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macfrog · 9 months

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rack 'em

the girlies watched triple frontier last week and it was the single most inspiring thing i have ever seen so here’s a lil frankie fic to cleanse my mind. dedicated to my babies @gracieispunk (who put this concept in my head for the wee laddies), @hellishjoel & @strang3lov3 🤍

pairing: bbf!frankie morales x f!reader

summary: when your parents ask you to housesit for them, you take the opportunity to spend some quality time back in your hometown, hanging with your older brother and...getting reacquainted with his best friend

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) reader is santiago's younger sister, she and frankie do not get along, teasing & touching, dubcon (reader is a little drunk, frankie is not), oral sex (f receiving), alcohol consumption, quick mention of dr*gs, cursing, frankie's a bit of a dick but reader gives as good as she gets

word count: 6.1k (cause apparently i don’t know how to write short fics 🤪)

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When you were four, a new family moved in across the street. Nobody knew them – your mom spent two straight days trying to scoop for information. Who they were, where they’d moved from, what was with the banged-up Ford pickup they drove. Nobody knew a thing.

You didn’t take much interest, being four years old – two months shy of your fifth birthday, by the way – and too invested in whatever politics a woman of your age finds herself wrapped up in, but you noticed one key thing about them.

The mom had tattoos.

Two full sleeves. Colorful ones, too. A bright red heart on her shoulder, a green snake wrapped around her forearm – among others. It was fucking cool, alright? No matter how much your mom whispered to Ms. Teller over the fence about them.

One night, when you were supposed to be in bed, you snuck out of your room and crossed the landing to your brother’s. Santiago and his friends were all staying at Tom’s, and you knew that in his desk he had permanent markers. You clicked the door open, as quiet as you could, and crept over his matted carpet to the drawer. You took one Sharpie, and spent the night adding snakes and hearts and whatever else came to mind to your Barbies’ arms, legs, faces, necks.

They looked fucking awesome. Just like that mom across the street.

But somehow or other – and I’m not blaming anyone – the next morning, a drawing appeared on the bathroom wall. In Sharpie. Your mom hit the roof.

As soon as Santi got home, she dragged him by the ear into the bathroom and pointed a trembling finger at the drawing. You forget what it was – it’s been years, and you were never much of an artist.

His plea of innocence helped him none; she knew he owned Sharpies, knew he sucked just as bad as you did at drawing, and he was grounded for three whole weeks. No soccer practice, no TV, no PlayStation. Which, at thirteen, is basically a stint in Rikers.

Your brother, though…he was always better than your mom at reading your mind. He saw the guilt on your face plain as the black marker behind the toilet tank. He cornered you in your bedroom as soon as she went back downstairs, and established three key rules going forward.

One: do not enter his room ever again.

Two: no touching his stuff.

And three: anytime he took the fall for you, you owed him. Big time.

You’ve followed the rules ever since. You barely knew what the inside of his room looked like, growing up. But it worked, ‘cause ever since the Sharpie incident of ’99, you two remained closer than most siblings with an eight-year age gap.

So, now, two days into a two-week stay back in your hometown to housesit while your parents head off on a cruise to celebrate their anniversary, you’re in the car with him. Listening to music, bitching about your mom, arguing over the best Cola flavor.

It’s like old times.

“She said, How’s my baby girl?” you yell over Stevie Nicks’s voice, reading from your phone.“And when I said I’m fine, she said, No, I meant the dog. Is she fucking serious?”

Santiago’s head tilts back with laughter, dark curls nudging against the headrest. He’s driving you to Lucky’s, a local sports bar he and his buddies frequent. He promised when he picked you up at the airport he’d take you out, get you drunk, and he was holding to it.

You pull your legs down off the dash as he turns into the parking lot, pulling in right under the white fluorescent sign, four-leaf clover flashing under it.

“She’s looking forward to seeing you when they get back,” he tells you, switching the engine off.

“Oh, yeah? That why she didn’t even hang around to see me before they left?”

He hands you a smug grin, shrugging his shoulders. “Can’t have it all, big shot. You move a thousand miles away, you forfeit your chance of being the favorite.”

You swing your door open and hop out, chasing him around the car to follow him inside. “You say that like I was ever in the fucking running.”

He snorts, pushing the door open, and a loud cheer roars through the bar. You blush as you follow your brother across the room to two tables full of familiar faces.

“Hey, baby.” Your best friend’s arms pull you in, her gold hoop earrings cold against your cheek. She smells like rose and cedarwood.

“Mal,” you hum, smiling as she pulls away.

“My mom said your parents only just made it on board,” she says, detaching strands of her long, black hair from the cuff of your jacket. “Said they had a flat tire and had to race to get to the boat.”

Your head jerks back. “She never told me any of that. Just asked how Ange was.”

Mal snorts.

“Hey, lil Santi!”

You glance over your shoulder to watch as Benny Miller stalks over, almost shoving some old guy off his feet, arms wide open, wide grin spread across his lips. His brother, Will, follows behind, and gives your shoulder a loving slap when Benny pulls you in for a hug.

“How’s Boston treatin’ ya?”

“Good,” you reply. “How’s…MMA treating you?”

“Good!” he echoes, eyebrows almost reaching his hairline.

It’s kinda part of the deal that your older brother’s friends become brothers in their own right to you, especially when you’re as young and easily-influenced as you were. They used to use you in their elaborate plans – send you in as a distraction while they filled their pockets with food at parties, or use your smaller stature to their advantage when attempting to break into places they shouldn’t.

By the time you were old enough to follow their orders, they were well into their teens. Which is basically grown-up, as far as six-year-old you was concerned. They were always allowed to do things you’re still not sure your mom would permit you to do at twenty-eight, like disappear all day without checking in, or come home black and blue after an organized street brawl with the boys from the other side of the neighborhood.

But there was no denying they cared about you. Will, Benny, and Tom, at least. They showed their affection by ruffling your hair as they passed, or sneaking you candy under the table even after your mom had told you you’d had enough. They’d christened you ‘lil Santi’, a name that – despite the embarrassment it always casts over you anytime you hear it – still sticks to this day.

Your brother’s friends were family to him, and, by extension, family to you.

Well. All but one.

Frankie Morales – nickname Catfish: long-time best buddy of your big brother, and long-time fucking asshole. There isn’t one thing on Earth that you two see eye to eye on, except for that very fact: he hates you almost as much as you hate him.

Always have, always will.

He’s in trouble almost regularly for drug-related stuff you don’t bother asking Santiago about. You don’t need to hear details to know he’s a pain in the ass. He’s been antagonizing you for as long as you’ve known him – where the others ruffled your hair, he’d shove into your shoulder as he passed, sending you – and whatever you were holding – flying. Any attempt you made at conversation with any one of them resulted in an argument between you and Frankie.

You hated him. Fucking hated him.

And tonight, you almost think yourself lucky. Almost go over to thank Santi for not inviting him, when you notice the silhouette of his baseball cap and that denim button up hunched over in a bar stool, and your eyes narrow.

You can’t help yourself. It’s been a years-long feud. And you’re old enough to take him on now. So, you stride over.

“You here to poison my drink?”

“What?” he asks, shaking his head. Already exasperated just by the sight of you.

“I bet you cheered the loudest when I walked in.”

He shrugs. “Cheered when your brother gave me fifty bucks to show face.”

Your upper lip curls. When the bartender notices you standing, elbows propped on the bar, he leans over.

“Beer, please.” Your smile twists into a grimace when you catch Frankie watching you. “What are you doing here? You have to be the person least excited to see me home.”

“I told you,” he says, lifting the bottle to his lips, “I’m bein’ paid.”

“Alright, so what do I gotta pay you to make you leave?”

Frankie scoffs, opens his mouth to answer what you’re sure is a comment laced with just as much venom, when Will’s strong arms slap down on each of your shoulders.

“We buyin’ our favorite veterinary nurse a drink, Francisco?”

You take your beer from Nick’s outstretched hand, sliding him the cash in return, and hold it up to Will in reply. “I’m good, thanks. Wouldn’t wanna eat into that fifty bucks, Catfish,” you mutter, turning to wander off.

You weave in and out of bodies, making your way to the opposite side of the bar where the pool tables sit. Doused in the warm strip light over the green felt, Santi chalks his cue ready to play against Mal, who’s already lining up her shot.

You hop up on a stool right next to the table, glancing back over to the bar where Frankie sits, now turned to face your direction. His elbow sits on the wooden surface, head turns from the football game showing behind the bar, over to you. And when he sees you looking, turns back to the TV screen, cool expression never changing.

“You done?” Mal asks Santiago, feeding the cue through her ring-decorated fingers.

He nods, tossing the chalk back over to you. “Better get your purse out, Bennett. Lotta sober people in here, all gonna want a free drink once you lose.”

“As if,” she breathes, and breaks the rack.

Somewhere throughout the game – a grueling and controversial one, by all accounts – Frankie makes his way over, following Will. You’re thankful when he plants himself on the other side of the table, one hand in his jeans pocket, the other around a bottle of beer. Though the light only comes up to his chest, right where the last button is done up, you notice him looking. Every fucking glance.

It pisses you off. Not the glancing. The way it makes you feel having him watch you. Wherever it comes from, you swallow it down with one big gulp of alcohol.

The game ends in a questionable loss. This side of the table swears the white skimmed off of Mal’s final solid when Santi hit it, right before it potted the black. The other side objected, claimed it was a clean shot ‘n you all know it. A winner wasn’t officially announced, but, being that Mallory Bennett is a force of nature where her competitive nature is concerned, Santiago was forced to buy the loser’s round.

She saunters up to you with her free whiskey in her hand, silver jewelry clinking off of the cold glass.

“Proud of yourself?” you ask, smirking.

She hands you your third beer of the night, sweeping her silky hair out of her face. “It hit it, alright? I saw it move.”

“Was that before or after you nudged the table?”

Mal holds a finger to her lips. You swat her hand away and the pair of you giggle, leaning into each other like schoolgirls whispering secrets in the playground.

“You know something,” Santiago materializes over Mal’s shoulder, shaking his head, “if you gotta cheat to beat me, I’ll give you the win.”

“Oh, get out,” you throw back. “Don’t blame her for your bad aim. Ms. Teller could’ve hit that shot and she’s got cataracts in both eyes.”

Your brother nods at you, tongue in his cheek. “Alright, smartass. Grab a cue.”

You scoff. Look around the room, shaking your head. The crowd has dispersed a little, folks have turned back to the TV screens, shifted focus back to the alcohol in their glasses. And then you look back to Santiago, holding his arms out.

“Alright. Fuck it.”

You hop down and snatch the second cue, wandering around the table while he racks the balls. He lifts the triangle, rolls the white over to you, and tells you to break.

The multicolored balls scatter in a fleet, two stripes tumble into pockets, and you stand back to survey your options. There’s a third stripe close to a pocket on the right, so you wander around to your left and turn.

“’scuse me,” you mutter, nudging Frankie’s stomach with the bottom of your cue.

He shoots you a dead-eyed stare, and takes one step back. And then his eyes drop, and you feel like you could slap him.

But you’re three – almost four – beers deep, and there are heads turning to watch how this plays out, and you can feel the bassline of the music rippling up from the soles of your feet all through your body, and you can feel the heat of his stare on the backs of your thighs, right where the hem of your dress sits.

Suddenly, slapping isn’t what you want to do to him.

Your head turns back to the pool table and you bend over, drawing the cue back between almost shaking fingers, and slam it into the white. It fires into the red striped ball, which hits the corner of the cushion, millimeters away from falling into the pocket.

You sigh, straightening up and waiting for your brother to begin his taunting, but it never comes. Instead, he fishes into his pocket for his phone, tapping the screen and holding it to his ear.

“Yep?” There’s a pause, Santiago’s face sours, and then he glances around the bar. “Right now? Really? No, it’s just…” He sighs. “Alright. I’ll be there. Just…I’m coming. I’m coming.”

He hangs up the phone and curses under his breath, then turns back to you, answering the question on your expression with: “One of our informants just got himself killed. I gotta go.”

“You haven’t even taken a shot yet,” you huff, taking his cue when he holds it out.

“I’ll make it up to you, hermana, promise. How are you gonna get home?”

You shrug. Mumble an, “I dunno.”

His eyes scan the room, passing over Will – already worse for wear, leaning shakily against a nearby table slurring to a group of strangers, then to Benny – stumbling out of the bar door with some girl on his arm, and finally land on the figure behind you, sliding a bowl of peanuts across the table to himself.

“Morales,” Santiago calls, and you throw the cues down on the felt.

“No, no way,” but your brother is already pushing past you to get to his friend. “Pope, no fucking w–”

Frankie turns, handful of nuts, cheek full and chewing.

“I gotta go, trouble at work. Can you do me a favor, man, ‘n make sure she gets home alright?”

“No,” you repeat. “He is not taking me home.”

“Baby,” Santi pleads, “just go with him, please?”

“I’ll walk. It’s, like, a twenty-minute walk.”

“No way. Mom would kill me.”

“Well, then, we just don’t tell her. Pope, please.”

He ignores you. “You are not walking home after dark. No.”

“Probably be safer than in the truck with him.”

Frankie’s head stops flitting between the two of you and his glare settles on yours. “Fuck you,” he spits, shaking his head.

“Right back at you,” you reply, insincere smile on your lips.

Santiago puts his palms together and holds them out to you. “Look, just – please. Just this once. I’ll owe you one.”

He doesn’t owe you one often. Makes a point of deliberately trying not to owe you one. This is an interesting offer. You sigh, and roll your eyes.

“Fine. You better fucking pay me back, though!”

“You got it,” he says, patting your shoulder. “Thanks, man,” he whispers to Frankie as he passes, slipping through the crowd toward the exit.

You and Frankie are left, two feet apart, filled with silence and resentment.

“You looking for someone else to hand your ass to you, lil Santi?” he asks, tossing another handful of peanuts into his mouth.

“You’re funny.” You hand him a smile, which drops the second he looks at it.

But when you turn back to the table and lift the cues, you hand one to him. Push it into his chest, shoot him a narrow-eyed glance.

“One game. And only ‘cause I need a sub.”

He dusts his hands together, shrugs. “Shouldn’t take me too long.”

You stalk back over to Mal, who’s giggling into her glass. “You two are unbelievable.”

“Don’t.” You hold your hand up, taking another swig of beer as Frankie lines up.

On his first shot, he pots that same red you were trying to hit before. His eyes lift only for a second, but you catch the cocky look he throws you and screw your face up.

“Fucking…ass,” you whisper.

Frankie’s shoulders jump, his teeth take his bottom lip. He’s laughing to himself when he takes his next shot, and pots another stripe. And then he stands up straight, holds his hands out.

“Just tell me when.”

“When what?”

“To start going easy on you.”

Fuck off. Fuck off, fuck you, fuck this. Fuck!

One more ball potted and finally, fucking finally, he misses a shot. It’s an impossible shot, anyway, there’s no way in hell he was gonna make it, but that’s not what matters. What matters is the way you twirl your cue in your fingers, then lift it and wander around the table, squeezing between Frankie and the wooden edge to get to your shot.

Your ass brushes past his jeans, and when you turn your head to whisper a sarcastic Sorry, he fucking growls. Low, almost inaudible. But just enough for you to notice, and enough for you to keep pissing him off.

The buzz you’re getting from antagonizing him this much must awaken some sort of billiards skillset you never knew you fucking had, because you pocket four balls in quick succession. Red, then green, then blue, and purple. There’s one ball between you when Frankie rounds the table, eyes scanning the felt for the next best shot he can take.

“Hurry the fuck up,” you mutter as he passes by you, on his third lap of the table.

He tsks. “Impatient,” he replies, shoulder brushing yours heavily. You feel the rough denim of his jeans graze your thighs, the weight of him against your backside for the second time. You push back, leaning into him as he moves past, then leans over, slinks his cue between his fingers, and takes his shot.

The yellow sails into the nearest pocket like there’s a magnet pulling it. The purple does the exact same – he barely has to tap it with the tip of the cue and it’s dropping in atop its predecessor.

Frankie turns, shimmying a little up the table, hip nudging yours out of the way. “Move,” he mumbles, shutting one eye to aim for the black. “Come on…” he breathes, and then shoots.

It bounces off of the opposite side of the table, thudding off of the cushion before it’s rolling toward the pocket and dropping in with a plunk.

He stands, fixing his baseball cap, and leans the cue against the table. “Good game, loser,” he says, ruffling your hair as he passes you.

“What age are you?” you sneer as he wanders back off to his beer, waiting for him on the table next to his bowl of peanuts.

Will wraps an unsteady arm around your shoulder as Frankie tips his bottle against his lips. He’s swaying, dragging you left and right with him as if you’re on a boat.

“He’s…he’s always been the best outta us all,” Will slurs, using his bottle to point at Frankie. “’s why he’s such a good pilot. Good aim.”

You sigh, pushing his heavy arm off yourself and slip back over to Mal, who hands you a sad smile and fixes your hair.

“It was a good attempt,” she says.

“Oh, shut up,” you reply, tossing your bottle up and draining the last of it onto your tongue. “I need another drink.”

You cross the room, suddenly less blurry and tilted, more boring and flat, and lean over the bar. “Nick,” you call, and he twists around, “grab me another–”

“It’s alright, Nick,” a voice yells over your shoulder, “I think she’s good.”

You spin around and it’s that stupid fucking baseball cap and the stupid denim button up again.

“What, I’m not allowed to drink now?”

Frankie’s head cocks. “You don’t think you’ve had enough?”

“I’ve had three. Three beers. The fuck is your problem?”

He tuts, glances left and right, and then back to you. “I think I should get you home.”

“I think you should mind your business.”

“Are you this fucking difficult with everyone when you’re drunk?”

“Nope,” you beam at him, “just you.”

He lets go of the grip he has on your arm and starts backing away. “I’m leaving, baby,” he tells you, nodding goodbye to Nick. “You’re either coming, or Pope’s gonna hear all about it.”

You ball your fists, watching the door swing closed behind him. Your feet stay rooted to the ground, eyes flitting from the parking lot over to Mal, who lifts her arms in a question. You shake your head in response, and her shoulders drop.

Sorry, you mouth, beginning to walk off in Frankie’s footsteps.

Mal blows you a kiss, winks once, and then salutes you goodbye. You shoulder out of the bar.

The ride back to your parents’ place is silent, except for the dull drone of whatever fucking music Frankie has choking out of his radio. You watch your hometown pass by, never taking your eyes off of the blurry streetlights or passing mailboxes, refusing to turn your head further than the middle of the windscreen at him.

He’s humming along to the song, jaw swinging as he chews on gum, arm hanging out of his open window. Everything he does is so fucking irritating, like a constant buzzing in your ear, an eyelash stuck in your eye, the feeling of stepping on a wet floor in socks.

So why, every time you do sneak a glance of him out of your peripheral, does the sight of those focused brown eyes, the strands of gray in his beard, the way his curls flick under the brim of his cap – why does it all stir something inside of you?

Frankie pulls up across the street from your house, white wood a milky blue in the moonlight. You unbuckle your seatbelt and let the strap whip off of your body, rattling against the interior of the truck. The most you’re willing to offer him is a nod of the head in thanks, which he returns, and your fingers hook around the door latch.

“Hey, mind if I come in ‘n use your bathroom?” he asks.

You pause. “Uh, yeah. I mind. No.”

“Come on, baby, I gotta piss like a racehorse.”

You scoff, ignoring him and slip down out of the truck. The door slams closed and you wander over to your parents’ drive, hearing a second slam as you cross the street.

“Uh, where do you think you’re going?”

“If your mom knew you weren’t letting me use her bathroom, she’d kill you, ‘n you know it.”

“My mom doesn’t know you like I know you, asshole,” you retort, but he’s still following you to the front door. “Just – alright. Do me a favor and disinfect it once you’re done. I don’t need them coming home to piss all over the floor.”

“You think my aim’s that bad? Just schooled you in a game of pool.”

You sigh, refusing to rise, and open the door. There’s the gentle scuffing of claws on the wooden flooring, trotting nearer and nearer in the dark hallway, and then the weight of your childhood dog shoves into your body.

“Hi, Angie. Hi, girl,” you whisper, scratching the dog’s white fur, her front paws against your tummy.

She jumps down when Frankie slips in behind you, wandering over with her tail swinging back and forth. He crouches down and holds his hand out, cooing, “Hi, baby,” as she nuzzles against his palm.

“She likes most folks who come by,” you utter, hanging your coat over the banister. “Don’t think you’re special.”

“She always loved me most,” he says, still fussing over the pup, “didn’t you, girl? Yeah, yeah you did.”

You roll your eyes and wander upstairs, leaving Frankie to find the bathroom, use it, and fuck off on his own.

It’s been almost eight years since you last lived here, but your room still looks oddly similar. Same bedframe, different sheets. Same wallpaper, only not covered in posters of your favorite bands. Same shelves, too, just that they hold stuff like vases and seashells and other random ornaments your mom’s picked up, rather than a collection of your favorite movies or framed photos of you and your friends.

You pull your dress over your shoulders and kick your boots off, grabbing a tee from your bag to sleep in. The Nirvana logo lies loose across your chest, the hem dancing along the line of your panties.

As you kneel on the mattress, tossing the million and one fucking pillows your mom has stacked down to the foot of the bed, you hear the door creak open.

“Damn,” Frankie mutters, glancing around the room, “haven’t been in here since I was, what, seventeen?”

“Weren’t welcome then, still not welcome now.”

“You still got that Black Eyed Peas poster rolled up somewhere?” He’s walking in, boots scuffing along the wooden floor.

“Are you lost?”

He looks over to you, stood by the bed, t-shirt barely reaching your thighs. “You know something, you ‘n your brother are so fucking different, it amazes me you’re related.”

“I imagine there’s a lot that amazes you, dumbass.”

He scoffs. There’s a hint of genuine humor in it. Like he’s impressed. And then his eyes scan down your body, lingering on the bare skin of your legs, shifting up to the pink cotton of your panties. They shoot back up when you speak again.

“Seriously, dude. What are you still doing here?”

Frankie turns to the dresser by the window, adorned with framed pictures of you and Santi as kids. “Making sure you get home alright, like Pope told me to.”

“Well,” you shrug, “I’m home, ‘n I’m alright. So…”

He picks up a silver frame; inside, faded by the sun and years that have passed, lives a photograph of you and your brother. He’s on his BMX bike, wide, toothless grin, and you’re behind him, standing on the pegs and gripping onto his t-shirt sleeves as you battle not to fall off.

Frankie laughs a little, turning the frame to show you. “You were always so fuckin’ annoying, you know that?” And then, with a shake of his head as he sets the frame back down, “Still are.”

You cock your head, throwing your hands up with an infuriated sigh. “If I’m so annoying, then why are you still here?”

The look he gives when he turns back around answers that question for you, in a way that his words never could. Never would, to be honest. He’d never admit the thoughts running through his head right now, same as you won’t admit that, likewise, they’re running through yours.

It’d be fucking weird. It’d be wrong, hooking up with his best friend’s little sister. Santi only asked him to get you home safe, not follow you inside, walk straight into your bedroom, look at you the way he’s looking at you right now, silhouetted by the streetlight shining through your still-open shades.

So then, why can’t he walk away?

You make to step forward, and Frankie’s already moving. He meets you halfway, stood on some fancy-looking rug your mom probably spent too much money on, his arms instantly finding your waist underneath your short tee.

“You fuckin’ piss me off, you know that?”

“I know,” you breathe, bottom lip brushing against his, “I know.”

He pushes you backward, sends you stumbling across the floor on your toes until the back of your calves hit the mattress and you fall, dragging him down on top of you. You knock the baseball cap from his head and run your hands through his brown curls, pulling him nearer as his hands begin to move north under the worn cotton of your shirt.

His rough hands cup your breasts, kneading and pinching your nipples as his lips fall to your neck, sucking a bruise into your soft skin.

“Frankie,” you breathe, “what the fuck are we–?”

“Shut up,” he whispers back, teeth grazing over your collarbone. He’s moving down, kissing over your tee as he goes, until he’s kneeling on the floor, your legs dangling off the bed either side of his body.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, watching him as he presses fleeting kisses to the insides of your thighs, making his way closer and closer to your center, covering ground painfully slow.

“Would you – just – fucking – get there?” you ask, head tilting back with a groan.

“Always so fucking impatient,” he mutters, pulling your legs further apart. “Makes sense, though,” he whispers, finger hooking around your underwear, “already so wet.”

“Dick,” you hiss, laying back flat on the bed.

Frankie holds the lace off of your core and then dips his jaw, lips lightly ghosting across your folds. You hum with a mixture of pleasure and annoyance, ready to buck your hips up to him if it’ll just make him move faster.

But you don’t have to wait a second longer. He licks one broad stripe up your center, pressing one chaste kiss to your clit before his tongue dips where you need him most. Your legs go to clamp shut, stopped by his shoulders.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you moan, hand coming down to knot your fingers in his hair.

He hums against your pussy, tongue lapping inside you, nose at the perfect angle for you to rut your clit against.

“Fuck…” you repeat, and he fucking laughs against you. “Quit it,” you hiss, and he lifts his head.

Your eyes shoot open, finding his. Alarmed meeting cool.

“Fine,” he says, smirking. “I’ll quit it.”

“Don’t you fucking– Frankie.”

“Your words, baby.” He shrugs, eyes flitting down to your cunt, soaked under his touch.

“I didn’t mean it,” you moan. “Why are you such a fucking asshole?”

He looks back up. The corners of his mouth pull his smirk into a grin. Some devilish grin, thick with arrogance.

“I’m an asshole,” he echoes, elastic of your panties shifting up to his knuckles.

He watches your cunt as he does it. Runs two fingers between your folds, coating them in your arousal, dipping them deeper until they’re at your entrance.

Your head hits the bed heavily, your body writhing over the white sheets as he pushes closer and closer. His free hand comes up and pushes down on your tummy, holding you steady to the mattress, then –

“I’m the asshole.”

He inserts his fingers, curled, thick, stretching you out over his hand as he pushes in deep. A gasp passes through your lips, exchanging itself for a throaty moan when Frankie begins fucking you on his hand, lowering his lips to your clit again.

His wrist pumps in and out, tongue swirling over the swollen bud, palm pushing harder into your stomach to keep you from upsetting his rhythm with how badly you want to move around.

Your fingers lock a vice grip around his hair, your hips the only part of your body he’ll let you move. You establish a pace of your own, fucking up to meet his fingers, grinding yourself on his wet tongue.

“I’m close,” you pant, Nirvana logo distorted in ruffles at the base of your neck. “So fucking close, Frankie.”

And he can feel it. Feel you tightening around his hand, feel the rhythm of your hips start to miss beats, move clockwise instead of up and down. He can hear as your mouth stops rounding the words, fading into slurs and breaths and moans instead of coherent language.

“F-Frankie,” you cry out, and it’s like music to his ears. “’m there, I’m–”

“On my mouth, baby,” he mutters, withdrawing his fingers and replacing them with his lips again, tongue pushing inside you as you fall apart all over him.

Your back lifts from the bed, fists ball around his hair, pushing his face even harder against your cunt as you ride out your high. You’re moaning his name over and over, echoing off the walls of your little room, escaping out the door and swirling around the hallway.

If you could hear yourself, or cared enough to try, you’d feel fucking embarrassed at what you’re doing – coming apart under Frankie’s touch. It’s Frankie.

The same Frankie you started an argument with one Fourth of July over which was better: ketchup or mustard; the two of you spitting insults over the striped tablecloth, obscene hand gestures being thrown up over plates of burgers.

The same Frankie who’d found out it was you who drew on the wall, and from that day on used it as leverage anytime you set a foot out of line. Used it to shut you up, anytime you so much as thought about talking back, or ratting on the boys.

You’re supposed to hate him. Ask anyone – Santi, Mal, your parents. They’ll all say the same. Like cat and dog.

And yet, here you are. Begging him not to stop, keep his hands and his mouth on you; gasping for breath when he eventually lifts away from you and you collapse back into the bed.

You glance down from under heavy lids, watching as he kisses your thighs again, slowly bringing you back to the room. His chin’s glistening, covered in your cum, beard soaked in you.

You slowly sit up, holding yourself steady with two palms pushed into the mattress. Frankie readjusts your underwear and sits back on his heels, running a hand down his chin and wiping himself clean.

“That was…” you pant, waiting for him to finish the sentence.

He just nods, breathing heavy himself. “Yeah.”

“I gotta…I gotta let…Ange out,” you say, words swaddled by your breath.

Frankie nods again. “I should go.”

You stand at the same time, straightening up face to face. His right side is lit warmly by your bedside lamp, the brown of his eye reflecting a tiny yellow orb back at you; the left side is darker, flecks of hair lit in the pale light from the street, face dark and unreadable. Like he’s two different people, split down the middle now, a before and after.

You’re staring at one another, mapping every inch of the other’s face. Learning it, like it’s new. Like you’ve never really seen each other until right now.

And then he’s turning, picking his hat up from the floor in one swooping motion, and walking out of your bedroom. A deep sigh passes your lips as he goes, relief mixed with satisfaction. And then you follow.

Angie circles him when his boots thud down from the bottom step. He bends to give her more attention, waiting for you to softly pad down alongside him. The dog trots off toward the kitchen, and he turns to you.

He’s back to his unphased self, jaw circling around the gum that he’s still fucking chewing. “Two drinks you owe me, now, lil Santi.”

You cock your head. “Hm?”

“One for showing your ass at pool, ‘n another for that.”

“Get the fuck out of my house, Morales.”

He snorts, wandering off down the hall. You spin on your heel and follow the sound of Ange scraping the back door, throwing a glance over your shoulder.

Frankie meets your eye, and like a reflex, the pair of you toss the finger to one another. He laughs, stepping out onto the porch.

“Anytime you feel like losing again, you know where I am, baby.”

----------

taglist: @serenaxpedro @bitchwitch1981 @brittmb115 @stormseyer @scarletthefierce @pattwtf @pascalpvnk @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi @gracieispunk @hellishjoel

(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #francisco morales #bbf!frankie #bbf!frankie morales #pedro pascal #pedro pascal frankie morales #pedro pascal characters #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #enemies to lovers #frankie morales enemies to lovers

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endlessthxxghts · 1 month

Text

we were written in the stars

@swiftiscruff gift exchange ♡

I hope I’m not too late!! I’ve been looking at this exchange all weekend, and I’ve just been trying to figure out what I wanted to say. And after like 40 something hours… I think I’ve got an idea.

First and foremost, I want to say a big thank you to @swiftispunk and @joelscruff for creating such a beautiful little thing for all of us to come together and celebrate the beauty that is love and friendship. I also want to say that what you two have is truly beautiful, and it makes my heart so warm to see what this site has to offer us beyond the realm of the internet walls.

Second, for my gift exchange, I’ve created this little mood board in an attempt to encapsulate the pure welcome and love that everyone has made me feel from the very moment I began my journey on here. And of course, I had to include our favorite man because a good chunk of us, and a good chunk of our friendships, probably wouldn’t be here without him to bring us together.

There’s so much I can say. There’s so much I want to say. But there aren’t enough words or brain skills to truly articulate the way that I feel about the people I’ve had the absolute honor to interact with here on this site. From interacting with my readers (even in the form of a comment, a reblog, or simply seeing your blog in my notifications, I notice it all) to interacting with fellow writers on here, there’s something so real and so raw about the way this community harnesses love and creativity and friendship on here, and I really have never experienced anything like it. It’s beautiful, it’s breathtaking, it’s unreal.

This is getting long. I’m sorry. I guess, what I’m trying to say is: whatever path we’re on, however long it took us to get where we are now, one thing is for sure. The love and the bonds we’ve created here, I truly believe they— we were written in the stars. One way or another, our souls would’ve interacted in some kind of way, and I’m beyond excited to see what more our paths have for us.

You all have truly been my saving grace, in more ways than one. I love you. 🩶

Forever yours, L.

Also ew sorry this looks so gross since tumblr is being weird with the tags right now lololol

@javierpena-inatacvest @janaispunk @katiexpunk @toxicanonymity @honeyedmiller

@joelsgreys @joelmillerisapunk @pedrosballsack @joels-shitty-puns @joeloverture @joelscruff

@beskarandblasters @bearsbeetsbeskar @beefrobeefcal @cerridwen007 @mrsmando @msjarvis

@pedritoferg @punkshort @morallyinept @sweetercalypso @pedge-page

@notjustjavierpena @clawdee @undercoverpena @tightjeansjavi @pimosworld

@chaithetics @survivingandenduring @getitoutofmymind @amanitacowboy @suzdin

@strang3lov3 @umadosedepascal @pedroisghostiess @sawymredfox @swiftispunk @rav3n-pascal22

@theweedisasterxoxo @djarin-desires @strawberry-pascal @kewwrites @joeloverture

I’m 100% sure there’s so much more that I can name, but I’m sure tumblr will fight me if I tag any more. If I didn’t tag you, it really was unintentional. If I could, I truly would tag every single 1.5k of you (yes, we hit a milestone guys!🥹 I’ll be posting the celebration soon). I love you all. I wouldn’t be here without any of you, truly, so thank you cat and han for giving me the chance to show my love and appreciation. My heart is so so so full.

#PPCUgiftexchange2024

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beefrobeefcal · 26 days

Text

an Ezra & Cricket One Shot: Brass Knuckled Debauchee Summary: Ezra, after abusing your healing talents, returns to make good on his debt... for a price.

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader | Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 4,752

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, fingering (f receiving), weight gain, eating, edging, soft!dom Ezra being an overall ass, teasing, begging, crying, malfunctioning prosthetic limb, the occasional swear

Author's Notes: requested by two (count'em - 2!) lovely babes for the 900 Friendo Celebration - thank you to @xdaddysprincessxx and @morallyinept for bringing Ezra some love.

Huge thank you to @strang3lov3 , @noxturnalpascal & @bitchesuntitled for their beta badass skills and to my ever lovely beta fish, @neverwheremoonchild. None of you will understand the depths of gratitude I hold you all in.

No more tag lists - follow @beefnotes + turn on notifications for fic updates!

You’d cared for him when his appendage was newly parted from his person, after a young woman dumped him off at your meagre midwife’s centre.

You hadn’t delivered a baby in at least eight cycles, but you were busy tending to broken bones and crushed limbs from the mine nearby, so the idea of caring for a wound caused by a missing arm wasn’t far from your everyday.

What was far from the standard men in your care was that this one wouldn’t shut up. Truly. You’d never met someone so close to death spew such a narrative. You almost wished to have him out of his misery just to stop his linguistic vomit.

Thank Kevva for sedatives.

You didn’t even want to know his name, worried that if you had his, he’d need yours and there was no way someone this sick and wounded that could carry on like he’s memorized a thesaurus wasn’t capable of performing a hex or a curse on you.

After three blessedly quiet and devoid-of-narration days, the open wound where his arm once hung from was no longer festering and the fever that wracked his body broke. Despite your own desire to keep him silent, you stopped administering such a high dose of the sedative, and you allowed him to regain consciousness.

For the first little while, all you heard was his steady, deep breathing, so you left the room to grab some water and liquified sustenance for him, figuring that when he would finally come to, he’d be hungry.

“To what do… do I owe the pleasure?”, you heard croaked as you walked softly back into the room.

“Oh good…”, you replied flatly. “You’re awake and talking.”

The remainder of his stay that time had revolved around you doing what you could to keep his mouth occupied enough to keep it quiet; you fed him. By the time he’d left, he’d made you aware of his name – Ezra – and bestowed a nickname on you for lack of giving your own. Cricket. He then made the terrible promise to return to see you and left with a wink and a smile.

Your whole body bristled at the thought of having to deal with him again.

*****

The first return visit he made, his confidence and vocabulary were still obnoxiously inflated. Whining of a bruised rib, you resumed your frustrated feeding to keep him down to two to three sentences and responses between mouthfuls.

The second time he returned, he stated that he had been ‘brutalized by a deviant, one who you should not even be told of his true form else your fragile and virtuous mind be stained’. There wasn’t a single mark on him, save for a bite on his only arm that looked to be self-inflicted. He enjoyed himself, smiling between bites of food.

By the third visit – complaining of a sprained toe - you knew that he knew that you knew what you were doing - and vice versa. Despite this, you fed him, and he ate very well. After several days of ‘healing’, he hauled himself up and it was then that you noted his flight suit looking like it was getting tighter around his middle.

Those visits happened in a fairly rapid succession, but a longer period – more than six cycles at least - lapsed before he darkened your doorway and approached your desk once again. Without even looking up, you knew it was him, having heard his cavalier long-form salutations being crooned out at anyone he passed approaching your unit.

“What now?”, you sighed in irritation, dropping your head into your hand, not bothering to look up at him – something you would come to regret to save yourself future embarrassment. You didn’t see him close your door and lock it behind him.

He approached your desk, and his hand came into view along with a mechanical one; the smooth-as-silk tongued devil was now outfitted with a prosthetic arm that looked like it had been stolen from a brass skeleton and had gears added. Your eyes followed the mechanical limb up to the hem of his shortened sleeve, hiding the joint between it and what remained of his actual arm. The new colour of his clothing caught your attention, too, pulling your eyes to his torso. Yes, it was definitely a different colour. He was no longer in the moss greens and soil browns you’d associated with him. Now, he was in a dark blue flight suit with a gold zipper that looked to just be barely holding together.

Your brain paused to take in what was in front of you.

“No more chirps for me, sweet Cricket?”

His raspy, southern drawl sounded sweeter than you’d noticed before as your eyes took in the added weight on his middle. Before looking up to his face, you noted the way the zipper rippled from the strain and the clear indent his belly button made as the fabric pulled taut across his expanse.

His face. As soon as you took it in, you regretted not doing it first. He’s held you in his big brown eyes’ gaze before, but you’d been able to avoid being trapped. But this time you couldn’t help but let them absorb you. His smile widened as he slightly leaned forward, arms putting further weight on your desk.

“You seem at a loss for word, Crick-“

“You’ve been eating well.”, you managed to croak out in a somewhat aloof-sounding voice, nodding towards his middle.

He didn’t shrink back at your comment; instead, it seemed to embolden him. “You started me on a path of decadence that a mere man such as myself isn’t able to easily shake.”

He stood to his full height, eyes never leaving yours. “Is that all you noticed?”, he grinned, lifting his brass appendage, bringing the crude and simple brass hand to his face, smoothing over his moustache.

Your lips parted then closed and parted again before you were able to spit out, “I saw y-… I see you got a new… limb.”

His eyes gleamed at you, seeing his every move had you further in his grasp. You inwardly scowled, chiding yourself on how quickly you were falling under his spell. Narrowing your eyes, you shrugged at him.

“Looks old.”

If it stung him, he didn’t show it; he simply kept that smile on his face and continued to look down at you from across the desk. “I’m not its first owner.”

The pleasantries had only lasted a few more moments before Ezra moved around your desk and hovered over you.

“I’m here to return the favour, Cricket.”

“...Favour?”

“For all the hard work you put into bringing me back to my full health.”, he cooed lowly as his brass hand cooled your cheek with its feather-light touch.

“It’s nothing... I was just doing my j - “

He leaned over you further, cheshire grin pulled menacingly across his face. His voice slipped into a lower pitch and his eyes darted from your eyes to your mouth.

“Doing your job would have been to send me away when I appeared with erroneous and fabricated injuries and illnesses. You, my sweet Cricket, stepped over and above the threshold of your employment and I intend to repay you for your sweetness in full.”

You sucked in a few shallow breaths and nervously swallowed. This was a side of him you hadn't seen, assuming that he was a submissive and pliant brat who’d chosen you to dote on him. But no. There was no favour he intended to pay back. He was just sizing you up and wrangling you into his web, and now he was out loud declaring that you were his prey. His eyes were dark and fixed on you, in contrast with the gentle smile on his face.

“Don’t be nervous, sweet Cricket. You can tend to your own wounds afterwards. Now, let me hear you chirp.”

His brass arm shot out and gripped your wrist tightly and he pulled you from your seat. Dragging you to the maternity room, he tossed you onto the low soft bed.

“Ezra!”, you squeaked as your body hit the push mattress below you.

He dropped to his knees and crawled up, forcing your legs apart, and his belly barely grazed your middle as his face lined up with yours. You let out an involuntary whimper.

“Oh, sweet Cricket. How badly I wanted you on your back, making those sweet vocalizations your namesake promised me.”

His flesh and bone hand gently grazed your face and moved to the back of your head, softly fisting your hair, forcing your head to stay still as he traced his nose along the contours of your face. His eyes remained half lidded and he watched as your own rolled back when he pushed his knee into the crux of your thighs, knowing he had all but your verbal consent.

“This is all you need, sweet Cricket? Someone to light the way?”

All you can muster as his hold on your hair tightened and his knee applied more pressure was a light whine through your parted lips.

You wanted to respond, but the moment you opened your mouth, Ezra’s brass arm made a clunk sound and began to shudder.

“Oh, for Kevva’s sake.”, he muttered, sitting up on his knees as he examined the arm. It made a mechanical sound before it shuddered again, then a higher pitched noise droned as the arm vibrated.

You watched him sitting between your parted legs as the realization of what he had at his disposal dawned on him. Your eyes widened as he turned and looked at you like a starved man with a wild grin.

“Sweet Cricket, I think I could go for a bite to eat.”

*****

Once you’d gotten some finger foods together and brought them back into the room, you found Ezra laid back in a mountain of pillows on the bed. He nodded his head towards you and raised his hand, beckoning you to him.

“Come on, Cricket. Tend to your weary traveller.”

His eyes were glued to you, cascading up and down your form, as you hand fed him. He’d had a few pieces of the savoury pastries when you felt the cool touch of his brass hand slide between your thighs.

“Curious...”, he mused as he chewed. “… that when I make a certain motion with my appendage, it malfunctions in such an amusing manner that I know you will find benefit in, pet.”

Your brows furrow in question and before you can ask how that could benefit you in any way, the arm made that clunk sound again. You felt the vibration between your thighs and your eyes widened.

“Ez – oh fuck!”, you gasped as he pushed his knuckle up against your mound and held it there firmly.

Your mouth was open, allowing shallow panting breaths to puff out and your eyes were closed with your brows pinched as the shuddering vibrations pulsed against you. You’d never felt anything like this before in your life and you thanked Kevva.

The low amber tones of his voice cut through to you and pulled you out of your silent prayer. “Now, sweet Cricket. We are both here to derive enjoyment from one another given we both now have the intel on each other’s vices. You can’t go holding out on me to seek your fruition – that is not fair.”

He pulled his hand from contacting your core, and your eyes snapped to his, a pleading whimper bubbling out from your pouting lips.

“Uh-uh, Cricket. We will play fair.”, he growled in warning. His smile dropped as his features darkened, and he nodded towards your suspended hand holding a small meat-filled pastry. “Don’t you dare hold out on me.”

Shakily, you brought the morsel to his mouth and as he took it in and let his tongue touch your finger, his hand once again pressed against your core.

*****

Ezra had continued to eat and finished over half of platter. But every time you started to get close to your peak, he would pull his hand away, leaving you a shaking mess.

“P-please… Ezra, please!”, you begged mere seconds away from ecstasy.

“I am not finished, sweet Cricket.”, he said with a mouthful. “You will be sated when I have found my fill, and we are not yet there.”

You could have screamed at him, strangled him in a rage. “Ezra please! I - ”.

The warning look he gave you stopped any further pleading. Your mind reeled, trying to find some way to get relief. You could kick him out and try to finish yourself off with your fingers, but you knew it would be fruitless; you’d never gotten this worked up on your own before and you doubt that you had anything in this clinic that vibrated at that frequency.

As you trembled and panted, Ezra watched, amused at how clearly you were seeking a solution to the problem he’d created for you.

“Cricket…”, he cooed, soothing his biological hand up your arm and to your face. He gently guided your chin towards him. “Sweet Cricket, come back to me.”

When your frantic gaze met his, his eyes softened and creased as he smiled. “I will not leave you unfinished. I repay my debts, darling nurse.”

You sighed in defeat, nodded, and took a deep breath. Your eyes trailed down to his noticeably rounder middle that made the already strained zipper pull at the seams of the fabric. He shifted in what looked like discomfort.

You put down the current half-filled plate of food and reached for the zipper tag, tugging it down. It only got to the beginning of the swell of his belly before you met resistance. You tugged a little harder, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Suck it in.”

“Now, Cricket, let’s not be hast-“

“I said suck it in.”, you snapped back far more forcefully than intended.

Ezra froze then nodded. “Sweet girl, I will try, but…” You saw his middle pull in slightly. “… the profound conundrum I experienced in getting it on…”

The zipper finally moved, and he groaned as his stomach expanded. “Sweet Kevva… such relief.”

You were desperate for him to touch you again, but seeing him fat and swollen before you, knowing it was your work that was filling him out. Ezra watched your gaze turn hungry and almost feral. Granted, he felt that way as he watched you teeter on the edge of falling apart over and over. He wasn’t ready to let the power he held over you go, giving him the drive to get through, bite by bite. But that power began to slip the moment his vulnerable and considerably rounder middle exposed, and it left him feeling uneasy and unsure.

“A change of flavour… is needed, my sweet Cricket.”, Ezra crooned, trying to exude as much confidence he could muster, despite his self-consciousness lingering in the back of his mind. He swallowed down a moan as your blown-pupiled eyes met his. He pushed a faux-confident smile and spoke softer. “Something sweeter, perhaps?”

Letting a small huff escape, you nodded and got up from the bed, cursing him under your breath for having this much power over you.

As you stood in the small kitchen area, waiting for the food rehydrator to loudly prepare the freeze-dried baked goods, you didn’t hear Ezra huff and grunt as he got off the bed and saunter into the kitchen. You weren’t alerted to his presence until his belly hit your back and his brass hand went to your hip.

His nose and mouth pressed against the back of your neck, whispering filth as his hand cupped your breast and squeezed.

“You leave yourself so vulnerable, sweet Cricket... back to the door, not an ounce of concern…. any rapscallion of low morals could take advantage… of your sweet, supple figure…”

You let out a light, breathy whine gripping his hand as he kneaded your breast. As much as you wanted his hands on you, you wanted his mouth on your own more, so you pushed your body back against his, making enough room between him and the counter for you to turn around. His brass hand stayed on the curve of your waist, not offering any resistance, and his other hand cupped your cheek, holding it in place while he kissed you softly. His lips moved against yours like he was able to read your mind, or maybe even needed this point of contact as badly as you did. His mouth parted and his tongue pushed for entrance into your mouth, and once it was granted, the kiss fevered and boiled over. You felt your core throb with need and want, soaking your pants and already ruined underwear, and he crowded you against the counter. So wrapped up were you in his mouth and teeth and tongue, that you didn’t feel his brass hand move from your waist.

In one swift move, Ezra shoved your pants down in the front enough for his brass hand to slip with no barrier into your folds. The cool touch you would have expected from it was long forgotten as the metal now met your body temperature. Still engulfed in the kiss that was beginning to rob your breath, the telltale clunk barely registered in your mind until the vibrations started. Sending a jolt through your body, you pulled your face away from his and let out a shrill gasp.

The timer on the rehydrator went off, and Ezra chuckled darkly, watching your brows draw together and your eyes flutter.

“The rules stay the same, Cricket. Sweet or savoury, I will have my fill and you will have your petite mort. But one will meet the other at the same time.”, he said in a wickedly soft tenor. “Now, you can begin holding up your end, sweet girl.”

Once again, Ezra ripped away any power you might have had or believed you had, edging you with each bite, withholding his metal hand’s vibrations from the moment his mouth was empty to the moment your hand shakily pushed another bite past his lips. Overstimulation mixed with the pent-up fury of being denied an orgasm had you panting rapidly, tears threatening to spill over. High pitched whines and shuddering whimpers were all you could produce, and it was music to Ezra’s ears.

“You… create the most… glorious cricket song…”, he mused softly as he chewed the mouthful. “Keep chirping, sweet girl…”

You were coming to a point where you weren’t sure you would make it. Your brain felt like it was filled with the static from a communicator’s blank channel and your hearing and sight felt fuzzy. The coil tightening in your cunt was hitting a painful level, causing you to drop the next pastry you’d picked up with your shaking hands.

As soon as it hit the floor, Ezra tsk’d you, and pulled his hand right out of your pants. The pained sob that burst from you from the loss of contact was loud and harsh, and the tears finally spilled over, staining your cheeks.

“P-please… I… I can’t!”, you cried out, jutting your hand out clumsily to grab his wrist as he pulled back. His dark eyes scanned your desperate ones, pausing momentarily, before his gaze shifted to one of pity and amusement.

“You can’t what?”, he mocked with a cruel grin. “Can’t what, sweet Cricket?”

A rasped and pained whine peeled out of your throat as your head fell to his shoulder, and his hand gripped your hair and pulled back, forcing you to look at him. You looked ruined. Your cheeks flushed and eyes wet and lidded, your lips parted, turned down and chin quivering. He shoved up back and up onto the counter.

“Oh, come now, sweet Cricket. Don’t look at me like I won’t give you your due.”, he whispered, ghosting his mouth over yours. His brass fingers traced lurid shapes along your inner thighs, causing your body to shiver and that coil painfully wind up in your core once more.

“I asked you for something sweeter, pet,”, Ezra mockingly cooed as he pulled back, your face involuntarily following his to try and capture his lips against yours. He shook his head, smile tugging at one side of his mouth. “Something sweeter and you dropped it on the floor. It’s precious currency, Cricket, and you mishandled it.”

Your eyes followed his, stuck in the trance he’d put you under. He could have told you to do anything, given any order and you would have obeyed to your detriment. His brass hand moved to your throat, long, metal fingers grasping just tight enough to keep you precariously seated on the edge of the counter. His thicker middle forced you legs open wide, and his other hand took its place between your legs and without warning, he shoved two fingers into your core.

Your mouth and eyes widened as a wrecked gasp escaped you and your hands went to grab onto what ever meaty part of him you could grab for stability. Ezra hummed in response as the pads of his fingers felt the walls of your cannel twitch and flutter at his intrusion.

“Good Kevva, sweet girl…”, he groaned, watching your face contort. “As much as this contraption of a limb can bring me such sadistic joy at your expense, my own digits needed to feel the silken walls of your inner sanctum.”

As he pumped his fingers in and out of you, he dropped his forehead against yours and hummed again, answering your repeated whining pants and moans.

“Keep chirping, Cricket… sing me your evening song… that’s it….”

As you felt your peak come careening in, he felt your walls convulse and slicken up. The soft tenor he’s just lulled you into a steady rhythm with fell away and the low chuckle followed by his fingers being removed made you scream out and dig your nails into the fattened flesh of his upper arm and shoulder.

“EZ-EZRA! PLEASE! FUCK-PLEASE!”, you sobbed out in a shriek.

His brass hand’s hold tightened around your throat, and he shoved your shoulders flush with the wall behind counter roughly.

Your desperate eyes looked him over as best as you could, given the position he had you in. His bloated and full stomach moved with each laboured breath he took and the strain he put himself under to wreck you was fully apparent. You could feel the outline of his clothed hard cock seated against your thigh and the sweat beading on his forehead. He wiped his face and parted his lips to take in deeper breaths; his irises were indiscernible from his pupils as he looked down at you.

You had never known need like this, and you felt as though you were going to succumb due to your lack of orgasm as a final line in the life that Kevva had written for you.

“P…please…”

“Is it my cock you want to be impaled on, pet? You want to whine and mewl while I rut my quiver bone into your sopping celestial cavern?”, he coolly growled, but there was a slight waiver in his voice. You saw the same desperation in the dark abyss of his eyes.

You nodded dumbly and he scowled, baring his teeth, and tore his brass hand off you, trying to make quick work of getting his flight suit off his shoulders. The arms were tight around his fleshy arms, and you shakily sat up and tried to help. Once his arms were free, you tugged the material over his waist, taking note of the roll of flesh sitting just above his waistband, showing just how much he had been indulging. You gave it a squeeze, revelling in the sound he made, sucking his breath thru his teeth at your fingers.

“Marvel the fruits of your labour, Cricket… The destination you set me on course to has made me beyond redemption and unfit for galactic adventuring…”, he grunted breathily, shoving his flight suit off his legs before kicking it off entirely. “You have effectively rendered me useless beyond what effect I am able to wield on you.”

He shoved his mouth against yours before you could respond or ask what he meant, sucking you into a bruising kiss. His hands gripped your hips, pulling your twitching cunt flush with his weeping, hard cock, knocking the plastic plate that held the desserts onto the floor at his feet. Fumbling slightly, he pulled back and gripped his member, before lining it up with your entrance and pushing it in all at once. The sting of his intrusion melded perfectly with the relief of finally connecting, and the sound you made caused Ezra to almost break. His eyes softened and his brows tented, body tense at the gentle yet firm, warm hold you had on him.

“I’m af-afraid I’ve pushed too far to allow for… for niceties and gentle welcomes, sweet Cricket…”, he panted against your face, teeth clenched as he tried to focus and draw this out as long as possible.

“Please move...”, you begged in a strained whine.

“If I move to fast, sweet Cricket, I will... end this fortuitous connection with an... an early release, and that would render me- fuck!... render me less than a gentleman...”

“You’re no gentleman... now shut up an-and fuck me!”

It seemed that your tight walls and frantic begging were too much for Ezra, and he pulled out with a grunt, followed by a whine as he came onto the plate on the floor. The vulgar sounds of his panting breaths mixed with the sploot of his spend had you seeing red.

“You asshole!”, you screeched, shoving him off you.

He panted and held his hands up in surrender as you charged at him.

“Cricket... forgive me! You’re too sweet... your sacred cavern was too - “

The slap you landed across his face stopped his fancy wordplay. “You fucking bastard!”

Ezra’s eyes flashed in anger, and he stood to his full height, towering over you.

“That was uncalled for, Cricket.”, he snarled. “I will take the wrath of meeting an end without you by my side, but I will not allow you to besmirch my good mother with a question of my paternal lineage.”

You stared at him, eyes wide with anger at his audacity, and before you could say another word, he tackled you to the floor. You tried to fight him off but the moment you heard the clunk of his brass arm and felt two metal fingers punch up into your slick heat, you ceased your struggle.

“See, sweet Cricket? I may be a wayward traveler, but even I know the dangers of leaving a woman on the precipice of completion... “

“Don’t stop... please... don’t stop...”

The vibrations of his arm and the smooth curves of the worn metal fingers found a rhythm that had you seeing stars.

“I plan to keep demanding your company each time I move through this sector, and-”

“Oh Kevva... Ez-Ezra!”

He leaned forward and ghosted his mouth over yours, speaking in a low, husky growl, “... if I were to fail you now, what kind of welcome would I receive the next time I darken your doorway?”

Your eyes rolled into the back of your skull and your body arched off the floor. Pent up energy burst from your burning cunt, sending wave after wave of precious release through your body. The scream that peeled out of you was dampened by Ezra kissing you forcefully.

His movement slowed and he slowly pulled his brass hand from your core. You were greeted with his grin as he looked over his brass hand.

“You’ve polished only two fingers for me... there are three more.”, he cooed, placing a delicate kiss on the end of your nose. “Next time.”

“N-next time?”

He nodded and stood up with a grunt. You sat up carefully, and it seemed you both took note of the plate on the floor, covered in his cum. The chastisement was on your tongue, but never became words out loud as you were struck speechless as you watched him pick up the plate and fling it out the window.

He turned back to you, standing naked in the kitchen, fat and sweaty, with a grin on his face.

“There is always a next time, Cricket.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #ezra prospect #fat ezra #chubby!ezra #chubby ezra rights !!!#🥩#900 friendo celebration #900 milestone #900 followers #pedro pascal tummy #you ask beefro answers #thot tank #you asked beefro answered

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morallyinept · 9 months

Text

A list of all my favourite JOEL MILLER Fic Recs, with the writers tagged. Includes fics I am currently reading/want to read.

PART 2

Please show some love to the writers by re-blogging and commenting on their work. 🖤

⚠️ Please ensure you check the triggers/warnings etc... on the stories themselves as some of them may not be suitable to your own particular tastes.

Jealousy - @naughtyneganjdm

Little Black Dress - @hellishjoel Bartender!Joel

All Things Go - @fhatbhabie PlusSizeLatina!Reader

Rock Me To Sleep - @randofantfic

A Savage Place Series - @gasolinerainbowpuddles Dom x Sub Dynamic

No Strings Attached - @dustydaddyyy

Bad Blood Series - @jrrmint Raider!Joel

The Insemination - @megangovier20 Doc!Joel

Somebody To Heal, Somebody to Hold - @bearsbeetsbeskar Dispensary!Joel

Joyride - @strang3lov3

Silk & Sweat Series - @hexidous

Joel Miller: Attorney At Law - @chloeangelic ShadyLawyer!Joel

Joel Miller Masterlist - @chloeangelic More Joel to enjoy!

One More Day Series - @cevans-is-classic

Cowboy Like Me Series - @macfrog DBF!Joel

Code Red Series DBF!Joel, Call Your Bluff & Joel Masterlist - @chaotic-mystery

Imbibe Series - @sin-djarin Mixologist!Joel

The Voicemail - @elvinaa

All You Wanna Do & The Wound Won't Close - @atticrissfinch Dark!Joel

The Wrong Way Series - @romana-after-dark Dark Raider!Joel Featuring Dark Raider!Tommy

Crimson Red Paint On My Lips, Me & The Devil & Marked Me Like A Bloodstain - @pr0ximamidnight Dark MeanSmuggler!Joel

You Can't Trust Anyone These Days - @walkintotheriveranddisappear Dark!Joel Featuring Tess & Raider Group

With Pleasured Hands, Can't Nobody Love You Featuring Tommy Miller & Only Teasing - @magpiepills

I'm The One To Beat - @missredherring Slasher!Joel

Keeping Warm & Can't Take It - @randofantfic

Fate, After All Series - @mandoisapunk

Starving Faithful - @tulipsbymybed Priest!Joel

Joel Miller Masterlist - @ozarkthedog

Close Your Eyes, Pay The Price For Your Paradise - @ozarkthedog Dark!Joel

Sweet Peach Series - @elvinaa BFD!Cowboy Joel

But I'm A Creep - @elvinaa PervyNeighbour!Joel

Confession - @elvinaa Priest!Joel

Dom Pérignon - @jrrmint DBF!Joel

Yes, Father Series - @chloeangelic Priest!Joel

Dirty Cage - @sin-djarin

A Little Discipline - @walkintotheriveranddisappear DarkStepdad!Joel

Closer Series & Pretty Little Wife Series - @beardedjoel

Jet & Ghost - @macfrog

Love's Gonna Get You Killed - @pascalisbaby

Sins Of My Father Series - @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin DBF!Joel

Short Days, Long Nights Series - @frannyzooey

Smut Celebration: Joel & Smut Celebration Joel 2 - @thetriumphantpanda

The Red - @prettykoolkat PlusSize!Reader

Grown Woman - @chloeangelic DBF!Joel

For I Have Sinned - @xanqels DarkCorruptedPriest!Joel

Blackmail - @milla-frenchy Featuring Javier Peña

Dancing With The Devil - @jenispunk DBF!Joel

Blush - @softlyspector

#pedro pascal characters #fic recs #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller tlou #joel miller x tess #joel x tess #joel miller x reader #joel miller x m!reader #joel miller x f!reader #tlou fic #joel miller angst #pedro pascal #pedro pascal universe

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pinkypromisepascal · 9 months

Note

A story request when hopper is your dad best friend and you like each other, thank youu

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 (𝚍𝚋𝚏!𝙷𝚘𝚙 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛)

summary: You're home from college and Hop's over for dinner. You realize you can't get your dad's best friend out of your head.

content: some sexual tension (MDNI), age gap (reader's in her 20s, Hop's like 40), and some curse words 'cause I can't live without them

word count: 3.9k

author's note: don't get me started on how long I took for this. This was actually 6.9k words, but I split it into two parts (and I got even more planned AHHH). Also, this is set pre-season one. Anon, I am so sorry I took so long for this, I hope you remember this request and like how it turned out!

and thanks to @strang3lov3 for helping me work on this, don't know what I'd do without you!

part two!

________________________________________________________

You were on summer break from college, finally visiting your parents again. You loved living in a bigger city, but you also loved Hawkins every time you visited. The small town just seemed so calm, so unwinding. Plus, staying with your parents always guaranteed a fun time, they were always trying to make the best of your stay.

The sun was gonna set soon as you drove into Hawkins, the temperature was comfortably warm, allowing you to dress in one of your favorite summer dresses.

Your dad was already out on the porch of your small house, a bottle of beer in his hand and a wide smile on his lips as you pulled up the driveway in your car.

“Hey, sunshine!”, he called as you stepped out, lifting himself off the porch stairs and approaching you with spread arms.

You hugged him happily and rubbed his back.

“I see you’ve started celebrating without me.”, you giggled, nodding to the beer bottle.

“Oh, well, Mom and I were just so happy you’re coming by -” You chuckled at that, “I’m joking, I don’t care when you start drinking. As long as it’s not that good whisky you bought, I’d be mad if you started that without me.” Your dad raised his hands in defense, “I would never, sunshine, y’know that. Oh by the way, totally forgot to tell ya, but Hop’s coming over tonight as well. Told him about our barbecue plans and thought he’d have a good time with us.”

You stopped in your tracks to the trunk and cocked an eyebrow at your dad. “Jim Hopper? Huh, haven’t seen him in a while. Still Chief of Police?” Your dad nodded with a smile.

“Still drinking on duty?”, you asked with a cocky grin.

He laughed at that and shrugged, “You’ll have to ask him that yourself, I won’t be the telltale here.” You shook your head with a smile and unloaded your trunk, handing your dad the small suitcase.

As you entered the house, you could already smell the food that was gonna be served soon.

You sighed happily as you took the scent of your mom’s salad in, “I really miss this smell sometimes when I’m in college.”

You placed your backpack on the couch and went to your mom, who was standing in the kitchen, cutting up vegetables. You greeted her softly and hugged her. “Good to see you, sweetie, how are you? How’s college going for you? Anything fun happen outside of college? Anything romantic?”

You smiled at her and scrunched your nose, avoiding her last question, “Eh, it’s stressful, got some papers that I need to work on, but it’s still fun. Need some help with the food?”

You internally cringed; talking about romantic topics was the last thing you could use at the moment. It wasn’t like there would be much to talk about anyway.

Your mom waved a hand at you with a smile, “I’m good, you can just sit down and grab a drink to cool off a little.”

“I will, just gonna get my stuff to my room real quick.”

You returned a minute later, your father handing you a bottle of beer with a questioning look. You grabbed the drink with a smile and took a swig before getting plates and cutlery from the kitchen and taking them outside to set the table. Your mom jokingly scolded you for that, but you just waved her off with a grin.

You enjoyed the light breeze outside, the warm summer air gently brushing your hair out of your face. As you ordered the plates, you heard some commotion from inside.

You finished your task and stepped back inside, your eyes instantly locking with the blue ones of Chief Jim Hopper who was standing next to your dad.

“Evening, Chief.”, you chimed in and watched his lips twist into a smirk.

“Hey there.”, he responded as he took his hat off and held it in his hands. You noticed that he was still in uniform. He probably came over here right from work.

“Like the uniform.”, you smiled as you pointed at it, “Makes you look all serious.”

Jim chuckled, “So I don’t look serious when I’m not in uniform?”

You raised your arms in a defensive gesture and walked over to your mum who was almost done with preparing the food.

“No comment on that, Chief. Don’t wanna get arrested.”, you joked. You briefly glanced over to him to see him smiling warmly at you again.

You felt your heart skip a beat and cleared your throat, turning to your mother to help her carry the salad and the bread outside.

At first, you were a little unsure how the mood at dinner would be when your dad told you Hopper would be joining you. You didn’t have anything against him, you just never really felt like you could read him, and that bothered you sometimes.

He always seemed so serious, stoic almost, although he and your dad were pretty chatty with each other, just like today.

You glanced over to Hop, who was sitting right across you, as he talked to your parents. He looked more relaxed than you remembered. Maybe it was his third beer slowly letting him loose the serious demeanor.

You kept looking at him, observing him. You looked at his right hand that was holding the bottle on the table, noticing that his middle finger was drawing small circles on it. It was probably an unconscious habit, and you couldn’t help but find it somewhat adorable.

As you smiled to yourself, you noticed his gaze shifting to you. You looked into his blue eyes and your heart skipped a beat again.

*Since when did you find him so attractive?

Was that just the uniform?*

His look made you feel like he was expecting your answer to something. Your eyes widened. Had you zoned out that bad over watching him?

“Sorry, what?”, you asked, trying to play it off with a grin, noticing your parents were looking at you as well.

“We were just talking about your college life.”, your mom smiled as she patted your hair, a gesture she hadn’t shaken off ever since you were a kid. It still sent a warm flush across your face, it made you feel safe.

“You alright? You’ve been quiet since we’ve been out here.”, your dad asked with a smile, not too concerned that something was really bothering you.

“Yeah, no, I’m good, just a little tired, that’s all.”, you replied.

You were hoping your parents would go back to their conversation again, but that hope was shattered when Hopper asked you how you liked college.

You took a deep breath and laughed, “Jesus, I hate these questions… Uhm, it’s fun.”

You shrugged, not knowing what exactly he, or anyone who ever asked you that, wanted to hear. “It’s fine. I mean, there’s a lot of input and there are some lectures, some professors, or some other students I really can’t stand, but other than that…”, you shrugged again, laughing awkwardly, “Fine.”

Hopper smiled at that and chuckled. “Art history, right?”, he asked softly, “That’s what you’re studying.”

You smiled back at him and felt a light blush coming to your cheeks. “Yeah.”

“So you wanna work in a museum when you’re done? Or in a gallery?”, he asked, his attention now fully on you.

Your breath caught in your throat. The way he sat there, his body relaxed, his right hand still holding the bottle, his eyes staying on you as he took a sip from it, his tongue quickly swiping over his bottom lip as he set the bottle down again, and his uniform just fitting him so right.

Your smile grew bigger at his question. “That’d be perfect, but I haven’t decided yet. But, yeah, I’d love to work in an art museum.” You briefly looked over to your parents who were both looking at you proudly.

“Bet you’d fit great in there.”, Hopper smirked. You nodded at him and mumbled a quick “thanks”, a little overwhelmed with how he seemed so focused on you.

Lucky for you, his attention switched to your father again as he asked something about work at the police station. This gave you time to collect your thoughts a little.

Why did you feel so attracted to your dad’s friend? What exactly was it about him? Was it just that he looked very handsome, with his somewhat rugged behavior most of the time, which made you wonder why he was so kind towards you? Was it his seemingly genuine interest in you and what you did? Or was it just the thought of doing something potentially immoral? Or simply your lack of love and romance at college that made you fall for every guy that was nice to you?

You looked at Hopper again as he talked to your dad, almost admiring him. You couldn’t grasp what made him so attractive to you, he was just your dad’s friend. There was nothing special about him. Nothing that really stood out. Except for his eyes, maybe. And his beard. And his voice… And his uniform, obviously. Your eyes widened a little as you realized your thoughts, finding more and more things about him you considered attractive. You silently cursed yourself and shifted a little in your chair, untangling your crossed legs and stretching them out under the table.

You startled a little as you brushed against another leg. You quickly pulled back and saw Hopper glancing at you with a smirk before shifting his focus on your dad again as they kept chatting. To get a hold of yourself again, you grabbed your glass in front of you and took a big sip of the cold water, using the condensation on the glass to cool yourself on your wrists as your mother started telling you something about all the things you could do during your stay in Hawkins.

Thankful for the distraction, you happily listened to her ramble about all the things the two of you could do together and all the things you could teach her once you finished your studies.

“We could go to all kinds of museums across the world and see all your favorite paintings! Wouldn’t that be great?” You nodded, giggling to yourself, “That would be awesome.”

As you told your mom about a recent lecture you’d found very interesting, you watched Hopper through the corner of your eye.

He took a cigarette out of a pack and stuffed it between his lips. He grabbed a lighter from his pocket and lit the cigarette. You didn’t care about smoking yourself, but there was something about the way it sat between his lips or dangled between his fingers when he held it in his hand.

God fucking dammit, get a hold of yourself, your mind screamed at you. You cleared your throat again and looked at your mum, quickly excusing yourself and heading to the bathroom.

“It’s gotta be a hormonal thing.”, you muttered to yourself as you entered the bathroom and locked the door.

You turned on the faucet and let cold water run over your hands and wrists to cool yourself. After a few moments, you shook some water off your hands before placing them on your neck, dampening the skin. You closed your eyes as you enjoyed the coolness, startling when an image of Hopper standing in front of you, taking your hand away and putting his on your neck instead to cool you down popped up. You opened your eyes and looked into the mirror with a confused look. “Pull yourself together, for fuck’s sake.”, you said to your reflection. You walked out the bathroom and back into the garden, joining your mom and Hopper again.

Before you could ask, your dad came into view with a bottle of whisky. You chuckled to yourself and rubbed your hands together playfully.

“If that one’s not good, I’m heading home first thing in the morning.”, you warned with a laugh. Your dad shook his head with a smile as he poured the drinks for everyone. As you grabbed your glass and lifted it to your lips, you noticed Hopper glancing at you yet again. Something about his look made you a little uneasy, but you couldn’t figure out what. He looked attentive and a little stern.

You tried not to think about the sweet shiver his look gave you and kept eye contact as both of you took a sip. The liquid burnt slightly in your throat, almost making you cough, but you kept a straight face as you swallowed quickly.

Hopper nodded approvingly, “Not a single twitch in her face. Didn’t expect that.” He looked over to your dad who just shrugged and chuckled, “Told ya so.” You looked at both of them with a cocked eyebrow. “Just told him you handle whisky pretty well, that’s all.”, your dad smiled. You didn’t know what to answer, so you remained silent at first and shrugged a little, but couldn’t hide a smirk. “Bet I could drink you old men under the table anytime.”, you teased, earning a laugh from both your parents. “That a challenge?”, Hopper asked and you didn’t even have to look at him to sense the amusement in his voice. You shrugged again, trying to look serious as you locked eyes with him, but failing immediately, feeling your cheeks heat up again.

For the rest of the evening, you couldn’t shake the feeling of some sort of tension between Hop and yourself. You weren’t sure if it was just your imagination, if he was just in a mood to taunt you or if there was something else you hadn’t caught on to yet.

And you could’ve sworn he was eyeing you when you stood up to grab a coke from the fridge.

At around ten, Hopper announced he’d be heading home, despite your dad suggesting he could just crash on the couch.

You waved him goodbye with a sweet smile and watched as he got into his car. Before he drove off, you noticed his eyes lingering on you a tad too long as his lips twitched into a slight smirk and reached forward to start the car before driving off.

As you headed inside, you helped your parents clear the table outside. You grabbed the glasses and took them into the kitchen. Your mother mentioned some plans for the upcoming week. “Your dad and I are havin’ our date night on Wednesday. That okay with you?”

You nodded firmly, “‘Course that’s okay, Mom, I don’t mind. I’ll just try to make some plans myself for that night so you can have your space ‘round here, don’t wanna interrupt you two havin’ fun.” You cringed a little at your phrasing, definitely not intending for the last part to sound so suggestive. Your mum just chuckled, “Thank you, sweetie. Maybe some old friends from high school’re around that you wanna meet up with.” “Not sure if I really want that, I think my taste in people has changed.”, you groaned bitterly.

As you got ready for bed and changed into your pajamas, moments from the dinner kept replaying in your head and sent a shiver through your whole body. You couldn’t ignore the way Hopper had looked at you with his pretty blue eyes. His expressions never gave much away, but sometimes, his eyes could say more than he would ever dare to speak. You laid down and tried to clear your mind from him, but you couldn’t help thinking about what he’d be like if you got to know him better. How he would take care of you if you had a bad day, how he would always ask about your major and listen to everything you’d tell him.

“My fucking god.”, you mumbled to yourself and rubbed your eyes before turning to your side, focusing on just getting some sleep.

Throughout the next days, your mind kept drifting off, which was messing you up when you were trying to work on a paper for college. You were sitting at the table in the kitchen, sipping on your third cup of coffee for the day and staring at the book in front of you with wide eyes and ruffling your hair in frustration. You couldn’t focus. At all.

You groaned and threw your head back as you heard your parents’ car pull up the driveway. “Thank god for the distraction.”, you mumbled and got up from the chair and walked to the front door, ready to help your mom get the groceries out of the car. “You look-”, your mom started. “I know.”, you laughed and groaned again as you took two bags out of the car, “I’m just trying to work on a paper, but nothing’s working today.”

She gave you a sympathetic smile and rubbed your arm before taking another bag out of the car and following you inside. “Something on your mind you wanna talk about?” “I don’t know, not really? And please don’t ask me if it’s boy trouble or something like that, that question will be my last straw.”

She laughed and apologized immediately, “But if there’s something you wanna talk about, anything, you know you can talk it out with me, right?” You just nodded as you started packing away the groceries. “Maybe I’ll just head to the library later and see if I find something helpful there. Or something to distract me and clear my mind.” “I bet you’ll figure something out, don’t stress yourself too much.”, she said and patted your head again.

Two hours later, you were roaming through Hawkin’s library. Initially, you just wanted to look for any book that seemed interesting enough to keep your mind busy. But once you found the small section on art history, you couldn’t resist.

You scanned the books on each shelf with a smile, taking one out now and then to skim through it and see if it could help with your paper. As focused as you were on the books, you could still hear faint background noises. Though the library was mostly quiet, you swore you could hear someone talking. You were too far away to distinguish words, but the voice alone made your heart skip a beat.

Shit.

You turned around and peeped around the corner as inconspicuously as possible. Of course, as you turned around the corner, one of the books you were holding slipped out of your grip and fell to the floor with a loud thump. You rolled your eyes and silently cursed to yourself as you bent down to pick up the book. “This day, I swear… Feel like I’m going insane.” As you got up again, you quickly looked around. No one nearby, no one there to give you strange looks because you dropped a book.

You shook your head and looked back to the shelf in front of you, this time placing the books you already took on an empty space in the shelf to keep another one from falling. You looked to the upper rows of the shelf, quickly scanning the books for titles that seemed interesting. You reached out to pull one out that seemed to be stuck between the other ones around it. You groaned and tried again with more force. You did it get it out, but you also got the other two around it out. Before you realized what happened, the books were stopped by a big hand. “Clumsy today, aren’t we?” Hopper’s low and quiet voice instantly sent a shiver down your spine. You looked at him with big eyes as he put the books back.

“What?”

He chuckled. “That book you dropped a minute ago might have gotten my attention. Wanted to see who’s being loud in here.” You rolled your eyes at him and smiled a little. “You okay? You seem a bit off.”, he asked. “Off how?” “Well, first of all, your hair looks a lil’ messed up.”, he chuckled again and raised his hand to carefully move a strand of your hair. You froze as his hand slightly grazed your forehead.

“And you just seem… off. I dunno, a little jumpy. Not to mention you dropping books all the time.”

Now you laughed quietly too, “It was one book, gimme a break!” Hopper smiled down at you, “You okay, though?” You puffed out a breath, “I don’t know, this day’s been driving me insane, tugging at the last of my nerves. Can’t focus on anything.” He frowned a little, “Something happen? Something making you think too much?”

Yes, you, but I can’t tell you that for various reasons, you thought.

“No, not really. I’m just trying to work on a paper and thought looking through the library would help… What are you doing here anyway?” Hop shrugged. “Just needed to check some old newspaper articles. Nothin’ important.” You rolled your eyes again, but couldn’t help a smile, “I pour out my trouble to you and that’s all I get from you, that’s a lil’ disappointing, Hop!” Hop smirked, “Maybe I just stay out of trouble better than you do.” “I’m not in trouble.”, you chuckled as you scanned the shelf for more books.

Anything that kept your eyes off that damn uniform.

“Well, if you weren’t, you wouldn’t be so stressed and jumpy.”, he teased, “You can talk to me if something’s bothering you, a’ight? I won’t tell anyone.” You looked over at him and noticed a warm smile as his eyes scanned your face. You inhaled deeply and nodded, “Yeah, I know. Thanks, Hop. Don’t you need to get back to the station?”

“I’m the-”, he began. “Chief of Police, I can do whatever I want.”, you both said. You looked at him and tried to suppress your laugh as his jaw dropped a little. “You kinda say that a lot.”, you said quietly. He smirked at you. Was that too much? Did you just flirt with him?

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

You mentally prepared yourself for an awkward situation and prayed you wouldn’t start stuttering or something. “My parents got that… date night tomorrow night, and, uh… I told them I’d just stay away so they can have the house to themselves, but turns out I didn’t think this through, so I-” You looked at Hopper and saw his smirk get bigger as you rambled. You took a deep breath and kept going, “Long story short: I don’t know where the hell I should go and now I wanna awkwardly ask you if I can maybe stay at your place? I swear you won’t even notice me, I can keep myself busy the whole night with my paper or read a book or-"

You internally screamed when he didn’t say anything, just looking at you and smirking. “Please just say something, don’t leave me hanging like this!”, you quietly whined. You heard a low chuckle come from him before he answered, “Y’know where my trailer is? I’ll put a spare key under the doormat and you can let yourself in whenever you want, a’ight?” You sighed in relief and thanked him. “I can even cook dinner if you want?” Hopper cocked his eyebrow, “Hell no. I‘m not putting you to work.” “But I make a really good-” He raised his hand to stop you and smiled again, “Listen, when I get off from work, I just come home, you get in my car, and we’ll get something from Benny’s. Sound good?” You smiled back at him and nodded, “Sounds good.” “Good. And don’t stress yourself out too much, okay?” You simply nodded at him before he took off, his lips twitching into another small smirk as he looked at you.

This wasn’t weird, right? You and your dad’s best friend just hanging out?

___________________________________________________________

tags: @strang3lov3 @whyamiheresomeonehelp

if you enjoyed this, please like, comment and/or reblog, I'm a sucker for that😚

And if you wanna be tagged in the next parts, let me know!

#jim hopper x reader #jim hopper fanfic #dbf!hopper #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #hopper x reader #speckledemerald

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