistake wouldn’t hurt.

A teardrop musses the paper, so you scrap it like the others and start again. Ellie’s eyes are too pretty to be smudged.

You can’t stay here anymore. You hope Amaya understands. You hope Ellie understands.

You’d give anything to be able to call your mother.

You hear the front door open and close for the hundredth time tonight, followed by swift clicks of a pen. Guilt floods your system. You peer at a sleeping Pickle on your mattress before standing, opening your door to see Ellie entering hers. Your intoxicated brain notes the sex lighting in her room; Red LED. You talk before thinking.

“I didn’t mean to yell at you.” She jumps and turns at your cracked voice, eyes red. She smoked; you can smell it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to— “

“I’m submitting my portfolio in the morning. I’ll be out by Christmas.” She says, monotone. Lifeless.

A dry huff escapes your closed throat. Your heart is breaking. Just a little, “I guess, uh… I can’t see it anymore, huh?” She doesn’t answer.

“Do you regret taking those pictures?” She mumbles.

You don't hesitate, “Not at all.”

She nods. The silence that follows is thick, weighing at both of your shoulders, holding you in place. Ellie’s breathing is finally steady, and it’s calming.

“Go to bed.” She whispers before entering her room, gently shutting it behind her. Some tears fall before you follow her lead.

Pickle is sitting on the edge of your bed, just watching you. You smile sadly and whisper, “At least you love me, right?”

A gentle blink from her. You sob; Another pair of green eyes to bring you comfort.

“I love you, too.”

heyyyy: @starologist @hrtmal @ohlawdthebirds @villainousbear @timmy-27 @inf3ct3dd @aouiaa @shurisbigtoe @emothurman @lonelyfooryouonly @imelliesgf @baumbii @brackishkittie @littletinyladybugs @r1miese @horror-whoree @elsbunny222 @elliesatchel @makemescreamel @lav3nd3rhaze @elliezflower @ellieloml @ellies-princess @saverdelrey @womenofarcane @muthafuckingstargirl @mina-281 @yuckyfucky @aimformyheartt @elstoy @skylerwhitwyo @sawaagyapong @nil-eena @dewylittlestars @sakiigami @feelsoseencantdream @ellieslittlegf @fictionalgap @liabadoobee @whooknooows @sarahsmileslikesarahd0esntcare @qtgaslighter @p4ison1vy @eviestevie-14 @weaselot @elliewbbg @elsmissingfingers @lmaoo-spiderman @lyssaspengler @elliewilliamsmunch @gummydummykj @kiwikeysblog @juniorsfav @louleele @alittlextrahoney @tohoko @333-starhotline @girlkissersco @saplingkoi @crxmxnzl-c0rpzes @elliew-illiamsmissingfingers @diddiqueen @alexisvs-world @mostlyhornyandsad @lolaaa699999 @elsblunt @niyahlovesu @randomhoex @sunnmoon @elliesaesp @callmewhenyoukan @rubycruzsbitch

#click! ☾⋆⁺₊📸✧#ellie williams smut #ellie williams au #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x black!reader #black!oc #black!reader #lesbian #works 𖧧࣪

1K notes · View notes

lokischocolatefountain · 1 year

Text

Sundress

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Rating: 18+ (Fluff, slight smut, no angst for once, slutshaming but not how you think)

She laughed freely at something his cousin said, all her nervousness from their journey to Texas leaving her little by little when his family embraced her as one of their own within minutes of meeting her. Oh and the alcohol helped too. He took her hand and played with her fingers as he sipped on his beer, smiling as he felt himself relax in the presence of the people who knew him the best.

It was unbelievable really, being back in Laredo not as the former sheriff who ran out on his bride but as a federal agent with a beautiful woman on his arm wearing his ring. She was here in a pretty sundress, sitting on the sofa in his home, laughing with his cousins as they shared embarrassing stories about him. Pops loved her, just as he expected and he just knew that if Ma was alive, she would love her too.

It could’ve just been his beer-addled mind, but he was so happy with her right there, right then that he would quit his job and just keep her right there in Laredo. He never liked the damn place, always wanted to break free and run off to explore the big bad world. But he also saw the appeal of a small town as he stared into the old picture of his parents on their wedding day. He wanted love like that. And he had it. He wanted to take care of the ranch with her, work where he lived so that he could slip into the house whenever he wanted to kiss her senseless. He wanted to wake up in the morning without worrying about going elsewhere for work and just bury himself in her warmth, make sweet love to her, have the big family he’s always secretly wanted.

“Why can’t I have a baby brother?” He recalled asking his parents, wishing to have a playmate at home. They’d tried. For many many years, they’d tried. But he didn’t know that. “It’s because you’re a naughty boy and I don’t have time for more naughty ones.” Ma said, pinching his cheeks before getting back to work with the newborn foal.

All his cousins had siblings and though he was close enough to them to not long for more kids his age to play with, he was jealous of them and angry at his parents. So he told himself all those years ago that when he was old enough, he would give his son a lot of little siblings to play with. It was stupid and childish really, but the sentiment hadn’t worn off over the years. He would like a big family someday. When they were away from all the dangers his job brought them.

Family and friends flitted out one by one, making Javier grateful that he didn’t have to kick them out to take his fiancé to bed. He loved his family and all but he had been around her for hours without being able to touch her inappropriately and that was getting to him. Kicking his family out to fuck his girl wouldn’t have been nice. And it wouldn’t have done well for his ‘Javi who left his fiancé at the altar’ reputation.

“I really like them,” she giggled as she cuddled into him on the sofa. He pressed a kiss to her lips and pulled back to find her smiling wide. He smiled back, unable to resist the infectious effects of her smile.

“Good. And they like you too. Especially pops.”

“Wooo!” She pumped her fist in the air, making him laugh. “‘S nice to have my future father-in-law’s approval.”

“Yeah well, let’s not rub it in my face,” he grumbled, recalling how unimpressed her father was with him. But he couldn’t fault the man. If his daughter came home with a guy who got shot at everyday for a living, he would be more than just unimpressed.

“Aww, Pobrecito,” she cooed before pressing wet kisses to his cheek. “He’ll come around. He’s just annoyed that you would be such a slut and have sex with his daughter under his roof before marrying her.”

“And whose fault is that?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. She’d teased him all day, fucking grabbed him beneath the dinner table while carrying on conversation about work with her family.

“Whose fault?” She asked, making her eyes all soft and sweet just like the night she sneaked into the guest bedroom of her family home and begged him to fuck her. How was a man supposed to resist those sweet eyes and their filthy requests that contradicted their innocent act?

“Yours.”

“Mhmm?”

“Mhmm.”

“Okay then,” she said, smiling sweetly. Nothing good came out of that innocent act. “I’ll be a good girl tonight. I’ll take my bag to the guest bedroom. Sleep there for our entire week here.”

He rolled his eyes at her and snatched her bottle of beer before emptying the contents in one gulp. He wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easy.

“Rude!”

“Better rude than cruel, you absolute demon of a woman.”

“Cruel!? How dare you! I’ve been on my best behavior all day. I made your family fall in love with me faster than you made my family tolerate you. Miguel loves me so much that he would marry me if you didn’t. Linda invited me on a shopping trip and José didn’t move from me for hours.”

“José is two,” he said, laughing. Babies loved everyone, right? They were just innocent little creatures who loved everything. Or that was just what he told himself when his base instincts told him to take her to his room and put a baby in her immediately.

It wasn’t his fault. It was the goddamn sundress making her look all sweet and homely and just like something he’d want to put a baby in. He was going insane. Just the sight of her fitting in so well with his family and cradling his cousin’s kid while wearing a ring that declared her his was enough for him to stop thinking practically about all the things they needed to get out of the way before having kids.

“So? He loves me. I’m just so dang lovable,” she said, poking his chest with her index finger. “Not my fault that I’m perfect and you’re a big grump my father doesn’t care for.”

“He doesn’t hate me for being a grump. He hates me because he heard his innocent little girl screaming my name at night.”

“Asshole!” She gasped and shoved him away from her, but he returned right back and kissed her on the lips. Before she could call him more names, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, laughing as he felt her grab his ass immediately. Becoming boring was one of the reasons he didn’t want to get married, but with a girl like her who wanted him so openly, there wouldn’t be a boring day in his life.

“You make me fuck you in your family home, I get to have you fuck me in my childhood bedroom,” he said, carrying her to his room.

“Around all the posters of half naked women?”

“You offended, baby?” He asked, slapping her ass. He wasn’t the half naked women plastered all over his walls kind of guy anymore. But it made him feel giddy to think she might be…jealous?

“Nope! Just regretting taking down my John Wayne and Sydney Poitier posters. I had a John Wayne poster where he’s on a horse, wearing a cowboy ha—” she gasped as he dropped her on his bed.

“He was just a fake cowboy, baby. I’m the real deal. Got a ranch and all. I’ll put on the clothes if you want me to. Get on a horse, wear the damn hat. You want that?” He asked, hovering over her as she unbuttoned his shirt.

“I don’t know, Javi…” she tutted, twirling his hair around her finger. “You might look like a clown in it since you gave up the cowboy life to be a slut in Colombia.”

“I gave up the cowboy life to chase Escobar,” he corrected, giving her a pointed look.

“Yeah, but you spend more time being a slut than chasing Escobar.”

He pinched her ass, making her shriek and slap her hand over her mouth. “Javi! Don’t make me scream. I don’t want your dad to think badly of me!”

“Oh that’s one thing I can’t do, baby. Making you scream and making you cream comes naturally to me,” he said, making her gasp in horror. She had no reason to react so dramatically seeing that he’d definitely given her worse lines in the past. But it was fucking cute.

“Slut,” she chided, pushing him away but then pulling him down to her immediately. She gave him a peck on the lips before blessing the rest of his face with her kisses. It had him smiling like a kid, laughing like he used to when he was a permanent resident of this room.

“How many girls you fuck on this bed before me, Peña?” She asked as he shrugged his shirt off and got to work on her sundress. She looked pretty as hell in it, the white cotton with lemons printed on it giving her the look of the chaste woman she was not. But she looked the part in front of his family, hair down and neatly combed, pink on her cheeks and lips, and a pretty dress that made her look the part of a fiancée any group of Tias would approve of.

“You’re the first. The only one,” he said, pushing the elastic off her shoulders and kissing the swell of her breasts. He breathed in her distinct scent mixed with her sweat and took her breast into his mouth. She tasted salty from sweating, but he was not one to be disgusted by that. He came home to her sweaty and disgusting every damn night and she took him anyway. He buried his face between her breasts and took in her scent, groaning as his cock twitched in response.

Images of her with her knees bent by her head, still wearing the damn sundress as he drilled into her cunt filled his brain.

“Riiight. Totally believe that,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“You don’t trust me? You’re the only girl— woman, on this bed.”

“I don’t believe you. I know for a fact that you were a slut in high school.”

“Oh I was,” he agreed, hand diving beneath her skirt. “But I never brought girls back here. I sneaked into their bedrooms and sneaked out when we were done.”

“Of course you did,” she laughed, fucking herself on his fingers. It was sweet, having her in his family home, learning more about him and being delighted in what she found.

“It’d been a fantasy for a while actually, to bring a girl home, sleep with her on my bed. I just hated having to pull my pants up and run out before my girlfriend’s parents caught us and shot me.”

“You absolute menace!” She scolded and shook her head. He wondered if she would’ve given him her time of day had they gone to school together. He was quite the lanky kid with none of the muscles of his current body that she loved so much. He didn’t have much game either, not enough to impress her at least. She was a big city girl and all he knew at fifteen was Laredo and its oppressive walls. The Agent Javier Peña of now had slipped a diamond ring on her finger, but Javi from Laredo would’ve made a fool out of himself trying to get her to just talk to him.

Or not.

Maybe she would’ve liked him back. Maybe stupid boys with the worst pickup lines and too much confidence were her teenage self’s type.

“Would’ve sneaked into your room too,” he teased, bunching her skirt up at her waist before sucking her clit between his lips.

“Javi!” She squealed and not from pleasure. He apologized for hurting her with his desperation and placed a gentle kiss on the nub.

“My dad would’ve killed you for sure,” she said, running her hand over his arm. He flexed his muscles for her benefit and she took his offer, lavishing his arm with attention before moving a hand down his back as far as she could reach.

“Worth it for this pussy.”

He spent the night with his head between her legs, making her cry his name into her hand and then his pillow. In his head, he gave Javi from two decades ago a pat on the back. He’d gotten out of Laredo like he always wished, no matter the circumstance. He landed a pretty girl who wanted to fuck just as much as he did. He had love like his parents. He’d have a wedding he wouldn’t walk out on and someday maybe the grandchild his dad mentioned in passing.

Life was good.

Series Masterlist

2K notes · View notes

thetriumphantpanda · 5 days

Text

thunderstruck | marcus pike

Summary | You're scared of storms but it's okay, because Marcus always knows how to soothe you.

Pairing | Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Word Count | 1.4K

Warnings | Explicit - descriptions of thunderstorms, softness/fluff, rain, established relationship, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk, our boy Marcus just being Marcus. No use of y/n.

Authors Note | This is my contribution to @undercoverpena's April Showers Challenge. It's a blessing that I got anything out because this brief gave me so many ideas, but I've missed my man and knew he would be the one I'd want to comfort me through a rain storm. Enjoy.

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Divider by @saradika

Are you busy?

No baby, what’s up?

I don’t like the storm.

They’ve never been your favourite. Something about growing up on the coast, when the rain and wind would bring the waves crashing near your home, and your parents would walk about like nothing was wrong and there wasn’t the immediate danger of your house being washed out to sea. The nights, when the wind would clatter the shutters against the windows and drag tiles from the roof to break onto the ground. It might be Washington D.C. now and you might live in a new apartment building, but it doesn’t make the torrential rain and gale force winds any easier to handle.

You’re sitting on the couch, curtains drawn with all the lights on to try and make it feel less scary, but when the first clap of thunder hits you jump and scream all the same, burying yourself further under the blanket, some childhood wish for that to keep you safe.

There’s a knock at the door a little while later, the only thing that could drag you from the warm cocoon of blankets. Padding gently to the door, you open it, Marcus stood in front of you, dripping wet from the storm outside. He steps across the threshold, arm wrapping around your waist as he dips to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

“This feels stupid.” You grumble as you shut the door behind him, following close to his heels as he walks through your apartment, so familiar with it now that it feels like home to have to him here.

“It’s not stupid if you’re scared, baby.” He soothes, sitting down on your couch, opening his arm to encourage you to snuggle into his side, which you do without question.

You can feel his thumb tracing soothing circles on your arm as you settle a little, but it’s short-lived, when a crash of thunder bellows through the room from outside, making you jump and bury your head into the side of his neck with a groan.

“I blame the coast,” You speak softly, “I was always so scared of it blowing our house away when I was small.”

“You know what helps?” Marcus murmurs against your head, another soft kiss placed to it.

“Hmmm?”

“Sometimes you’ve just got to be louder than the storm.”

You look up at him, confused for a second, until you can feel him moving the two of you, laying you gently down on the couch. His mouth sponges kisses across your neck, trailing down across your collarbone before he drags it away to peel your tank top from your body. You hear Marcus hum in approval at your lack of bra, his hands gently pressing your tits together before his mouth is suckling a nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking over it until it’s stiffened to a peak, giving the same attention to the other side until you’re gasping, bucking your hips into his, the bulge in his trousers evident as his mouth trails further south, tongue leaving a trail from your tits and down your stomach until he gets to the waistband of your pyjama pants.

“Lift up.” He murmurs softly, voice almost drowned out by the constant smattering of rain against the windows.

Doing as you’re told, you lift your hips up, letting him hook his fingers into the waistband to drag them down your legs. You miss the weight and warmth of his body when it’s gone, but then you feel his warm palms on the inside of your thighs, pressing your legs open, and then you don’t mind so much at all, especially when you look up at him, watching him admire the already sticky mess accumulating between your thighs.

Marcus moves to run his thumb across your folds, dragging your slick across your skin, but not daring to dip below to where you truly want him.

“Such a pretty pussy.” He muses, moving to situate himself between your legs, hot mouth pressing wet kisses to the delicate skin of your thighs, teasing you by putting his mouth everywhere but where you need it most.

“M-Marcus, please.” You whimper when his face moves, he’s so close to your cunt you can feel the hot of his breath.

“What do you want, baby?” He asks, running that damn thumb over your folds once more, this time though, his other thumb rests to the side, gently pulling your folds apart to bare you to him, “Want me to kiss it a little?”

“Oh god, oh please Marcus, please.”

“Sound so pretty when you beg for it.” He speaks, and you’re about to say something smart when he leans forward and presses a single, open-mouth kiss to your clit.

It’s tiny in comparison to what you really want, but it makes you throw your head back anyway, back arching, trying to press your cunt closer to his face. Thankfully, he takes pity on you, kisses your clit once, twice more, and then you can feel the tip of his tongue, flicking up against your clit, then dragging back down, sometimes circling, working you gently until you’re whining and bucking your hips into his face.

You’d almost forgotten about the storm outside, the movements of his tongue distracting you just enough, until the loudest clap of thunder echoes through the apartment. It makes you scream, jumping slightly, but you feel Marcus’ hands grip tightly to the skin of your thighs, tearing his mouth away from you. You look down at him, mouth glistening with a mix of your slick and his spit, glint across his brown eyes.

“What did I say?” He asks, squeezing at your thighs again, “What did I tell you earlier?”

“Um…” You wrack your brain, trying to remember, “I needed to be louder than the storm?”

“That’s right, my clever girl,” He praises, heat rising across your skin, “If you scream for me, you won’t notice.”

Once again, before you can retort with your smart mouth, he’s back on you, lips closing around your clit, tongue resuming it’s flicking across your bundle of nerves, but then you can feel two of his fingers sinking inside you, easing into your walls, curling up against that perfect spot inside of you.

It makes you cry out, his name dropping from your lips as you arch off the couch, his tongue working in time to the press of his two fingers in your cunt. You’re chanting his name into the room, moving your hips in time to the movements of his hands until you’re teetering on the edge of bliss. He knows, of course he does, the way your walls start to flutter around his fingers, so he slows his fingers, keeping you dangling over the edge but not quite pushing you just yet.

“Marcus p-please,” You whimper, hands tangling in his hair, “Please make me come.”

“You asked so nicely, baby,” He muses against your pussy, letting his fingers curl just perfectly against the spongy spot inside you, “Whenever you’re ready honey.”

It takes very little more, his mouth suckling at your clit, his fingers pressing inside you, and then you’re crashing, skin aflame with pleasure as you do exactly as he told you and scream his name into the living room, body convulsing, gushing around his fingers as they still inside you. You’re clenching around him as his tongue moves gently across your clit to work you through your orgasm until you’re boneless and pliant beneath him.

Marcus drags his fingers from you, letting them run up the skin of your thighs, as he finally relents and pulls away from you, just in time for more thunder to sound out, this time a little further away.

“Well, listen there,” He whispers, fingers moving to undo the button of his trousers, “Storm still hasn’t passed,” He speaks as he drags the zipper down, “Think you can make a little more noise, baby?”

You reach up, hand clutching the back of his neck to pull him back down on top of you, mouth meeting his, tasting yourself on his tongue as he kisses you before you pull away, “I can make all the noise you want.”

#Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike Smut #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x you #marcus pike fanfiction #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x F!reader #Marcus Pike fic #Marcus Pike fanfic #the mentalist #the mental illness is winning #the mentalist fanfic #the mentalist fanfiction #Pedro pascal #marcus pike fluff #Marcus Pike angst #Marcus Pike Pedro Pascal #Marcus Pike The mentalist

171 notes · View notes

blindmagdalena · 5 days

Text

Guilty Pleasures ( chapter four )

18+ 5.2k homelander x plus size f!reader. office romance, stalking, voyeurism, office sex, cunnilingus, cream pie, breast play, flight sex, lite overstim, riding. nebulously takes place post s1. part 4/4. AO3 link. CH I CH 2 CH 3

Homelander takes what's his, and you get what's yours.

welcome to the final chapter! thanks so much for reading. i really enjoyed the dynamic between these two, and i hope you do, too. 🖤

Homelander doesn’t hold it against you that you take him up on his suggestion to be absent the following day. He leaves a little peace offering in your office to say as much: a mug for your collection that reads simply, You’ve Been Mugged. He adjusts it seven times on your desk before he finally leaves it alone, surveying your office a while before letting himself out.

The thugs he lasered down in the alley don’t garner much attention, but it’s enough to warrant a statement on the truth of what happened. With them dead, the truth becomes whatever he makes of it, and his truth is that two vagabonds were assaulting a cherished Vought employee before he put a stop to it.

It’s precisely the kind of hero story the public loves.

“I acted on instinct,” he tells the newscaster. He relives the moment as he tells it, recalls only to himself how fierce you had been. How determined you were that if you were going to die, you would die fighting. “They were going to hurt her. I like to believe any good citizen in my position would have done the same.”

Madelyn taught him that conviction without contrition would always read as arrogance, so he speaks firmly but with a furrow to his brow, and he closes his eyes when he inclines his head to accept praise. No matter how dead she is, her voice remains an echo in his mind: follow the script, and you’ll be fine.

They use his words to segue into a discussion of gun control, and Homelander’s mind drifts somewhere distant, hearing without listening to the petty squabbles of humans crying about their little toys and laws. He supposes this is how God feels when humans pray to Him over every minor inconvenience. Bored and painfully above it.

While it’s easy enough to keep himself distracted during business hours, Homelander’s life comes to an abrupt halt alongside the end of the working day. Like the equipment that broadcasts him, there’s little use for him once the cast and crew goes home. All around him the employees commiserate at the end of their work day and pass around invitations to the bar.

He receives none.

Not that he would accept them if he did.

Seeking both council and companionship, Homelander finds himself in Noir’s apartment, seated in the chair Noir keeps for him. It’s the only one the hero owns, what with his interior design being deeply steeped in westernized ninja nonsense. The place is half dojo, half living quarters.

He laments his situation to Noir, explaining his patience in courting you, the lengths he’s gone to endear himself to you on a personal level, and the bitter sting of your rejection.

“See her,” Noir writes in his sketchpad, sitting on the floor on the other side of the low table. “If glad to see her, good. If not–”

Homelander snorts at the series of knife sketches that follow. He has no doubt Noir would put an end to anyone for any reason Homelander gave. Simplicity has allowed Noir an unwavering loyalty to Vought, and as an extension, Homelander himself. Luckily for you, he has no interest in that happening. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Noir,” he muses, clapping his hands on his thighs before he stands up. “You’re right. I’ll go see her. Thanks, buddy.”

Noir offers two thumbs up. A true uproar of approval.

Under the cover of darkness, Homelander returns to your house, the flight path a familiar one now. He lands silently on your roof this time, cocking his head. He’s not confident he’ll be able to resist your siren pull if he approaches now. He folds his hands behind his back and peers through each layer between him and your bedroom, stopping when he can see you.

You’re nestled deep in the splay of your blankets, lips parted around shallow breaths. He bites his own bottom lip, remembering how badly he’d wanted to feel them. Taste them. He’s certain now that if he allowed himself to be close enough, he would. Denial, for as much as it stung in that moment, has only made him hungrier for you. Fuck, the way he’s craved you from the moment you first brushed him aside.

He watches you shift in your sleep and his eyes narrow, honing in on a familiar flash. His stomach flips–it’s his cape, the fabric pinned between your blanket and your body. You really are sleeping with it, the star spangled blue fabric tucked up under your chin. Do you smell him on it? Homelander groans softly. Like your underwear in his bedside drawer, you sleep with a trophy of your own.

“Fuck,” he says, aching. His heart, his mind, his cock–all of it at once a cacophony of vicious yearning and impatience. The urge to peel the roof like a sardine can and carve his way straight to you nearly knocks the wind out of him, has him preemptively reaching for the shingled surface.

Only the lingering wound to his ego gives him pause. He’s been bitten once, leaving him shy to instigate, but this revelation feels like progress. You’re aching for him as much as he is for you. He’s sure of that now. It’s time that he made you feel that ache. Feel his absence. Then you’ll realize the foolishness of your coy game.

Clenching his jaw defiantly, Homelander lifts up into the sky.

He’ll be benevolent when you come to your senses.

The next day, Homelander keeps himself scarce, preoccupied. Ashley is perkier than usual, thrilled–if not suspicious–with his easy participation in whatever inane business she brings to him. It helps distract him from the endless feeling of waiting that he’s enduring.

He sticks stubbornly to his schedule, fantasizing about the torment his avoidance has surely wrought. He’s tempted a time or two to break, but each time he remembers the mortified Oh! you uttered before he kissed you, he refocuses himself.

You’ll come.

Not before lunch, but that is the perfect opportunity for it. He makes himself more available then, tapping his fingers against the armrest of his chair.

No sign of you.

He gives you the benefit of the doubt. A meal to embolden you.

Then you’ll come.

He waits.

Lunch long since over.

He waits.

The day is winding down.

He’s fucking tired of waiting.

Where the hell are you? He’s given you the entirety of the day to seek him out, ample opportunity to come thank him for his gift, to address the aching thing ruminating between you. You’d be a fucking liar to say you don’t feel it, too. By midday, he’s seething with impatience and hurt. There’s no chance he’s going to let you stand him up.

It’s precisely the wrong time for Ashley to rear her head back up. “Okay! That’s that, now regarding the amnesty for–”

“Ashley!” He snaps, a harsh and throaty sound. “Would you shut the fuck up?”

She stops in her tracks, staring wide-eyed. Of course it was too good to be true.

Homelander all but leaps to his feet, pushing out of his chair so hard that it flips backwards and into the wall in a heavy clatter. She clutches her vPad to her chest and quickly back steps out of his way, watching in frightened bewilderment as he storms from the room, making a beeline towards your office.

He doesn’t bother knocking this time. Still, his restraint is undeniable when he pushes your door open. He barely catches himself from pushing the damn thing clean off the hinges.

Your head snaps up from your computer, eyes wide. He hears your heart jump and he savors the alarm that shoots through you. Payback for the awful misery you forced him to endure in the hours since he last saw you. Still, the sight of you disarms him. For all his seething anger, there is something small in him that retreats it when your eyes are on him.

There’s a heaviness to your gaze that his strength can do nothing to alleviate. No incredible feat of his can wrench away what it is he wants from you. What he needs. It’s something you have to give him willingly, and that alone is enough to temper his rage. The familiar fear that you won’t.

He marches to the front of your desk and levels an accusatory finger on you.

“You like me,” he hisses, bending to brace his opposite hand on your desk.

You blink owlishly, lips parted. That clearly wasn’t what you expected him to say. He’s not sure it’s what he meant to say. “Homelander–”

“No,” he says, voice pitched low, a warning. “No, no. No games, no workarounds. You like me. You do. And I like you. So,” he abandons his point to make a vague encompassing gesture, but he doesn’t know what to say next. He didn’t think this far ahead. All day he had practiced the calm benevolence he would show when you approached him, chastised and yearning. He has nothing to back up this frenzied play for.

You stand. Homelander rises to his full height with you, jutting his chin out. He watches you with all the wariness of a wounded predator as you circle around your desk, your hand gliding along the wood like you would flank a horse so as not to spook it.

He can’t determine the intent behind your gaze. He angles his body towards you, facing you head on. You look like yourself again, in your element and free from the fawn fear of the alley. He can’t entirely decide which way he prefers you. When you were in his arms, he was your hero. In your office, his position feels more precarious.

The silence stretches on for hours–or seconds, it’s impossible to say–before he can no longer stand it. Sucking in a breath, he–

You kiss him.

Homelander goes shock still, hyper aware of your lips pressed feather light to his, your breasts against his chest, your hand on his forearm. He doesn’t know when he closed his eyes, but he senses when you begin to pull away.

In a flash he cups your face in his hands and pulls you in deep, inhaling sharply, like he’s only just remembered how to breathe. He kisses you, kisses you, kisses you as if he can trap you in the cycle of it. You don’t resist, you don’t tense. Instead, you sigh an angel’s breath against his lips. Only then does he break to look at you.

“I don’t understand,” he says, bewildered, flushed.

“I do like you,” you say, eyes glassy.

His brows pinch. “But… That night–”

“Wasn’t right,” you interrupt. “I wanted to kiss you, but not like that. Not then. Not because you saved me, not because I was in shock, not because of…” you rock your head side to side. “Whatever other bullshit… You let me down that night.”

“Let you down?” Homelander echoes, taken aback. “By saving your life?” He asks, his temper a perpetual simmer ready to flare. He’s immediately tempered by your hands taking his wrists, squeezing. You hold his gaze and your expression is gentle, but there is a firmness in your stare that he finds intoxicating. Not an ounce of fear, even when his anger emerges.

Good. You shouldn’t be afraid of him. He saved you.

“I was shaken. Badly. My date was an entitled asshole, those men, they tried to…” You shake your head, holding his hands to your face. “I didn’t need you to be a man. I needed you to be a hero. I wasn’t ready.”

A light in Homelander’s eyes flicks on. You just weren’t ready. He’d been right after all. He fixates on that, choosing to forgive you for that, at least.

“Well, why didn’t… You could have said something,” he says, feeling like a deflated hot air balloon, all slack expansion and heat with no purpose.

“I would have,” you say, your cheeks soft and round in his hands, lips slightly puckered from his hold on your face. “But you ran away.”

“What? I–” He laughs incredulously. “I did not run away.”

“Flew away,” you say, pushing in to kiss him again. He screws his eyes shut. Fuck, fuck. Oh fuck. He’s been dreaming of this, aching for it. To feel you against him, wanting him as much as he wants you. “Pretty fast, too. Looked like you shot straight up to the moon,” you say, breath hot and sweet on his lips.

“I…” He swallows, hands slipping down to either side of your neck, thumbs tilting your chin up. “I’m sorry. I wanted you,” he says, trailing his parted lips along your jaw, kissing and breathing you in the way he’s craved to. He can feel your skin growing hot against his lips, hear the uptick of your pulse as your heart begins to race.

“Do you still want me?” You ask, voice lower now. It sends a delicious hot pang all the way through him.

“You have no fucking idea,” he murmurs, nipping at the lobe of your ear, desperate to test the give of you under his teeth, the feel of your soft and yielding flesh branded into his memory the moment his lips touched your skin.

A knock snaps his attention away from you, but it isn’t at the door. He looks down and sees that it’s you knocking on your desk. “So take me,” you say, voice laced with heat. His lips split into a wicked grin. He snatches the edge of your heavy wooden desk and effortlessly tips it backwards until everything slides off of it, clattering to the floor. He lifts you up, relishing your delighted little yelp, and places you down on the cleared surface like a doll, stepping in between your legs.

He kisses you again. Let me in, demands the press of his tongue. You yield to him, but it’s far from a surrender. Your tongue meets his eagerly, tasting him as much as he does you. Tasting you. That’s what he wants. He wants to map every inch of you with his tongue.

Homelander slips his hand between your legs, pushing your skirt up out of the way. He presses his fingers to the heat between your thighs, rubbing through the thin fabric of your panties. You sigh that same seraphic sound against his lips, slipping your hands up into his hair, already taking a handful of it to tug gently.

He breaks the kiss and takes his fingers from you after the barest tease of pleasure. The impatient sound you make goes straight to his cock, as does your flustered expression. He brings his fingers to his lips and drags his tongue over the leather of them, sliding them past his lips to give a quick suck. It’s not enough, too slight a hint of you. He needs more. You watch him with rapt attention, giving his hair a demanding little tug.

“You can pull as hard as you like,” he tells you with a smile, tilting his head against the grasp you have on his hair. “Tells me I’m doing a good job.”

“I’ll tell you when you’re doing a good job,” you rasp, giving his hair a sharp pull and then a downward push. That sends a shiver down his spine.

Fuck yes.

Homelander sinks down onto his knees, lifting each of your legs up over his shoulders. You give a little gasp when he yanks your ass to the edge of the desk, giddy with the way he manhandles you. He swallows, mouth dry, thirsty for the wet, heady smell of your pussy. He maneuvers his head under your skirt until he’s close enough to drag his tongue up the soft cotton of your panties. Your breath hitches and your grip in his hair tightens while you egg him on with sharp little rolls of your hips.

He closes his eyes, giving a rumbling moan for the taste of you, even through the fabric. He laps until the fabric is soaked, clinging to your skin, and he can feel your clit swollen and stiff on his tongue through your panties. He closes his mouth over it, sucking you through your underwear while you writhe above him, keeping yourself quiet.

That won’t do.

He wants to hear you.

He wants the whole fucking Tower to hear you.

Hooking the crotch of your panties with his finger, it only takes one sharp little tug to tear them, exposing you to him.

“Homelander,” you moan. The sound of it lances a spear of heat through him, leaves his cock throbbing needily in the rigid confines of his cup. He groans into you, rocking his hips against the empty air. The only proper answer is to dive in, to close his lips around your clit and finally suck the rich nectar of your cunt without the filter of fabric between you. You taste even better than you smell, like salt and sex and sweet ripe fruit. It overwhelms his senses immediately, his eyelids flickering.

The more he laps at you, the silkier your pussy becomes. Between circling your clit, he drives his tongue deep into you, drinking you down noisily and messily, a parched man gulping from an oasis. Your thick thighs are tight on either side of his head, your pulse pounding in his ears. He moans low and wicked for the taste and feel of you.

Your grip on his hair tightens sporadically, sharp little tugs that match the staccato cadence of your breaths. “F-fuck, your tongue feels-feels fucking unreal,” you moan, grinding down against it. The strength of it, the slight thrum of restrained power that courses through him, and the sheer relentlessness of his stamina is driving you wild against his mouth. “Fingers, use your fingers,” you tell him. He loves the rawness of your voice, the authority and desperation in your demand.

Removing one of his gloves, he moves his bare hand to the sweltering wetness of you, teasing his finger just below where his tongue is rubbing your clit. His index finger slips easily into the slick mess, and he savors the quiver of your velvet walls around it. He lets you ride his finger, stays all but still while you greedily bounce your hips, both hands fisted in his hair. You use him for your pleasure, and it makes him delirious with want.

Homelander's gaze flickers up. He peers through the layer of your skirt to catch a look at you, to watch you while you cannot watch him. You’re losing track of yourself, lips parted, eyes glazed with pleasure, shivering with each flick of his tongue and dive of his finger. Euphoria looks good on you.

Christ, he has been patient. He would chastise himself for waiting so long to touch you, to taste you, to feel you, but he can’t bring himself to. The wait gifted him with this exquisite hunger, and he proved something important; you both yearn for the other. You crave him. He can see it in your hazy eyes, taste it in the spill of your sweet cunt.

You belong to him. He needs only to take you.

One finger becomes two, and then three. Your heels dig into his shoulders and fuck yourself down on them, moaning recklessly now, not caring who hears you. It’s music to his ears.

“Fuck, Homelander, I-I’m coming, I’m-don’t stop, don’t stop,” you beg prettily. You don’t need to, but he enjoys the song anyway. He laps at your clit in quick upward pulls of his tongue, lips creating a seal around it. His brows furrow tightly, his own neglected arousal pounding through his body like a wardrum, but he doesn’t touch himself, too focused on you.

Your whole body locks up tight when you come, breath caught in your lungs, your clit fluttering delicately. He presses his tongue to it, savoring the taste of your euphoria, how it floods your system and changes the flavor of you. Your pleasure grows his hunger into something monstrous, something demanding, but there is satiation at least in bringing you this, in showing you all the things he will be for you.

You’ll never want for anyone–or anything– else ever again.

Homelander doesn’t stop. You begged him not to. He finger-fucks you through the aftershocks, lapping up every drop of your pleasure, stroking you inside and out while your cunt squeezes his fingers. He doesn’t stop until he feels you pushing him away, your sweet songbird moans sounding more like whimpers, oversensitized. He withdraws his fingers, giving one last noisy slurp before emerging from beneath your skirt. His face is shiny and wet with your slick, his pupils blown black. He's panting, looking every bit like a beast lifting its bloodied head from the belly of its kill.

Crawling up your body, still predator hungry, he rests his knee on the desk between your legs. He cups either side of your face, fingertips digging possessively into the back of your neck. He meets your eyes, pinning you with the intensity of his gaze, wordlessly drilling into your mind that this moment, this feeling, this tingling warmth in your body is him.

I did this to you, his expression reads. You’re on my lips, he says by pressing them to yours, kissing your own taste into your mouth, his body throbbing, desperate for an ounce of that same relief. You’re mine.

To his amazement, your eyes mirror his own savage hunger. You kiss him hard, shamelessly licking into his mouth, huffing shallow breaths from your nose. “Lie down,” you tell him, voice as sweet and coarse as raw sugar. “I’m going to ride you.”

Homelander doesn’t need to be told twice. Exhilarated, he rolls over, flipping you with him and steadying you above him in a fluid motion. The desk isn’t as long as he is tall, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already half suspended in the air with his own excitement, helping you with overly eager hands that fumble alongside yours with his belt, which falls to the ground with a distinct thud. He gives a little jump at the voracity you rip his zipper down with, grinning.

Together, you shuck his pants down to his thighs. You grip him through his red briefs, a fractured moan falling from his lips.

“Cute underwear,” you coo. His cheeks flush to almost the same shade. You flatten your palm over his cock and he bites back a whimper, teeth sinking into his tongue. You give a light squeeze, fingers curling around his cock through the fabric, and he lets out a rough breath. “You feel close,” you tell him, stroking him in a loose fist, your hand warm, the fabric soft.

He nods fervently, the friction and your voice already teetering him towards the edge. He makes a sound of both anguish and relief when you release him, his eyes snapping up to meet yours. You tug his underwear down, his cock bouncing free, engorged and dripping precome.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, bracing one hand on his chest and sliding forward, your other hand moving between your bodies to steady his cock against the rapturously hot press of your soaked cunt. His hands fly to your hips, fingertips biting into the softness of your body. You allow him that, focused entirely on the act of taking him into you. The fat head of his cock it slips inside, evoking a sweet little gasp from you, and Homelander fights not to slam in the rest of the way.

Both of your hands fall to his chest, your eyes meeting his. He holds your gaze, mouth twitching around silent sharp breaths. He watches you sink slowly down the length of him, engulfing him in such sublime rapture it’s a wonder he doesn’t come right then and there for the feel of you alone. His grip on your hips flexes and he gives a sharp little thrust up, forgetting himself to the divine feel of your pussy.

“I said don’t move,” you remind him breathlessly. God, you’re beautiful like this. The fluorescent light behind your head haloes you, giving you the look of a debauched angel he plucked from the heavens to have and keep as his own. He expects you to move, to bounce yourself on his cock like you did his mouth and his fingers. He wants to watch your tits bounce, see your face clearly when you come on his cock, but the only part of you that moves is your hand.

His gaze drops and quickly darkens, watching intently as you stroke your clit. The initial contact alone makes you jerk, makes your pussy spasm and squeeze him so good he almost chokes on it. Your only response is to sigh, tipping your head back and spreading your legs a little wider, taking him deeper. He wants so badly to fuck you, to slam you down and rail you until your desk cracks in half.

“Mmmm, fuck,” you moan, rubbing yourself in circles, the lewd noise of it loud and irresistible to his ears. “Fuck, fuck–ah, god,” you start to pant, head falling forward, brows tightly pinched. You’re so sensitive after the assault of his mouth, the flavor of you still fresh on his tongue. The faster your fingers move, the closer he feels you get, the clench around his cock steadily tightening. He wants to thrash, but you keep him pinned in place with your look of expectation and pleasure. You’re getting off on him as much as you are your own fingers, on the swell and throb of his cock inside you, on the sheer power you hold over a god.

You’re loud when you come, nails clawing into the chest of his suit. Homelander’s eyes roll back, lips parted on a soundless cry of his own. The spasming heat of your release is too much and he loses himself to it, eyes flaring up with crimson light as he comes with you, every shudder of your climax stroking and milking him of his own, flooding you with his own wet mess.

His restraint breaks with the dam and he sits up abruptly, startling a noise from you, which he swallows with a hard kiss, cupping the back of your head. He holds you still and he fucks you, lifting from the desk entirely so that he alone supports your weight, driving you deeper onto his cock. Your legs tighten on either side of him, shaking.

Out of his mind with pleasure, he tears your blouse open with his teeth, diving in close to lick, suck and bite at your chest. He buries his face between your breasts, holding you tightly as he fucks you both through your respective orgasms, the slap of flesh against flesh echoing obscenely in your office.

Hitching your legs properly around his waist, he bounces you on his cock until the pleasure borders on pain and a secondary shock rolls through him like another orgasm, stealing his breath. Only then does he finally slow, mouthing languidly at your chest until he sucks your nipple into his mouth. He moans against you, grinding to an eventual halt. You comb your fingers through his hair and goosebumps erupt across his body, which shivers in the euphoric aftermath.

He loses track of how long he stays suspended like that, lost to the overwhelm of sensation. Your legs go slack while his angles slightly upward, his face pressed to your chest, your head resting atop his. He nuzzles at you, bleary eyed and slack with pleasure. He kisses a trail up to your clavicle, your throat, your jaw, smiling in the loose, easy way that only a good fuck can never make him.

“Wow,” he says after a while, voice thoroughly frayed.

You giggle, groggily lifting your head. He adjusts until you can relax against his chest, fold your forearms across it and settling your chin atop them, admiring him. He touches your face with his ungloved hand, stroking your cheek with his thumb, then the curve of your bottom lip. His smile widens when you kiss the pad of his thumb.

“Wow indeed,” you say, swinging your legs lightly. “Can’t say I’ve ever been fucked mid-air.”

“One of the many benefits of dating me,” he purrs, caressing your cheek with his knuckles. He kisses you again, drifting slowly back down, unhurried.

Your brows lift lazily. “Who says we’re dating?” You ask, but your smile keeps his hackles from rising.

“Me,” he says, eyes crinkled at the corners. He lands gently on the desk, helping you to it. “You and I are officially going steady.”

You give a thoughtful hum, carefully untangling your limbs from his. You slide off of the desk while he puts himself back together, your knees trembling faintly. “Fairly sure asking someone out requires a question mark. You know. The asking part. You didn’t even buy me dinner.” You attempt to button up your shirt, but it’s obviously a lost cause.

He exhales a quiet laugh, pulling you back into his arms. “Well, I certainly ate.”

“God,” you laugh, rolling your eyes, but they don’t stray from him for long. There’s a sparkle to your gaze that he wants to capture in his palm and never set loose.

“Will you go out with me?” He asks, lips brushing yours.

“Mmmmmmmm….” You hum once more, drawing it out, feigning a great deliberation. “There’s something you should know first.”

He quirks a brow. “What’s that?”

“My guilty pleasure,” you say, nose bumping his.

Intrigued, he inclines his head to prompt you to continue. Can’t be worse than mine.

“Superheroes,” you say conspiratorially. “Can’t get enough of them. Loved them my whole life. Especially this one in particular…”

He breaks into a frayed, charmed laugh. “Let me guess, name starts with an H?”

You suck in a breath through your teeth, lips curved downward in a mock grimace, and nod subtly. “ Total fangirl. Embarrassing, right?”

Homelander shakes his head. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never felt guilty about pleasure. Where’s the harm in it?”

The harm inflicted on those thugs couldn’t count. They had it coming.

“Harm to my pride, my ego, my reputation,” you list, tapping his suit to punctuate each one. “I made a pretty big fuss about not liking you. I had myself convinced that my Homelander only existed in my fantasies, and you were just the guy who plays him.”

My Homelander. The words stir an unexpectedly sentimental surge of emotion that wells up from somewhere deep in his chest. He clears his throat lightly. “What’s the verdict now?”

You sweep him with an appraising gaze. “Still deliberating.”

He clicks his tongue, nodding. “I don’t suppose I could arrange a meeting with the jury?”

“They’re available for dinner tomorrow,” you say, the tilt of your lips sly.

“It’s a date,” he murmurs, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. You kiss him, pressing your smile to his. He doubts he’ll ever tire of the softness of your lips, or the easy way you melt against him. He wraps his arms around you, content to let this moment pass only because he knows there will be more to come. He’s determined to make every one of them better than the last.

All of the pleasure, none of the guilt.

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #my writing #x reader #yandere x reader

175 notes · View notes

aestheticaltcow · 3 months

Text

Family Ties

I love that the fandom sees Carmy as a girl dad who practices gentle parenting. Gentle parenting is a great parenting style, don't get me wrong. Personally, I can see him butting heads with his teenage daughter like he wants her to express herself- but he also knows that teenage boys are weird and would want to protect her at all costs. This was just a thought I had a couple of days ago, and once I started, I couldn't stop. More Dad!Carmy content to come...

A/N: I didn't realize until I copy pasted this from my Google Drive. This was 6 freakin pages. I like longer fics, I'm sorry.

Carmy was furious. It took a lot of effort for him to ‘gentle parent’ with you when the kids, Grace and Oliver, were little. Now that both kids are in high school, he wishes he had been harder on them. You reassure him that the two of you have great kids, both work hard in school, participate in extracurricular activities, and aren’t afraid to talk to them about anything - he insisted he should have been harder on them, especially when he gets calls from the school about Oliver getting suspended… again.

Oliver was 15, and Carmy was convinced he was Mikey's reincarnation. Like you had, he did well in school, but he was Mikey in every other aspect of life. He just needed to get his head out of his ass before out-of-school suspension became stints in jail.

As Carmy walked down the hall to the principal’s office, he saw Oliver sitting on a bench talking to Grace- Grace, his little girl, granted she wasn’t as little anymore. She’s 17 and looked exactly like you when you were her age- except she had gotten his eyes. “Oliver.” Carmy barked, getting his attention.

Grace looked at her brother nervously. Carmy wasn’t the kind of Dad to ‘approve’ of her clothing, but he’d fight her on it occasionally, especially regarding crop tops and dresses. It came from a place of caring and not wanting his little girl to get hurt, but Carmy could take it too far.

Carmy noticed Grace turning the opposite way to get away from the Berzatto boys,

“Grace? Shouldn’t you be in class or somethin’?” Carmy questioned; she stopped in her tracks, knowing Carmy wasn’t in the best mood. She turned around and hoped he was too mad, Oliver, to notice the cropped corset she’d worn to school that day. It’s not like she’d worn it to get a guy to notice her; she’d just liked the contrast of its light green color with her baggy jeans, and she was supposed to match outfits with the rest of the dance team that day so he couldn’t be mad at it- especially since he’d encouraged her to join the dance team freshman year. “Someone texted me that Oli was out here- just wanted to make sure no one beat my baby brother’s ass.” she laughed. Carmy shot her his classic ‘I’m your father, I know when you’re lying look’ but shook his head; he was not ready to deal with that. “Put on a sweater.” Grace nodded at Carmy’s casual dislike of her top, “Yes, sir.”

Initially, Carmy was going to let it slide. He knew Grace was 17, she was going to college next year, and he wouldn’t be able to encourage her to make the right decision anymore, but while she was under his roof, she’d live by his rules. You laughed when he brought it up to you that night in bed. “Carmy, she’s a good kid. Gracie has good grades. She has good friends. She works; if she wants to wear a crop top, she can wear a crop top.” Carmy sighed. He saw the point you’d been trying to make with that explanation but wasn’t happy.

Grace hoped Carmy wouldn’t bring up her wardrobe, but unfortunately, she was wrong. Carmy had hired an older brother of one of Grace’s friends at The Bear- that’s how he’d found out about Grace’s non-family Instagram account. She hadn’t posted anything too scandalous; there were some pictures from parties where she was holding a red Solo cup, a few from a dance competition after-party where she’d been wearing something Carmy wouldn’t have allowed her to leave the house in, and of course the soft launch of her relationship. He was seething; you hadn’t known about the account either- you’d heard Grace talk to her cousins about a boy she liked, but the drinking and parties also surprised you.

“Carmy, you neeeeed to be careful with how you speak to Grace about this,” you emphasized through the phone. Of course, this would come up when you were out of town. “Baby, I’ll handle it.” “Carmen Anthony Berzatto. Do not, I repeat, do not shame our daughter. You can tell her you’re unhappy-” “I’ll handle it.” he hung up, and you knew you’d be walking into a shit storm when you returned home.

“Fuck off, Dad!” Grace screamed as she slammed her bedroom door. To say Carmy mishandled the situation would be an understatement; he stood outside Grace’s door, immediately regretting what he’d said about Grace. He questioned her character; he knew she was a good kid; he wanted to knock on her door and apologize, but Grace didn’t want to hear it.

Oliver sat in his bedroom and heard Carmy and Grace yell at each other throughout the weekend. He laughed when he realized Carmy double-downed on what he’d initially said about Grace ‘not being that kind of girl.’ and how people would ‘never take her seriously’ when he dropped the word ‘whore’ he knew there would be hell when you came home. The front door slammed, and he heard Carmy yell ‘fuck’ and slam a door. He looked out his bedroom window to see Grace running up the street. Oliver sighed and fished his phone out of his pocket; “Oli fuck off.” Grace huffed before immediately hanging up on him. He rolled his eyes and dialed your number. “Hi baby, everything okay?” “Nope.”

The house was antagonistic. Carmy was pissed at himself, you and Grace were also pissed at him, and Oliver managed to sink into the background. The family dinners you’d shared were typically full of conversation and life, but tonight was awkwardly silent. Oliver decided he’d take a crack at making it better, “Uncle Richie got to 100 Instagram followers. He’s pretty excited about it.” no one took the bait. He poked at the chicken on his plate, “Good dinner, am I right?” he grinned, looking around the table. Grace rolled her eyes and stood up from the table, “Grace?” you called after her. She ignored your question and went upstairs. “Well, I think it’s a good dinner- conversation wasn’t the best, but… we’ll get through it.” Oliver tried to lighten the tension in the room, but he inevitably failed, and Carmy told him to go to his room. Oliver obliged, taking his and Grace’s plates to the sink before shuffling upstairs. He walked past Grace’s room on the way. He paused and stood before the door; it was too quiet. He knocked softly before opening the door; she was gone.

“I just don’t know what to say to him. I’m pissed.” Grace vented as she lay beside Eva in the park by her apartment, “My dad was the same way, except he threw my clothes away. My mom ripped him a new one over it.” “Should I accept his apology and move out as soon as possible?” Eva shook her head and laughed at the suggestion. “Gracie, you know what you need to do.” Grace sighed, knowing her cousin was right. She sat up and pushed her hair back. “I’m gonna hide out at Danny’s house. Cover for me?” “Of course. Don’t get pregnant.”

“Gracie girl? Can I come in, honey?” you asked outside her door, but there was no response. “Baby, please?” you asked again. “She’s not home,” Oliver said, walking past you to the bathroom. “What do you mean she’s not home?” he shrugged. “I guess she snuck out after dinner.”. You pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration before walking into your and Carmy’s bedroom, “You have to fix this, Carmen.” you scolded in your best mom voice he’d heard a thousand times, granted it was typically directed at one of the kids. “Baby, how can-” “Carmen. If you ever want to be inside me again, you’ll fix this.” Carmy leaned back against the headboard; he didn’t think something like this could be fixed.

“Oh, hi, Grace.” Danny’s mom greeted her when she realized she was sitting on the couch with Danny. “Hi, Mrs. De Luca.” she smiled back, “How are you, sweetheart?” Grace shrugged at the question, “Been better.” “Oh, I’m sorry, Grace,” she frowned before turning her attention to her son “Danny. I need you to take Annie to school tomorrow morning, okay? I’m doin’ an overnight.” Danny nodded in acknowledgment. She smiled again and quickly ran out of the house, leaving Danny and Grace in the living room and Danny’s sister Annie upstairs, tucked into bed.

“So. What’s goin on with you?” Danny finally asked. He wasn’t mad that she’d come over unannounced, but it was obvious that Grace had been crying. Grace shrugged at the question, “Guess I just wanted to see you.” Danny scoffed. “Grace. Com’ on. You only come over on weeknights when you’re upset.” “Do not.” Grace challenged, leaning into his side. “I will tickle it out of you, baby. You should just tell me what’s up.” he insisted, sitting up slightly. Grace groaned and sat up, bringing her knees to her chest. She told him that she and Carmy were fighting about her ‘secret online life that everyone can see’ and how ‘she’s not that kind of girl,’ so why was she pretending to be? She was hesitant to include the part where Carmy had called her a whore, but as she looked at Danny’s sympathetic face, she couldn’t hold back. “The house is awkward- Oli tried to make a joke out of it, but it was just so fuckin’ annoying. I’m just disappointed in myself… he’s never mad at me, Danny.” Danny nodded. “I get that. What me to beat him up for callin’ you a whore? You know I will.” Grace rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Carmy sat outside on the porch smoking when he saw headlights coming in his direction; it was almost 2 in the morning. He sighed and took a final puff before ashing his cigarette. He assumed it was Grace, and he was correct. He heard her say her goodbyes to whoever dropped her off and waited for her to come up the driveway. “Hi, Grace.” he greeted, his lips pulling into a tight line due to their growing awkwardness. “Dad,” she responded, crossing her arms over her stomach. “Where were you?” “With Eva.” Carmy nodded. “Can I talk to you?” Grace shrugged and moved closer to Carmy. “I want to apologize, Gracie. I shouldn’t have said that about you. You have a good head on those shoulders- but I don’t want you to get hurt. Girls who posted stuff like that online when I was 17… you know what happened. Rumors and shit- I just don’t want people doin' that to you.” he explained, scratching at the back of his neck. Grace nodded, taking in what he’d said. “I understand, but I’m not a little girl anymore, Dad. I can handle myself; if I can’t, Danny has my back.” Carmy nodded, “We good?” he asked, looking down at Grace. He smiled when he saw her pulling her sleeves over her hands like when she was a little girl and felt uneasy. “We’re good.” Grace agreed. Carmy brought her into a lazy hug and kissed the top of her head. “I love you, always.” Grace smiled and hugged Carmy back, “I love you too, Dad.”

As the two went inside, Carmy remembered something she’d said, “Who’s Danny?” Grace stopped and looked up at Carmy cautiously. “Uh… he’s my- my boyfriend…”

#the bear #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto one shot #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #dad!carmen berzatto #dad!carmy x reader

210 notes · View notes

league-of-blorbos · 5 months

Text

Hi, I write fanfiction sometimes but my biggest issue is that I'm very slow at it and I always end up leaving my half finished drafts to rot and never get posted. But I started writing this Heartsteel Yone fic in like 2 sittings and I really wanna try and finish it since I like the direction it's going.

It's mainly about my transfem Yone headcanon and them struggling with both dysphoria and the music industry, and maybe lead it into some Aluyone content since I love that ship in this au. While what I have is just set up for how Yone first met the band, I would LOVE any feedback on stuff I could improve or just some motivation to help me finish this draft.

(One last note, I'm referring to Yone with he/him so far but the pronouns will change later in the story as Yone sorts their gender out more)

Yone had very strict parents growing up. He knew it ultimately came from a place of love, but sometimes it was like they kept raising their expectations for him as soon as he started to get close to meeting them. When most looked at the two brothers, they would never guess Yone was the only one their parents had to constantly pull back in line while they never seemed too concerned about what his brother, Yasuo, was doing. Maybe it was because Yone always did better in school as a kid and had more potential in their eyes, or their parents had just long given up on trying to keep their younger son in check when he was always on the move. Whatever the case was, it felt like Yone’s parents wanted a say in everything he did, from trying to push him towards a more “respectable” career than music, to not allowing him to to buy the more gaudy and revealing clothes that he admired. It took so much convincing to even grow his hair out long and dye it, his mother telling Yone how handsome he looked with short hair, or his dad warning him that others would think he’s a woman. Of course, they relented after Yasuo also started growing his hair out to support his brother.

Needless to say, Yone was relieved when he finally built up enough money from gigs to move out, and was able to have a bit more freedom in his self-expression. He wasn’t even completely sure why having long hair or pretty outfits meant so much to him, he just knew it somehow felt natural when he brushed his fingers through his long locks, felt his ponytail swishing behind his back, or how clothes that brought out his slender figure made him stare at himself in the mirror for a little longer than usual.

But Yone didn’t have the time to question these little things as his career quickly took off, and a lot of those familiar restrictions from Yone’s childhood started to return. Now he was stuck where the people he’d DJ for had specific requests for what to play, and he’d gotten big enough to have agents and managers that kept him from straying too far from the mainstream sound. On top of that, Yone still cared for his parent’s approval to a degree, even if he didn’t live under their roof, and didn’t want to squander any big opportunities just because he felt a little constrained.

But as the bar everyone expected him to meet flew higher and higher, Yone felt all the restrictions growing tighter and tighter, weighing him down more and more. He felt he had barely any time and absolutely no energy to work on any passion projects, the actual experimental and groundbreaking music that got him into the scene in the first place. His frustration reached a breaking point after a particularly tiring show. The equipment kept acting up despite there being no issues during setup, Yone kept having to play the same few songs over and over, and the set had to be cut early after a drunk fan rushed the stage and tried to get handsy with him. Yone was on his way home, feeling irritated, violated, and just so fucking exhausted.

The very last thing Yone wanted to do when he got back to his flat was argue with a stuck up manager over the phone who insisted he should’ve continued the show after the crazed fan was dealt with. With Yone’s mind not in the best headspace and absolutely sick of never getting to do things his way, he finally lost his cool and got into a shouting match with the agent that went well into the night. When he hung up, tears were streaming down Yone’s cheeks, and he couldn’t tell if they were from all the yelling or if they were from the relief of getting everything off his chest right at the people who, at this point, felt like they were just there to make things worse.

The relief was short lived, as the agent had quit the next morning, leaving Yone with no one to help him manage the business side of his job.

Yone felt at his lowest possible point. Maybe his parents were right that this wasn’t the path he should’ve taken, and that he should’ve just stuck with his robotics classes. But that all changed one night, it was a rare night when both he and Yasuo had time to meet up and just chill together like they used to. Of course, with both of them being DJs, the siblings naturally talked about music often, and while discussing up-and-coming artists, Yasuo brought up a duo trying to start a group; their names were Sett and K’Sante.

#dont worry i have rhayn drafts too but this idea has been gnawing at me for a bit #league of legends #lol #riot games #leagueoflegends #heartsteel #yone #trans headcanon #transfem headcanon #league fanfic

15 notes · View notes

vampzzi · 10 months

Note

Hii you can do a Hobie x reader with daddy issues problems, maybe like reader's father dont like Hobie i love the idea if you can i will be so happy xoxo😺

cw : arguing, fighting, daddy issues , Hobie almost gets arrested

authors note : as someone with daddy issues, I’d love to complete this request.

It was a tense Wednesday night as you and your dad sat on the couch. Hobie sound asleep in your bed as your dad spoke first “I don’t like him, he seems like bad news” you scuff and cross your arms “and when have you ever liked anyone I date.” His eyes boring into yours with that same look of disappointment and irritation, that same face you hated seeing. “He seems like a junkie, I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“You never let me have anything good in life, it’s always your way”

“It’s for the best, I want what’s best for you”

“Then why can’t I be happy with him”

“Cause I just can’t approve of it.”

“You’ll understand when you’re ol-“ you cut him off with a sharp response “I’m older now dad, I’m not your little girl anymore. Im a full grown woman who is compatible of getting a car, having a license and going to work just like every other adult in this harsh world.” You’re cutting him off again before he can speak “you HAVE to stop babying me and you want what’s best for me. At least stop doing that.”

“You live under MY roof, not to mention I’m your father. You may be older but whatever i say goes when you live here.” What the fuck was he getting mad because you spoke out your truth, your fist balled in your lap as you chewed at your lip to ease your own anger, trying to keep yourself calm.

“I literally help around here with things, why can’t I just live my life?! you keeping saying it’s for the “better” but it’s not. You’re just controlling and want to push your definition of better onto me” your tone is harsh and your own voice is louder in volume, knowing you shouldn’t raise your voice at him cause of how he’ll spams out about it but he’s already three steps ahead of you.

“Don’t use that tone with me.”

“ I talk however I want cause I’m not a little girl.”

“Have some respect for your father”

“I will when you respect me.”

Up and off the couch as you’re walking away from him, he’s telling you to come back and sit down cause he’s not finished but you’re drowning him out. You don’t have the patience nor time for him anymore. It’s been far too long to deal with him as you’re opening your bedroom to reveal sleeping Hobie as you close the door quietly.

That was the first occurrence about Hobie.

Today is Thursday and you’re getting off your small little job that’s not the greatest but gets the bills paid and food in the house. You’re unlocking the door to see your boyfriend and your father, your father has your hands all over your boyfriend as Hobie is trying to not to put his hands on him for your sake. “You don’t deserve my daughter, you’re not good.” He’s yelling at Hobie as he pulls him and Hobie crashes into a wall and you’re quick to run over and grab your fathers arm as he’s trying to push further with Hobie.

“Stop this”

“Get your hands off me and stay in your place little girl”

He grabs your wrist as he holds onto it tightly as he’s tossing you on the couch as you clench your wrist. It aches and Hobie is quick to react when he hears your cry and he’s all up in your fathers space “Puttin' yor hands on yor daughter? that’s wild” his accent thick as your father tries to put his hands on Hobie again and he’s grabbing his hand. “Get the fuck out before I call the cops on you.”

Your dad is dead serious and you can tell and you just whimper while you hold your wrist. “gladly” Hobie is assisting you by your side as he sees that your wrist is bruising. “We’ll get you some ice when we get to my place” Hobie is assisting you as he’s grabbing your keys and wrapping his arm around you as you two walk out the door.

When you guys get to his little place, he’s opening the door inside and motioning you to sit as he’s fetching you some ice for your wrist. His place is small but cozy and you could get use to waking up here with him, you were disappointed in your dad and thought he’d change but you were proven wrong again. “Sorry you 'ave a dad like that” he’s sitting down next to you handing you an ice pack as you place it on your wrist letting your head fall on his shoulder.

“It’s fine Hobie, I’m just glad I’m with you now”

“glad to be with you too luv”

31 notes · View notes

sokkastyles · 1 year

Text

Speaking of not understanding abuse, saw yet another post about how Azula and Zuko "got along" when she brought him back to the Fire Nation.

SHE got along. She was still belittling and manipulating him. He was still miserable and angry specifically at her. He just couldn't do anything about it while he was under Ozai's roof. She knew that, too. She knew that he wanted Ozai's approval and she specifically used that against him. Zuko literally states that he feels like he's going crazy, that he felt like he couldn't speak his own thoughts, that he felt like he didn't know right from wrong. There was no one there to tell him that it was okay to feel angry at family members, no one there to tell him it was okay to protect himself. No one there to tell him he's right when he actually is right to question the official story about Sozin's death.

Like, if y'all watch these scenes and think Zuko is getting along with his sister instead of Zuko just being forced to repress every disagreement, every independent thought for the sake of "getting along" with a family that doesn't care about him at all, I just don't know what to say. I'd say those scenes of Azula and Zuko interacting are more upsetting than the scenes of them battling it out because they're much more realistic in terms of what it's like to live with abuse.

#zuko #azula #abuse cw

65 notes · View notes

femmefatalevibe · 11 months

Note

Hi Femme! How to overcome driving anxiety? I used to always drive with my mom and now I’m driving on my own (I’m not new to it) but I am trying to gain more independence from my household. (Also I’d love some tips on how to be independent from my family/parents being someone in their twenties- while being under their roof).

So yes ! The driving thing, I have been met with aggressive and angry drivers sometimes that shout at me or honk multiple times (often for small things and it’s not always my fault) and I’m becoming scared when it comes to driving. I usually have fun driving and I dance to music and blast it and now I’m uncomfortable doing that due to the behavior of some drivers spoiling my mood. How could I combat this and feel free again when driving by myself?

Thanks so much !!

Hi love! I wish I could help you with the driving thing. But, honestly, I've never driven a car in my life (it's not uncommon for natives in the area I'm from to not learn how to drive/get a license)!

So, speaking from an anxiety-oriented perspective, I would say to focus on the goal when driving – get where you need to go safely and stay aware of what/whoever else is on the road – and remember the rest is out of your control. You never know what other people are going to do/say, so you might as well do what you enjoy if it isn't harming anyone else. Acknowledge their feelings are their own, and let the rest go. Enjoy yourself knowing that you have freedom and the autonomy provided by being inside your own vehicle.

Living with your parents as an adult is tough. I don't know how strict your parents are or the degree to which you depend on them, so the boundaries you set can most certainly vary depending on your unique circumstances. I would say the best thing you can do in nearly all cases is to have your own daily routine/rituals. Have a morning routine, workout schedule, lunch break, and some alone time or social activities scheduled throughout the week. Share in advance that you won't be able to during these scheduled times. Leave out as much information as you can when you deem necessary. Know how to do all of your own chores, cook, clean, learn how to manage your finances, learn how to navigate the professional world – take informational interviews and coffee chats, master the art of resume and email writing, read books, explore your interests – clearly define your own values, interests, and goals independent of your parents' approval or desires for you. Remember: The privacy we always have access to is that of our own minds.

Hope this helps xx

13 notes · View notes

runthepockets · 20 days

Text

Ykno. For all its flaws, F is For Family is one of my all time favorite shows, and there's a scene in the last season that's always really stuck with me.

So we have Frank, this cranky cynical 40 something year old dude who's been butting heads with his 15 year old son, Kevin, since pretty much the first episode. It's the classic case of "we're both too similar and living under the same roof just makes it more evident and causes a lot of friction." They're both mouthy and stubborn with fragile temperaments (though, admittedly, Frank being older and in position of authority means he expresses himself a little more recklessly and is almost always the one always escalating things) and they both have a deep seated desire to be accepted by one another, though neither of them really likes admitting it.

Toward the end of the series, Kevin starts seeing a girl named Alice. They fit really well together, he likes her family, etc. Eventually they have to break up cus Kevin gets too clingy, and he spends a long time sulking about it. Eventually, Frank sits down with him and talks about his experiences with women. Before he met his wife, Sue, he was in love with a girl named Phyllis Oberman. "She was gorgeous, total knockout, I loved her so much I thought we were gonna be together forever. But we didn't. She broke my heart. It sucked for a while, but then I met your mother, and we were on and off again for a long time, then you came along and here we are."

And Kevin's paying attention and smiling listening to his dad talk about this stuff. He only ever really sees his dad yelling his head off and threatening violence over little shit, so seeing this little shred of humanity really endeared him. His dad was finally listening to him and giving pretty sound advice, instead of his usual default of insulting him and his dreams and disregarding his feelings. "If it's meant to be, Alice will come back. And if she doesn't, you'll be ok."

Alice does come back, eventually, cus Kevin is a sweet kid who just kinda struggles with boundaries and has a lot of baggage when it comes to approval.

Whenever people ask me why I'd want to be a dad, I just think of that scene, of that banger of a series finale. I don't think I'd be nearly as bad as Frank, but I still think having little bonding moments like that, where I can share and relate to my kid, would still be meaningful and important. Fatherhood is awesome when you do it right.

2 notes · View notes

invisibleraven · 10 months

Note

5 for Peterpatterlina?

Julie walks around the borders of the dance, taking it all in; the flash of every colourful dress, the shine of shoes and hair gel in the overly bright fluorescents of the gym. The band playing overtime as the song reaches a fever pitch.

Honestly she had wanted to be out on the dance floor, letting the music take her, but Nick isn't a dancer, and after one too many times of him stepping on her feet she had begged off. It's not like she can dance with anyone else, not with the Sharks watching her like hawks.

Maybe when they go talk with the Jets about this stupid rumble they're planning she can go sneak in a few dances. Enjoy herself for once without all the stupid rules that restrict her thanks to some stupid turf war.

Then a slow song comes on, and she evades Nick's hopeful eyes, escapes to behind the bleachers and lets herself dance with an invisible partner. Much better company.

Only then a hand slips into hers, and she startles, opening her eyes to see two smiles directed at her. She doesn't know either of these boys, meaning they're most likely Jets. But they're awful cute in their own ways. One with slicked back black hair and a crooked grin that makes her stomach flutter. The other with artfully distress brown hair and eyes that spell mischief.

"Seems a shame for you to be dancing here on your own darlin'," the black haired one said.

"Figured we'd offer our services," the other adds in. "I'm Luke, this is Reggie."

"Julie," she says, giving a shy little curtsey. "And I shouldn't-my cousin he'll-well he wouldn't like it."

"Because of who we are?" Reggie asks, taking her hand and giving her a twirl.

"Or because there's two of us?" Luke questions, catching her in his strong arms.

Julie giggles. "Both." But she lets them dance with her, back and forth until she's just swaying between them, a boy to her front and back as the music slows and dies.

"Julie!"

Shit, that's Flynn, and while Julie knows her friend is understanding, she'd never let Julie live this down. Would ask her what about Nick. Nice, boring, Bernardo approved Nick.

"I have to go," she apologizes.

"Can we see you again?" Reggie asks, kissing her knuckles.

"Maybe take you out?" Luke adds, hopeful.

Every bit of Julie wants to say yes, but she can hear Flynn calling her name even louder, and she can't risk getting found hiding with two Jet boys, so she shakes her head with apology and dashes off. Thinking that this one memory is all she'll have of them.

Only they find her house, somehow. Climb the trellis to see her once more, perched on her roof and whisper how much fun they had. How much they want to see her again. And Julie can't deny she wants the same. They make plans to meet in the city the next day, take in a museum uptown where no one will know them.

And they do.

It's bliss to walk hand in hand in hand with them, and though a few people do double takes at the three of them, most everyone goes on about their day. Luke and Reggie are happy to walk her through each exhibit, one of them always having something to say about a piece, but happy enough to let Julie wax poetic about the ones she likes.

They share their first kisses in an empty room full of stained glass, reflections and refractions of rainbow staining them. Bringing out the green in Reggie's eyes and the pink of his blush. Mimicking the multi-faceted nature of Luke's eyes, unable to settle, just like the man himself.

From there they check out a concert in the park one day, take out a rowboat the next. Always in a part of town far from the Sharks and Jets, away from the prejudice and silly fighting based on some asinine ideas over who owns the small strip of land they both reside in.

"The rumble is tomorrow," Reggie said quietly as they picnic under the shade of a tree.

"Please tell me you're not really going," Julie begs.

"We have to boss. If only to let cooler heads prevail, maybe find a way to end this," Luke replies. "So the three of us can stop sneaking around."

Julie worries her bottom lip, clutching their hands in hers. She's hated all the sneaking around they have to do. The lies to her friends and family about where she disappears to. Weeks and weeks of falsehoods and lies so she can have her bit of paradise, her slice of happily ever after.

She wonders if the truth come out would the fighting stop, or would it just make it worse. "I just wish there was a place for us. A chance that we could be together, happily with no worries about gangs or hatred, or anything," she finally whispered.

"Us too," Reggie whines, pulling her close, pulling Luke in too. They clutch and cling to one another, as if this will be their last moment together.

"Maybe... maybe we just run away," Luke proposes. "No matter which way the rumble goes. We can go find our place out in the world. The three of us."

"No more hiding?" Reggie asks.

"No more hiding," Julie repeats with a nod.

They make plans, and finally part with fevered kisses and promises to see one another on the other side. Julie packs her bag, and writes a note. She hates to leave her family, but she can't live like this any longer. This stifled partitioned existence that makes the two people she loves most in the world a secret to the rest of it.

She waits at the bus stop, clinging to her valise, even as the big clock at the station clicks past midnight. Prays and thumbs at her rosary that her boys are safe.

Luke appears first, a small bag slung over his back. His lip is swollen and there's a bruise forming at his jaw. A small trickle of blood escapes his nose, and his knuckles look pretty worse for the wear. But he's there, swinging her around, then pulling her into a kiss, assuring her that Reggie is coming.

Reggie appears almost an hour later, and Julie gasps when she seems him. His eye is black and shut tight, he's limping, and covered in small cuts and scratches. Even worse is that Luke mutters a curse, saying most of that isn't from the rumble. Reggie has a suitcase and a blinding smile as he rushes too them, promising he's okay.

"Ready to go find our place?" he asks.

"Always," Luke replies.

Julie takes one small glance back at the town. The place she grew up, that nurtured her, that helped her find her voice, and she bids it a bittersweet farewell. Maybe one day the three of them will come back here. Find it changed or not, for better or worse.

But then Julie turns and sees her future, the two hands held out to her, and she smiles, taking them and letting her boys escort her to the world. And from then on, she never looks back.

#filled prompts #ficlet #rukebox #peterpatterlina #julie and the phantoms

10 notes · View notes

pastelavender88 · 2 years

Text

Right Person At Maybe The Wrong Time- Chapter 23

Summary: It’s Y/n’s time to meet Eddie’s family. How will it go? Will they accept her and Alex?

After going to Claudette’s funeral Eddie and I headed back home to get the kids ready to go to Texas. It was Eddie’s father’s retirement party and he wanted Alex and I to go with him to meet them. It was hard for Eddie and Chris to find their clothes since a lot of things were still boxed up from the move. Buck and I were explaining to him we could always take a later flight while he explained that he couldn't. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Buck asked. “I have to go. My mom made this huge deal about this party and he did work at the company for 40 years. Plus, when I told her Y/n and I moved in together, she insisted she met Alex and her now. Instead of next month like I suggested. And Chris is excited to see everyone, he misses them.” “40 years? That’s a long time. Uh, you said he was in oil, right?” “Petroleum engineer. Spent his whole life driving across the state. Living everywhere but under his own roof with his own family.” “As someone who comes from a screwed-up family..” Buck started. “My family isn’t screwed up. Just my dad, okay? Plan is to get in, get out without any drama.” “And what about when he starts to get in there and push your buttons?” “There’s a hotel 20 minutes away with a beautiful suite for me and my lady and a big pool. The kids will love it.” “Eddie. Just take a minute to breathe okay. We’re gonna go down there and have a wonderful time, I’m gonna get the family stamp of approval, and then when we get home I’ll reward you for putting up with them.” I said as I made my way over to him across the room. “I like the sound of that.” He gave me a kiss on the lips. “Ugh, I’m still here you guys.” “Yeah. Yeah. Chris! Alex! Are you guys ready?” Eddie asked as he made his way out of the room. “So, you’re going to meet his parents. Are you nervous?” “No. Should I be? I mean look how Eddie is behaving.” “Oh no. That’s just old family baggage. I think it’ll go great.” “Really?” “Oh yeah. After all, parents love you. Hell, my parents always liked you, even if they didn’t show it. Maybe even a little more than me.” I let out a loud laugh. “No but seriously. I’m happy for you guys. You deserve to be happy. The both of you do.” “Thanks Buck. Are you happy? With Taylor, I mean?” “Yeah. I think so.” Was he though? “Good to hear that. Who would have thought after all these years we’d be here.” “I always thought we would reach this point.” “What? Seeing other people while co-parenting?” “No. Having a kid together.” I met Buck’s eyes and I saw an emotion behind them that I couldn’t quite place. “You ready to go?” Eddie asked, breaking Buck and me from our trances. “Oh yeah. Let me grab my things.” “I’m gonna head home.” “Okay, bye Buck.” I went to the bedroom to grab my things, locked up the house, and I met Eddie in the car. We picked up Tia Pepe and headed to the airport.

After a 4 hour flight, we all made our way to the rental car place and soon after both myself and the kids fell asleep. I was awoken by someone lightly shaking me. “Baby. We’re here.” Eddie said as my eyes focused on the house in front of me. “Oh my god, did I fall asleep?” “Yeah. I mean it was a long flight. Come on, let's go meet everyone.” I quickly got out of the car after checking how I looked and beginning to chew on a piece of gum. When I walked into the house I saw a quaint little house with a lot of family photos. I saw a young Eddie holding his little sister, Adriana. “Ahh yes. That’s when Eddie was going through that phase where no one could touch his little sister.” A man spoke from behind me. Eddie was in the back putting our things away and showing Alex and Christopher to their room. “I’m Ramon. Eddie’s father, and you must be Ana.” Sir, what! “Oh no I’m umm�� My names Y/n, Y/n Y/l/n.” “Ramon. Please stop making a fool of yourself. I’m sorry. He never pays attention or listens when I talk, it seems. I’m Helena, Eddie’s mother. It’s so good to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you. The last time I saw Eddie this keen about a girl he ended up marrying her and having Christopher.” She said, trying to make up for the awkward moment that just happened. “Ah yes that’s right. They broke up. I’m sorry. This old memory of mine sometimes gets the better of me.” “It’s fine. I assure you.” “So how’d you and Edmundo meet?” “I was a nurse at the hospital he was in.” “Eddie was in the hospital?” Did Eddie not tell his parents about what happened? “Oh yeah. Just an incident during work. He's okay now.” “Oh thank god.” Just then Alex and Christopher came from the back rooms. “And you must be Alex. I’m Eddie’s mom. Nice to meet you.” “Nice to meet you too ma’am.” “Oh she has amazing manners. Now Christopher come give Grandma a squeeze so I can go finish cooking.” Christopher wrapped her in a hug. “If you’ll excuse me.” She went back to the kitchen. “Excuse me as well.” Ramon said as he walked into what I assumed was their bedroom. Well, I have no idea if that went well. Just then Eddie came from the back rooms as well. “I’ve unpacked our things and set the bedroom up. Did you meet everyone yet?” “I met your mom and dad. Your father called me Ana.” “Wow! He never listens.” “It’s fine. Really.” “I’m gonna go speak with my mom. You coming?” He said, extending his hand. We entered the kitchen and they embraced. We began to talk a little when Roman walked in. “It’s been too long. You should come visit more often.” “Pretty sure planes fly in both directions.” “Well now that your father retired, we’ll have time to visit more.” “And we’d love to have you.” I chimed in. “Yeah. I can’t believe it’s actually happening.” “Oh, did you show them the watch?” “Oh, It’s nothing.” “No, no show them. It was a nice gesture.” Ramon sighed and grabbed a watch box off of the counter. “Here, it’s…” He handed the box to me and I looked at the name on the box and opened it. “Oh this is nice.” I gave the box to Eddie. “Wow. ‘In recognition of your 40 years of service helping us reach new horizons for our company and for all of our stakeholders, the board thanks you. From our family to yours.’” As he read it aloud I heard sarcasm in his tone. “It’s not quite a silver star. But it- but it’s something…I guess.” “Ah, it’s, uh, nice. Congratulations, Dad.” “Feels strange. Being unemployed, it’s…No meeting to rush off to. No phone calls to juggle. No…no reason to get out of bed at 4:00 A.M. I-I…I don’t know what I’m gonna do with myself. “I bet.” He took a swig from his beer bottle. “Why live if you aren’t working?” He muttered. “Don’t worry Ramon. I’m sure you’ll find something to do during this time. My dad retired recently too. He’s taking up so many hobbies it drives us insane. Me and my sister that is. When it was art he was sending us his work, when it was golf, it was tickets to his tournament, now it’s woodworking and both me and my sister are about this close to breaking his heart and telling him neither of us want the lopsided rocking chair. She has custody at the moment.” Everyone excluding Eddie chuckled at that. “Yeah. I’m sure I will.” “But I better not start suffering because of them.” Helena added. “You won't love. I assure you. So Eddie, how's being a dispatcher?” They began to make small talk and the night melted away.

Later, in our bedroom, I was thinking about how Eddie acted towards Roman. “What?” I realized I had been staring at Eddie for the last 5 minutes or so. “I mean I know I’m good looking but that was a long time to stare. “Ha ha. Very funny. I was just thinking.” “Thinking about what?” “How you treated your father tonight.” There seemed to be a pause between us, like neither one of us wanted to move. “Look, I’m sorry, okay. I shouldn’t have behaved like that…” “Eddie. I’m not saying you're wrong in behaving the way you did, I don't know the whole story. I just want some insight on why.” “Because, growing up I was always forced to be the ‘man’ of the house because he was always on the road working. He was never here and when he was my life was miserable. He’s the reason I don’t like to show my emotions. I was taught showing emotion meant you were weak, and you could never be weak.” “Oh, Eddie.” I gestured for him to join me in the bed. As he sat down I went to straddle his lap. “Showing emotion doesn’t make you weak. Showing emotion makes you human. Nothing about you is weak. Absolutely nothing.” “I know that now.” As my lips found their way on his and the kiss started to heat up, Eddie stopped me. “You know as much as I would love to do this right now, it’s kind of weird doing this in my parent’s home.” “Oh please. you’ve never had sex in this house before?” I said as I enunciated each word with a kiss trailing down his neck. “No I haven’t actually. Too much going on. The house was always packed.” “Well it’s not now. So you should really enjoy yourself Mr. Diaz.” My hands that were messaging his broad shoulders were making their way down his abs. “I think you’ll like what’s going to happen.” Right before my hands reached under the elastic of his sweatpants the door to his room swung open. “Oh my! I’m so sorry!” Helena called from the door. I quickly got off of Eddie’s lap and cowered under the covers. “Mom! Why don’t you ever knock?!” “Sorry! Old habits die hard I guess. I’m gonna leave you two alone. I just wanted to say good night.” “Good night mom.” Eddie said. “Good night, Mrs.Diaz.” I called from under the covers. Still dying from embarrassment. “Good night dear.” Soon I heard the door shut. “I’m never showing my face again.” “Like I said, there's too much going on.” Eddie called. He pulled the covers a little to where we could make eye contact. “Still wanna get hot and heavy?” He teased me. “No! Never again.” I finally came from under the covers. “And I mean never.” “Woah now. Let’s not get too hasty.” I huffed and turned away from him. Ready to call it a night.

The next day at the party Eddie and I were talking to Aunt Pepe and Abuela when Eddie’s parents came over talking about something. “What’s going on?” Eddie asked. “Your father’s nervous about giving a speech.” “Oh.” Everyone exclaimed. “I’m sure it’ll be amazing Ramon.” I said. “Oh, por favor. Ramon, you never met a microphone you didn’t love. I’m surprised you’re not singing as well.” “Yeah.” Helena remarked. “Yeah, come on, Aunt Pepa’s right. I’m sure there’s a story you could tell.” “Actually, I was gonna tell one about you. You know the-the day I came home and found that the entire side of my truck had been scraped off, including the side mirror and the front bumper.” “Yes, when Adriana was born.” “I’ve never heard about this.” I said turning to Eddie. “Me neither.” Aunt Pepe said. “When Adriana was born, and, uh, Ramon was off on business, I told Eddie that my water broke. And he jumped up, he ran out of the room, I thought, of course, he’s going to call someone to drive us to the hospital. And then I hear a loud crash, right? From the garage.” “Oh my god!” “I walk in there and there’s Eddie behind the wheel of Ramon’s prized pickup. Barely seeing over the steering wheel, with the whole side of the turck, like, just completely torn to shreds. Everyone else was laughing but I could tell Eddie was uncomfortable so I wrapped my arms around him and rubbed his back. “He was trying to drive me to the hospital.” “Why am I not surprised?” his abuela said. “Eddie to the rescue, my little hero.” “Didn’t have much of a choice.” “You had many choices. But you were just a kid, I-I forgave you for that.” “No, actually you didn’t. You-you grounded me.” “Eddie, baby let's not do this here.” I said as I tried to calm him down. He seemed to release some of the tense he was holding until his mother began to speak. “Edmundo, it's just a story. Okay?” “Yeah. Except he’s missing the whole part where he tore me a new one for ruining his truck. Kind of like the time when he yelled at me for setting off the smoke alarms when making eggs for the girls at 12.” “Honey. I’m sure there’s another time you can discuss this. Let’s not ruin the party for the others, okay?” I whispered to where only he could hear me. I kissed his chin as he wrapped his arm around my waist. “Edmundo, must you do this now.” Ramon asked. “I’m sure there’s a better story you can tell up there.” He moved his hand from where it was resting on my waist. He somewhat created a distance between the two of us. “Oh why don’t you tell them about the time you pulled your ten year old son aside and told him it was time to step up? Be the man of the house? Why don’t you tell them about that time? Then we can all understand why you were never around.” When he said those words I knew all hell was going to break loose. “I was providing for the family.” “Providing? Providing what-money?” “How about we take a breath?” I said as I tried to defuse the situation. “Exactly! I had to do what I had to do!” Ramon yelled as he ignored what I said. A family needs more than money. Look, I never had a childhood.” I saw Ramon begin to rub the area above his arm a lot. “A dad who took care of me. No, you were gone. The only thing you provided…” “Alright, Eddie. Stop.” I said. Just then, Ramon began to collapse. Everyone was yelling his name while Eddie grabbed him. “Dad? Dad. Okay just breathe.” “Oh my god, Ramon.” “Just breathe.” I quickly stood beside Eddie ready to help in any way I can. “Is he having a heart attack?” Helena asked. Ramon was reaching for something in his suit jacket and Eddie reached in to grab them. Just then he took out what looked to be a small pill bottle. “No it’s not a heart attack.” He opened the bottle and gave him the contents inside of it. “Under the tongue, you know the drill.” “The drill? What are those pills?” Helena questioned. “Nitroglycerin.” Eddie stated. “Can you explain to me what that is?” “It helps open up his blood vessels, settles the circulation.” I said. “Just like the doctor said, right dad?” Eddie asked. “What doctor? Ramon what the hell is going on?” “I’m guessing you went to go see a cardiologist. Probably on one of your business trips. How many stents do you have in your arteries?” Ramon put up 3 fingers. “What? When!” Helena exclaimed. “Three years ago. I…I went to Doctor Fernandez. He’s the best cardiologist in Dallas.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” Helena asked. “Pride. He didn’t want us to think he was weak.” Eddie said. “How about I take dad in the kitchen and monitor his heart rate. Just to be safe.” He turned to me. “I’ll be right back baby.” He gave me a quick peck. “Come on dad.” “We’ll talk about this later Ramon.” Helena said as they walked away. As I was about to walk away and find Chris and Alex Helena turned to me. “Can we talk Y/n?” “Yeah sure.” Helena and I sat down while Abuela and Pepe went somewhere else to talk amongst themselves. “I just want to say thank you.” “For what? I didn’t necessarily help defuse the situation.” “Not that. For making my son happy. At some moments you helped Eddie calm down. You give him a sense of peace I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. Even earlier he was so relaxed and at ease. I’ve never seen him like this, not even with shannon.” When she said that I realized the weight of me and Eddie’s relationship. “He was always guarded even as a young boy and being around you, i dont think I’ve ever seen him happier. For whatever it’s worth. I can’t wait to have you in this family.” She wrapped me in a tight embrace. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I still have a party to host.” As she left I decided to stay there. My whole relationship with Eddie was playing through my head. It started off with him being a patient, then the best friend to my daughter’s father, then the secret lover, and now we’re a family and we live together. Even through our ups and downs, Eddie was always the one for me.

Later on, Eddie came back out and found me. The kids and us sat down for dinner and then after that it was time to dance. Eddie and I had been dancing for a while when I started to feel sick. “You okay?” “Yeah. Umm…I’m just feeling a little nauseous.” “Have you been drinking? That could be it? Tio Miguel gets a little heavy handed with the tequila.” I let out a loud laugh. “No it’s not that. I haven’t had any drinks.” “Do you think it’s something serious?” “No. Maybe just too much food and a little too much spinning.” “Yeah. You haven’t been going easy on the tamales.” I playfully slapped his arm. “No, I'm serious. It’s like you’ve been shoving them back there.” “Well excuse me for enjoying myself.” “Yourself or the food.” “Okay I’m gonna hit you for real now.” “Aww baby I’m kidding. I think it’s cute.” “You better mister.” I said as I stretched to connect our lips. “Come on lovebirds. Shake those hips Jesus gave you.” Abuela said as he made her way to the center of the dance floor. “Oop you don’t have to tell me twice.” I said, beginning to follow her. “You think they know how to twerk?” “Oh you better not.” Eddie said as he jokingly started to chase me.

#Eddie Diaz #eddie diaz x reader #eddie and christopher #past evan buckley x reader #evan buck buckely #911 fanfic #911 fic #911 on fox #911

64 notes · View notes