#this isn’t a physical description of reader or her body

[joelsgreys]

hint @ the self indulgent fic I am currently working up the balls to post

#inspo #joel fic #tw scar #tagging just in case #also props to anyone who knows where this is from #OH i forgot to add #this isn’t a physical description of reader or her body #just an fyi

[ddarker-dreams]

Better The Devil You Know.

Yandere Chrollo x Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, discussions of past minor character death, and descriptions of anxiety. Word count: 2.6k.

You awake to cold sheets and damp cheeks. 

It isn’t a peaceful transition into consciousness. You fight for each breath, a losing battle that swaddles your mind in thick fog. The vapors thin out as time drags along. It doesn’t dissipate in its entirety, preferring to linger and prolong your disorientation. 

You wipe at your face with your wrists, ignoring the sting accompanying the action. Hesitatingly, you appraise it in a ray of moonlight that snuck past the blinds. It’s clear, not crimson and thick. A normal product of a healthy body. You should feel relieved, you think. Every organ is as it should be. Your brain remains in your cranium, your lungs expand and contract, and your heart pumps, albeit at an alarming speed. 

It’s better than the chill of encroaching death. 

… 

You are alive, aren’t you? 

This question prompts an investigation. 

Nothing hurts. Your throat, maybe, but that’s a minor ache spurred from thirst. Your skin is warm and clammy. Peeling the comforter off, you squint, assessing your body’s condition. Weary eyes take in everything. Your socks, the lace trimming of your nightgown, its diaphanous midriff, then your chest. Everything appears in order.  

Would your incorporeal form accurately reflect your physical body? 

You shake your head. 

This can’t be heaven — no pantheon would be cruel enough to set the stage of your paradise with props from your captivity. 

It can’t be hell either. If it were, you wouldn’t be alone right now.

You blink.

You’re alone? 

Chrollo’s side of the bed is notably empty. He must’ve got up in a hurry, the sheets are in disarray. The adjoining restroom is dark and unoccupied, confirming he must be elsewhere. Your stomach churns. Determined to do away with this creeping anxiety, you get up, padding across the hardwood floor. 

The night gifts shivers and goosebumps. Wishing to ward off its unwanted advances, you wrap your arms around yourself. You pass through the door that connects to the common area. Although it’s dimly lit, you can tell he isn’t here. The attached balcony is similarly uninhabited. A quick foray into the study confirms your status; you’re truly by yourself. 

What should be a triumph or a relief delivers nothing but dread. 

You return to the common room to assess the situation. 

You’ve never been left alone before. Not without him telling you in advance, normally with a rough estimate of when he’ll return. There’s no way an important detail like that would slip your mind. At a loss, you dredge through your memories for some sign you may have missed. His voice pierces through your head like an arrow. You wince but ignore your body’s displeasure at anything associated with him. The unintelligible noises sharpen, forming consonants and vowels. 

The thrum of the air conditioner eases away. 

You’re left in absolute silence, until Chrollo’s voice fades away, replaced by another.

“... She was five or six, I think. Right around the age where you start losing baby teeth. There’d been this game she wanted and, y’know, kids aren’t rolling in cash. So she figured, what better way to pay for it than through the tooth fairy? I caught ‘er with my wrench, determined as anything, ready to speed up the process. It ended up being a little inside joke between us.”

Your lower lip trembles. 

“... That’s how she ended up getting identified. Her teeth, I mean. Wasn’t anything else left to go off of. I couldn’t wrap my brain around it. A whole life she lived, sometimes getting into trouble, but mostly helping others outta theirs. And to have that— all that— reduced to just… just a couple, couple fuckin’— teeth? What kinda joke is that?”

You fill a glass with water until it overflows.  

“Hey, tell me. Has that fucker ever mentioned ‘er? … Probably not, right? Probably never knew she existed in the first place.” 

Head thrown back, you gulp down the liquid, fighting the lump that longs to form in your throat. 

“Who knows? Maybe I’m the one in the wrong ‘ere. Hell, you don’t look much older than her yourself. I don’t— don’t wanna hurt ya. But…” 

Tears prick the corner of your eyes. 

“There’s no other way to hurt him.” 

Someone’s beside you.

You can hear their voice, though it sounds like it’s coming from miles away, carried over by the wind. Warmth sears your bare shoulders. You smell the faint aroma of sandalwood and amber. It’s distinct, this cologne that serves as an ill-omen better than any blackbird or cracked mirror. You couldn’t scrub it from your memory if you tried. That, or the scent of old books, leather, coffee, and red wine. 

You dig your nails into something — fabric, perhaps — but nothing grounds you. It’s like you’ve been transported outside of space and time. Existing, yet far from alive. Your stomach falls while your head floats away. Up, up, up, lifting you higher and higher. From this impossible vantage point, you sway, your limbs gleefully ignoring every attempt to regain control. 

And there it is again. Your name echoes throughout the atmosphere, beckoning you to acknowledge the sound’s source. 

Maybe you should.

Even if you’ll come to regret it. 

When you first met Chrollo, his eyes stood out the most, like the universe itself deemed them worthy of veneration. You found the gray depths captivating. The undertone varied, you never could ascertain if they were a cool or warm shade. All you knew was that once they found you, they boasted a vitality siphoned at the expense of your own. 

Presently, they can’t. Their unwitting host has been exsanguinated. 

“Where were—” You silence yourself, aghast by the implication. 

You’d sought him out. So desperate for an anchor, you would’ve latched onto the culprit behind your drowning. There’s no doubt he’d find some twisted satisfaction in the accidental admission. You shrink away, but the solid counter presses against your spine, halting your retreat. He doesn’t advance, you’d barely created any distance. 

“There’d been something that required my immediate attention,” Chrollo answers your unfinished question. There’s no thinly veiled derision or curiosity in his voice. You miss the familiarity. “Does anything hurt?” 

It’s then that you recall your predicament. 

You’re on the kitchen floor, surrounded by scintillating shards of glass. A pool of water gathers to your right. Chrollo’s bent down before you, wearing a heavy coat and a tint of pink on his nose. He must’ve come from outside. He stares unblinkingly, awaiting your verdict, which you deliver by shaking your head. There’s a dull ache in your tailbone but you keep that to yourself. It’s awkward enough that he found you in this state. 

You’re sitting on the floor with one leg extended and the other bent at the knee, allowing your short nightgown to ride up. The compromising position stokes your embarrassment. You shuffle around to maintain some dignity. In doing so, you forget the pointed glass strewn about. Before you make contact, you’re hoisted up. Chrollo foresees your struggle and holds you tight enough to thwart its success. 

“You’re alright,” he reassures, his sincere gentleness unbecoming. "Everything's alright."

He places you down on the closest couch and sits beside you. While you regain your bearings, he shrugs off his jacket, then drapes it around your trembling form. His scent and warmth flood your senses. You consider throwing it off out of spite, only to decide against it. You’d be the one to suffer the most. Chrollo remains unusually silent as you cocoon yourself in the thick wool jacket. It’s big on you, but not big enough to swallow you whole like you’d prefer. 

“Should I grab your propranolol?” 

Another head shake.

“Will you tell me what happened?” Foreseeing your tepid response, he adds, “Verbally?” 

You clear your throat as quietly as you can. “I got thirsty.” 

“Hm.” 

You both know he isn’t convinced. It’d be easy for him to poke and prod until you revealed everything — intentionally or not — but his lips remain in a thin line. You shuffle in your seat. The fabric brushes against your wrists, eliciting a sharp inhale. The burn is short-lived yet the memories associated with it rage on. 

“... Chrollo?” 

He blinks, likely unused to the sound of his name on your lips. “Yes, love?” 

“If that man killed me, would it have hurt you?” 

A shadow falls over his visage, like a waxing crescent transitioning to a new moon. When you shiver, it isn’t from the cold. Dark hair frames a far darker expression. His eyes narrow as if he’s trying to see you better, beyond your flesh, at the crux of your soul. You await whatever comes next, returning his stare with equal intensity. 

Finally, he slowly replies, “Yes, it would’ve.” 

“Then why was it so easy for you to kill his daughter?” You ask, the words weighing heavily upon you. “You might’ve liked her, if you’d gotten to know her.” 

The man revealed enough for you to feel like you knew her. Lana Ellis — a woman with an iron will, sharp tongue, and golden heart. She’d recently been hired to work as a waitress at a business that catered high-end events. Galas, celebrity birthdays and weddings, those sorts of things. It wasn’t going to be a permanent arrangement. Lana planned to ditch the gig after saving up tuition money, where she’d then aim for a doctorate in veterinary medicine. According to him, he’d squandered her college fund after the unexpected death of her mother; his childhood sweetheart. He said he’d never forgive himself or the Troupe. 

“She wasn’t s’posed to have been there,” he wheezed. “She never should’ve been there…!” 

Chrollo shuts his eyes. “What are you getting at, dear?” 

His words come out light, though they’re anything but. 

“She could’ve been me.” 

“Yet she wasn’t.” 

“But—!” Your voice cracks, so you take a deep breath and try again. “You… you deprive the world of people you could’ve come to like, be friends with, whatever! All for stuff you eventually do away with. How is that… how can you…” 

Righteous anger suits you. It's a sword and shield that requires no skill to wield, reaching for the instruments have become second nature. Their effectiveness doesn't matter so long as you can hold onto something.

“You don’t need to understand.” 

This isn't a parry or pivot, he's disarmed you.

“Huh?” 

“Yes… if anything, it’s best if you don’t,” he mutters, more to himself than you. His eyes find yours again. “I can’t make sense of your empathy any more than you can grasp my lack of it. If I could, you’d no longer be yourself. Your self-limiting, bleeding heart should remain as is. It’s the one part of you I’ll leave untouched.” 

You don’t know what you were expecting. 

You slump back into your seat. “... Don’t you think you’re overestimating yourself?” 

“Hardly,” he replies. Then, in a softer voice, “You torment yourself, love. This—” 

He rests his hand over your heart.

“—Hurts you more than anything I’ve ever done. Yet you believe it unthinkable I’d do away with such an inconvenience.” 

“So you’re a coward,” you mumble. The insult is uninspired but it suits your purposes. “You can’t handle it, so you took the easy way out.” 

“Rationalize it anyway you'd like.” 

Chrollo reaches for your forearm and coaxes it into view. His fingers brush along your wrists, where the man’s restraints left rope burn behind. The irritated skin is slowly recovering. The deeper wounds, those without a cure, will linger after the surface heals. They’re etched into your bones. 

“Isn’t going against your morals worse than having none?" Chrollo queries. “That girl’s father knew you had no involvement in his daughter’s death. You’re an unwilling third party, same as she was. And he was ready to hurt you regardless."

Your mouth feels dry. “He didn't hurt me—” 

Chrollo raises an eyebrow, causing head to flood your cheeks.

“—All... that... much. I don’t think he was going to...?” 

“No, not until he was intoxicated enough to stomach it,” Chrollo retorts. “We’ll never know for certain, darling. Thankfully, I interrupted before it could get to that point."

That point, that point, that point...

What could that man have done to you?

Chrollo appraises you like he's yet to decide on something.

After a moment passes, he leans in, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your muscles stiffen as he pulls you close. He exerts none of the force you know him to be capable of. The gesture's languid nature gives the impression you could wriggle free if you tried. You don't test this theory. Chrollo's mood seems pensive, not amorous, hence your hesitant compliance.

He speaks your name. Then, he asks, "What's really bothering you?"

Biting your lip, you turn your head away from him.

He doesn't relent. "You can tell me anything, you know."

If you weren't so utterly exhausted, you might've laughed.

"You wouldn't be my first choice for a heart-to-heart."

"How about your second?"

You look at him like he's just suggested the world is flat. He smiles softly, allowing you time to think.

It's weird.

This is weird.

The lack of verbal finesse, designed to extract any emotion or confession he desires. You're used to his cunning, his depravity, his unfiltered self. You've come to expect it, as one would the sunrise and sunset. Briefly, you search for it. The expedition is futile. His normal tells are gone.

Truly, you could almost forget the imbalanced nature of this dynamic and pretend it's normal.

It isn't, however.

So you'll need to keep your wits about you.

"Could... er..." you trail off, uncertain of the best parlance, "Will something like that... happen... again...?"

The claustrophobia of being shut in a trunk. Blindfolded, hands and feet bound, gagged by a rag. Terrified and sobbing. Unable to breathe, unable to scream.

You feel as small now as you did then.

The man told you his reasoning. It tugged on your heart. Wringed the organ for everything it was worth. He deserved justice. He deserved revenge. At that lone instance, the playing field was even. The immeasurable gap in strength between him and the Phantom Troupe's boss meant nothing if Chrollo wasn't physically present. There was a chance for this bereaved father to return the pain unfairly inflicted on him.

But why on you?

Why do you have to be cast into hell for the sins of another?

And why was it so tempting to forgive the devil's transgressions against you, if he provided salvation just this once?

You don't know when you began shaking, but you do know it won't be easy to stop.

"You must've been scared," he murmurs.

This observation makes your throat feel impossibly tight, as if a serpent coiled around your neck. His eyelashes flutter shut and he rests his forehead against yours. He contents himself on breathing in your air while you wrestle with the odd intimacy of it all; this simplicity untainted by needling or provocations.

"I never make the same mistake twice," Chrollo eventually says. "In light of recent events, I've made it clear that you are off limits. Those who still wish to try their luck, well..."

The air itself writhes like a malicious entity. The sensation is brief, but the impression lingers, chilling you on a primordial level. You're reminded that his control, while impressive, isn't flawless. Every surface can fissure, allowing the noxious contents contained within to break free. This concentration of ill-intent isn't even focused at you. To be on the receiving end must be to face the inevitably of death.

"... They can be made examples of too."

Curiosity nips at your heels, demanding satiation.

Your part your lips.

Then his eyes reopen. They're dull, lacking any illumination, like light itself felt the urge to flee.

It's an understandable sentiment.

For that reason, you decide some questions are better left unanswered.

#chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer x reader #hxh x reader #yandere hxh x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #reader insert #yandere reader insert #my stuff

[atyourmerci]

♡ Hook, line, and sinker (2) (sub!abby // follower req)

Basketball!abby X nerdy reader

Read pt.1 here

♡ ♡

Summary: Abby gets eager to get another study seshion in within days of seeing her last

Warnings: smut, MDNI, sub!abby, top!reader, abby is a whiny sub, orgasming from being untouched, lots of tongue???, my digital footprint is assfucked, no use of y/n, no physical description of reader

A/N: sorry I left yall on a cliffhanger but pt.3(finale) will undoubtedly be my favorite, I’ve had it planned from the beginning so hehe. I’m so glad you guys are enjoying it as much as I am. Love you like always, enjoy muah!

♡ ♡

She couldn’t even fucking look at you. Not a single glance. It’s as if her every pathetic whimper and plea would broadcast to the general public if she so much as looked your way.

It was pathetic, and a little comical to say the least. The power you held over her was obvious, and she knew it. It made her sick, the way she gave up so easily, broke down every wall, gave into you. But for fuck’s sake was it riveting, she couldn’t stop thinking of the intensity…how powerful yet slow you made it. How you worked your way into completing dissecting her.

She had never let any sexual manner have the chance of passion, intimacy. Sex was a goal to her. The intricacies getting to that destination were trivial to her. You fucked it all up, she started dwelling on it, growing obsessed of every detail you slowed masterfully.

She needed more.

♡ ♡

After a week of unmet glances and radio static you came to the conclusion that you completely wrecked the ox of a woman. All it took was a few words and your tongue to rip her out of her upheld perception of herself.

You tried fucking with her the second time you had class with her. Once, sure, maybe she was busy or concentrated for once, but twice? She was purposefully hiding, like a scared bunny from a predator.

You bumped into her walking out of class. If you could even call it a bump- more like you threw your body at her knowing that she couldn’t ignore it. At the touch of you she almost seized up, staring down at the floor in front of her, continuing her path. You threw her a teasing, “oh…sorry!” To which she returned with awkward mumbling, something along the lines of, “ah- uh-,” and continued almost in a run away from you.

You laughed it off. A few words and your tongue…fucking comical.

If avoiding her reality is the way that worked for her, so be it. There was no need to try to process her internal emotions- she couldn’t even do it. So, you let it die, you knew the type of person she was. You knew her dirty little secret.

♡ ♡

Another mind numbing night of studying till your eyes popped out of their sockets was in store for you. Staring at white pages filled with words and highlighting’s, fuck they could be in another language for all you knew at this hour.

It was getting late and you were about ready to throw the towel in, making it tomorrow mornings issue. You hear a buzz from your phone, rubbing your eyes you wonder who has the audacity to try speaking with you at this hour. “Abby Anderson,” illuminates on your face. At first you think you may be dreaming, your eyes weren’t working well at this point anymore.

A.A: Can we meet up this week, need help w the test

Now you need me?

A.A: huh

Nothing. Test isn’t for another 3 weeks… why do you want to start now?

A.A: need to get ahead

Mmm okay. Tomorrow at the library?

A.A: too loud

Okay coffee shop

A.A: I don’t like coffee

I didn’t ask

A.A: I’ll be over at your place tomorrow- 8

Little late for studying

A.A: do you ever shut up

If you promise you’ll be nice

A.A: I didn’t say that

I’m sure you’ll be a good girl

A.A: let me come over

See you at 8 tomorrow.

Only Abby Anderson would attempt to booty call you through a ruse of studying. She usually came knocking down your door the night before the test begging you for your help. Three weeks before was, well… pathetic.

♡ ♡

When she showed up at your dorm door, 8pm on the nose, she was more nervous than you had ever seen her. She blessed you with one weary glance as you whipped the door open, but continued her gaze down afterwards.

When she sat on the bed, for the first time she sat completely straight up, uncomfortably straight, folding her legs across and twiddling her fingers between her legs. A nervous habit you’d picked up from her on your last endeavor.

She never usually paid attention to your lecturing but fuck was it like she wasn’t even in the room this time. Throwing out quick “yeah’s” and “yup’s” on a routine after you’d say a thought.

You knew exactly what she came here for…but god was it fun to watch her squirm. You could’ve thrown her…okay maybe not thrown…but at least pushed her down on your bed so she didn’t have to do any work, give her the easy way out. But that would not have been amusing.

You’re in the middle of explaining a chemistry equation and- “can you just- do it,” she blurts out, stopping you completely in your tracks. You watch her intently, waiting for an elaboration you won’t get. Her eyes trained on her lap, waiting for you to pick up her scattered pieces and place them together.

“Do what abby?” You say faking curiosity. “You know,” she says in return. “I don’t think I do,” you taunt her. “Please-“ she says meekly. You begin to crawl silently towards her, moving her hands up from her lap so you can straddle her and move her hands back to tops of your thighs.

The sudden sensation causes her breath to hitch, her eyes watching her unwarranted hand placement on your thighs. You lightly grip her jawline so that she meets your eyes, just watching as her mouth opens in a pant.

“You make me nervous,” she says, if she could, she’d break your eye contact, but you wouldn’t let that happen.

“New game.”

She looks back at you puzzled, almost frightened. You grip your hand around her chin tighter, “you’re going to lay down, just like the last time, and I’m going lick every inch of you, and you’re going to tell me right where it’s sensitive, you understand?”

You watch as she gulps down a nervous breath, shaking her head rapidly, eyes dazed. “Good girl, now go lay down.” Her hands move to your hips, grasping down on the flesh desperately, “I can’t handle when you call me that-“

“No touching- or I stop.” She pulls her hands down quickly, moving her way to the back of your bed. “Y- okay. I-I promise.”

She looked like I child waiting to open presents on Christmas, eyes bright and wide, waiting for your command. This time you didn’t have to ask, she immediately ripped her shirt and sweats off, leaving her only in her sports bra and boxers adorned with a patch of slick forming in the center. You climb closer to her, kneeling between her thighs.

Just to toy with her further you slowly begin unbuttoning your blouse, her mouth starting to gape. Once it had been completely removed you started working on your shorts, slowly shimmying them down your thighs with your eyes trained onto her. She bit onto her lip watching as you were left only in your own bra and panties.

You climb back onto her, bare skin on bare skin. You wanted to tear into her, but taking your time to cut deep would be so much more rewarding. “You understand the rules?” You as watching her teeth cut into her lip, “mhm,” she replies through her closed mouth.

You lean into her, catching her shoulder with your tongue as she jolts into you. You feel her arms come up beside you but fall quickly. You trace it up to her collarbone, letting your teeth graze the thin skin there, following to where they met in the middle. You trail it up the middle of her throat, feeling the vibration of her breath.

“C-close,” she breaths out. You redirect to the side of her neck, right on the pulse. You already knew it was sensitive there but…it was fun.

“Fuck there,” she breathes out. You take your time licking down the throb, nipping at it, teasing the threat, eliciting as many little whimpers you can get out of her. Once you’ve had your fun you move up, catching the lobe of her ear with your teeth, “holy fuck- yeah there,” she groans out.

You bring your mouth into her ear, whispering gently into it as your hand snakes against the opposite side of her neck, “what? No ones ever touched you here?”

She groans back at you, “n-no. Never.” You return back to the shell of her ear, nipping at the surrounding flesh.

You begin your decent, your clothed cunt reaching hers, “take this off for me pretty,” you say outlining her bra with your fingertips. She feverishly nods tossing it off of her. You lean into her chest, taking no time to meet your tongue to her rose pink bud. Her body jolts up at the sensation, her chest growing a deep shade of pink.

“There. Right there!” You begin circling it, saturating it with your spit, “I know baby,” you say glancing back into her eyes, lidded trying to keep them open so she can watch you, but it was getting so so hard.

Your teeth latch onto it, encasing the bud gently. Flushed red as the blood raced to them, teeth purpling dots into the soft flesh. The whimpers falling off her pathetic throat.

“You k-know you c-ant talk to me like that,” you watch as her hands grip into the sheets, knuckles whitening. “You can come baby, I won’t be mad.” Your fingers come up to twist her untouched nipple as you lap your tongue at the swollen one in your mouth.

The pool of your own arousal soaking into hers, even covered you can feel the pulsing of her, repeated by your own.

“I- I can’t.” She pants out as her hips buck up into your clothed core. “Yes you can, you’re being such a good girl, show me how good you feel.”

“Please- no n-not like this.” Her head drops into your pillow…she’s so fucking close. The red on her chest now trailing up her neck.

“Come for me pretty girl, just like that, rub that pretty pussy into me.” She begins shaking, trying to stop herself, but it was too late.

“Fffffffuckkkkkkkk,” she begins reeling, whimpering through her reluctant orgasm. Her hips grind into yours as her chest splattered with beads of sweat rapidly rises and falls. “Good girl, keep going.” She rides it out as long as she can, chasing her own pathetic untouched high.

Once she settles she glances up at you dazed, as if she wasn’t sure what had just happened. You stare back smugly, sure of your power.

“That was- embarrassing.” She ashamedly shakes her head, letting the tight grip of the sheets go. “Quite hot on the contrary,” you dismiss. “God if anyone ever-“ she begins to protest.

“Let me show you how it makes me feel,” you cut her off, dismantling yourself from her so that your legs frame around hers, wide open.

Your own pool of slick dripping out the sides of your thin panties. She gawks at the site, unable to remove her gaze from the sense of familiarity. The feeling of intensity so tight you cant stop yourself from the natural reaction.

“Can I-“ she begins to reach out to you but you cut her short, “no.” You dismiss her with no room for discussion.

This wasn’t about your secret. It was about hers.

Follower req by: @ghgygd

Taglist: @wishbones999 @bookpagecandlescent @littlegingerperson5 @lookforthelight1 @fict1onallyobsessed @shewantstoknow

#abby anderson #the last of us #abby anderson smut #abby x reader #abby anderson tlou2 #abby angst #abby the last of us #abby tlou #sub abby #abby anderson fanfiction #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson x reader #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson x f!reader #abby anderson x you #abby a

[tightjeansjavi]

the feel of coldness only water brings

A/N: so this is the unplanned part two of this Joel drabble I wrote called wildflowers. I just woke up this morning to some lovely reblogs on it, thus inspiring this piece 🥺 oh, and I also thought of @beefrobeefcal and her beefy, fat! Joel fics that are so so good while I was writing this!

~word count: 1.6k~

Summary: you convince Joel to join you for a swim in a lake while on patrol despite his insecurities

Pairing | joel x f!reader

Warnings: implied smut, fluff, angst (so sorry) non specified age gap between Joel and the reader, body insecurities(Joel), self deprecating thoughts, real bodies, natural body changes with age etc, language, teasing, flirting, body appreciation/worship, peepaw!joel, grumpy!joel, sunshine reader, reader has no physical descriptions (outside of wearing a bra and panties) +18 minors dni!

Sweat beads and drips down from the base of his hairline and slowly seeps into the fabric of his shirt, staining the fabric naturally. His steel toed boots stop at the water's edge, soft ripples lapping at the worn leather with a soft audible swish. The lake is crystalline, and beneath the glass surface he sees a million different rocks, all shapes and sizes and textures. The mountain air is crisp, refreshing as he inhales deeply.

The high noon sun blinds his vision momentarily, but he welcomes it. The fabric of his shirt is beginning to grow itchy, scratching at his skin from the beading perspiration. He kicks a stray rock into water, watching as it sinks into the shallow depths.

“Joel.” Your voice carries over the water, your head and shoulders bobbing like a cork in the middle of the glistening lake. “You said it yourself, there’s no infected out here, and the water is so refreshing. Won’t you join me?”

His shoulders tense beneath the fabric of his shirt, his jaw clenches, teeth grinding. He squints, bringing his hand over his forehead to block out the blinding rays, “M’fine here, darlin.’” He chuffs out, “Besides, one of us has to be on alert.” He added, rationalizing his decision.

“Is it because you can’t swim?” It was a safe assumption to make.

He shook his head, kicking another rock with the toe of his boot. “It ain’t that.”

“Okay, so you can swim? Well, then what’s the issue? C’mon, baby. You’re practically sweating right through your shirt.” You said teasingly, hoping to see the corners of his permanent set frown quirk upwards, just for you.

“It’s silly.” He wavered, eyes casting downwards to his boots. “M’just—insecure s’all. Don’t want you to uh—see me like that.” He was never the best with communicating, but he tried with you, and that’s all you could ever really ask for.

“Joel, it’s not silly. If it makes you feel any better, you can keep your clothes on? It doesn’t matter to me because I think you're handsome, and your real body isn’t gonna suddenly make me stop feeling the way I do for you.” You reassured him with a soft smile.

“If I keep my clothes on m’gonna sink like a fuckin’ rock.” He forced out a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck with a huff. “Y’say that now…” he trailed off, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “But ‘m littered with scars, baby. Got grays on my chest and—m’barely fittin’ in my jeans these days. Should probably hold off on extra—”

“Joel.” You sighed, “I’m gonna stop you right there. Cause everything you just described to me?” You lifted your hands up from under the water in emphasis, “is a real fucking body. More importantly, it’s your body. You’re a healthy man, Joel. Your jeans ain’t fitting the same because you’re no longer in survival mode. You’re getting to indulge in a way that you weren’t able to in over 20 years. You're strong, but you're also soft in the right places.”

He doesn't believe you, of course. He would argue that it was because he had grown old and lazy like a house cat. You didn’t give him the chance, however.

“I love how soft and squishy your stomach is. You know why?”

He shook his head, feeling a flush creep up his neck and face,

“Because it acts as the perfect pillow for my head when we’re napping, and I love to grab onto your love handles when we’re cuddlin.’ Love to feel the way it presses into me when we hug. Or when you’re takin’ me from behind.”

“You’re just sayin’ that.” He scoffed.

“Am I?” You challenged him as you pulled yourself out of the water, dripping wet in just your flimsy pair of bra and panties.

“Don’t.” He warned you, taking a step to the side when you reached out to touch him. As if he was a frightened animal shying away. “M’jus’ a fat old man, darlin.’ Don’t gotta lie to me, sweetheart. I can accept the truth.” He was on the edge of snapping, nearly baring his teeth.

“Joel.” You said softly, “stop that. I ain’t have a reason to lie to you. Never have, never will.”

“You don’t have to protect my heart, darlin.’ S’okay. I ain’t deservin’ of your kindness. Don’t know why you even waste your time with a man like me—”

You looped your thumbs into the worn belt loops of his jeans and yanked him towards you swiftly despite his faint protests. “Would you shut up, please?”

Loose pebbles crunched beneath his heavy boots when you pulled him towards you and his hands naturally found your waist, big palms splayed across your damp skin. “Don’t you think you deserve yourself a real man? Someone who—isn’t like me?”

“You are a real man, Joel.” You gently remind him and slowly slip your thumbs from the belt loops of his jeans. “You’re beautiful, and I just wish you could see what I see.”

“Beautiful?” He scoffed, nose twitching when he felt your hands slowly slide up the expanse of his covered chest, “that ain’t me, sweetheart.” He rasped, tilting his chin downwards so he could watch your fingers gently toy with the buttons on his shirt.

“It is you, Joel. And one day you’ll wake up and realize it. And when that day comes, you’ll look in the mirror and tell yourself that you are beautiful, and you are loved, and you are deserving of kindness and softness for as long as Mother Nature lets me have you.”

He could feel himself slowly begin to cave from your words, tears pricking in the corner of his eyes, and he would claim that it was just from the blinding sun and the irritating sweat dripping from his brow. “Don’t know what I did to deserve you, darlin.’ Don’t think I’ll ever understand it. You could have your pick of men in Jackson, and you choose me?” He stifled a chuckle, dipping his chin down further so he could kiss the edge of your fingertips.

“You’re worth more than the whole damn bunch, Joel. Stubborn ass of a man, but I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

“Undress me.” He murmured, swallowing the lump rising in his throat, “M’yours.”

You smiled, dragging your thumb against his jaw and slowly tilted his chin upwards so your eyes could meet, “Remember, it’s just you and me out here. Nothin’ but miles and miles of wilderness.”

“Kiss me.” He whispered, tightening his grip around your hips, pulling you in closer.

Your lips brush, testing the waters before you fully kiss him. Tasting the sweat from his brow that had trickled down his lips. Soft, chapped, warm and familiar against your own.

Your fingers worked the buttons of his shirt open, exposing his skin to the warm rays from the sun. You pushed the strained fabric down his shoulders, letting the shirt fall to the pebbles below. You traced his scars with delicate movements, detaching your lips from his so you could follow the path your fingers created. You nipped at the softness of his bicep, pressing open mouthed kisses that trailed down his arm to his hand. You kissed each knuckle, each callous with your eyes staying locked on his.

You squeezed the soft plump flesh of his love handles, imagining yourself using them as an anchor when you would ride his cock in the early morning hours when neither of you could sleep.

You dragged your nose against the swell of his belly, feeling him tense up before melting into your touch like a pad of butter on a hot pan. You inhaled his musky scent, dragging your lips southwards through the dark hair of his happy trail, pressing a kiss there, too.

Your fingers moved in muscle memory as you undid his belt, tugging his too tight jeans over his hips and strong thighs, letting them pool at his ankles.

He watches your every move, brows furrowed together at the sight of you on your knees between his thighs. He hopes to god there is no danger lurking nearby. He wants this memory etched into his brain for the rest of his days.

He breathes out a strained puff of air from between his parted lips when you press the tip of your nose against the underside of his heavy cock, and the drag of your hot tongue through the strained fabric.

A groan bubbles up his throat, spilling over and he presses his hips into your face, the swell of his belly brushing against the crown of your head.

You giggle, nipping lightly at the fabric, feeling his cock twitch and harden. You watch his eyes roll back, words tumbling out in tandem.

“Do. Not. Tease. Me.” He growled and you giggled at his response.

“If you want more…you’re just gonna have to catch me!” You rose from your knees before he could grab ahold of you, stepping back with that glint in your eye.

“Hey! That ain’t fair and you know it!” He huffed, already struggling to unlace his boots so he could pull his jeans off completely. He cursed under his breath when he watched you dive back into the refreshing waters.

“Gonna get you back for this.” He grumbled to himself, fighting the urge to grin at the warmth that he felt flooding in his chest.

You heard a loud splash just as you resurfaced, and two dark brown eyes locked onto you like a target as you playfully swam away.

Your giggles and his deep, raspy laughter filled the hot summer air like a song that you would play on repeat, over and over again.

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#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #soft!joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel x you #joel x reader #joel x female reader #joel x f!reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller drabble #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal smut #the feel of coldness only water brings

[sttoru]

𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃 . . .

⟣ sypnosis. you’re fed up with your rich abusive husband and finally decide to hire a skilled assassin to get rid of him in secrecy. one night when you’re left alone in your penthouse, you invite the assassin named toji over to give him the money he’s demanded to accept the job. things turn for the worse when your husband comes home early that day and catches toji and you together.

⟣ note. eeek. never thought i’d be here to write this out but i did and it turned pretty detailed if i must say. hope u all enjoy and appreciate my hard work. feedback / comments are greatly appreciated ! if the fic does well, i can make an alternative ending that’s smutty :3 wc: 7.4k

⟣ tags. toji fushiguro x female reader. angst, comfort. themes include abuse. reader is in an abusive + toxic relationship with her husband. implied age gap with husband. implied size difference with toji. mentions of guns + blood + m.urder. knifes.

“what is a successful marriage?”

that is one of the many questions that keep you up at night. you’ve laid awake for hours on end ever since you’ve married your husband, in search for reasonable answers. you’ve got many of them sorted out, however that specific question is one left unanswered.

it is very subjective—many can vary about the concrete answer. but one thing you know for sure is that your marriage is the exact opposite of what ‘successful’ means.

you were so full of yourself. you didn’t realise that your pride would also be your downfall one day; you’d constantly brag about having a rich husband who gets you everything you wanted. you were too blinded by love—or actually—by his money to notice the real him. the real, twisted and manipulative face of the man you were determined to marry.

his name was daisuke. from the yamamoto family. a family known in japan for its generational wealth and the many buildings and famous corporations it owns. you’ve worked at one of those companies and had met daisuke whilst he was on a visit. you’ve heard about his image by the public; sweet, caring and apparently wouldn’t hurt a fly.

unfortunately, the true him matched none of those descriptions. the true him only you—his wife—came face to face with at your shared home. you remember when it started. when daisuke began to turn into a nasty, abusive man whose anger is never restrainable.

your dating years were nothing but a dream. or, maybe you were too gullible to notice the signs and red flags your then boyfriend was showing. his love bombing, the manipulation, the gaslighting—you didn’t know better. if you complained about a minor thing that he had done, daisuke would apologise by sending you lots of money and presents. toxic, isn’t it?

but you didn’t care. you were happy and content with that being your compensation. the money was the evildoer that made you lose all your morals. the teenage you who said that you’ll never put up with a man’s disrespect was long forgotten.

even now, 4 years later, you put up with his verbal and physical abuse just to continue staying in that big mansion you live in. to continue getting everything paid for you. to continue getting lots of money by doing nothing but be his wife—his trophy wife, at this point.

it’s an easy life; ‘all i have to do is get through his abuse and it’ll be just fine’, you tell yourself that every night. it’s the only thing keeping you sane—a coping mechanism of some kind.

however lately, daisuke’s never skipped a day without being abusive towards you. he’d enter your home yelling and shouting, complains about the tiniest speck of dust in the house (which is not even your fault, it’s the maids’), reminds you how worthless you are in his eyes and the list goes on. he sometimes gets physical and throws stuff at you, causing multiple bruises and cuts to appear on your body after he’s done having his daily tantrum.

he might even kill you one day. it’s scary to think about; if he would, he easily could. he could one day just decide to be done with you and stick a knife in your body, leave you to bleed out and then order one of his men to get rid of your corpse. just like his family does to whoever stands in their way of success. you don’t want to discover how many people your husband has killed.

daisuke can easily get away with murder after all—the law is nothing but a thing to exist to keep the common citizens in the government’s control. to the rich, it’s like those rules don’t exist. court? justice? the so called independent judge? nothing money can’t buy. after all, money is power. money is innocence.

after four years of sticking with that rich man, you were getting tired. you were staying with him for his wealth, but was it actually worth it? besides, if daisuke hates you so much, why wouldn’t he divorce you instead? you don’t have anything going for you. except for your looks and youth, probably. that’s the main reason why daisuke coaxed you into marrying him—to show you off during events or parties. a complete and utter trophy wife you are.

you’ve been going to sketchy bars lately to let off some steam. you weren’t even there to drink alcohol. the sole reason for attending pubs was to forget about your own situation. you’d get weird stares since you’re always alone, sitting in that one spot in the far corner, no one wanting to come up to you because of that gloomy aura you’re emitting. and because you’re always dressed modestly from head to toe—not an ounce of skin showing. it was all the opposite of what most people would normally look and act like in bars.

‘what is normal?’ also a subjective question. society has turned it into an objective one, however.

“good day, miss.” a deep voice had interrupted your thoughts one day whilst you were doing your usual routine; sit near the bar counter, get a non-alcoholic drink, stare at the table for hours and question your purpose in life before going home to the reason of your problems.

a man, probably in his late 30’s or early 40’s, sat next to you on an available stool. he nonchalantly ordered a drink before making small talk. it was a nice change of pace for some reason. you had asked him his name. it was shiu.

that stranger had kept you company for hours until a call from your husband made you snap back to reality; you had to be home as soon as possible. judging by daisuke’s tone, you were in big trouble.

you remember how shiu outed his concern for your well-being by pointing out the bruises on your arm which you didn’t even know were showing.

you dismissed his worries with a fake smile and told him it was nothing, quickly pulling your sleeve back down. shiu seemed to let the topic go, but before parting ways with you, he handed you his business card. you didn’t know what it was for—what kind of services he could offer;

“call that number if you need someone to get rid of your problems,” was all you got before the mysterious man walked away. you couldn’t shake off the emphasis on the word ‘rid’. it sent a shiver down your spine.

that sentence of shiu’s echoed in your ears as tears streamed down your cheek after you arrived home. you were in your personal bathroom, hands shaking as you put a bag of ice on your fresh bruise, the small red and blue-ish area stinging. once again—you couldn’t avoid your husband’s wrath.

after having slept for a mere two hours that day in your bathtub, you’ve awoken to an empty house. daisuke was gone for work. luckily for you.

you hastily grabbed the business card in your purse and dialled the number. staring at the card, you’d think it was some kind of house cleaning service. that’s the kind of vibe it gave. little did you know that it was far from that.

a few rings later and you heard the same familiar deep voice in your ear; “good morning. with shiu kong.”

your heart was beating in your throat as you couldn’t gather the right words to say. maybe it was due to the little voice in the back of your head that warned you for something—you couldn’t pinpoint what the specific cause was just yet.

you answered eventually, “hi. uhm, you said i could call this number if i needed someone to get rid of my problems.” you pause and inhale deeply, “wh-what if my problem was.. a person? would you…” your voice trailed off, but the implication could not be missed by anyone if they heard the tone you used.

shiu seemed to recognise your voice, though stayed silent for a second or two at your request. when he replied, it sounded like he had expected you to ask him this—like he’s heard this many times before; “certainly.”

that’s when you realised what you’ve gotten yourself involved with. you were sweating and you had trouble breathing as you realised that.. this was your chance. to get rid of that man called your husband. your abuser.

you had decided to take on that opportunity and that’s how you ended up getting a phone call from an anonymous number right after your talk with shiu. the agent hadn’t told you anything other than the name of the person who’d contact you; ‘toji’, and said that he’d help you further.

you stared at the ‘no caller ID’ on your screen. this was him: the person who’d help you get rid of your problem. you gulped before sliding your thumb across your mobile to answer the call.

“hi, good m—”

“location.”

the husky male voice cut through your introduction and got straight to the point. your lips were parted to answer the man whom you guessed was ‘toji’, but your breath got caught in your throat for a second. do you just randomly give your address to a stranger? was that okay to do? you didn’t know—no, you didn’t care. if you got killed in the process or something similar, that’d be way better than to live another day in hell with your husband.

you dropped your address after some hesitation and toji just added a quick, ‘be there in an hour or so,’ before hanging up on you.

fast forward to 50 minutes later and you were pacing back and forth in your living room, trying to breathe properly and not have a second panic attack. daisuke wouldn’t be home until noon, so at least he won’t see whoever will enter your mansion in a few minutes. and if there’s a possibility that you get killed by this stranger, you’re sure that your husband would be more than happy that the job was done for him.

a loud tune. the sound of your doorbell. normally, you’d find the short melody relaxing, but now it sounded like something out of a nightmare. you made your way to your intercom and looked at the small screen—seeing a tall black-haired man with a compressed shirt and beige baggy pants standing near the gates. that must be toji—the man you talked to an hour ago.

he must be confident in his abilities since he didn’t cover up his identity at all when coming all the way over here.

you press a button and the gates open with a buzz. toji disappears from the little screen as he enters your front yard. the screen fades to black and you’re left alone with a sense of dread in your stomach. that only lasted for a couple seconds since the doorbell of your front door goes off.

“c-coming!” your voice cracks. you make your way over to the entrance of your home and breathe in. you open the doors slightly, peeking through the gap at the tall, intimidating man standing before you.

toji was kicking a rock to the side whilst waiting and looked up when you opened the doors. he seemed laidback, as if this was nothing but child’s play to him, “took ya long enough.”

you were appalled as toji simply barged into your home like he owned it. his strong, masculine cologne wafted through the air as he passed you by without giving you a second to process his intrusion.

your shaky eyes followed his bulky figure—the muscles that bulged through his shirt, which tensed every now and then. his aura was no joke either; it was horrifying to someone whom didn’t even know who he was or what he exactly did for a living.

“phewww,” the dark-haired man let out a low whistle as his eyes scanned the interior of the entrance hall, shamelessly touching a few expensive looking decorations, inspecting the material, “pretty damn rich, ain’t ya? this y’r daddy’s money?”

you shake your head and close the door behind you, staying there in case you needed to run. you are still wary of this situation, even when you had been the one that started this all.

“h-husband’s.” your voice was a quiet whisper. toji raised an eyebrow and turned his attention towards you. his eyes scanned you from head to toe. you looked pretty young. a fragile little thing, is how he described you in his head.

“husband? you?” toji chuckles dryly, before stepping closer to you, his body towering over yours. he lowers his head and stares at you from up close, his hands in his pockets whilst wordlessly looking at you.

you swallowed a bit of saliva and glanced back at the big man whom belittled you twice in just a couple seconds. you fumbled with the sleeve of your hoodie as the silence grew deafening—the only sound being your own soft yet shallow breathing.

your fingers scratched at the bruises under the fabric of your clothes, causing the cloth to slightly crinkle and glide up a few centrimeters with each rub before coming back down once your fingers stop. the instant you start touching those bruises, the itching just wouldn’t stop.

toji noticed this and looked down at your arm. his eyes caught a small glimpse of a wound on your wrist, but he didn’t seem to comment on it. with a sniff, he straightened his back and cocked his head to the right—face cold again as he glared at you;

“do ya know what kinda stuff i do?” his voice was booming, the deepness to it making you shiver. you press your lips together and search for answer, only to find nothing;

“n-no, i mean—“ your itching increases the more nervous you felt, “th-the man who directed me to you said you’d explain things further. all i know is that you can get rid of uhm— a problem of mine.”

toji scoffs and mutters something incomprehensible under his breath about his ‘stupid agent letting him do all the work’ before turning around. he lazily walks ahead as if he had all the time he needed in the world. once arrived in your living room, the man plops down on your couch, spreads his legs and leans back against the cushions. he really acted like he owns this place.

“i’m not the type to beat around the bush, little lady,” toji starts whilst his eyes follow you as you nervously sat on the chair next to the sofa, “so i’m gonna get straight into it. and if ya back down after this or get too scared ‘n call the cops, unfortunately, y’r pretty ass gotta go.”

toji swipes a thumb across his neck to indicate what that latter meant; killed. you’re gonna get killed if you learn his real identity and decide to expose it to anyone, especially the police. you blinked your tears away whilst thinking of that possibility and shook your head, putting on a determined face. you need to take responsibilities for your actions. you were the one who started this.

“all right. i promise that i won’t back down.” you reply after getting yourself together. toji’s eyes had left yours for a second to look around the grand living room—as if inspecting for something—before settling back on you. he quickly exhales through his nose; leaning his head on his hand while his piercing gaze burned holes in your skin,

“i’m an assassin.” toji says in a bored tone. he’s done this little introduction to his job so many times before to clients who hire him in for the first time, “i kill people in exchange for money. so, ya basically hired me to get rid of someone ‘nd i’m here to collect the money and information i need to finish the job. got that?”

there it was. the confirmation you needed and got without an ounce of hesitation coming from the man in front of you. you had expected this outcome (from the many you created in your head), of course, thus you weren’t that surprised. yet the fact that you actually have a hitman in your house, someone who can easily kill your husband, still makes you nervous.

“yes, thank you.” you eventually replied and nodded, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. you looked up at toji and this time it wasn’t in a nervous way. this time it was in a determined way. toji notices this change and the scarred corner of his lip curled into a smirk.

“how much. . . money do you want for this job?” you go straight to the point. the dark-haired man grins whilst scanning your figure up and down shamelessly, enjoying the confident look on you. it suited you better.

“depends. who is it that i gotta kill?” toji asks, using his thumb to crack his index finger. you look around as if anyone could hear you. you were sure that no one was there with you, no maids no bodyguards no husband, yet your anxiety was still at its peak.

“my husband.” you reply quietly and point at the big picture frame on the wall near the chimney. it was a picture of daisuke and you. you seemed happy there, but it was all for show. that photoshoot was simply for his benefit, “daisuke. daisuke yamamoto.”

toji raises his eyebrow and stares at the picture. he’s heard of that name before. it was mentioned many times in the articles he reads. the assassin stands up with a grunt and walks to the chimney, letting out a small hum like he was thinking about it. not about if he could get the job done—no, his pride told him he easily could—but about the amount of money he wanted to get out of this.

there was a silence before toji turns around on his heels and walks over to the couch again, plopping down on the soft cushions whilst propping his feet on the table in front of him, “around seven million yen will do.”

that was about 50.000 dollars.

your jaw slightly dropped. it’s not like you haven’t seen nor heard of such big numbers before, it’s just that it was a little unexpected. but then again; nothing you can’t afford. with your husband’s money. the same money that ruined your life, is going to be used as a weapon to save it.

daisuke’s own money is going to be the death of him. and you’re the one to guarantee that.

“all right. i can get you that in cash.” you nod idly. your mind was clearly somewhere else—trying to remember the password to daisuke’s safe that was situated in a hidden room near his office. you recently found out that he keeps most cash, gold and other valuable pieces there, away from your sight. he was bad at hiding that fact from you, however.

one night, he came home drunk and it ended up with him confessing to you that he ‘won’t ever let a gold digger like you near his money again’ and proceeded to spill that he ‘has a secret safe which you won’t ever get your hands on’. eventually, you did. after a bit of snooping around, you easily found the hidden room behind a bookcase.

those fat stacks of money in there definitely add up to more than seven million yen. you’re sure of it. the only obstacle in your way is gathering that money. most of the time, daisuke locks his office before leaving home—or if he doesn’t—his maids will be in there cleaning.

“it will take me some time, but…” your voice trails off as a pensive look falls on your face. you bite your bottom lip and try to figure out something—a plan. toji catches your attention again by letting out a deep sigh. he dismissively waves your worries away with one hand;

“tha’s fine, lady. i need some time to prepare for this job too—it ain’t an easy one after all.” the assassin comments whilst scratching the scar near his lips, also seemingly deep in thought about his own plan, “bet he got lots of guards on his ass, too. tch.”

there was another thought in the back of toji’s mind that bothered him. normally, he’d be pissed off if his client didn’t prepare any kind of money beforehand. maybe some compensation bills, or at least a little thing he can have before they give him the full amount.

but with you, he seems not to mind. he wouldn’t be mad if he left this place empty handed for the time being. maybe he actually feels pity for your situation. or was it something else?

toji scoffs at his wandering mind and inwardly tells himself to shut up about such dumb stuff. getting his money is what’s most important to him. if you die afterwards, he wouldn’t care.

that’s what he tells himself.

“anyways. you should gimme all ya know about him. y’re his wife, right? ya should know his routine ‘n stuff that i can work with.” toji speaks up after the ten seconds of silence. you nod at his question—he wanted every single piece of information about your husband, so you’ll give him everything. no details excluded.

you pull out your phone and show toji pictures you took from daisuke’s computer in secrecy. pictures of his daily schedule for the upcoming month. your prior intention by taking those was to know when to be back home or when to avoid him, but they could be useful for this as well.

you continue to explain when and where daisuke holds his breaks, where his main office is located, the bodyguards that accompany him every day and when they leave him alone— all the information you gathered.

toji can’t help but be amazed by your memory. and the fact that you can recall everything, small or big, about your husband. it certainly did make his job easier; now he doesn’t have to pry out more hints on daisuke himself.

of course, you had your reasons for knowing all the miniscule facts about daisuke. it’s how you managed to survive those four years of marriage.

“good. tha’s enough.” toji nods and stands up with a grunt, stretching his arms—the muscles retracting. you couldn’t help but stare at them; he must have gone through a lot of training to become an assassin. a skilled one at that.

“before i go,” toji continues as he walks past you without looking back, heading straight for the exit of the living room, “you should delete all cctv footage that ya got going on ‘round here. i’ll take care of further evidence, yeah?”

toji moves his index finger in a circle, pointing at all corners in the house. he doesn’t want to risk anything, “i’ll call ya once i get things sorted out. then i’ll get to work when ya hand me the money.”

you nod and make a mental note for yourself to do that immediately once toji’s gone. you still had an hour or two before your husband would return. you don’t think he checks the cctv footage often (otherwise he’d have caught you sneaking into his office before), but it’ll be a big problem if he actually does and sees a random man in his home.

“will do. thank you.” you reply to toji and get up to politely see him out of your house. that’s when the realisation kicked in; your husband will be killed by this man right here in front of you. goosebumps appeared on your skin—not from fright. but from… happiness?

this stranger will end years of torment for you. yes, it’s his job. he’ll probably disappear after he’s got the money and completed your request, and yet, you can’t help but be extremely thankful.

without thinking, you reach out and grab onto toji’s wrist to stop him from moving. the assassin doesn’t stiff or tense up by this sudden touch. in fact, he’s already sensed it coming and allowed it.

toji’s actually more surprised by the fact that his mind and body allowed you to touch him. if it were anyone else, he’d probably have avoided their touch, broken their hand or worse—cut it off.

he moves his head to the side and looks at you from his peripherals, though not fully turning to you yet. he doesn’t speak up either; he’s waiting on you to go first.

your heart was somehow starting to beat even faster. you bit your lip and mentally cursed yourself out for pulling such an action; you could’ve just waited to show your gratitude through the phone.

well, either way, there was no going back now so you might as well spill your words of gratitude right this moment. you took a deep breath and parted your lips, ready to talk, but was then interrupted by your biggest nightmare.

a familiar, chilling voice. your heart drops. your body freezes.

“i knew it.”

a looming figure stood near the entrace to the living room. you recognised him instantly, as did your body, which went into an almost paralysed state. your mouth went dry, your hands started shaking and your eyes widened to the point you weren’t blinking anymore.

your husband, daisuke, appeared out of thin air in front of toji and you. his gaze was solely focused on the way your fingers were curled around toji’s wrist. to top it off, he had only heard the last bits of your conversation: something about deleting cctv and money. his brain hadn’t heard the entirety of it—he had already taken wrong conclusions in his head.

daisuke’s veins were on the verge of popping as he took two big steps towards you—you taking two steps back in response.

“i knew you were cheating on me, you fuckin’ slut.” daisuke spits with his finger pointed right at you. he was ignoring toji’s presence for the time being. he had to deal with you first;

“i work my ass off all day and night to provide for you and this is how you repay me? by inviting a random dude over whilst i’m gone? ungrateful bitch.”

two insults in a row; one more and daisuke’s putting his hands on you. it always went like that. your mind felt like it was emptied, but you somehow felt relieved that your husband didn’t seem to know the real reason of why toji had come over. daisuke really thought you were just cheating on him, and that your words of ‘deleting all cctv footage’ was to hide that infidelity.

“it’s n-not.. like that, daisuke.” you try to soothe the raging man in front of you, but your attempts were futile. he was just three quick steps away from resorting to physical violence.

toji, in the meantime, had stepped off to the side. you were only his client, thus there was no need to interrupt a couple’s ‘dispute’. you weren’t anyone dear or special to him—just a client. a stranger that owes him money to perform a job.

the assassin leans against a nearby wall, crossing his arms over his chest whilst watching the scene unfold. it was unfortunate that toji’s target was right there in front of him; he could just kill him right now. get the job done and over with. but, once again, toji only got to work if he had the money. he only assassinates when his skills are paid for. not any earlier and not any later. those were his morals—the rules he lives by.

if toji wanted to, he could simply walk away and let you handle this stuff by yourself. daisuke accusing him of being your ‘thing on the side’ didn’t bother him. as long as your husband doesn’t know his real identity, he’s fine with whatever accusations that get thrown at him.

but, for some reason—the same reason from earlier—his body was yelling at him to stay. toji sighs; he knows he won’t ever win a battle against his heart’s needs. he decides to stay.

daisuke still doesn’t seem to care about this; all the man wants is to out his anger and accuse you of things he now has enough ‘evidence’ for. he was seething and fuming at this revelation.

“god knows what else you’ve done behind my back. i bet he isn’t the only one you’ve fucke—“

“stop! i’m not cheating,” you finally yell back. it was the first time in a while that you had gathered the strength to do so. it felt good now that you had stuck up for yourself, but you knew how this would end for you—probably on the floor. crying.

despite all of that, you decided to keep on going. it’s now or never: all you have to do is make up a lie, probably withstand daisuke’s anger again and hope it doesn’t kill you. just this once; all you have to do is survive this once and then you’ll be freed from him.

you’ll give toji his money and he will do the job for you. just a few more days—

“he’s.. he’s my friend’s husband. i invited them both over and he just arrived earlier than expected.” you quickly made up. it sounded a little convincing to you. toji’s low snicker of amusement in the back confirmed that it maybe was the opposite of convincing.

daisuke scoffs at the pathetic attempt of hiding your ‘infidelity’. with another step forward, he raises his voice a notch; “yeah, right! what a pathetic excuse.”

a second step—you were waiting on that third curse. that third swear word that would set hell loose in this house, “do you really think you can fool me with that? huh?!”

it hadn’t happened yet. you still had time to think of a plan to perhaps escape this situation. your eyes flickered over to toji, although it didn’t seem like he’d be of any help. of course, he’s just an outsider after all. a stranger whom you just met today.

assassins have already disregarded their heart emotions the moment they decided to go down the path of killing for a living. you wouldn’t even blame toji for not stepping in. you’re also but a stranger to him.

toji could see the glimmer of hope in your eyes when you looked at him. or maybe it was a call for help. a desperate look. he can’t tell the difference. though, what he can tell, is that there was a gnawing feeling in the pits of his stomach. a gut feeling that told him it’d be smart to interfere.

but there’s his rational thoughts that tell him to not get involved—to avoid any more trouble than needed. besides, what other benefits would it bring him if he did? toji doesn’t want to be seen as a hero or saviour by anyone.

his jaw clenches as the time ticks. only a couple seconds left before the cold-hearted assassin has to make a decision.

daisuke’s patience was running low. the tension was increasing and could burst at any given moment now. one wrong move and you’re done—

one wrong breath could result in the worst possible outcome.

your silence spoke volumes to daisuke. the way you held your head low, your eyes that flickered from the floor to the ceiling, your fingers that nervously fumbled with your clothes and your bottom lip that trembled unstoppably. that pissed him off.

everything about you pissed him off. daisuke didn’t see any benefits of having you around anymore. he hadn’t for the long time, however didn’t know how he’d get rid of you.

divorce? no, he’ll have to give some of his earnings to you. kick you out? a possibility, but that would ruin his reputation. blackmail? that option was now the best choice. he’s caught you with another man after all. with camera evidence.

but, daisuke wouldn’t be satisfied with that outcome. his rage was blinding him—more than usual. he has to make you learn your lesson. in a way that will have you begging for your life to be spared.

and thus, the last step was made. the deciding hands were raised—aimed for your neck. the final curse had left his lips;

“come here. i’ll show you how whores like you should be treated.”

killing intent. it was the first time you’ve seen daisuke’s gaze darken that much, his demeanour emotionless yet full of rage. you close your eyes and expect for the worse.

“tha’s enough.”

everything went blank to you. it was silent, your vision was black, your hands were above your head, your heart felt like it wasn’t beating anymore—had you met your end? had you already been murdered?

in that same instant, you could feel drops of liquid splatter on your face. a faint ringing sound in your ears—it sounded like fireworks had been set off. a loud ‘pop’ sound.

something hit the ground right after. it wasn’t your body since that someone or something landed right at your feet.

after that: utter silence.

you gathered all your strength once more and slowly opened your eyelids. your vision was a bit blurry, though the first shape you could make out was one of a man on the ground. and not just any man—it was the man whom you hated most. at your feet.

you would’ve never thought of seeing that image before. of your husband laying at your feet; both literally and figuratively. a red liquid gushed out of his head and soaked into your shoes.

a normal wife would’ve let out a blood hurling scream at the sight of her lover laying lifelessly near her. a normal wife with a healthy relationship, that is.

you did let out a scream at the sight of your husband laying lifelessly near your feet. but that wasn’t done out of panic for your husband’s life—or due to the pain you were in to see him dead.

it was purely because you hadn’t seen a corpse before.

“d-daisuke..?”

a normal wife would’ve called out her husband’s name in a futile attempt that he’d answer back. that all of it was a dream. that her beloved wasn’t dead.

your reason wasn’t anything close to that. you called out that name in hopes he wouldn’t answer back. that all of it wasn’t a dream. that your abuser was dead.

it was real. you were glad, yet extremely disturbed by the fact that there was a corpse at your feet. you didn’t want to see all of it happening—that wasn’t part of the plan.

you stumble back a bit, hands clutching onto the chair you bumped into as you did your best to avoid the gruesome scene before your eyes. you just wished someone would clean the mess as soon as possible.

it’s then that your gaze fell on the other person present in the room; the man who was standing with a gun in his hand. toji scratched his head with the barrel, cold eyes looking down at the corpse with a faintly visible disgusted expression.

the assassin clicks his tongue as he walks towards the lifeless body and puts the sole of his shoe on daisuke’s cheek as if he was stepping on a pile of dirt, moving the head back and forth to check for any possible ounce of life in there.

there was none. the soul had left its body almost instantly after that bullet went through his brain. toji sighs; this time at himself for acting irrationally, “should’ve tortured you to death for tryin’ to put y’r hands on that lady instead of givin’ you the easy way out.”

with a harsh kick to the head on the floor, toji gathers some of his saliva on his tongue before spitting on the man. doubling the disrespect; “consider yourself lucky.”

toji cocked his head to the right. that’s where he spotted you with a familiar look on your face. the expression of someone who just went through a traumatic experience. he’s seen many people react like you when facing a near death experience or when witnessing somebody die before them.

usually, he’d tell them ‘it’s normal, get used to it’ and leave it at that. this was different. it felt different with you.

“are you okay?” the words slipped out of toji’s mouth before he could hold them back. his tone was a mixture of genuine concern and confusion. the latter was due to his own state of mind at the moment.

you didn’t answer, but you put your hands on your mouth as if you were going to puke any moment now. your vision was getting blurry with tears, head spinning and body feeling numb and weird.

toji hesitates before stepping towards you. his hands reached out to hold you, though he stopped them. he’d figured you wouldn’t be comfortable with him touching you in any way or form. he just killed someone in front of you—

it’s not like you cared that it was your husband. that much was clear. you sniff and glance up at toji with such a relieved yet devastated expression that his arms instinctively wrapped around you and pulled you into his warm embrace.

it was an awkward hug since toji doesn’t really know the basics of comforting someone. he was a bit stiff, but you didn’t show any discomfort due to that fact. instead, you clung onto his body and left tear stains on his black shirt.

“shhh, shh. it’s fine. it’s okay.” toji whispers, whilst his big hands indecisively move around, trying to find a spot to rest on. one eventually lands on the back of your head whilst the other starts to slowly rub up and down your spine, “it’s over, yeah? all of it—it’s over.”

toji doesn’t have a clue about the exact details of what your life was like. why you asked him to kill your (now ex-)husband was none of his business. all he knew was that he was going to get paid for it, so he didn’t care what the reason was.

it wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed the scars and bruises on your body throughout your conversation either—but that as well—was none of his business. assassins do their job without any further questions. there was no need to have personal connections or relations with their clients.

yet, toji was going against those unspoken rules once more. all because of you. for you.

“thank y—you.” your voice was weak as you speak up. it sounded hoarse and tired, though the sense of gratitude was undeniably there, “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

a series of ‘thank you’s’ leave your lips whilst your body and mind were still trying to recover from the whole ordeal. toji was trying his best to keep by your side until you calmed down. that’s the least he could do—after the fact that he singlehandedly got rid of the main problem in your life.

“no need to thank me, lady.” the dark-haired man whispers, allowing you to mess up his shirt with your tears and tugs, “i did what i had to do.”

toji didn’t actually have to do what he did. he never does his job before he’s guaranteed the money. however this time, it was a different story. he did it without thinking. he had to. his body was telling him to move—and in a flash—it was done.

he tries to tell himself that it’s just him slacking off. that he isn’t possibly starting to care about another person. he shouldn’t; those complicated emotions would stand in his way. and yet. . .

“c’mere.”

toji lifts you up bridal style while you keep quivering against his shoulder. his hands had a tight grip on your body, his eyes a sharp gaze on the mess he created. with a sigh, he takes you upstairs to a random room—kicking the door open.

toji carefully puts you back on your feet and guides you to sit on the edge of the kingsized bed. he absentmindedly brushes a few strands of your hair back after wiping some more tears away from your face;

“i know it’s a lot to take in,” toji kneels down before you, looking up with an unreadable expression whilst wiping the tears from your cheeks. his warm palms make contact with your skin and it’s like you’ve forgotten all about what just happened, “but is it okay if ya stay here while i go take care of the rest? i’ll come back once i’m done.”

toji has his own ways of cleaning up after he’s done a job and most likely wants to put one of those techniques to use before any maid or guard comes to check in on the house situation. you sniffle and hiccup afterwards, trying to form a verbal response through your broken sobs, but to no avail.

you simply nod and lean into toji’s calloused hands—such rough and masculine hands—ones that were meant to protect instead of hurt you. you weren’t able to trust men after your marriage, however this one in front of you was unlike any other. even if he may not seem like it on the outside.

his touch was gentle yet firm. the pads of his thumbs swiped the wet skin under your lower eyelashes and you could’ve sworn toji’s gaze had softened for a split second before he caught himself.

he had to stand up, get rid of the mess and leave the place before he got too attached to you. the assassin cannot make such a grave mistake.

“i promise,” toji speaks up after a bit again, standing up after giving you a soft pat against your shoulder, “you’re fine. i’ll be back—ya have my word.”

there he goes; making promises he knows he probably can’t keep. ‘i’ll be back’, will he? he can’t. for your own safety. he has to treat you as just another client. none of what he did in this house could be spoken of anymore.

he slipped up this once. it needn’t to happen again. money. he does his jobs for money—when he obtains the money. he doesn’t kill his targets for the sake of others, for the protection of others.

he doesn’t kill for love.

toji wishes that all of this had never happened, because he knows that his heart will lead him back to you at the end of the day. he knows he won’t leave once he cleans up the mess downstairs. he’ll come right back to you.

and you have faith in that. you trust this stranger whom had practically saved your life with just one shot.

“i don’t know how to repay you.. thank you.” you manage to mutter through shallow breaths. you stare at the back of toji’s head as he makes his way to the door. he stops in his tracks to reply to your comment.

he stands still at the doorway and looks over his shoulder at you—the scarred corner of his lips twitching;

“prepare the money. tha’s how you can repay me.” toji replies and you don’t know if he’s joking or being serious because of that little grin on his face. a breathy chuckle follows and then the assassin disappears.

the door closes and you’re left alone in this space. left alone in the silence of the home that had treated you as its prisoner. you remember how your husband used to lock you up in your bedroom whenever you had done something to piss him off; taking away your freedom by keeping you in a room.

now it’s yours—your life is yours. you’ve fully gained your freedom back and can decide what to do for yourself. it seems like a foreign situation, a foreign world, a foreign concept; you can now actually do whatever your heart desires. without any restraints.

“what is a successful marriage?”

well, to you, it’s one with a satisfactory ending.

🏷️ : @satoruhour @squicksquak @omgeto @xmintpie @cursingtoji @obsidiannero @elmoees @x1aosg1rl @fushironi @ceceher @ajax1230 @toji-is-hot @jayugh @rinshoe @sligerate @satoryaa @luveblad3 @happystrawberrytyrant @ezraiix

#sttoru writes. #jjk x reader #toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x you #toji x you #jjk fic #jjk x y/n #toji fushiguro x reader #i tried my best : #:(…

[endlessthxxghts]

Ch1: New Beginnings

teacher!reader x student's dad!Frankie Morales || W/C: 8.8k

Ch. Summary: Frankie gets introduced to a new opportunity for his daughter, Elena. You get introduced to your new job. In celebration of these new beginnings, you both set out to a night at the bar, completely unaware that your paths are about to cross.

Content/Warnings: F!reader (she/her), female sex anatomy, reader is able-bodied. No physical descriptions of reader. Slight description of reader’s outfit (no size descriptions). Tío Santi (& TF Miller boys) makes an appearance. Slight implication reader understands some Spanish. Going out to bar/consumption of alcohol. Flirting. POV switch, mainly Frankie this chapter. SMUT 18+ MDNI. Sexual activity while under the influence of alcohol (you've slowed down your alcohol intake by that point, though). “Author Chose Not to Apply Archive Warnings” because it may result in spoilers (but there’s smut here…).

A/N: thank you to @honeyedmiller for proof-reading this for me, and thank you to @javierpena-inatacvest for peer pressuring me into giving my little idea an actual chance. I love love love you both sm🩶 to everyone, I truly hope you enjoy!! All my love xx

series masterlist || main masterlist || updates blog

August 2024

“Thank you so much for coming in, Mr. Morales.”

“It’s no problem at all, Mrs. Adams, is- is, um, is everything okay? Is Elena doing alright?” Frankie asks the second grade teacher, concerned. 

The school year hasn’t started yet, but from time to time, the school does accelerated summer sessions that last a few weeks up until the actual start date of the school year. Elena always attends these sessions, begging her dad every summer to sign her up for one because I need to learn more! she’d tell him. How could he deny her the chance to expand that beautiful mind of hers?

“Oh, yes, everything is good! Elena is wonderful, and that’s actually why I asked you to come in,” she states. “Are you aware of how smart that girl is?”

Frankie can’t help the cheesy grin that spreads across his face. “Yeah, she’s always too excited to show me her progress reports and report cards, always pulling them out before we even leave the parking lot at the end of her days,” he beams. 

“Oh, I bet. She blows me away everyday, that girl,” Mrs. Adams says genuinely. “So much so that I actually think she shouldn’t be attending here anymore,” the teacher adds, softer than the rest of her previous statements. 

Frankie’s eyebrows twist in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well, don’t get me wrong, I love having Elena, and everyone in this school loves her, too. She’s one of our brightest. But,” she sighs. “She is so damn smart, Mr. Morales. I’d go as far as to say she’s a prodigy.”

“Oh,” Frankie says, pleasantly surprised and confused. He still doesn’t know where she’s getting at. He tells her as much. 

“What I’m trying to say is- Elena isn’t getting the proper brain stimulation someone of her level needs. She needs to go somewhere that will increase her levels at the fast rate she’s moving and somewhere that will stimulate the creative parts of her brain. Traditional public school—at least here—cannot provide her with that.”

Frankie has always known his daughter’s natural intelligence. She often comes home either excited because they worked on a topic she’s really good at, or she comes home really bored and exhausted—because they worked on a topic she’s really good at. It’s too repetitive for her, but he wasn’t sure what other options he had. 

Frankie takes a moment to think. “Even if I did move her to a school that has all this, it sounds like it would cost a lot of money. Money that I unfortunately don’t have right now,” he says with a heavy breath. 

Mrs. Adams’ smile grows ten times bigger. “Mr. Morales-”

“Frankie, please,” he corrects. 

“Frankie, there’s a school for the gifted connected to our local university just a few miles down the way. I used to work there, and I have friends there. Please forgive me if I’ve overstepped, but I’ve spoken to the Director of Admissions. There’s a waitlist, and barely any get admitted—and it’s by semester, so you’ll have to keep up with re-enrolling her—but I told them all about Elena. They want her, Frankie. No waitlist. No tuition. They want her for this new semester. And I really think you should go for it.”

Frankie sits in Mrs. Adams’ office, utterly stunned. He’s sure his jaw is on the floor right now, eyes bugged out like those squeezable stress toys. “I- I don’t know what to say…” Frankie trails off. 

“I know it’s a big step,” the teacher comforts. “But think about it.” She pulls out a card from her desk and hands it to him. “Here’s the director’s card. I’ll reach out to them to make sure they know to expect your call.” 

Frankie knows this is a good thing. He knows these are once in a lifetime opportunities, and he knows if he goes through with this now, those rare opportunities won’t be so rare for her as she gets older. That’s all he wants for his daughter; nothing but opportunity and the right kind of challenges meant to help her grow as a person. 

So why does he feel so nervous? He’s dealt with change before, and he’s dealt with last-minute, under pressure change up in the sky where his life could’ve been on the line—but nothing compares to the anxiety when it involves Elena. Since she was born, she is all he’s ever known. It’s been him and her against the world, and although some days are more difficult than others doing this parenting thing alone, Frankie wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He gives Mrs. Adams his thank yous and goodbyes, and makes his way to the front office. It’s 12 o’ clock right now—recess time—but he wouldn’t doubt she’s propped up against a pillar with her nose in a book. He decides to check Elena out early and take her to go get dessert. 

“She’ll be escorted here in a few minutes,” the front desk lady tells him. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Frankie says, resting his back against the wall. 

A few minutes pass and the office’s door bursts open with the heartwarming sounds of his daughter’s giggles, an excited aura filling the room. “¡Papi!” she squeals, immediately wrapping her arms around the parts of her father she can reach. 

“¡Mija!” he says, matching her energy, pulling her in for a tight squeeze. He kneels down to reach her level, placing a kiss on her forehead before he speaks. “Wanna go get dessert?”

Her eyes light up like a million stars. “Please!!” she replies, her entire body shaking in Frankie’s grasp. 

Frankie picks her up, and they make their way to the car. Buckling her into her car seat, Frankie settles himself to the driver’s seat and asks the burning question before he pulls off. “Brownie sundae spot or-”

“BROWNIE!” Elena replies immediately. Frankie has to slap his mouth to stop from the uncontrollable laughter bubbling out from his chest. He knew what her answer would be. “Okay, mija, brownie spot it is.”

Their usual brownie sundae spot is in a little diner up the street from their house. Frankie began this little tradition as a way to celebrate Elena’s wins and milestones. The first milestone they celebrated was for her first word: airplane. Frankie was ecstatic, practically jumping up and down with Elena in his arms until his best friend, Santiago, had to calm him down. “Ay, tranquilo, tranquilo,” relax, relax, he said, holding his hands softly around Elena’s little head.

Today’s milestone, however, is much bigger than any they’ve celebrated, and the notion is not lost on little Elena. 

“Papi,” she calls. “Are we celebrating something?” 

Frankie chuckles to himself, loving how easily she can put things together. “We might be, mi amorcito.”

“Hm?” She hums, eyebrows furrowed and head tilted to the side as she settles into the booth seat, sitting across from her dad. 

Their usual waiter comes before they can continue their conversation. “Hey, guys! The usual?” 

Elena answers first, very excitedly. “YES, YES, BROWNIE SUNDAE!!!” She squeals as she elongates every syllable. Frankie confirms with a head nod as he chuckles at her energy. 

“What’s the occasion?” The waiter says softer, directing the question to Frankie. 

“We’ll see after I talk with this little lady,” Frankie tells the waiter, extending his long arm out to pinch Elena’s little cheek. 

The waiter smiles and walks off, putting the order in with the kitchen and asking for a little bit of a delay to give Frankie enough time to talk things through with his daughter. 

“So,” Frankie states. 

“So,” his daughter mirrors, putting on her best serious face while fighting the huge grin that wants to break free. 

“Do you know how smart you are, mija?” Frankie asks, smiling because he knows what she’s gonna say. Duh, papi, he thinks in his head.

“Duh, papi!” She says, a troublemaking giggle she’s had since her babbling stages echoes their little corner of the diner. 

“Alright, little smart ah-” Frankie coughs to stop his mouth. “You little smarty pants,” he corrects himself. 

“Daddy, were you about to call me a smartass?” She scolds. 

His cheeks flush a bright red. “You spend too much time with Tío Santi,” he deadpans. 

She hums, nodding her head triumphantly. 

“Anyway,” he says, noting in his mind to scold Santi for his mouth around his little girl. “You’re so smart, mija, I was wondering… well, I was wondering if you feel like you’re actually learning?”

“What do you mean, papi?”

“Well, everything you’ve been learning so far is super easy for you, isn’t it?” 

She ponders for a moment. “Yeah, it’s easy,” she confirms. 

“Does it ever make you bored, how easy some days are?”

“A little, yeah,” she says a little softer. “But it’s okay because I end up helping my friends, and Mrs. Adams tells me I’m her assistant,” she giggles with pride. 

“You’re too good, amor,” he chuckles. “But what if I told you,” he starts. Immediately, her interest is piqued. “A really fancy, really smart school heard about how smart you are?”

Her chocolate brown eyes widen, and her little jaw drops. “Me?! Really?!”

“Yes, baby!” Frankie can feel his excitement rising alongside hers, his initial nervousness fading just as quick. “And what if I told you they want you to go to their school?” Elena’s hands fly to her mouth, suppressing her squeals of joy. Frankie can hear her legs kicking back and forth underneath the table. “Would you wanna go, mi niña inteligente (my smart girl)?”

“So… I’ll learn harder things?” She asks.

“Yes,” he swallows thickly. Frankie thinks she’s having anxiety. 

It’s not. “Then…” She settles for her usual diva answer. “Duh, papi!” She giggles, positively radiating pure excitement on this new journey she’s about to embark on. 

She wiggles out of her side of the booth to crash into her father’s arms, pulling him into the tightest hug ever. As she pulls away and settles next to Frankie, the waiter comes out with the sundae, Congratulations! written in cursive on the side of the plate. Elena reads the message with ease, scooping up the red icing with her finger and licking it up. “Thank you!!” She exclaims to the waiter who murmurs a sweet smartest person I know with a ruffle to her curly head of hair. 

The waiter looks at Frankie with a genuine smile, and Frankie returns it. This diner really has been there for all the Morales’ family wins. Frankie wonders what other miracles just might happen in this little building.

For the first time in your teaching career, you are nervous. 

You’ve dealt with gifted children before, and you had no problems juggling public school and the extra side lessons you’d give to the occasional gifted child. People tend to underestimate the amount of prodigal children in the world due to the constant brushing off these adults like to give to developing humans. These little children deserve as much respect and care that any other human deserves, maybe even more. The children are our future, after all. 

So, now that you’re starting a new job, in a school dedicated to your life’s passion—yeah, you’re pretty nervous. 

This school was created by the state’s local university; it was their attempt at providing children with an enriching, stimulating environment that the typical school system couldn’t care enough to provide, and their attempt was an absolute success. It will take a little while to get themselves off their feet, so tuition and enrolling students is expensive compared to what you would pay for your child in the public education system. 

However, with time and careful planning, the program’s ultimate goal is to adequately provide to childrens of all needs—regardless of their prodigal status—for little to no cost. It’s definitely an ambitious goal, but it’s one you’re absolutely ready and willing to stick around for.

You were hired this summer, August 1st to be exact. The principal—Ms. Sabatino—caught wind of the powerhouse of a teacher who goes above and beyond for her students, and she just had to have you on her team. Your interview wasn’t even a real interview: it was exchanging logistical information and showing you to your new home base, your new classroom. She told you if you wanted to take the time before the year officially started to make your classroom feel more like you, you could. 

It took you about a week to settle the vibe of your classroom, and during your preparations, you met a few other teachers, instantly hitting it off with each other that they invited you to their “semester pregame,” they called it. 

“You have to come, Ms. Powerhouse!” Ms. Smith—Linda, she corrected you—exclaimed. 

“Powerhouse?!” You repeated, a little frightened. You knew coming in that the culture here was very tight-knit, but how fast does word really spread around here?

“Yeah, you powerhouse, you!” Mr. White—Blake—chimes in. “You’re all anyone is talking about! Honestly, we’ve been dying to meet you.”

And lastly, Ms. Marshall—Leah—joins in. “You’re a real legend, ya know that, don’t you? Sticking to the Rebel theme we got going on here,” she smirks, referring to their school’s mascot, the Rebels. 

You flush under all their praise. “I really don’t know what you guys are talking about,” you say softly. “I’m just trying to do what’s best for our kiddos, like any of us would.” A proud smile graces your face, and not for the things you’ve done, but for the amazing students you’ve had the honor of meeting and teaching. There truly isn’t a better feeling. 

The three teachers share a knowing look, the one that tells you they think you’re just trying to be humble. Their hums of secret agreement don’t escape your super-teacher hearing. 

Ms. Marshall is the one to speak again. “Are you going to come though? We really would love to have you. We’ve been trying to find someone who can hold their alcohol better than Mr. Lightweight here can,” she cackles, pointing over to Mr. White, who now has an offended look on his face. 

“I’ll have you know-” he starts. “Oh, Blake, enough with the excuses already!” Ms. Smith cuts him off. 

You giggle at their banter, your apprehensiveness about this little squad slowly melting away. “I’m afraid if you’re looking for someone who can hold their own, that person is not me…but I would absolutely love to join you guys. When and where is this pregame?”

“YAAASSSSSS!” Ms. Smith is quick to squeal. She’s definitely the life of the party with these three. “We have it the Saturday before the semester starts! So, the 17th I believe. It’s a bit risky depending on how plastered we end up getting, but it’s all a part of the fun,” she says with a wink. 

You reach for your phone in your back pocket, unlocking and letting your three new friends put their phone numbers in. You group text them so they have your number, too. “Perfect! I can’t wait,” you say sheepishly, your excitement slowly rising as their smiles begin to mirror your own. It’s been a while since you let yourself go and get lost in something else other than work, and you think this little pregame is exactly what you’ve been needing.

“Oh, come on, Fish! You have to come out with us!” Santi tells you, giving Frankie’s shoulder a punch of encouragement.

Frankie hisses at the impact, swatting Santi’s hand away with a scowl. “No.”

“Fish,” Santi reasons. “The Millers haven’t seen you in a hot minute since my ‘Lena girl was born, man. They miss you. Especially Benny, you know how sensitive that man gets. And! We need to celebrate this new chapter for you and ‘Lena!”

“We already celebrated,” Frankie corrects. “At the diner.” 

“An adult celebration, Fish. When was the last time you let yourself go?”

Frankie sighs. Santi’s right. “Who would watch Elena?”

“I already spoke with Yavonna last night,” Santi says, a tinge of hope laced in his voice. 

“Let me talk to Elena-”

“Fish, she’ll be fine-”

Frankie holds his hand out to signal Santi to shut up. “Let me talk to Elena,” he repeats, “and let her know our plans for tomorrow night. You know I don’t do anything without running it through with her first.” 

Santi’s face is happier than a toddler getting ice cream for breakfast. He claps him on his shoulder, “Fuck yeah, man! Frontier boys back at it again!”

Frankie grimaces. “Pope, cállate, por favor,” shut up, please, he says, pinching the bridge of his nose as he kicks Santi out for the night. 

“Tell ‘Lena Tío Santi says buenas noches (good night) please since her daddy likes to kick me out so soon,” Santi taunts, a fake offended look on his face. 

“No,” Frankie says. Then he shuts the door. 

Frankie lets a few moments pass to make sure Santi was out of sight before he calls out to his daughter. “Baby, tío Santi wishes you good night!”

Elena comes running down the stairs. “He left already?!”

“Yeah, sorry kiddo,” Frankie frowns, meeting her at the end of the stairs to kiss her forehead. 

“It’s okay,” she says. “You kicked him out again, didn’t you, daddy?”

“Y-yeah, yeah I did,” Frankie stutters. There’s no lying to this little Einstein. 

“Hey, baby?” Frankie says again, crouching down to his knees to meet her level. “Do you remember Yavonna? Tío Santi’s girlfriend?”

Her gears turn before recognition sparks in her eyes. “Yeah!”

“Well, would you be okay if papi went out tomorrow? And you and Yavonna have a girls’ night?” He asks. 

Elena’s smile turns mischievous as she pulls her dad in for a hug, whispering in his ear. “Are you going on a date?”

“Mmm, tío Santi is nice and all, but he’s too much a pain in my ass for me to wanna go on a date with him,” he retorts. “So, no, no date. Just spending some time with your annoying uncle and some of our other old friends.” 

“Oh, okay,” Elena says as she giggles. “Have fun, papi!”

“I will, baby, thank you,” he says, pulling her into one last hug before they both venture off to bed.

It’s Monday morning, one week before the semester starts, and Frankie is buzzing. He’s nervous and excited for his daughter, but he can tell this new environment is one that gets heavily involved—in both the child and the guardian’s life.

He’ll do anything for Elena, of course, and it isn’t like he wasn’t involved at her old school. But this one makes it feel like he’s also attending this place. The thought terrifies his socially anxious heart. 

He puts his car in park and practices a few breathing exercises before he gets out. He has a meeting with the principal today—Ms. Sabatino?, he tries to remember. This meeting is for her to finally get to know him, and for the paperwork to get finalized. And because they aren’t charging him for this semester, he also needs to fill out some waivers. 

He makes his way to her office, checking in at the front desk and waiting to be pulled back. His hand fidgets at his side, the nerves getting to him again. 

“Mr. Morales?” A voice calls out, pulling him from his nerves. “Ms. Sabatino is ready for you, first door to your left.” 

“Thank you,” he replies. He softly knocks on the door before entering. 

“Mr. Morales! Come in, come in!” Ms. Sabatino waves him over. “Sit, make yourself comfortable! It’s so nice to finally meet you.” 

“It’s nice to meet you as well, ma’am, and please, just Frankie is good,” he tells her, a slight shyness in his voice and demeanor. 

“Okay then, Frankie,” she smiles. “Let’s see here,” she says, squinting to her computer. “Do you have the enrollment forms?”

“Yes, right here,” Frankie sets the folder in front of her. 

“Perfect, thank you,” she replies. “Here, you fill these waiver forms out that we talked about while I upload your forms in for Elena’s profile.” 

Frankie mutters a quick okay, sounds good, before Ms. Sabatino speaks again. “While we get through these formalities though, did you have any questions for me? About the program, the teachers, literally anything at all besides what the meaning of life is?” she tries to joke, sensing Frankie’s anxiety. 

Mrs. Adams already gave him the rundown of this place, but the financial conversation has been clouding his mind since he first found out about this place. “Well, actually, yes, I wanted to talk to you about the cost,” he starts. 

“The cost is no issue, I promise you,” she reassures. But it’s not that. Although Frankie has major social anxiety, he’ll be damned if he comes off as a freeloader—even though absolutely no one here views him that way. 

“No, I understand, but it’s more so that-” he pauses, taking a deep breath before he tries again. “I’m a single dad. I’m the one catering for both Elena and I. We’re not very well off, but we’re also not entirely poor. Just enough to…not really afford this place,” he shakes his head, he’s rambling. “Anyway- sorry. What I’m trying to say is, money isn’t an issue, but I can’t just sit here and not do anything to pay you guys back, even if it isn’t in a monetary sense.” 

This piques the principal’s interest. She nods her head, taking a moment to measure her response. The computer pings as she thinks to herself, signaling that it’s done uploading the forms. She hands Frankie the folder back. He takes it, handing her the completed waiver. “I respect it,” she finally states. “A lot.”

“Y-yeah,” he says, not really sure how to respond to that. 

Ms. Sabatino spins in her chair, pausing towards a drawer underneath her desk. She pulls out a little booklet of some sort. 

“I have one idea,” she offers. 

Frankie’s ears perch up. “Yeah? Anything,” he replies.

“It’s a lot to ask of a parent,” she says. “And I know you’re eager, but hear me out before you agree. And if you’d like to say no, then say no, that’s all I ask.”

“Deal,” Frankie tells her.

“So, last semester, the head of our PTA—the Parent-Teacher Association—quit on us. She quit and also unenrolled her child. Some weird drama, it was very unavoidable if she knew how to communicate properly… anyway, we are actually in need of a new head. I will admit, it’s a lot, but you’ll have me by your side, and I know a few of the parents would help show you the ropes and help you with anything you need.” 

Out of everything, Frankie was not expecting this. It’s evident in the shocked look on his face. 

“Like I said, I don’t need an answer right now-”

“What about the existing PTA parents?” Frankie blurts out. He may have not been PTA-level involved with his daughter, but he knows the seriousness in which parents take their roles when it comes to this. 

“I appoint the head, and choosing one out of all of them would… to be frank… be a bloodbath. This PTA needs a fresh face. A new perspective. I can tell you’re nervous, but I can also tell you’re ambitious. I can tell you’d do anything for your daughter first and foremost. That is what my PTA needs. The rest of those parents- God- I love them, but they’re more worried about looking good and their brownie points with me than their kids’ experiences.”

If Frankie was unsure before, he definitely isn’t now. All he wants is the best for his daughter, and honestly, it makes him disappointed to hear where these parents’ priorities are. He’s absolutely scared shitless about doing this, but he can’t stop the next words that come out of his mouth. “I’ll do it.”

Her eyebrows fly up. “Are you sure?”

He isn't, he thinks. “Yes,” he tells her.

“Oh- okay, then,” Ms. Sabatino smiles bigger than before. She picks up the booklet from earlier and hands it to Frankie. “Read this over- they’re just some little rules we’ve established to keep the environment thriving for our kids. We’ve never had any issues before…besides last semester… but yeah, it’s just a precautionary measure. Thank you so much again, Frankie, and please if it does get too much, do not hesitate to let me know if you’d like to quit.” 

He looks down to the book in his hand. The Rebels Guide - PTA Addition. He’s definitely not cut out for this. “Thank you, Ms. Sabatino. I’ll let you know. And I really appreciate you considering me for this. You have a good rest of your day,” Frankie says as he exits.

What the fuck am I doing? He thinks to himself as he gets himself into his car. 

The rule book stares at Frankie as he drives. Stopped at a red light, he decides to place it in the glove compartment of his car. He’ll grab it later. For now, he needs it out of his view before he spirals.

Saturday, August 17th. Semester Pregame Day. 

You’re in the middle of picking out your outfit when a flood of texts come through your phone. 

[5:47PM Linda] You bitches ready?!

[5:48PM Leah] I’ve been ready, just waiting on Mr. Lightweight to get here… 

[5:48PM Blake] Yeah okay, I’m not giving you a ride anymore, good luck.

[5:49PM Leah] Blake, I’m kidding, get your ass over here. 

[5:49PM Blake] I’ve been outside, smartass. 

[5:53PM Leah] Linda, we’re on the way to you. Ms. Powerhouse, are you sure you don’t want a ride? 

[5:55PM] Please do not call me that.. And yes, I’m sure! I’m still picking out what I’m gonna wear to be honest. I think I’m gonna be a few minutes late. 

[5:56PM Linda] OOOOO GIRL ARE YOU TRYING TO GET LAID?

[5:57PM Leah] 👀

[5:57PM Leah] Blake is driving, but he also would like to say: 👀

[5:58PM] Umm. No. I can’t make myself look nice for my friends? 

[5:58PM Linda] In this world? Not without a motif, no. 

[5:59PM] Wow. 

[5:59PM] Okay, I’ve gotta finish getting ready. See you guys in a bit. 

You toss your phone on your bed, not wanting to make yourself any later than you already are. They are right, you don’t necessarily have to get all dressed up. And it’s not like you’re getting laid anytime soon, let alone tonight. Right? Gosh, it’s been a hot minute since you’ve had any action. Well, okay, if you count your trustee wand, then it’s been about an hour since you’ve got some… but human interaction? Yeah, no. 

You shake away the deprived thoughts your new friends planted in your brain settling for a sage green tank top with a lace lining at your chest. Something casual yet not too casual, slightly flashy but not too flashy. And since it’s in the middle of August, you decide on some black jean shorts. 

It’s 6:15 by the time you head in your car. They wanted to get there around 6:30, so you’re not too far behind after all. It definitely helps that the bar they chose was a seven minute drive. 

When you enter the bar, you spot the trio immediately, huddled by a tall table, all already cheering with shots. Linda spots you with a squeal, sending Leah to grab another round with a fourth shot this time. 

With the mischievous party glint in her eyes, already you can tell what kind of night you’re going to have. One that makes you think maybe you should’ve caught a ride. 

The first shot goes down roughly, an immediate fiery burn sliding down your throat as Linda shoves a lime in your mouth afterwards. “Tequiiilllaaaa shootttsss!!” She sings, already on her fourth to your first. 

The second and third round slides down much smoother, your entire body beginning to heat up from its effects. Tequila has always had a fast effect on you, making you buzzed after one shot and effectively fucking you up after the third. Maybe you were a lightweight. Nonetheless, you indulge in one more peer-pressured round from Linda before you settle on a sugary sweet mixed drink paired with a glass of ice cold water.

Linda disappears to the small dance floor while Blake convinces the people at the pool table to let him join. It’s just you and Leah at the table now, talking here and there, but mainly just watching the other two have their fun from afar. 

“So how long have you guys been doing this?” You shout over the loud music. Once the clock hit 7pm, the music was definitely hitting the threshold for ear damage. 

Leah looks at you with a genuine smile. She’s content watching her friends be social butterflies. She has them in her presence and that’s all that matters. “We’ve been doing this for a few years now, really. Linda was at the school first, then I got hired a semester after her. Then Blake got hired a semester after me. And because we were all relatively new, we all just sort of- gravitated towards each other,” she explains. “I don’t know what I’d do without them, honestly. In and outside of the school, those two are very important in my life,” she breathes in a sniffle, quiet enough to go unheard, but since you’re watching her, you catch it in combination with a tear she sneakily wipes away. 

It’s your turn for your eyes to gloss up. “That’s really beautiful,” you tell her. 

Leah laughs a little. “Yeah. But don’t tell them though. I’ll have to strangle you,” she says in a mock sternness. Weirdly enough, you think there’s truth behind that. 

You pull your hands up in a surrendering motion, “Promise,” you respond with a smirk. “I’m gonna go get another drink. Want?”

“What are you getting?”

“Was honestly just gonna sip on beer and water the rest of the night. I’m tapped out.”

“Me too,” she grins. “I’ll get what you get.”

Making your way up to the bartender, you politely wait until she comes up to you. “What can I get you, doll?”

“Two beers, please, and also two waters, but can you give me the waters after I set the beers down at my table?” you ask a little shyly. 

The bartender gives you a sweet smile. “I got you, honey.”

She hands you the beers, and you make your way to Leah. “I gotta grab the waters real fast, give me one second,” you say, already whipping around and making your way back. 

In that short span of time, the bartender was met with a crowd of needy newly aged adults, swarming her with requests. She looks at you, but you give her a nod, signaling it’s okay. 

Two minutes, she mouths. 

You sit down on the stool in front of you while you wait, turning to check on Leah. Her eyes are back on her friends, a warmth radiating from her smile. Only now, you’re a part of her rotation, and the warmth is reciprocated to you, too. And to think you were hesitant with this bunch. 

As you sit and wait for the bartender, a group of four rowdy men take up the bar space beside you. One of them even bumps into your side, and you’re quick to jump. “Hey, watch it!” You yell over the noise. 

A large hand grabs onto the guy’s shoulder and pulls him away from you. The bar is loud, but it doesn’t stop his deep gruff from blessing your ears. “Benny, watch where you’re fucking going, man!”

“Oh, shit,” the tall, lean man turns to you. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention..” he starts. You can feel the man fight for his life to stay on your eyes. He darts to your lips for a millisecond before he brings them back up. “Can I… Let me buy you a drink? To apologize?” He smirks like he just pulled the smoothest flirt attempt ever. Your eyebrows furrow in annoyance, but before you can say anything, the large hand from earlier is pulling the man—Benny, apparently—away from you and to the other end where their other friends are. “Pendejo,” he mutters under his breath towards his friend. 

You stifle a giggle. The man, your savior, finally actually looks at you, and at first he was going to ask if you understood what he said, but the moment your eyes meet, it’s like all the airflow was vacuumed clean out of his lungs, leaving him mentally gasping like a fish out of water. Physically, though, he keeps it cool. Or, at least, tries to. 

“Hi- uh, I’m- I’m Frankie- look, I’m real sorry about my friend back there, he can be real stupid sometimes,” he mutters, his rosy cheeks bright on display, no alcohol to blame it on. 

As he rambles, only then are you able to get a good look at this man—at Frankie, he calls himself. A baseball cap sits on his head, hiding what you can make out as curly hair. The dim light of the bar ruins your view slightly, but you are both near the warm light that emanates from the side of the bar, so your view is not completely obstructed. You can see beautiful brown, puppy dog eyes with a pretty scruff that grows haphazardly across his cheeks and jaw, and above his lip, too. 

“Don’t worry about it, Frankie,” you manage as you look up at him. He’s still standing. You’re sitting on an elevated bar seat, and you still have to crane your neck. Good lord, he’s tall. You introduce yourself with a smile, holding your hand out for him to take. You have to fight your body not to shudder at the warmth of his hand. 

Little do you know, he’s also fighting the same battle as you. 

“Can I get you a drink, Frankie?” you ask. Usually you’d never do this, but there is just something about him. You need to know more. 

“Uh,” you see him flush, an internal battle going on in his brain. Is it the battle of the so-called bro-code where he can’t hit on you because his friend did or because he should be offering you a drink? 

He looks back to his friend. Yup, the bro-code. You quirk your brow at him. 

“Yeah, okay,” he says with a grin as he perches himself to the bar seat beside you. “I’ll have a beer,” he tells you. 

“Coming right up,” you smirk, winking at him before you try and regain the bartender’s attention. 

You text Leah a quick I’m sorry, to which she replies with the eyes emoji again along with a winky face. Of course she saw everything. 

The bartender comes to you and apologizes for earlier with the other group and then apologizes again when she admits she completely forgot to come back to you. She tells you this round of beers for you and Frankie are on the house. You try to tip her, but she doesn’t accept. 

Frankie is really nice. Really handsome…and sexy…but you try to ignore the heat tingling between your legs because of the fact that Frankie is really nice. 

As your two beers listen in on your conversation, untouched and sweaty, you’ve come to learn a good amount about Frankie. Like the fact that he’s a bashful boy, but you can tell he has no problem getting what he wants when the confidence strikes him. You’ve been witness to it a few times tonight—a hand on your knee there, a tucking of your hair behind your ear here, a long glance at your lips as you lick the residual drip of your drink—and it does nothing to calm your core’s ache. 

The one that really sent you over the edge though was when he made you laugh particularly hard, your reaction was to lean into him. He took the opportunity to grab onto your seat and pull you against him, his thick highs entrapping both of yours.

“Oh-!” you gasp involuntarily, your eyes immediately searching for his. His gaze is dark, and so is yours. 

Although quite nervous, Frankie’s confidence has spiked being in your presence. His thumb and forefinger come up to your chin, steadying and making your heartbeat erratic all in one. He leans closer in, the tips of each of your noses a hair’s width away. “You’re intoxicating,” he whispers.

“I could say the same thing about you,” you whisper back, feeling lightheaded and not from the alcohol coursing through your veins. “Been dying for you to touch me since you pulled your friend away,” you admit.

You see his Adam's apple bob in his throat. He looks past you, eyeing the single stall bathroom. You scanned the place earlier, you know where he’s looking. Tapping his thigh for him to look at you again, you give him a look of understanding before you break away from his grasp. 

He faces the bar again, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. He catches Santi and the Millers staring at him from the pool table they took over. Santi shoots Frankie a wink while Benny looks like a puppy who’s been kicked to the curb. Frankie really couldn’t care less right now. 

Satisfied with the little window of time he gave, he stands from his seat, taking one more swig of beer before he makes his way to you. He knocks on the door softly, and you open it right away, pulling him in and immediately shutting it again. 

Like a calculated dance, his hand goes back to lock the door while your hand grasps onto the fabric of his shirt at his chest, pulling his body flush against yours. Your hands take their time in coasting the plain of his broad chest and shoulders. Your thighs clench at the sensation.

His lips meet yours for the first time tonight, and he can feel every nerve in his body spark with electricity. Your lingering taste of all the drinks you had this evening mixed with a flavor he thinks is distinctly you consumes each of his senses. 

Oh, you have him wrapped around your pretty little finger and you don’t even know it yet. 

He walks forward, backing you into the bathroom sink. 

You hop up on your own, your legs spreading without any forethought for his broad form. His hands coast the expanse of your body, settling at your ass on the counter as he pulls you tighter into his body, your center coming into contact with this hardness. He practically growls into your mouth at the heat he feels radiating from you. 

“Fuck, querida,” he moans, his teeth chasing your bottom lip. 

“Frankie,” you beg. For what, you’re not entirely sure. 

“Can I taste you?” He breathes heavily against your lips, fingers twitching to take action. 

Fuck. “Ye- yeah- yeah, okay,” you stutter, eyes wide. Getting eaten out probably has to be one of your favorite things in the whole world, yet, with your dating history, it’s a rare occurrence. Your last boyfriend was disgusted by it, and your last girlfriend ended up cheating on you. So. Your experience of receiving oral was rare, and God did you miss it. 

Frankie mistakes your surprise as fear. “Are- are you sure? I don’t have to, not if you’re not comfortable,” he says sincerely. He starts to pull away, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, but you’re quick to grab onto him. 

“No, no, I’m sorry, that’s not what I-” you laugh a little breathlessly before looking into his soft eyes again. “Yes, Frankie, please. Please, I want your mouth on me,” you say, tone a little needy on the backend. “You just took me by surprise, is all,” you whisper. 

“Surprise?” He can’t stop his curiosity. 

“I- I don’t know, guys don’t usually like-”

You don’t get to finish your statement before Frankie’s face turns angry. He places a heady kiss to your lips before he brings his mouth down your jaw, your neck. “So what you’re saying is,” he starts, his breath tickling your neck. If you weren’t propped up on the counter, you’d be on the floor with how weak your legs feel. Making his way down, he places a soft kiss in between your breasts. “This pretty little thing hasn’t been treated properly in a long, long time?” He asks as he kneels down, his eyes looking up and devouring you in your entirety. 

“How do you even know she’s pretty?” You quip back, matching his energy. 

“Oh, I know she’s fucking gorgeous based on the rest of you,” he purrs, fingers working your button and zipper. He hooks his fingers at the waist, and you lift your hips to help him. 

“You flatter me,” you shakily say as you try to tease, your resolve starting to break. 

Frankie smirks up at you before his entire demeanor changes upon seeding your exposed lower half. His face falls into astonishment, as if he just won the damn lottery, as if his last fucking meal was just placed in front of him. “What’d I say?” He mutters to himself. “Fucking gorgeous,” he answers his own question before he gives you no time to respond as he dives right in, the flat of his tongue licking a slow wide stripe up your glistening went cunt. 

“Oh, fuck,” a loud moan leaves you, your head falling back as you relish in the immediate pleasure that shoots up your spine. 

Frankie reluctantly breaks away to look at you, to check up on you, but your body is still shocked from the pleasure, and he grins, cheeks full of mischief. He hums to himself before he goes back in. “Fucking delicious, too.” 

“Jesus, shit-” you murmur, trying to brace yourself for what you know is going to utterly ruin you.

He licks through your folds once more, slow and steady, calculated, measuring every small twitch and whimper that your body produces. His tongue moves up to your clit, circling around the area reveling in the way your breathing speeds up and your hips buck. Even with your movements chasing for more, he remains steadfast in his ministrations. 

He continues his tease until he hears you huff. You’re getting impatient. “Baby, please,” you whine. “Please don’t tease,” you pout at him then, and whether it’s real or a ploy to get him to give in, how can Frankie say no to that face? 

Without lifting from your cunt, Frankie switches from slow passes around your bud to attaching directly on it, suckling and flicking the sharp tip of his tongue across you. Your legs writhe under his expert touch, your hand flying to the baseball cap to his head and flinging it off to rake your fingers through his wild curls. He groans into you the second he feels your grip, his pace faltering for just a moment before he finds his way again. 

Frankie detaches from you, dragging his tongue downward to your folds to lap up your slick. The squelch your pussy makes when his tongue makes contact is sinful. He lets his mouth wrap as much as he can around you, his tongue prodding at your entrance, testing your limits.

“Oh, Frankie, yes-” you lament, your hand pulling his face tight against your core as your hips force his pink muscle inside. His cock is definitely at full mast now, especially with how reactive you are for him. Your eyes are entirely white as you repeat his name like a prayer, your hips frantically meeting the thrusts of his tongue. 

You grip tighter into his locks, angling his head slightly down, and fuckfuckfuck you squeal loudly, this angle causes his nose to nudge at your sensitive nerves perfectly with each push of his tongue inside of you. 

“I’m c-close, Frankie- fuck- I’m gonna cum, baby, I’m gonna fucking cum- oh my God-” you practically scream, your body losing all strength as you fall back into the counter behind you, Frankie licking everything up while he tries to fuck you through your orgasm. 

The vibrations of his moaning sends you into overdrive, and you’re so spaced out you don’t even realize Frankie’s been desperately humping nothing, bringing himself to an orgasm the same time as you. He lifts off from you completely, his breathing labored as his chin threatens to drip your arousal to the ground. Frankie’s fingers reach for his face, collecting up the residue only for him to bring it back up to his mouth. The sound of him sucking his fingers up like he just ate the sauciest of wings brings you back to reality, pulling your body up weakly as your eyes go wide when you realize what Frankie’s doing. 

Your cheeks heat up, but your ability to tease is back. “That good, huh?” 

“Finger lickin’, baby,” he says lazily. 

He rises from his knees only for you to then notice the wet spot at his crotch. “Frankie-” you start. 

“Yes, yes I did,” he finishes, knowing the question you were going to ask. 

He bends down to pick up his hat, swiftly placing it back on his head while he grabs your shorts, putting them gently back in place. 

“You okay?” He checks in. 

You melt under his sweet attention. “Never better,” you beam. 

You two stand there in each other’s presence before you finally pipe up. “So how do you wanna…” you trail off. 

“You wanna head out first? I got a bit of a… mess to clean up anyway,” he says, gesturing to himself. 

“Oh! Right, yeah. Okay,” you say awkwardly, as if his tongue wasn’t just inside of you. “I’ll see you out there,” you add as you turn around, opening the door just enough to slip out. 

You stand there for a moment, giving yourself a second to register what the fuck just happened. You did not let a man you just met go down on you? At a bar, no less?! 

You make your way to the bartender, needing an ice cold glass of water to cool you off. Your head is spinning, and it’s really not because of the alcohol anymore. But you blame the substance anyway. 

Hearing the bathroom door creak, you turn around to see a blushing Frankie, his hat off his head and his hand shielding the wet patch between his legs. He sees you at the bar and he smiles, walking in your direction. However, before he can reach you, Linda magically appears in your face, drunk as shit and louder than you’ve ever experienced. 

“There you are, silly!! Where’d you run off to?? Been looking for you, I swear it’s been like an hour!!!” 

You look at Frankie over her shoulder, and he pauses in his tracks. You give him an apologetic smile. Before he can say it’s okay, the friends he was with finds him and drags him into a game of pool. 

“Hey, sorry!” You scream over the music. “Just needed some time, it got a bit too loud in here,” you lie. You’re too overstimulated—in many ways as your clit throbs against the fabric of your wet panties—to handle more ridicule from these three. “I think I’m gonna head home now, though, I’m kind of tired,” you tell her. “Where’s Blake and Leah?” 

She drags you back to your guys’ table, urging one more round of shots. You go with her to the bar to order the round, mouthing to the bartender to make yours water. She winks at you, and hands you your glass directly while Leah impressively holds the other three with a drunken ease. 

When Frankie finally spots you, happy and laughing with your friends, he smiles to himself and decides not to interrupt your time. He can find you later. 

Except, he doesn’t.

Monday, August 19th. 

Sunday was a blur. It was spent downing more water to flush out your body while surfing every account on every social media platform you have for a Frankie in your area. 

No luck. Of course. 

Frankie’s Sunday was spent the exact same way, too, although he is much less tech savvy and his attempt only lasted an hour before he gave up and spent the rest of his day moping. 

“¿Qué pasa, papi?” What’s wrong, daddy? Elena had asked him as she scarfed down her eggs. 

“Estoy bien, mi amorcito,” I’m okay, my love, Frankie responded with a kiss on her head. 

Elena didn’t bug further, but he knew she would soon. 

Monday morning, Elena was way too eager for her new school, forcing her father up and making breakfast an entire hour before they actually needed to get up. Somehow, Elena even convinced Frankie to leave the house half an hour before they needed to leave, forcing them to wait in the empty parking lot until any sign of life emerged. 

Elena buries her nose in a book, while Frankie sat there, watching the minutes tick by. As he stared at the building, red accents and Home of the Rebels painted in big white letters, he’s suddenly reminded of what Ms. Sabatino asked him. 

He reaches over and grabs the handbook out of the glove compartment. He flips open to the first page to the table of contents, and the first section, written in italicized, bold letters catches his eye: 

Ground Rules

He flips to the page. 

He scans through each bullet point, each one feeling more and more like common sense, but with the way the principal described these parents, he realizes how necessary these so-called rules are. 

His eyes scan the last bullet point, and he can’t help but bite back a laugh. 

No parent-teacher relations. Parent will be kicked off the PTA. Teacher will be reprimanded. NO exceptions. 

He flips through several more pages when Elena lets out a piercing shriek. “AHH! DADDY, DADDY, LET’S GO,” she’s jumping up and down as much as she can while being belted in her car seat. Frankie looks up to see a bustling crowd of children and their guardian. He sees Ms. Sabatino in the mix. 

“Alright, alright, mi vida (my life), I’m coming,” Frankie soothes, giving a softer tone of voice that hopefully she mirrors. He gets out of the car and opens the passenger door behind him, unbuckling Elena and setting her down to the ground, grabbing her backpack and shuffling it onto her back. 

Ms. Sabatino catches sight of Frankie and Elena, and excitedly makes her way over. She bends down to Elena’s level. “Good morning!! You must be Elena Morales, yes?” 

“YES-” she stops herself and clears her throat. “Yes! Yes, that’s me!” She says, a decibel calmer. 

Ms. Sabatino warms at her eagerness. “It’s very lovely to meet you, Elena, I’m Ms. Sabatino, the principal here!” She holds out her hand for Elena to shake. She takes it eagerly. 

“It’s very nice to meet you!” Elena emphasizes, putting on her best charm. Frankie chuckles. 

Ms. Sabatino rises. “Mr. Morales, it’s great to see you again!” He nods his head with a smile and a soft likewise. “May I walk you both to her class? I’d like to introduce you to her new teacher,” she directs the question towards both of them. 

Elena looks elated. She turns around to look her father in the eye, Frankie’s very own signature puppy dog eyes reflected back to him. He doesn’t even need to hear the question to know what her answer would be if she pulls this card. “Oh, papi, please will you come?” 

“Of course, baby,” he says, caressing the apple of her cheeks before she cheers in victory. 

“Great!” Ms. Sabatino says with a clap to her hands. “Right this way.”

On the way to Elena’s new class, Ms. Sabatino really praises her new teacher. Apparently, she’s the best of the best. One of their newest hires, but she’s practically a veteran when it comes to teaching prodigal children. She’s a powerhouse, Ms. Sabatino calls her. He gets the feeling that the teacher doesn’t really like that label much. 

When Ms. Sabatino opens the door to his classroom, the teacher is immediately there to introduce herself and welcome in little Elena. 

Frankie really doesn’t know what happens next besides the fact that his heart thoroughly stops and Elena’s voice is a muffled daddy, what’s wrong? throughout his panicked mind. 

What’s wrong? He thinks. 

What’s wrong is that Elena’s new teacher is you. 

And he is absolutely, wholeheartedly, positively screwed.

Fuck. 

I hope you liked the first chapter of my new series, New Beginnings!🥹🥹 I poured everything I have into this story, and I’ve been so eager to share it with the rest of you. I hope you are able to love it as much as I do.

Follow & turn on notifs for @endlessthxxghtsnotifs to know exactly when a new chapter comes out!🫶

Comments/reblogs or any kind of feedback to let me know what you think is my favorite part about putting out a story!! Please let me know your thoughts!!! I love you all so much, and thank you for the endless support you all show me. I wouldn’t be here without you.

Floral dividers on top & bottom courtesy of @saradika-graphics <3 section dividers in middle of fic made by me!

#endless thoughts fics #pedro pascal #pedrohub #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #smut #pedrostories #one shot #fic #smut fic #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #francisco morales x f!reader #francisco morales smut #francisco morales #frankie morales fluff #fic: new beginnings

[ellieslittlewh0re]

Temptations - stepsister! ellie x fem reader

wk- 3.5k

summary- reader and ellie visit home for the summer after their time away at collage

additional tags: IM SORRY!! I know this is pushing it but it can’t be inc*st if they’re not blood related right? 🙃, reader is Joel’s bio daughter, sarah doesn’t exists in this bc I said so, ellie is adopted, rocker! ellie, band! ellie, loser! ellie, perv! ellie, weed! mention, ellie is kinda awful in this, like typical f*ck boy beat, reader and ellie are polar opposites so they kinda don’t get along, reader is a overachiever, ellie is a deadbeat, nothing too crazy happens in this part, masturbation! warning (ellie), no physical description of reader, mutual pinning and gay longing etc…

part 1 - part 2

psa!! I know this isn’t for everyone!! If you don’t like it, don’t read it!! 🥰

——————————————————————————

The sweltering blaze of the summer Texas sun made my thighs stick to the leather seat of my 97' Buick as I exited the car.

I looked up at the pale yellow house, peeled siding, and a crooked white picket fence hugging the perimeter. It was familiar. It was home. Memories, good and bad, rested in the floorboards.

I stood in the driveway, the strap of my tank loosely hung off my shoulder, backpack slung over one arm, and the other weighed down by a suitcase.

"Hey- kiddo! You're late."

A man shouted from the front porch, waving his hand excitedly.

"I know. I'm sorry. Traffic was bad moving' through Houston." I gave the old man an apologetic smile as he met me halfway, pulling me in for a familiar embrace of musk and pine.

"Jus' glad you made it safe, is all. Dinners on the table. Hope yer hungry- I think I made too much." Joel gave me a smile, the wrinkles on his face looked deeper than I remembered.

He escorts me into the house, taking my bags from me and relieving me of the extra weight.

The house looks the same, but at the same time different. Smaller maybe? The furniture was in the same positions, the walls the same color, although slightly faded from the years.

"Can you go get yer sister? Tell her supper s' ready." The man asks as he turns to the staircase off the entry, bags in hand to put them in my old bedroom.

I tense, my body physically rejecting the idea of my sister- well, step sister.

I was hoping to make it here before she did, give me a few hours of peace before she'd ultimately ruin it.

When Ellie came into this family, it didn't take long for me to become jealous. She quickly clicked with Joel, bonding with him over things that he took an interest in; building shelves, working on cars, hell, even playing guitar.

It's not like I thought my dad loved Ellie more or anything. I knew I'd always be his little girl that got perfect grades and stayed out of trouble, but seeing how his face lit up when Ellie was by his side, grease smeared on her cheek made me heart seare.

I start to head up the stairs, following Joel's lead when I remembered she hasn't slept up there since she was a kid.

During Ellie's angsty teen years, she had begged Joel for days to let her move her bedroom in the basement, claiming "a growing girl needs her own space."

Joel always shot her down, but Ellie wouldn't let up. One night when I couldn't sleep, I got out of bed to get something to drink only to be met with Ellie's 16 year old string bean self pushing her mattress over the railing, and ever since then, the basement has been her territory.

I turn, slowly waking towards the door off of the kitchen that led to said basement, not a hint of enthusiasm in my step.

I creaked open the heavy door, and the wooden steps creaked beneath my feet with each step. Sounds of electronic gunshots and disgruntled curses grew louder as I reached the bottom.

I extend my neck around the corner of the cement room, clothes and empty cans scattered on the floor, music and movie posters filling every inch of the wall surface.

"Els...Ellie." I repeat her name, but she doesn't acknowledge it, her focus never straying from the first person shooter game on the tv. The LED lights that outlined the room turned the space into a purple hue.

My patience wearing thin, I yell her name one last time.

"What?!" Ellie huffed, tearing off the headset that covered her ears and looked at me.

"Dinner is ready." I said plainly, rolling my eyes before going back up the stairs.

"What? I don't even get a hello?"

Ellie yells from her still seated position, a cockiness tingled on her lips.

I scoff, rolling my eyes even harder even if she couldn't witness it. I picture that familiar smug smirk on her face that she had whenever she was trying to piss me off, and it was working.

Ellie loved toying with you like this since you were 16, and she was 17, poking and prodding at you as she sat back, and watched you get worked up. Ellie would never admit it to you, but she loved how no matter how little she tried to rile you up; you'd always bite.

"How's yer classes going? Likin' your teachers alright?" Joel asked between bites of his burger, his eyes glancing at me and over to Ellie, more specifically towards Ellie.

"Good... yeah, everything's good." I nod towards him, giving him a sincere smile to assure him.

Joel winked, smiling back like he knew he could count on me when it came to that sort of thing.

Ellie didn't respond, too busy shoving food in her face which made Joel kick her under the table, jolting her attention away from her plate.

"Ow! What the hell?" Ellie yelled, throwing her hands up.

"Yer classes, Ellie. How are you doin'?" The man asked, a seriousness overtaking his tone.

Ellie groaned, throwing her head back over the top of the wooden dining chair.

"They're fine. Stop worryin'." Ellie gave him a glare before diverting her attention back to her food.

I watch her from across the table, my legs crossed as I quietly ate which was the complete opposite of her.

Ellie's elbows rested on the oak table, her body slightly hunched as she devoured every last bite like she was a starved animal.

I stood at the sink, washing a cup when I felt a hand grab my hip from behind.

"Sorry- here's another one." Ellie talked into my neck, her fingers digging into my hip slightly. Her chest brushed against my back, and her lips too close to my neck. It felt suffocating.

I hadn't realized her presence had me washing the same cup for the entire interaction.

"Hey, Ellie-"

Joel's voice boomed, interrupted into the kitchen, causing Ellie to push herself away quickly.

Joel stood in the archway, his forearm coming up to lean against it.

"I haven't been down in the basement for a long time- please sleep upstairs. I don't need ya gettin' bit by a widow or somthin'."

Ellie groaned, her eyes lolling back into her skull, but she didn't argue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner was long over. Joel retreated into his bed room for the night, placing a kiss on the top of my head before doing so.

I was sitting on the couch; the tv show I was watching was the only source of light that illuminated the main floor.

It was quiet and peaceful, Ellie had gone back down to her dungeon shortly after dinner, playing video games by the sounds of it.

My quiet was disturbed as the heavy basement door swung open, revealing a homely looking Ellie. Her sweatpants hung low on her hips, checkered green and blue boxers peaking above the waistband, and black wifebeater that snugged her torso.

"Isn't past your bed time, young lady?" Ellie teased as she opened the fridge, pulling out a beer before lazily making her way to the living room.

"Who cut your hair, Hellen Keller?" I snapped right back, a smirk on my lips as she took a seat on the opposite end of the couch.

"Oh- ha. Ha. You're funny."

Ellie pulled a lighter out of the pocket of her pants, using the top to pop open the cap of the brown bottle.

Her chuckle was low and raspy as she brought the rim of the bottle to her lips, her head dipping back as she swallowed the liquid.

Ellie had changed a lot since the last time I saw her, almost two years ago. Her hair is shorter, choppier, and a darker shade of brown, almost black.

Ellie is also taller and more muscular like she really grew into herself. Her face has hardened, her cheeks and jaw more apparent than before.

I sneak peeks at her, looking her over and familiarize myself with my step sisters new look. My eyes travel down to the dark green-blue ink that covered her forearm, a moth with fern leaves. It was pretty, almost too delicate looking compared to her, but it suited her.

My eyes scale down further to her hands, long fingers and a prominent veins that curved along. I have to give it to her, she always had beautiful hands.

"Take a picture it will last longer."

Ellie's voice jolted me out of my trance, my head quickly turning back to the tv.

I try to think of something- anything to cover my tracks.

"Don't get cocky- I was looking at your tattoo. It's nice... who did it?"

Ellie lifted her arm, turning it over to observe it.

"My ex. She bought a tattoo gun online and needed someone to practice on." Ellie said nonchalantly, shrugging before looking back up at the tv.

"Well- she did good. Why is she your ex now? You should've kept her around and gotten tatted up." I ask with genuine interest.

Ellie shrugged, taking another sip of her beer.

"Dunno- We kinda just fell out? Plus she caught me with another chick and freaked out." Ellie stated, not a hint of guilt after just admitting she's a cheater.

Somehow it didn't surprise me after all the girls she'd bring home after school. I'd see the same girl come over a few times within the week, only for the girl to be replaced by a different girl, and the cycle continued like that until she left for college.

"You think your big sis is a bad person now?" Ellie asked, a grin on her lips and she took another sip.

"It doesn't make me think of you any differently." I lied. It did make me think of her differently; I started to imagine what her sex life was like.

What's so great about her? That had these girls constantly following her home like a lost puppy. Surely, it's not her sunshine personality.

My mind flicks back to her hands, my eyes still glued to the tv. Her long and rough, calloused fingers must be the magic touch.

Ellie hummed at my response unconvincingly. The light from the tv illuminated the freckles on her cheeks and nose.

"The fuck are we watching anyways? Some cheesy reality show? Wait- is this the gay one?"

Ellie's voice piqued in interest, her back shimming further back into the cushion to her comfortable.

"Um- yeah, why?"

I ask, side eyeing her, not really understanding what the big deal was.

********

The big deal was; Ellie never knew if you were into girls; or not. She tried to figure it out for years, carefully observing the people you brought home for school. You didn't make it easy, and truthfully you were kinda a loner, only having a few close friends that you'd invite over.

Although there was that one time; you came home from school with a different girl that Ellie had never seen before, and when Ellie tried introducing herself, you quickly took the mystery girl's hand in yours and ran upstairs, locking the two of you in your bedroom.

Ellie fought herself over it for a long time, trying to picture you with a girl. She wondered if you had kissed another girl, held another girl's hand, and it drove Ellie fucking insane.

Ellie had a dark secret that she wouldn't dare say out loud and definitely would never let you know about it.

Ellie started thinking about you a lot after you turned 16, and they were almost never innocent thoughts. When you turned 16 it was like Aphrodite came down to earth and blessed you herself.

Ellie wasn't proud that she had these thoughts, I mean, you were her little sis after all, but it didn't stop her from picturing you whenever she fucked random college girls in the fraternity bathrooms.

********

Ellie shushed my question, motioning for me to turn it up and I do.

Four episodes in, both of us were dead silent as we watched the horror that is reality tv dating shows. We shared glances at each other whenever one of the cast members said something outrageous, but other than that, we just watched and enjoyed the presence of one another.

It was getting late, my eyes grew heavy and harder to keep open.

"Alright- it's gettin' late, and I have to shower still. Pick this up tomorrow?" I pause the tv and stand up with a yawn.

Ellie pleaded for one episode, holding her hands in a prayer. I stand my ground, promising her we can binge it tomorrow and that seemed to work.

We go up the stairs, Ellie following close behind as we mumble goodnights to each other before we go into our designated bedrooms.

I rummage through my suitcase, pulling out a over sized t-shirt and underwear.

I turn on the light in the bathroom, closing the door, but not all the way. It was a bad habit that I never grew out of, leaving the bathroom door open a few inches whenever I took a shower or bath. I did it because growing up, I was terrified of the bathroom, scared I'd get locked in and somehow the lights go out, and the grudge lady would be hiding in the shower.

I slip off my jeans and my tank, dropping them to the floor and turn on the water. I wait, holding my hand under the stream until the temperature was up to my standards.

I get in, letting the hot water soothe my aching muscles from sitting in a car all day. I felt the tenseness of my shoulders relax and my heart rate slowing down to a more relaxed pace.

***********

Ellie laid in bed, her arm folding under her head as the springs in the mattress poked her back. She scrolled through various apps, checking social media, playing games and repeating.

The sound of the water running in the room down the hall could be heard faintly in Ellie's old bedroom. The walls were still painted a dark shade of blue, with doodles of planets and rockets hand painted by Ellie herself.

Joel couldn't bring himself to paint over them.

The joint (or a few joints) Ellie smoked after dinner; was starting to kick in and made her crave some sort of barbaric concoction.

Pickles with peanut butter, maybe?

Ellie sighed, lifting her myself from the bed lazily, scratching the back of her neck before she turned the nob.

Ellie entered the long stretch of the hall, passing your bedroom the illuminated with a soft pink hue. Coming up on the bathroom, she paused.

At first, she wanted to tease you, to scold you for still keeping the bathroom open when you showered. You weren't a little kid anymore, and you needed to grow up in Ellie's mind.

On the other hand, Ellie was intrigued. She found herself peeking through the gap, the steamed glass door of the shower made it hard to make out details, but it was enough.

She felt wrong about it. One part of her was pulling her body away, telling her to stop looking, but the other part of her (the more fucked up part) couldn't look away.

Her eyes trailed up the profile of your body; pausing momentarily at points of interest.

Ellie didn't know it at the time, but she was biting down on her lip hard as she looked at the curve of your ass, plump and full, and the way your tits sat so high and perky.

Her hand coming down to cup her cunt, rolling her wrist against her clit. A moan escapes her lips as she continued to watch.

The sound of the water shutting off made Ellie snap back to her senses. She quickly backed away from the door and as quickly and quietly, as she could, made her way back to her bedroom and shut the door.

She fell into the mattress, taking a deep and shaky breath as she realizes what she's done. A wave of guilt washed over her- no, more like a tsunami. You were her step sisters, and even worse you've know eachother since Ellie was 14 and you were 13. You practically grew up together, but how would've Ellie known you'd grow into that.

Ellie couldn't deny she thought you were beautiful. Not just the fake, superficial type of beauty, but naturally, you were breathtaking to her, and your body matched.

As Ellie conflicted with herself, she continued to picture you. She imagined what you looked like underneath her, what you sounded like when she was splitting you open.

The guilt was replaced by lust and hormones, but mostly; lust.

Her hand crept down to the hemp of her boxers, slipping inside. Her other hand grabbed the bottom of her tank and brought it up to hold between her teeth- leaving her breasts exposed.

Ellie's fingers glided along her folds, coating them in her slick. She teased her entrance, rubbing gentle circles around her clit.

"Fuuuck- look what you do t' me, y/n" Ellie stifled a moan, dropping the fabric from her teeth as her middle finger sunk into her pussy, pumping in and out, slowly.

She moaned your name; over and over, adding another finger and quickening the pace.

The scene was honestly pathetic. Ellie's sweats and boxers tugged down to her knees, not bothering to take them off completely. Her breasts were the only thing holding the tank up, her hardened nipples- red and swollen as she harshly tugged at them.

"Fuu- your s-so wet, baby. You like when I fuck you like this? Huh?" Ellie babbled and stuttered, gritting through her teeth as she reached closer to her peak.

She pictured this is what you felt like as she sunk her fingers inside, curling against the spongy walls, hitting the spot that made you squirm with each pump.

She wanted to hear you beg, wanted to hear you say her name over and over until it didn't sound like a word anymore.

"Fuu-fuckin' bitch- d-dirty fuckin' whore-" Ellie curses, jaw slacked and her eyebrows furrowed upwards. Her rhythm became jagged as her hips bucked upwards, fucking herself through her orgasm.

Ellie panted, sprawled across the bed as bolts of electricity continued to send shock waves through her body.

Her inner thighs glistened, her breasts malled and violated.

It was official, Ellie had hit a new level of fucked up, but that's okay as long as you never find out.

It's not like you had your ear pressed against the wall as soon as you heard strange noises coming from your step sisters bedroom.

#ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie x reader #ellie williams fanfic #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x f!reader #ellie williams the last of us #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams smut #ellie tlou smut #ellie tlou fanfic #ellie williams x afab reader #ellie williams tlou2 #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #tlou x reader #tlou x y/n #tlou x you #ellieslittlewh0re

[xxbimbobunnyxx]

White Rabbit

Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Summary: Rafe goes to Barry for help with his “pouge problem” but he gets more help than he bargained for when he meets Barry’s cousin in the most unsuspecting way. He can’t stay away from her, despite Barry’s protests, especially when she’s just as unhinged as he is. Takes place during season 2 episode 4 “Homecoming”. Wk: 6.9k.(oops)

Warnings: Gun violence(reader shoots a guy but doesn’t kill him), cocaine use(both reader and rafe), Barry is not super stoked about R and Rafe being into each other, unprotected sex, oral (m & f), choking, hair pulling, face fucking, Dom!Rafe, Sub!Reader, unhinged reader, spit kink, digration, daddy kink, a lil spanking, biting, Rafe & R are obsessed with each other, R has the nickname “bunny” & is implied to be alternative, her outfit is described but other than that no physical descriptions. Lmk if I missed any please! 18+MNDI!!

A/N: This is my first time ever writing for Rafe, so it might not be the best ever but I fell for this man so hard and I just needed to write him with an unhinged girl. Shout out to my girl @babygorewhore for not only beta reading but hyping me up/brainstorming with me through this entire fic. I might make this into a series of some sort. Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!✨🖤

Rafe slammed his truck door shut as he walked up to Barry’s porch, scoffing when he saw him sitting there with his feet propped up while he read a book.

“Hey, you got my shit?”

“Shit, you’re early.” Barry closes his book and sets it down on the table in front of him, a condescending smirk spreading across his lips.

“Do you have my shit or not, man?” Rafe groans as he plops his large body down onto the rundown cushion of one of the porch chairs.

“Yeah, I got yo shit.” Barry chuckles, pulling the baggy from his pocket and tossing it on the table. “You got my money?”

“Yeah.” Rafe pulls a wad of cash from his pocket and slaps it into his hand before grabbing the baggy so he can make himself line. He snorts it, letting out a deep breath after. “I need a piece too.”

“Hooohoooo!! You need a piece? Country Club Killer now, huh?” Barry laughs, his hand coming down to slap his knee.

“Don’t!!” Rafe slams his hand on the table. “Mess with me right now.”

“Aight, what the hell you need a piece for?”

“John B is fucking back.”

“John B is fucking dead dude.”

“Nah man, I saw him for myself in the Bahamas, and just now Top saw him in town with my sister scoring beer.”

“FUCK!!!!” Barry kicks the table, sending it flying a few feet away. “Are you fuckin’ kiddin me? I’m done playing with these kids bruh.”

Barry kicks himself up from his seat, walking over to a locker on the side of the porch. He enters the combination before he pulls out a gun and starts to load it.

“You wanna be done with those little shits once and for all? You’re gonna need a lot more than just a piece. You gotta start going at this shit like a soldier.” He spins the barrel, clicking it into place before handing the gun to Rafe.

“You do this, you know I’ll take care of you, alright? You won’t be doing this shit for nothing man I’ll -“

“YOU THINK I’M SCARED OF YOU, YOU LITTLE BITCH?” A male voice came booming from behind the house.

“IF YOU AREN’T NOW, YOU FUCKING WILL BE!” Another voice followed, but this one was unmistakably female.

“Dude, what the fuck was that? Is that chick okay? Should you like - I don’t know - deal with that or some shit?” Rafe’s blue eyes scan the other man’s face for signs of distress but it was almost like if he hadn’t mentioned it, he wouldn’t have even noticed.

“Nah bro, that’s my cousin. She’s got it, stop trippin. We doin’ this or not?”

There’s a loud crash and then he hears the girl's voice again.

“I TOLD YOU TO GET ON YOUR FUCKING KNEES, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!!!!”

“Dude I’m gonna go check it out, that doesn’t sound good.” Rafe isn’t sure why he really gives a shit if this random chick who he hasn’t even seen is alright or not, maybe he’s just high and paranoid. Either way his curiosity gets the best of him and he starts walking towards the back of Barry’s place.

“She doesn’t need your help pretty boy, trust me.” Barry snorts and shakes his head as he begrudgingly follows him.

When Rafe rounds the corner the sight he sees is far from what he was expecting. The man who he heard yelling was shorter than him but more built, probably middle aged, he wore a white tank top and black board shorts and the look in his eyes told him that he was definitely one of Barry’s customers or less reliable dealers. The girl on the other hand? You were half his size, your hair in two braids with ribbons tied at the ends of them, you were wearing a tiny little baby pink tank top and black spandex shorts that barely covered her ass. You had combat boots on your feet that had little white ruffle socks sticking out of the top of them, but what was most shocking? You were holding a Glock in one of your small hands, and the collar of the man’s tank top was gathered in the other. You were standing on your tiptoes whilst also pulling the man down so he was face level with you, the Glock held to his head.

“I said, get on your fucking knees mother fucker, you got a hearing problem or some shit?” You growl at the man and it sends shivers down Rafe’s spine. You were beautiful. He watches as you shove the Glock into the man’s temple and ram your boot clad heel into his thigh causing him to fall to his knees with a grunt.

“Much better.” You smile as you tap his cheek with the gun before bringing it back to the side of his head. “Now, where the fuck is my fucking money?”

“I told you! I told you I don’t fucking have it right now I just need a little time!” The man’s voice is shaky now, his eyes traveling between you and the gun held to his head.

“Time? This isn’t a fucking loan service! Get me my money by tomorrow, or you’re fucked!” Your eyes are filled with fire and you let out a dry laugh.

“What’re you gonna do? Send Barry after me? Where is he at? He knows I always pay, just let me talk to hi-“ He’s cut off abruptly when you hit him across the cheek with the gun.

“SHUT UP!! You’re not fucking talking to Barry, you’re talking to me. If you don’t get my money you aren’t going to have to deal with him, you’re going to have to deal with me. Which I promise you don’t fucking want.” Rafe watches as you lean down into the guy's face, your eyes boring into his, a sinister smile paints your lips, and he isn’t even ashamed of the fact that he felt his cock stir in his pants at your display of dominance over this man twice your size. “Got it??”

“I don’t know how you expect me to get that amount by tomorrow I-“ The man grunts when you hit him in the face with the gun again, his face whipping to the side.

“I said, got it?” You hold the gun between his eyes, your smile never faltering.

“Yeah - yeah! I got it! I got it! Can I go now!?” The man holds his hands by his head in surrender, seemingly not wanting to argue with you further.

“I fucking mean it asshole, tomorrow, by sunset.” You glare at him momentarily before your smile returns, tapping his cheek with the gun again before turning to walk off.

“You aren’t gonna do shit bitch, you’re nothing without that little gun.”

Rafe’s blue eyes widen as he watches the man’s hand reach out and grab for your Glock. He subconsciously takes a step forward in your defense but soon realizes maybe you really don’t need help. Your body whips around, pulling the gun from the guy's reach and shooting him in the foot all in one motion. He screams out in pain, his hands grabbing onto his foot as he falls to the ground.

“Bring me my fucking money. Tomorrow. Or you’re going to be in a lot more pain than that.” You crouch down and spit in the guy's face before walking over him and into the house, letting the door slam shut behind you. Rafe stands there with his dick half hard and his jaw hanging open as he stares at the closed door you just disappeared behind.

“I told you she fuckin’ had it, and don’t even fuckin’ think about it, country club.” Barry’s voice snaps him out of his trance.

“Wha-? Think about what?”

“I see how you’re fuckin’ lookin at her dude, that’s like my sister in there. You stay your messy ass away from her, aight?”

“We should go check on her…” Rafe ignores Barry’s warning, walking towards the house despite his protests.

You let out an agitated groan as you flop down on the couch and toss your Glock on the cushion next to you. You grab a little clear baggy off the coffee table and sprinkle some of the powder onto the small mirror in front of you, using the random gift card you found in your wallet to push a portion of it into a straight line. You grab the rolled dollar bill sitting on the mirror and bring it up to your nose so fucking ready for this line after dealing with that shit head, but right when you bend over the front door slams open, causing you to jump back. Your foot hits the table and the movement makes a mess of your line. You let out a curse under your breath, your eyes rising to glare at your intruder.

You expect Barry, or maybe that fucking idiot really did want to lose a finger today. But instead of the brown eyes of your cousin, or the bloodshot hazel ones of your unreliable dealer, your eyes lock with piercing blue ones. You have to physically stop yourself from gasping at the sight of the man in front of you. He’s tall, really tall, and built, his chest and arms perfectly filling out the blue button up shirt he wore. His chestnut hair looked silky to the touch, his jaw looked perfect for biting, and his face was just all around beautiful. Especially those eyes, the look in them stern. There was something else there you couldn’t quite decipher, it almost seemed possessive.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his voice laced with concern.

“Uh - yeah? Aside from the fact that you just scared the shit out of me and made me knock my line all over the table, I’m just peachy.” You scoff, throwing him a playful smirk and roll of your eyes.

“Country Club here seems to think you’re some kinda damsel in distress or some shit.” Barry walks through the door behind him, smacking his bicep with the back of his hand and laughing loudly.

“Damsel in distress, huh? I don’t think I’d mind if a pretty boy like you came to my rescue.” You bite your bottom lip, your eyes roaming his figure.

“Hell fuckin’ nah! Quit that shit out right now, Bunny. I mean it. I told him the same shit, I don’t want this.” He gestures between you and Rafe. “To be a thing. You two are a recipe for fuckin’ disaster. This is Rafe Cameron, the dude I was tellin’ you about.”

“What the fuck did you tell her about me man?” Rafe’s voice comes out almost panicked and you find yourself wanting to comfort him immediately. You jump up from your seat and walk around the table so you can stand in front of him. He’s even taller up close, you have to tilt your head all the way to meet his eyes and you stop yourself from clenching your thighs at the height difference.

“So this is the guy that killed the sheriff, huh? Pretty boy is a cop killer? I find that kind of sexy…” You twirl a strand of your hair between your fingers, your teeth subconsciously finding your bottom lip again as you look up at him through your lashes.

“Barry, what the hell man? You told her that shit?” He addresses the other man but his eyes don’t leave yours, the look in them changed from concern to defense, and maybe a little lust? He was honestly looking at you like he wanted to choke you to death and this time you really couldn’t stop yourself from clenching your thighs where you stood.

“Hey, I’m not going to rat you out or some shit. Barry gave me the low down on everyone on the island when I moved, if I’m going to work for him I need to know the ins and outs, ya know? He trusts me, if you trust him, you can trust me. I’m cool.” You give him a smile that you hope is reassuring, you aren’t sure why but you want him to trust you.

“Alright.” His eyes search your face, almost as if he’s trying to read your thoughts, to see if you really mean it.

“Alright, we good?” You extend your hand towards him and he takes it in his much larger one, shaking it.

“We’re good.” You go to pull your hand away but he tightens his grasp, keeping it held in his. “You didn’t tell me your name though, or should I just call you, what did Barry call you? Bunny?”

“Bunny is preferred, but you can call me my real name too, if you’d like.” You let your thumb run across the back of his hand as you tell him your name, your eyes never leaving his.

“AIGHT! That’s enough of alla that.” Barry pushes past you, plopping down on the couch he grabs the bong on the coffee table and starts to load it.

“Bare, stop acting like you’re in charge of who I flirt with. I'm a grown ass woman, you're being dramatic.” You scoff, sending him a death glare.

“Seriously man, you’re acting like you’re her dad or some shit.” He chuckles when your cousin flips him off. “I’m sorry about your line by the way, I really just came to check in on you after I saw you arguing with that asshole out there. Let me make it up to you.”

Rafe brings his hand up to your shoulder, running his thumb over the blade a few times before letting it graze down your arm as he walks towards the couch. You watch as he sits down next to Barry and picks up your gift card, expertly lining the fine power back into a nice row before patting the cushion next to him. A smile breaks across your lips as you take the empty seat. He doesn’t miss the way your tits bounce when your ass hits the couch and the smell of your sweet perfume makes his cock twitch.

“For you, pretty girl.” He holds the folded dollar bill up to you with a smirk and you happily take it from him.

“Thanks, cutie.” You wink at him. When you lean down Rafe notices your hair is in your way so like it’s the most casual thing in the world he brings his large hand up to your face and sweeps the straw pieces behind your ear. He pushes the rest of it behind your shoulder and his hand stays there while you inhale through your nostril. His touch doesn’t leave you, even when you lean back against the couch, he simply adjusts it so it’s around your shoulder.

“You gonna flirt with my cousin all goddamn night or are we gonna deal with your little pouge problem?”

“Pouge problem? What’s going on?” You raise your eyebrows, your eyes traveling between Barry and Rafe.

“You remember that little fucker John B I was telling you about? His ass is alive and back on the island.” Barry shakes his head and lets out a dry laugh.

“That’s the kid the cops think killed the sheriff, right? Damn. That’s not good for you, Rafe.” You make eye contact and bite your lip nervously. “Those kids know you actually killed her, don’t they?”

“Yeah, and my fucking sister is with them. Her and John B were there, they saw the whole goddamn thing.” Rafe groans, his hands running through his hair in frustration. “I can’t have them opening their fucking mouths. I just can’t.”

“Then you know what you have to do, right? Shut them the fuck up, once and for all.” Your eyes darken and it reminded him of the way they looked outside, when you were holding a gun to your dealer's head.

“Yeah, no shit dude, that’s why I said we were going to deal with it.” Barry scoffs, rolling his eyes at you.

“Okay, I don’t know what the hell is up with you attitude Bare, but fucking ditch it.” You glare at him as you grab the couch pillow next to you and throw it at his face.

“Oh? You wanna fuckin’ go bruh?” Your cousin grins at you, gripping the pillow in his hand and swinging it over Rafe’s body, directly into your face with a cackle.

“Oh you mother fucker!” You let out a laugh, your hands go for the pillow but it’s ripped from your grasp.

“CUT IT THE FUCK OUT!!” Rafe takes the pillow in his large ringed hand and throws it across the room causing you to jump, your smile falling. “Barry, are you gonna help me or not man?”

“Hey.” Your eyes are soft again, you put your hand on his chest and rub soft circles onto his skin through his shirt with the pad of your thumb. “He’s going to help you, and I will too. We were just fucking around, everything’s alright. You’re probably under a lot of stress, huh? Poor thing.”

Rafe isn’t exactly sure how to react. No one has ever taken his anger and looked at it as more than just that, anger, yet here you are knowing him for all of ten minutes and the minute he loses his temper you see it for what it is, stress. Plus you’re kind of coddling him, and he’s never had anyone coddle him before. He almost feels speechless.

“I’m not gonna suck your dick about it like she is but I’m gonna help you man, fuckin’ relax. We doin’ this shit tonight?” Barry cracks his knuckles and kicks his feet up on the coffee table, earning an immediate glare from you. He scoffs, taking his feet off the table with a roll of his eyes. “I don’t know why you care so much if my feet are on the table dude, it’s my fuckin’ table anyways.”

“The drugs I put inside my nose are on this table, I don’t want your dirty ass shoes on it. It's common sense really.” He rolls his eyes and you flip him off, sticking your tongue out at him.

“Yeah man, tonight. I want to give this shit over with. I bet you anything they’re at John B’s. They’re stupid enough to go there.” Rafe’s hand is tapping on his already shaking leg and you can tell he’s anxious, you reach out and grab it, stopping his motions. He doesn’t look at you, but he intertwines your fingers, his hand squeezing yours. You squeeze his back and bring your other hand to his bicep so you can rub soothing circles on it. He lets out a sigh. “Once it’s dark, then they won’t see us coming.”

“Aight, let’s do this shit. Bunny, you in?” Barry raises a brow at you, his eyes lingering on the way you’re touching Rafe. “Also, I thought I said I didn’t want this to be a thing.”

“It could be dangerous, I don’t know if you should come, I wouldn't want anything to happen to you.” Rafe answers before you can, his hand squeezing yours again in what you assume is supposed to be reassurance but it actually just pisses you off.

“Okay.” Your voice is stern, your hands leave him as you stand from the couch and he immediately misses your touch. “I wanna get something straight, right fucking now. I am not some weak little girl who sits at home while all the fun shit goes down. If that’s the kinda girl you’re into, you are not going to find that with me. I’m a ride or die type of bitch. If my man is in trouble, I’m helping him. So if you want this to be a ‘thing’ as Barry is calling it, then I suggest you accept that sooner rather than later.”

“And you, have no fucking say in who I do and don’t engage with sexually or romatically. Me and Rafe clearly have chemistry and I could tell that the moment I locked eyes with him, so you’re just going to have to get the fuck over it. Are we clear? Both of you?” You look between them, your hands on your hips and that fire Rafe is already becoming addicted to in your eyes.

“Whatever, your lil ass has always been fuckin’ impossible to control. If this blows up in your face I’m gonna say I told you so, cuz.” Barry snorts.

“Yeah baby, I got it.” Rafe cuts in, sending a shockwave through your body with the pet name. “I saw you out there with that guy, you might be tougher than Barry.”

This makes you smile, your eyes turning soft as you approach him on the couch. This time you don’t take the seat next to him, you sit across his lap, facing your cousin with a triumphant smile. Rafe's arm circles around your waist and you nestle in closer to him.

“Alright then. Glad we are all on the same page now. So what’s the plan?”

“FUCK!!!!” Rafe was pissed, he threw himself into the driver's seat of his truck, slamming his hands down on the wheel. “FUCKING BULLSHIT!! THEY HAD TO OF JUST BEEN FUCKING BEEN THERE! POUGE FOR LIFE SARAH?! HUH?! I SEE HOW IT FUCKING IS!!”

“Rafe…” You approach the open driver's door, gently resting your hand on top of one of his that was white knuckling the steering wheel. Completely unafraid, despite the fact that he’s still holding the gun Barry gave him in his other hand. “Let’s just calm down for a second, okay? We’re gonna work it out, they aren’t going to fuck with you.”

“ARE YOU SERIOUS? I’M FUCKED! YOU DON’T FUCKING GET IT! YOU DON’T KNOW MY FUCKING DAD! YOU DON’T KNOW MY FAMILY, IF IT COMES BETWEEN ME AND MY GODDAMN SISTER HE’S GONNA FUCKING CHOOSE HER!!!” His hands leave the wheel, weaving through his hair and tugging, the gun pressed up against the side of his face.

“Hey.” You put your hands over his, turning his face towards yours. “I might not know about all that shit, maybe not yet at least, but I know that when I say I’m going to do something I get it done. You aren’t alone in this, I’m going to help you, okay?”

Your voice is sweet, the look in your eyes is gentle and reassuring, and your hands? They’re so soft, and cool against his face, the feeling of them soothes him in a way he’s never felt before. He lets out a sigh, relaxing under your touch.

“We are going to deal with this, but for right now we need to get the fuck out of here. Those gunshots could’ve caught someone’s attention.” You run your thumbs over the top of his hands before grabbing onto the gun, pulling it from his grasp with a smile. You tuck it into your boot and lean up onto your tiptoes to place a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“Yeah, alright.” He nods, his hands smoothing through his hair.

You walk around the front of the truck so you can hop into the passenger seat, Barry already sat in the back anxiously bouncing his leg.

“Okay, let’s take Barry back to the house and then I think you and I should go somewhere together.” You buckle your seatbelt and turn to face him.

“Yeah? Where?” He shoves the keys in the ignition and puts the truck in drive, pulling away from the Châtea and into the night.

“Just trust me, I know a spot.” You kick your feet up on the dash, reaching into your purse for a cigarette and your lighter.

“Every instinct in my body is telling me to tell you to bring your ass home with me, but you’re not gonna listen to me for shit so I’m not gonna waste my breath. Gimme one of those fuckin’ cigarettes though.” Barry leans forward, snatching the entire pack and your lighter from your hands.

“Yeah, you’re better off not arguing with me Bare. Fucking give those back though, dick.” He rolls his eyes, lighting the cigarette he took from your pack before throwing it back to you.

“Yeah whatever, just fuckin’ take me home man.”

“Okay, take a left here and on your right you’re gonna see a little road that goes through these trees.” You point out the window, directing Rafe as he drives.

“Where the hell are you taking me, huh? You taking me out somewhere quiet to sacrifice me?” He chuckles, looking over at you with a smirk.

“Mmm, I bet you’d like that, huh? Preppy rich boys like you always like the fucked up alternative girls from the sticks.” You return his smirk with one of your own.

“Ha! I guess you’re right, I wouldn’t mind if you spilled a little bit of my blood, as long as I could spill yours too…” he reaches the end of the road, driving into a clearing in the trees, a patch of lone beach in front of you.

“Yeah? That’s hot. Stop here.” He obliges, putting the truck into park and taking off his seatbelt. You do the same, turning towards him with your legs tucked underneath you.

“What’re we really doing out here, vampire girl?” His eyes meet yours momentarily before the trail down your body, taking extra time to admire your tits in your top.

“Mmm, well, I know you’re really stressed and I just thought… maybe you could take some of your frustrations out on me?” You lock eyes with him, your tongue running over your bottom lip before you take it between your teeth.

“Yeah? You brought me out here so I would fuck the shit out of you?” He licks his lips, his large hand reaches out to rest on your thigh, squeezing the meat of it between his fingers.

“Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t want to take me home after that shit you said about your family and Barry would probably either kill us both or have a stroke if you fucked me how I want you to fuck me at my place.” You said it oh so matter of fact, that smirk ever present on your lips.

“And how do you want me to fuck you? Huh, bunny?” His hand runs along the length of your thigh, stopping at the hem of your shorts. He grabs onto it, the tips of his thumb and his pinky just dipping under the fabric.

“I want you to fuck me like you hate me, take your frustrations out on me, Rafe. Use me.” Your voice comes out desperate and it makes him groan.

“I’ve barely even touched you yet and you’re already practically begging for me… you wanna be my little slut, that it?” His thumb runs down the seam of your shorts, stopping at your wet core. “You’re fucking dripping. I can feel it through your panties.”

“It’s all for you, want you, want to be your little slut so bad.”

“Fuck.” The hand not on your thigh reaches for your throat, squeezing it and cutting off your air supply in the most delicious way. “I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

He uses his grip on your throat to pull your face to his, smashing his lips against your own in a bruising kiss. You moan against his mouth and he uses the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips. You bring your hands up to tangle your fingers through his hair at the same time that his hand on your thigh pushes your shorts and panties to the side, burying two fingers in your wet cunt with little resistance. He begins pumping them in and out of you while his grip on your throat never falters. He pulls away from the kiss, his blue eyes almost black with lust as they bore into your own. His thumb finds your clit and your back arches, a loud moan ripping through you.

“Open your fucking mouth.” You oblige, sticking your tongue out and looking up at him through your lashes. He leans over you and lets a string of spit drop onto your waiting tongue. You moan as you happily swallow it. “Good girl. Want you to cum for me.”

His fingers hook just right inside you, rubbing against your g-spot and his thumb circles your clit perfectly. You feel your high approaching fast, you push your tank top down, letting your braless tits fall free. You grab them in your hands, tweaking your nipples, it causes your eyes to roll back and you feel that coil in your stomach about to snap. Rafe’s hand leaves your throat and grips onto your jaw in one swift motion.

“Fucking look at me when I make you cum.” He squeezes your cheeks between his thumb and pointer finger, causing your lips to pout. “I own this pussy now, that means I own your orgasms too, look at me while I take what’s mine.”

You open your eyes, and the minute they meet his your high crashes over you like a tidal wave. A broken moan leaves your throat and your walls clench around his large fingers as they continue to fuck you through your high. He pulls them from your pussy, holding them up to his face to examine them. They’re creamy white and glistening in the moonlight. You grab his wrist and take them into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them. He growls in response, shoving them further down your throat. You gag and he licks his lips, the sound going straight to his cock.

“Fuck, wanna feel you gagging around my dick. Get out of the truck and get on your knees, now.” He pulls his fingers from between your lips and takes them into his own mouth. The taste of your spit mixed with the remainder of your arousal sending his eyes to the back of his head. You follow his direction, hastily throwing the truck door open and getting out. You start to walk around the back and he stops you halfway, grabbing you by the hair so he can pull your head back, forcing you to look up at him. “I’m going to fuck this pretty little mouth while you kneel in the sand like the dirty slut you are. Bet you’d like that, huh?”

You nod as best as you can with the grip he has on your head, that sickeningly sweet smirk from when he first saw you earlier that day spread across your lips.

“Yeah, daddy, I want you to use my mouth like a fucking cock sleeve.” His eyes widen and a groan rips through him at the sound of that name leaving your lips.

“Fuck. Take this off.” He grabs the hem of your tank top and you lift your arms so he can pull it over your head. He takes your tits in his hands and squeezes them, the coolness of them sending a shiver down your spine and straight to your core, your nipples hardening under his touch. “Fucking perfect tits. Knees. Now.”

You drop to your knees and eagerly reach for the button on his shorts undoing it and his zipper in one swift motion. His cock is straining against his black boxers and your mouth waters at the sight. You pull his shorts and boxers down and it springs free, thick and hard and leaking just for you. You knew he would be big, but goddamn his cock is huge.

“Mmm daddy, you’re so big, fuck.” You spit on your hand and bring it to his shaft, lightly stroking him. That bead of precum on his head is practically begging you to taste it so you lean forward and lick his slit with the tip of your tongue. You circle his tip before taking it in your mouth and sucking eagerly.

“Yeah, that’s right baby, suck daddy’s cock.” His hands grab onto your braids like makeshift handlebars and he uses his grip to push himself all the way down your throat, causing you to gag around him. He holds your head there for a few seconds before pulling you off with a pop. Your mouth subconsciously chases his taste. “Oh you’re such an eager little whore huh? You like that? You like gagging on my cock?”

You nod and his grip on your hair tightens, pulling your head back so you’re looking up into his eyes.

“Fuckin’ answer me when I’m talking to you.”

“Yes - yes daddy, I fucking love it.”

“That’s what I thought.” He smirks down at you, shoving his cock back into your mouth and immediately thrusting into your throat. You gag and your eyes water, your mascara already starting to run down your cheeks. “God. Fucking look at you, I can see my cock in your throat baby.”

So much drool is dripping out of the sides of your mouth that it’s started to run down your chest and onto your tits. You swipe your fingers through it, wetting them before bringing them to his balls, caressing them in your lubed up hand.

“Oh fuck! Yeah, shiiiiit, play with my fucking balls, that’s so fucking good.” You look up at him and his head is thrown back, his neck on display, you can see all the veins in his biceps and the moans leaving him are feral. Your pussy clenches around nothing at the sight. Your hand travels between your legs and into your little spandex shorts, expertly finding your already slick clit and rubbing quick circles over it. Your moans increase in volume and it causes him to glance down at you, taking notice of your hand in your shorts.

“Hey, what the fuck did I say huh?” He pulls you off of him, bending at the waist so his face is hovering over yours. “I said that’s my fucking pussy, that means I’m the only one who gets to make you cum. Get up.”

He lets go of your hair, grabbing you underneath your arms and pulling you to your feet. He turns towards the truck and rips the bed open, grabbing onto your hips and roughly turning you. He pushes down on your back, and you take the hint, bending at the waist so your top half is against the truck bed. The plastic floor is cool and rough against your nipples and your lower half hangs off the truck, your feet not touching the ground. A harsh smack lands on your ass, causing you to help and jolt forward.

“You’re not so tough now, huh, vampire girl? Your pathetic dealers know you’re just a little slut who likes to get thrown around? Or is that just for me?” He grabs onto your shorts and panties, ripping them down to your ankles where they pool at the top of your boots. “Look at you, you’re so fucking wet.”

He drops to his knees, his tongue licking a stripe from your clit to your asshole and back again. He sucks your sensitive bud into his mouth and his hand comes down on your ass again. You feel like you’re going to cum embarrassingly soon. His fingers run through your slick lips before they’re sliding inside you, immediately hooking into your sweet spot. You cum suddenly and hard, your whole body shaking underneath him.

“Please fuck me now daddy, please, I want your cock so bad” you voice is whiney and you shake your ass from side to side, arching your back so it’s further on display for him.

“Quit begging, I’m gonna give you what you want, don’t be a greedy brat.” He stands, two harsh smacks landing on your ass. He takes his cock in his hand and runs the head through your slit, coating it in your wetness. He pushes into you in one swift motion, and immediately starts fucking you at a brutal pace.

“Yes! Fuck! You’re so big, feels so full.” Your voice is a breathy moan, his cock feels like it’s in your lungs and the door to the truck bed is digging into your hips but god it feels so good. His hands are grabbing your hips so roughly that you think his nails might be drawing blood, and god you hope they are. You want him to mark you as his, anywhere and everywhere.

“Fuuuuck, you’re so fucking tight, gripping my cock so good. This pussy was fucking made for me. Say it.” He leans over you, practically crushing you, but his cock hits even deeper than before and his mouth latches onto your neck and it’s like he read your mind because he starts to roughly suck and bite into your skin. Definitely leaving marks behind. “Say it. Say this pussy was made for me.”

“This pussy was fucking made for you, daddy.” You arch your back, pushing your ass back against him the best you can with your limited movement, wanting to feel every ridge and vein of him as deep inside you as possible.

“Yeah it fucking was.” He leans back, his hand gripping onto your hair again so he can pull your back against his chest. The sting of the truck against your hips at an all time high. He releases your hair so he can grip onto your throat instead, his other hand coming down to rub your clit. The feelings of pain mixed with pleasure sending you closer and closer to another orgasm. “You gonna cum already? I can feel you tightening around my cock baby girl.”

“Yeah - yeah I’m - fuck - I’m gonna cum for you daddy, you just feel sofuckinggood.” You’re a drooling whimpering mess and the coil is seconds away from snapping when he stops his movements and pulls out of you, taking your orgasm with him. “Hey what-“

Before you can protest he grips onto your hips, flipping you over onto your back. He grabs your throat and pulls you into a sitting position, grabbing onto your thigh with his other hand so he can pull you to the edge of the truck.

“I told you, I want you to look at me when you cum. You owe me for that last one.” He slams his cock into you, continuing to fuck you like his life depends on it. His thumb finds your clit again and his mouth latches onto your neck, biting down so hard you wouldn’t be surprised if you had a bruise in the shape of his teeth marks. You’d get it tattooed if he wanted. You already knew at that moment this man had ruined all other men for you. He had you.

“Fuck - fuck daddy, I’m gonna - I’m gonna cum I’m gonna cum”

“Fucking cum for me, I’ll fill this little pussy up, paint your walls with my cum. Milk my cock, slut.”

His words send you over the edge, cumming harder than you have all night. Your walls convulse around him and your nails rake down his back, leaving red marks in their wake. But that’s not what does him in, it’s the fact that you never break eye contact with him for a second. Obeying him like the good girl you are.

“Fuck! Good fucking girl, best fucking pussy I’ve ever had. Never gonna leave you alone now. Never quitting this pussy.” He cums with a growl, shoving his cock deep inside you. He fucks you through his high, his thrusts never letting up, his face shoved into your neck. When he finally starts to come down he lets his softening cock slip out of you, his lips finding yours and kissing you with fever.

“Never quittting this pussy, huh, pretty boy? That’s a bold statement to make about a girl you just met.” You smirk at him, taking his face in his hands and caressing his cheeks with your thumbs.

“Don’t fucking care, I meant every word. You’re fucking mine now.” He turns his head to the side, placing a kiss on the inside of your palm.

“Does that mean you’re mine too? I don’t do one sided bullshit.”

“Yeah baby, that means I’m yours too. Come on, get your clothes on, let’s get the fuck out of here.” He places a gentle kiss on your lips, grabbing your clothes off the sandy ground and shaking them out before handing them to you.

“You gonna take me home now? Barry is just gonna love all the hickies I know you left on my neck.” You smirk at him, pulling your shirt over your head.

“Nah, I’m bringing you home with me. Gonna fuck you all night long.” He cups your jaw in his hand, his thumb running over your bottom lip.

“What about your family?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Fuck em, you’re my girl now, they’re going to have to get used to it. Get your ass in the truck, I wanna fuck you in my shower.”

You giggle, running around to jump in the truck. You didn’t even see his family that night. But they definitely heard Rafe making good on his promise to fuck you all night long and you couldn’t even find it in yourself to feel bad. Not that night, and not the next morning when he introduced you to his dad and step mom while they had disgusted looks on their faces. You just smiled, happily shaking their hands like you weren’t calling their son daddy until the sun came up.

Tagging moots who might be interested: @chrrymunson @emsgoodthinkin @imyourdaninow 🖤

#rafe Cameron #rafe OBX #rafe Cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe Cameron smut #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron x fem!reader #Dolly writes

[katiexpunk]

Caller Number Nine | Pairing Javier Peña x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're a radio host of a popular late-night segment on relationships, advice and more. After a particularly bad night of calls, your final call of the night takes you by surprise.

Warnings: Javier is a flirt. Alcohol/marijuana. Humor/Banter. Flirting. References to infidelity and a man's negative view on his wife's postpartum body (the reader puts them both in their place). Both reader and Javier are lonely. New York. Slightly dom Javier. Biting. Javier gives reader a hickey. Murphy the Cat (this cat is DEA). Bodegas and a wholesome shop owner named Carlos. Some Spanish. TUWOMT call back to Paddington 2 but in a Javier AU. Javier calls the reader a slut once (she likes it). Praise kink. Thigh riding. Use of pet names. Just a hot fuck. Creampie. Unprotected sex. Fingering. Pizza on ranch. Dave Portnoy gets mentioned (iykyk). No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. For immersability, the reader has no major physical descriptions.

W/C: ~6K

A/N: Let's just say this story was inspired by the slutty mustache that has made a triumphant return. I’m also just really into pizza with ranch right now, too, idk. If you need me I’ll be internally freaking out about the fact that there are almost 1,400 of you interested in my silly little stories. Thank you. 🥹🖤

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People suck at listening. You used to, too. But over time, call after call, you have become intimately acquainted with the quiet moments—the pauses between heartbeats, the breaths taken before confessions spill forth, the silence that stretches like a canvas waiting for emotions to color it. 

These moments, often overlooked in the noise of daily life, are where you find the truth that guides you through the tangled web of love and relationships you navigate every night on your show.

For you, the quiet is not emptiness but a space brimming with potential. It's in these pauses that you listen most intently, not just to the spoken words but to the ones that tremble on the edge of silence, too shy or too scared to make themselves heard. You have learned that what is not said can be just as important as what is, and you can hear those unspoken fears, dreams, and desires. 

Each night, as the clock winds down and the world outside your studio window holds its breath, you lean into the quiet, inviting it into your show. You encourage your callers to do the same—to listen to the quiet within themselves, to the truths they've buried under layers of fear, doubt, or societal expectation. "In the silence," you often say, "you'll find the answers you've been too busy to hear."

Most of the time the callers are open to your feedback, their hearts open and kind.

Most of the time. 

Tonight isn’t one of those times.

++++

“Have you ever had Brussels sprouts made for you at midnight by a gorgeous woman in no pants following multiple orgasms? I have, and they’re fucking delicious,” one caller said. It was obvious after minutes of talking to him that he was failing to heed your advice that if he didn’t stop sleeping with women who weren’t his wife, she would likely find out one day and leave him. God, you hope she does. 

“I love her, you know? I just don’t find myself that physically attracted to her after she had the baby, it’s not my fault…” another said. Ugh, fuck off, dude. You were quick to shut that one down, to tell him that he was being a boy, to go to the store and buy his wife some goddamn flowers and apologize for being such an asshole. 

Like a broken record stuck on repeat, this is how the night continues. One bad call after another, each seeming to echo or outdo the last in its what the fuck factor. 

In the dimly lit recording studio, a soft hum of equipment fills the air, punctuated only by the occasional flicker of LED lights on the soundboard. You think briefly about letting out a scream before your last call, surely the foam walls would absorb the sound. 

The glow of the computer screen casts a soft light on your face, accentuating the furrow of your brow and the downturn of your lips. You're a picture of frustration, a stark contrast to the empathetic persona that your listeners know and rely on. Each bad call tonight has chipped away at you. You drop your head into your hands and rub your temples for a brief moment before looking up at the clock, its hands inching their way to your liberation. 

Just one more call. 

The phone lines blink red. Your hand, a little steadier than you feel, reaches out and cues up the next caller, your voice finding strength as it always does when you speak into the void. 

“Hi there, caller number nine. You’re on the air with Midnight Confessions. What’s on your heart tonight?” 

“Ah shit – oh, uh probably shouldn’t say that on air huh – mm, wasn’t expecting to get through,” the man admits, his tone telling you he’s nervous, and probably a little drunk. 

“Guess it’s your lucky night then. And it’s a late-night show, you can curse all you want to. What’s your name?” you ask, trying to ease him into the conversation.

There’s a pause, the kind that tells you the caller is weighing his options on whether he should give you his real name or not. Finally, he exhales softly, his mouth close to the receiver, enough for the exhale to cut through the static. 

“I’m Javier. And you are?” 

“You can call me the voice of the night,” you reply, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, the first genuine one in hours.

“Didn’t realize I called the crime fighters hotline.”

The joke catches you by surprise and you let out a little laugh.

“Can’t say I’ve gotten that one before,” you respond before eventually giving him your real name. “So tell me, Javier, what would you like to talk about tonight?” 

There’s another pause, longer this time, before Javier’s voice returns softer, and you can tell the tone is about to shift. 

“This is stupid, I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry for wasting your time tonight ma’am,” he says, and you can tell he’s seconds away from hanging up. 

“Javier, wait –” you say, but he doesn’t respond. The line hasn’t disconnected, so you know he’s still there. 

“Listen, I don’t know you – and you don’t have to tell me anything – but I can tell from the tone of your voice that it sounds like you’re carrying quite a bit on your shoulders. It’s brave of you to want to open up about it. Sometimes, talking to a stranger is easier than talking to someone you know,” you say, letting the dead air hang heavy for a second, “let me try to help.” You try not to make a habit out of convincing callers to spill their guts, but something about this call, this man, compels you to. 

Javier sighs a sound that carries a world of worry. “I don’t even know where to start. My whole life, I’ve defined myself by my job, and without that, I –” his voice starts to crack, and he stops. You hear the clank of an ice cube against glass, and he continues again, “I realize how alone I am, how I don’t have anyone or anything. I feel like the only company I have these days are the ghosts of a past life.” 

You don’t have the full context of his confession, but it hits you deeper than expected, echoing a sentiment that's all too familiar. You think about how most of the time, when you’re not working, you’re either turning to dust on the couch or in the company of fictional men you read about in books. 

"Javier," you start, your voice softer, threading through the silence with care, "I understand more than you might think. You're not alone. It might feel that way right now, but I promise you’re not,” you say sweetly.

When he doesn’t say anything, you continue, “Losing a part of our identity, especially one that's been a cornerstone of who we are, is like losing our direction. But it's also an opportunity, a chance to rediscover yourself, to find new aspects of your life that give you meaning and joy."

You pause, giving Javier space, letting your words hopefully seep in to provide some comfort. 

“What does that mean – that you understand more than I might think?” he asks, not acknowledging the rest of your statement, a curiosity in his voice. 

“It means –” you start. Oh god, here we go. You’re not often like this with your callers, but this feels different. The studio, with its blinking lights and the gentle hum of the machinery, suddenly feels more intimate, as if it's just you and Javier at this moment, connecting through the airwaves.  

“When I was little, my mother always knew my things, quirks, you know? Things like the fact that I’m scared of heights, that I get cranky if I don’t eat breakfast, and that I only like ranch dressing on pizza and never salad. It’s all trivial, small little details, but from this, I think I learned that being known is to be loved. 

You take a deep breath, and let the silence swallow you whole for a moment before continuing. 

“When I say I understand more than you might think, I mean that I’m still one of those people who’s waiting for someone to tell me how much I mean to them, still hoping for someone who will know those things about me, too,” you pause.

“Someone who will hold my hand tightly when I’m on a rooftop so I don’t somehow tumble over the edge, someone who will make sure I eat breakfast, even if it’s just a shitty granola bar, someone who will buy the fancy ranch, even if it only gets used on greasy pizza.” 

You hear Javier chuckle through the line. 

“Something funny?” you ask, a little confused, slightly embarrassed that this call has somehow reversed the roles and you’re the one spilling your confessions over like a broken yolk into his hand. 

“No, no – it’s just ranch on pizza, that’s uh, that’s…disgusting,” he admits, a playful tone to his words, the sadness before seems to be gone, but you know his humor is likely just a mask. 

“Excuse me, I’ll have you know ranch on pizza is a classic, and quite delicious. Thousands – no millions – of people like ranch on their pizza, it’s not that weird,” you quip. 

“Right,” he rasps, “I’ll take your word for it, sweetheart.” You bite your lower lip and try to ignore the heat that’s risen to your cheeks, the little thrill you feel in your stomach from your banter. You’re quickly brought back to reality when you look at the clock and realize your call time is nearing an end. 

“Well, Javier, you're my last call of the night and I’m afraid it’s time to wrap the show up. Is there anything else I can help you with before I let you go?” 

“No,” he says, his voice a low rasp, thick like honey, “thanks for saying all of that.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you say, the smile still on your lips like sugar from cotton candy. You slump back into your chair and the line disconnects. 

++++

As the clock ticks past one, the studio lights fall to darkness, leaving only a solitary desk lamp to cast long shadows across the room. You loop the familiar weight of your backpack over your shoulder and put on your headphones. 

You lock the studio door, and step into the brisk night air — it’s March, technically Spring, but the remnants of Winter are still holding tight. The city's pulse is tangible, even at this late hour, as you navigate your way to the subway. With only the Eagles in your ear to keep you company, you watch as the Graffiti-streaked walls blur past. 

Once off the subway, you think about heading straight home to promptly melt into your mattress, but the rumble in your stomach reminds you that you haven’t eaten since lunch. 

Might as well go see Murphy. He’s always happy to see you. 

You round around the corner and the bodega lights come into view. The ground beneath you is damp and you’re careful not to step into any puddles as you make your way to the shop. You push open the shop door and the familiar chime of a bell alerts Murphy to your presence. 

“Hi Murphy,” you coo, crouching closer to the ground so he can rub up against you. “How’s my favorite boy?” You say, scratching his favorite spot under his chin, feeling the comfort of his soft fur and rhythmic purr. If Murphy had it his way, you’d live at the Bodega, ceasing only to exist to give him love. 

Your stomach growls again and you rise, “Gonna get some dinner now, okay Murph?” You walk through the tight aisles, grab a can of tuna as you pass by the canned goods, making your way to the frozen section in the back.

Chicken nuggets it is, you silently tell yourself before grabbing the frozen bag and making your way to the register. 

"Hola, Carlos. ¿Cómo va tu noche?" (Hi, Carlos. How’s your night going?) 

"Oh, hola.” As much as you’d love to practice your Spanish with Carlos, he needs to practice his English more and you’re more than happy to oblige. 

"Good to see you. Listened to your show tonight, what a piece of work some of those people were,” he responds, using his index finger to punch numbers on the cash register.

"Tell me about it. How much do I owe you?"

"$7.50. Murphy says thank you for the donation,” he smiles, holding up the canned Tuna, and like clockwork, Murphy jumps up on the counter and starts assaulting the can with his cheek. 

“Like he gave me any choice,” you respond, handing over $10. Carlos gives you your change and you give Murphy a few final loving pats on the head.

“¡Hasta mañana!"

"Buenas noches."

Back in the quiet of your apartment, the microwave fights you, its door refusing to stay closed until you jam it shut with a wooden spoon. With dinner finally spinning inside, you sink onto the couch, the night’s weight lifting off your shoulders. You feel yourself nodding off before the sound of the microwave beeping and the rumble of your stomach wake you up. 

Dinner done, you smoke a joint, the smoke curling lazily in the lamplight. Your mind goes fuzzy and you stare up at the ceiling, trying to make shapes out of the popcorn on the ceiling. Your mind drifts to the thought of your last caller and you let your mind wander as you imagine what he might be up to tonight. Is he asleep? Or is he staring up at his ceiling, lost in thoughts as you are?

The only thing you know for certain is that you’re both alone tonight. At least there’s some comfort in knowing you’re not the only one.

The city outside continues its restless murmuring, but your mind goes silent as you fall asleep. 

++++

You're grateful to have the next night off. Not like you have plans, but at least you don’t have to show face or wash your hair. Even if you did have to go out in public tonight, it wouldn’t matter — that’s the beauty of New York. You could look like a gutter rat and nobody would give a shit. But still, the freedom of an evening without obligations feels like a luxury, a small pocket of time where the demands of the world fade into the background. 

Staring at your nearly empty fridge, its emptiness staring back at you, you sigh. Fuck. And then it hits you, unexpected but undeniable, a craving for pizza. Not just any pizza, but a pie from your favorite local spot, where the crust is always perfectly crisp and the cheese melts in a way that feels like a hug for your taste buds.

Stepping out into the evening rain, you make your way to the pizzeria that’s only a block away. The moment you open the door, a warm wave of garlic, tomato, and baked dough envelops you. The line isn’t long, but it gives you enough time to deliberate over your order, though deep down, you know you’ll end up choosing your usual — a Margherita. 

You peek up from your phone and notice the man in front of you at the order counter. Broad shoulders strain against the fabric of his shirt, his tight jeans outlining a figure that speaks of strength. Dark hair and tan skin contrast strikingly under the fluorescent lighting. He orders confidently, his voice smooth, almost familiar. As he’s about to cash out, he adds “Can I get a side of ranch too, please?” 

“No problem,” the cashier says, a little too happy to oblige his request. She’s flirting, you don’t know her, but you can tell. When the cashier asks for a name for the order, it confirms what you think you already know. 

 "Javier." The name hangs in the air, a familiar sound that sends a jolt through you. 

It couldn’t possibly be. 

The words escape your lips before you have a chance to second-guess it. 

“I thought ranch on pizza was disgusting.” 

He turns to face you and oh. You might have guessed that he was attractive from his voice, but seeing him is something else entirely. He’s strikingly handsome, with a dark mustache trimmed perfectly above his lip, his jaw stark and chiseled. The corners of his lips turn up in a smirk. 

“Shit. Caught red-handed by the crime stopper herself,” he says with a wink. 

Okay, so he’s handsome and charming. You’re so fucked. 

As Javier steps aside, your gaze lingers for a moment longer before you place your own order. You feel his eyes boring into the back of your head as you do. 

“No plans tonight?” He asks, and you shake your head. 

“Not really, just this. Might swing by to see my boyfriend on my way home,” you say, noticing the way his expression shifts into disappointment, it’s subtle, but it’s there. 

“Oh,” Javier says. He thinks for a second that maybe you were lying last night about understanding what it’s like to be alone. 

“Yeah, we’ve got a hot date with a can of tuna,” you respond, smiling as you watch his very visibly confused face, the furrow of his brow. You can tell he’s not quite sure how to respond, the words a tangled knot in his brain, or perhaps conjuring up some weird kinky thoughts about what a date with a can of tuna could entail. He’s not sure he wants to know.

“I’m just messing with you,” you laugh. “He’s a bodega cat up the street, I usually swing by every night after work and I’ve developed a soft spot for the little guy. His name’s Murphy.” 

“Wait, Murphy? From Carlos’ shop?” Javier asks, and you’re a little surprised. 

“You know Carlos?” 

“Yeah, yeah — he’s friends with my father. Great guy,” he adds, nodding to the pizzeria worker who hands him his order. You notice the blush on her cheeks when he says thank you.

You watch intently as the other worker packs up yours, placing two to-go containers of ranch on your box. 

You grab your pizza and use your free hand to grab one of the containers of ranch and extend it to Javier. “For you,” you smile as you hold it out to him. 

“Eat with me?” He asks, grabbing the ranch from your hand, your skin briefly touching. 

How could you say no? 

You smile and nod, and follow him through the restaurant. He holds the door open for you and places his hand on your lower back as he guides you out. You feel like a schoolgirl with a crush. He’s just being a gentleman, but something about the touch causes something in your core to run hot, a hint of arousal in its warmth. 

In typical New York fashion, you find a relatively clean stoop to sit on. With the pizza boxes open on the step in front of you, the steam wafting in the cool night air, you smile at Javier. 

“Are you ready to have your world rocked?” You ask, holding the pizza up long enough for the strings of cheese to disconnect from the box. He does the same. 

“After you, Cariño.” 

Cariño. So he’s a flirt, too. 

You dip your slice into the ranch, a perfect amount clinging to the tip, before you bring it to your lips. The anticipation builds with the scent of garlic and herbs wafting up. 

You barely pause to savor the moment before you declare, “Some people say the first bite of pizza is the best, but I disagree.” You dunk it back into the ranch and take another, this time bigger than the first, “The second bite is really where it’s at.” Since when did you become Dave Portnoy?

Javier watches with amusement as you delight over your dinner. “Go on now, after you,” you nod, continuing to work on your pizza like a starving dog. You watch as he delicately dunks his pizza into the ranch, and like a baby bird, takes a small bite. You study his expression, a mix of curiosity and amusement, as he carefully chews. His face gives nothing away, a poker face if you ever saw one, until he finally delivers his verdict, “Can’t say it’s my favorite.”

“What?” you gasp, half in disbelief, half in jest. You playfully nudge him, your hand reaching out to liberate the neglected ranch from his box. “Let me save this from your indifference,” you tease, claiming the ranch for your own. The banter feels easy, much like it did when he called in the other night. 

“So tell me, Javier,” he stops you “You can call me Javi,” he says. 

“Javi,” you smile, picking at a tomato on your second slice. “What made you want to call in the other night?” 

He looks at you as you bring the tomato to your mouth, and lets his gaze linger on your lips. You notice. 

“That’s a good question. Um,” he says, taking another bite before continuing, his elbows on his thighs, staring out into the street. “Truthfully, I was a little drunk, and a lot alone. I think I just wanted someone to talk to.” 

“I get that,” you acknowledge. 

“What? You probably talk to dozens of people every day,” he responds, turning to face you this time. 

"False. I listen to dozens of people every day, but I don’t really get to talk. At least, not about things that matter, not truly." He gives you a long look, then nods, understanding etched into his features. He doesn’t pry further. 

A comfortable silence settles between you as you both work on finishing your pizzas.

"What about you?" you finally break the silence.

"What about me?" he echoes, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

"I spilled my plans for the night, my glamorous date with Murphy. What's on your agenda?" you ask, leaning forward slightly. His tight bicep muscles press up against your arm.

"This," he gestures broadly to the city around you, wrapped in the open night. Then, with a sheepish grin, he adds, "Well, actually, I was planning to go home and watch Paddington 2."

You laugh hard enough to let out a little snort. He looks at you with affectionate eyes, like you’re the cutest thing he’s seen in a while. 

“Paddington 2? Like, the bear movie?” you manage between chuckles.

“Yep. I cried through the entire thing the first time I saw it. It made me want to be a better man.” 

“I see, well I’ll have to take your word for it, I’ve never seen it.” 

"Do you want to come over and watch it?" he proposes, the question hanging in the air. It’s a bold move, especially since you've only just met, but there’s an earnestness in his invitation that makes you pause, considering.

"Only if we can swing by and say hi to Murphy on the way," you quip, bumping your shoulder against his lightly.

“Deal,” he says with a wink. 

++++

As the saying goes, you make plans and god laughs. 

It's almost as if you could have, perhaps even should have, anticipated this turn of events. 

Paddington 2 might as well have been code for want to come over and fuck? 

The energy crackling between you two is undeniable, magnetic. His blend of wit, handsomeness, and confident charm weaves an irresistible allure, drawing you in closer with every word, every glance. 

It's one of those rare, electric connections that you read about or see in movies, but seldom experience in real life. Yet here it is, unfolding in real-time, a reminder that sometimes the most memorable moments are those you never see coming. You rarely see yourself as the main character, but tonight you feel like one. 

In the narrow stairwell, his hips press firmly against yours, your back against the cold wall, arms pinned above your head. His lips find yours with an intensity that leaves no room for hesitation, a crash of desire against desire. You surrender to the moment, tilting your pelvis into his, a plea for more. 

The world around you is a blur; it's just the two of you, enveloped in a haze of passion. His hands, desperate and eager, fumble for his keys—a brief interruption in your heated exchange as he struggles to unlock the door without breaking the heat of your gaze, the connection of your lips only momentarily severed. The anticipation builds with each fumbled attempt, heightening the intensity as you eventually enter his apartment and he has you pressed up against the door.

His lips trail from yours down the razor edge of your jaw, the hallow of your throat, over your collarbones, and down the valley of your still-clothed chest. “Javi,” you moan, and he responds with a groan into your chest. He looks up at you through his gorgeous lashes, “Can I take this off, Cariño?” 

“Yes, yeah — shit, yes, please.” 

He makes quick work of your shirt and assists it over your head, before returning his lips to your soft skin and working to undo your bra at the same time. “God damn” he mumbles under his breath, and you can’t help but feel the warmth rush to your chest and cheeks, “so pretty.” 

You can’t even remember the last time you were touched like this, nonetheless kissed. Your skin erupts in goosebumps as he makes his tongue trail over one of your nipples, the other being teased slightly between his fingers. The sensation causes you to tilt your head back in ecstasy and you let out a soft moan. “Oh, yeah? You like it when I do that, baby?” You nod your head in response. “Use your words.” 

“Yes, oh god — feels so good.” 

“That’s better.” 

You bring both of your hands to the waistband of his denim and pull him in closer to you, close enough to feel his hard cock, desperate to be touched. He brings his hands to grip your hair, baring your throat to him. He forces your legs apart with his knee, shoving it against your core. You begin to slowly grind on the denim. 

“Want more?” 

“Fuck, yes — ” you whimper with another grind against him. He kisses you again, one hand tightly gripping your hip and the other wrapped in your hair. You cling to him, arms wrapped around his middle until you drop them to find his belt buckle. His lips find yours once more, and he sucks the bottom one into his mouth before biting it and letting go.

He steps back, and you work to remove the rest of your clothing and shoes. You shimmy your pants over your thighs, taking your underwear with you. He thought you were beautiful from the moment he turned around and saw you, but seeing you standing in front of him, chest heaving, bare and perfect just for him, is another story. He slides his pants and underwear off in one go, kicking them off the side along with his boots.

He only gives you a moment to admire his form, cock hard and thick, the tip of it red and weeping, before he surges forward and kisses you with new passion. He licks the seam of your lips before forcing it open with his tongue, swallowing every one of your moans like they’re a gift just for him.

When you both can’t breathe, he pulls back and peppers kiss down your neck once more before he sucks a hickey into your neck, eliciting a breathy moan from you. He smirks against your skin and moves to the expanse of your shoulder, finding a new spot to bite and suck. 

He forces his thigh between yours again, pushing the expanse of it right up against your bare pussy. You moan and cling to him, once again riding his thigh. “You gonna come on my thigh, baby?” He questions against your skin, feeling your shoulders shudder from his breath ghosting along your neck. He tightens his grip on your waist and rocks you forward, “Use me. Want to feel you soak me,” he hums, kissing your neck. You’re lost in the haze of your arousal, chasing the friction you so desperately need. 

“Answer me, Cariño.” 

“Y-yes.” You breathe,  tightening your grip on him. You grind against him more, faster, harder. “Want it so bad.”  And fuck, you do, you need it so bad but you’re not sure you can get there from just this. 

“What do you want, beautiful?” He questions with another bite to your skin. “Do you want to come on my thigh like the good little slut I know you are?” You whine at the filth of his words, the warmth of his praise causing your belly to tighten. He tightens his grip on your hips and guides you faster on his leg, his fingers digging into your skin, hard enough you hope you bruise. 

“Show me how pretty you are when you come, Cariño — make a mess of me,” Your body seizes up and you throw your head back and let out a guttural moan. The spot where your pussy rests against his thigh gets wetter. When you tilt your head back up, his eyes are what throws you over the edge. He holds your gaze as he watches you come for him, on him, because of him. “Fuck, that was gorgeous,” he moans, holding you steady as you come down from your orgasm. 

“Bed. Now,” he demands, guiding you through the hall and to his bedroom. 

You fall back onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress with a small oof, your breasts bouncing with the movement. He holds his heavy cock in hand by the base as he gently strokes himself, and watches as you part your legs wide open for him and finger yourself.

He continues to work himself while staring at your tight, slick hole, dripping just for him. His eyes go impossibly dark as he watches your fingers saw in and out, you’re really quite the sight.

“Shit, Cariño. Look at your little pussy,” his voice in between a whine and a whimper, as he steps forward between your legs and begins to position himself at your entrance. One hand on your knee, the other holding himself, he presses the head of his cock into you, making you moan, his tip alone is a stretch you’re unfamiliar with — it’s intense but good.  

He’s not trying to taunt you, not really. “Just wanna make sure you’re nice and ready to take this fat cock,” he says, pressing just the mushroom head in and out of you. The slow drag of it is excruciating, enough for you to let out a plea of please fuck me. “Look so good like this, baby. Can feel you sucking me in, she wants it bad, doesn’t she?” 

You nod, “More, Javi. Need to feel you inside of me, please,” you plead, holding your thighs behind your knees, spreading yourself wider for him, giving him full access to your cunt. 

“Yeah, okay,” he says, thrusting the full length of him into you, and ohhhhmyfuck. 

Your pussy walls flutter and tighten around him, and he lets out a wrecked groan. He draws his hips back and slams that back into you with enough thrust that your tits bounce. His thrusts are hard, but slow, giving you time to adjust to his size. He’s quick to pick up the pace, causing you to sob in pleasure, broken moans leaving your lips as he knocks the wind out of you with each snap of his hips. 

He draws himself nearly out, his cock glistening with your slick, and he grabs both of your hips to hold you steady as he fucks into you. “Look at the mess we’re making together, Cariño. So fucking beautiful, you’re taking this cock so well.” You’re starting to realize that he’s a smooth talker both in and out of bed. 

You wail as he picks up his speed, panting and grunting, groaning as he watches the thin skin of your pussy stretch around his girth. He releases one of his hands from your hips and brings the pad of his thumb to the swollen clit between your folds, and begins to rub tight circles. 

“So tight, baby, little cunt’s trying to make me come, isn’t she?” He groans, his pace slowly slightly, his stomach muscles tightening and his jaw clenched shut. 

“Want you to, want you to fill this hole up with all of your come. Want to feel you drip out of me, need to feel you.” Your words spur him on more, and he continues working your clit, his cock thrusting in and out of you, “oh god, please, please, please.” You’re not usually one to beg, but something about him has it pouring out of you. 

“Yeah? Want me to fill you up, baby? I will if you come with me,” he says, an intensity, an urgency behind his voice. You’re so close, you think you’ll be able to come with him, but before you have the chance to get there, you watch as he squeezes his eyes shut to try and collect himself, but he’s too close, nearly over the edge of his orgasm. His cock starts to swell and his movements get a little sloppy. 

“Come in me, Javi. Want to feel you,” you moan, your voice a seductive whisper, and that does it.

His hips stutter, “Fuck, Cariño,” he groans, his voice a wreck, as he buries himself to the hilt inside of you and starts to throb ropes of his warm spend in you. There’s so much that it spills out of you and down your asscheek. 

“Oh such a messy, pretty pussy,” he groans, admiring the way your cunt looks stuffed full of him, the glisten of your release and his on his cock, “Milking me so good.” 

“Gonna make you come for me again beautiful,” he says, cock still spearing you, throbbing and pulsing as he collects some of his spend on his fingers and brings it to the needy button between your legs. It doesn’t take much to get you there, and within seconds you’re on the brink of your orgasm. 

The warmth that pools in your belly grows and radiates through your limbs until your whole body feels tingly and your vision goes white. 

“Oh my god, Javi, I’m coming,” you wail, a blubbering mess of pleasure, until you’re drowning in the sea of your orgasm. 

“Can feel you squeezing me, sweet girl,” he groans, both out of pleasure and a little bit of over-stimulation on his already spent cock, “So. Fucking. Pretty. Such a good girl,” he says as he works you through the last of your orgasm. After you come down from your high, he gently pulls out of you, and a little trail of his come follows and spills out onto the sheets below. 

“Jesus, Javi. That was something else,” you say, blissed out and thoroughly fucked. You nestle up into his chest like it’s easy, it comes naturally, a movement you don’t even question. He wraps his arm around you and plants a soft kiss on the top of your head in response.

“Can I say something?” He asks, and you look up at him a little worried. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“I’d buy the fancy ranch for you.”  

END

If you like this, please consider a reblog. <3

Trying a thing where I don't use a tag list to see how it goes. To be notified when I post fics, follow @katiexpunkupdates

END A/N: the line she gives Javier in response to knowing what he means in the first part of the fic is adapted from a poem. I wrote it down, but forgot to name the author. So credit to the author, whoever it is.

#javier peña #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena smut #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #pedrohub #javier pena x you #javier pena x reader #pedrostories #narcos smut #the slutty little mustache has returned

[joelsgreys]

someone to be thankful for

DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: It’s Thanksgiving—when dinner with your nightmare of a family goes south, you find comfort in the person you least expect it from: your father’s best friend, Joel Miller.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (AU, NO OUTBREAK) non canon, DBF! Joel, AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s, i do not specify her age, but she’s a recent college grad so do with that what you will, not everyone graduates at the same specific age ya know? Joel is in his mid-ish 50’s). Reader’s a teacher, she is visiting her suburban childhood home from a big city. Reader’s parents are religious and practice traditional-ish gender norms (i.e father is head of the household kinda thing) reader’s family celebrates Thanksgiving (sorry) several mentions of food and alcohol, reader’s parents suck, she has two brothers who come with names, a lot of her relatives come with names, watch out for Aunt Ines she’s a bitch. (TW) body/weight shaming (twice) PLEASE BE MINDFUL if this could be triggering. mentions of and implications of childhood abuse (not graphic) reader’s dad gets in her face, implied infidelity (reader’s dad), implied toxic marriage (reader’s parents). soft, caring, protective Joel. Joel’s recently divorced, mention of Sarah, mentions of the ex-wife. SMUT. oral sex (female receiving) p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) reader states she’s on baby blockers (birth control), creampie, DADDY KINK (bc reader clearly has a few daddy issues), LOTS of pet names (darlin’, baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, honey), size kink (ish?), cockwarming. think i got it all?

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, that is fine but just keep on scrolling.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 11.5k

a/n: yeah…idk. this was very delayed because it turned into a whole thing. if anyone actually reads all 11k of this, i will bake you muffins.

You take a deep breath and look in the mirror.

Skirt pressed, not a wrinkle in sight.

Hair brushed, not a single strand out of place.

Makeup done, not a blemish to be seen.

And somehow, someone will still find something.

Something to point out.

Something to comment on.

Something to criticize.

If not your appearance, it’ll be something else.

Because someone always had something to say.

“Should you be eating all of that?”

“Another year gone and still no boyfriend?”

“Don’t you want to get married?”

“When I was in my twenties, I had two children.”

Boundaries didn’t exist on Thanksgiving.

Actually, for your family, boundaries didn’t exist at all—somehow, they are still scratching their heads and wondering why you’d decided to up and leave the minute your high school principal handed over that diploma, your ticket to freedom.

“Sweetie!” Your mother’s shrill voice calls from the kitchen downstairs. “I need a hand! Our guests are going to start arriving soon and there is still plenty left for us to do before they get here!”

You groan outwardly.

There’s still plenty left to do?

How’s that even fucking possible?

You’ve been cooking and baking since sunrise.

“Don’t you think it’s too early?” you’d grumbled at five o’ clock in the morning when your mother had pulled you out of bed, declaring it was time for the big dinner preparations to begin—even though it’d be several hours before your family came over and gathered around the table to break bread. She had pulled the turkey out of the freezer a few days ago, a massive, thirty-pound whole bird that looked big enough to feed a small village. In addition, she had picked up a ham and a brisket. “Mom, why’s there so much food?” Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the sleeve of your robe, you’d started making your way over to the Nespresso only to realize that the coffee machine was hidden behind paper bags full of groceries. “Are we cooking for all of Texas or something?”

“Very funny,” she had glared at you. “Of course we aren’t.” She started unwrapping the turkey. “We’re simply making sure we have enough food and that we have different options for everyone to enjoy, so knock it off with the wisecracks and get to peeling those carrots for me for the stuffing. There is not a single minute to waste today, you hear me, missy? We’re hosting a dozen people, so everything must be absolutely perfect. I won’t accept anything less than perfection today, do you understand me?”

Thirteen hours later, she’s still driving you insane.

You’re only home visiting until the end of the week and then it’s back to the Midwest. You can survive her for three more days, right?

You hear her calling your name and exhale a small, frustrated sigh. “I’m coming, mom!” you call back. It’s difficult to mask the annoyance in your tone of voice, but somehow you manage it. “One minute!”

Smoothing down your pleated plaid skirt, you take one last look in the mirror to make sure everything is in order—there is a loose thread on the sleeve of your brown, knitted sweater and you carefully snip it off with a pair of scissors before sliding your feet into the comfiest pair of ankle boots you’d packed and head downstairs, nose leading the way as you follow the warm, delicious scent of the made from scratch biscuits and rolls baking in the oven.

You find your mother standing at the center island counter garnishing a charcuterie board with sweet gherkins and sprigs of fresh herbs. She is donning festive apron embroidered with fall leaves over her designer dress; her hair’s still up in rollers. “Finally, there you are,” she huffs out loudly the second she hears you walk into the kitchen. Down the hallway, your father and two younger brothers are shouting at some football game on the flat screen television in the living room—men don’t lift a single finger on this day, at least not in this household. “I need you to start setting the table for me. I have place cards in that bag over there. Make sure your dad’s at the head of the table. Oh and don’t forget to bring out the children’s table for all your little cousins—” She glances up, letting out a small gasp when she sees you. “What in the world are you wearing?”

Frowning, you look down at yourself. “Clothes?”

Her ruby red lips purse together in a tight thin line.

“Honey, that skirt is too short. It’s inappropriate.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at her. “It’s like an inch above the knee, how is that inappropriate? It’s not like it’s a miniskirt, mom.” As she eyes your skirt with disapproval, you decide you’re not in the mood to argue and say, “Okay, fine. I’ll go upstairs and change into something else then—”

“No, no, forget it,” she shakes her head. “We don’t have the time for that.” Your mother whirls around, picking up the bag of place holders—she’d special ordered little turkeys carved out of wood. She also takes a marker and a notepad, shoving everything into your hands. “Here. I wrote down all the names of everyone who’s coming for dinner. The children get place holders too but make sure the little ones are sitting beside someone older to help them. Oh! Did I already mention putting your dad at the head of the—”

Tuning her out, your eyes scan down the guest list and if there’s one thing to be thankful for today it’s the fact that your mother’s given you the power to seat everybody wherever you want. Halfway down the list, you see the names of several relatives that you don’t want anywhere near you at the table. An Aunt Miriam who smells like the inside of a casino; a cousin Jennifer who refuses to acknowledge her forty-eight month old is actually four years old; an uncle Richard who always has one too many beers and winds up spewing antigovernment conspiracy theories, ranting until he’s passed out somewhere, such as on the floor of the guest bathroom.

You get to the bottom of the list and can’t help but raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Joel Miller?”

She nods, returning to her board.

“You remember Mr. Miller, don’t you, sweetie? He and your father went to college together—he’s one of his oldest and dearest friends. Don’t tell me you forgot about him? You’ve met him plenty of ti—”

“Yeah, I remember who Joel is, mom,” you mutter, cutting her off. “Didn’t he and the family move out to Arizona like, four years ago? To Phoenix, right?” You’d been away for college then. Taking a second glance at the list, you notice she had forgotten the names of Joel’s wife and daughter. Surely, it’d just been a mistake on her part, though. “I had no idea they were in town visiting. Dad didn’t mention it to me at all.”

“They’re not.” She lowers her voice, as if someone else is standing in the room listening. “Joel moved back to Austin, he’s been back for a few days now. He and Connie, they um—” Pausing for a moment, she reaches up and clasps the cross hanging from her neck before whispering, “They got divorced.”

Taken aback, your mouth parts slightly. “What?”

“I know. Joel and Connie were the last people that I ever thought would get divorced. Such a shame,” your mother remarks, shaking her head. “I ran into Mrs. Adler at the super market and she was telling me all about it. Thinks they could have saved their marriage if only those two—”

“Would get right with Jesus,” you finish, biting the tiny smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “She says that about everything, mom.”

“Well, she isn’t wrong! The sacrament of marriage is a lifelong bond that shouldn’t be broken. It’s not right.” Dropping her hand away from her necklace, she crosses her arms over chest. “Anyway, Connie stayed in Phoenix. Sarah’s spending Thanksgiving with her. Your father didn’t want Joel spending the holiday alone and invited him over for dinner. That means I need you to be on your very best behavior tonight. I don’t want you embarrassing your father in front of his closest friend. Is that understood?”

You can’t help but scoff a little. “I’m not a child.”

She narrows her eyes at you and scoffs right back, planting her hands on her hips.

“No, you’re a smart aleck. Need I remind you what happened last Thanksgiving with Aunt Ines?”

Of course she didn’t have to remind you about last year’s fiasco with her insufferable bitch of a sister.

“That’s an awfully big piece of pumpkin pie,” she’d remarked loudly, eliciting snickers from everybody sitting at the table. “Don’t forget, dear—a moment on the lips, forever on the hips. And you have quite a few forevers on your hips already, darling.”

You had smiled sweetly at her, your fingers itching to fling your mother’s fine china at her. “I wouldn’t really worry about my pie, Aunt Ines,” you had said as soon as you realized that nobody, not even your parents, would be coming to your defense. “Much less when your husband’s stepping out and eating someone else’s pie when he’s away on all those so called business trips. Worry about that instead.”

That comment hadn’t gone over all too well. Three months later, Aunt Ines and Uncle Louis started to see a marriage counselor. Whoops.

“Well?”

“She deserved that,” you say, shrugging lightly.

“She’s family.”

“She’s a jerk.”

“You crossed a line.”

“She crossed it first.”

Before your mother can respond, the sound of the doorbell ringing echoes throughout the house.

“Jesus, we don’t have time for this!” Your mother’s eyes widen when she tries running a hand through her hair and realizes she still has her rollers in. “Oh no, people are arriving and I’m still not ready!” She makes a beeline for the hallway. “Get the door and greet our guests, I’ll be down in five minutes!”

She disappears upstairs into her bedroom and you hear the doorbell ring again. Your father shouts for someone to go answer it, someone other than him or your brothers because it is the end of the fourth quarter and they just can’t possibly miss that.

You make your way through the foyer and open up the front door expecting it to be one of your family members, but it’s not.

Your throat instantly goes dry at the sight of him.

He’s broader than you remeber, so much broader.

The fabric of his sage green dress shirt is nice and snug on his frame—stretched taut over the planes of his chest and his wide shoulders. He’s holding a box of store bought something or other but you’re much too preoccupied with the way the sleeves of his shirt are hugging his biceps to notice what it is although you assume it’s some kind of dessert. He looks far more delicious than whatever sweet treat could be in that white box he’s got in his hands.

After a minute, you realize you’ve been gawking at him and the heat rushes to your cheeks. “Hello Mr. Miller,” you greet him politely. “It’s very nice to see you again. Please, come on in.”

He smiles, his brown eyes warm and sweet behind his square, black-rimmed glasses. “You remember me,” he states and the syrupy richness of his voice sends a pleasant tingle up your spine. Stepping off to the side, you allow him inside—as he steps past you over the threshold, the tantalizing scent of his cologne almost brings you to your knees. Notes of a citrus accord like tart grapefruit, fresh bergamot mixed with the woodiness of vetiver and musk; it’s intoxicating, something you could easily get drunk off of if you’re not careful. “I’m surprised. S’been a real long time since you last saw me.”

“It hasn’t been all that long,” you reply, closing the door behind you. You speak to him in the steadiest voice you can muster, with nonchalance—as if you aren’t one missed heartbeat away from feeling like a silly little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Has it?”

He thinks about it. “‘Bout four and a half years.”

“That’s really not that long.”

“S’not,” Joel admits with a chuckle. “But with how much I’ve aged in that short amount of time, I just wasn’t sure if you’d recognize me, y’know? I look a lot different than I used to.” He pauses and laughs, shaking his head. “I must look like an old geezer to you now, don’t I?”

Grays lightly pepper his thick dark brown curls, his beard and his mustache. He’s got crows feet when he smiles, he has worry lines and creases between his eyebrows—he does look a lot older, but he’s so goddamn handsome, wrinkles, fine lines, and all.

You toss him a playful eye roll, prompting a grin. “I don’t think you look like an old geezer, Mr. Miller.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell makin’ me feel like an old geezer by callin’ me that, darlin’ girl.” He gives you a little wink and you’re not quite sure if it’s that, or if it was the way he’d used a pet name that knocks all the wind out of your lungs. “Please, just call me Joel.”

You nod and shyly agree to it. “Okay, then. Joel.”

“S’much better.” His grin widens and a prominent, deep dimple appears on the left side of his cheek.

There’s a silence that follows, but it’s not awkward or weird. It’s comfortable—being in his presence is comfortable. His sweet disposition makes you feel so calm, so at ease.

Joel’s always been a nice man of course, although your interactions with him had been limited—kind, quick hello’s in passing on Sundays whenever he’d come over to watch football with your dad, maybe a polite how are you here and there if you bumped into him at gatherings like a backyard barbecue or birthday party. But you’re older now, no longer the child who greeted her father’s best friend because it was bad manners if she didn’t. You don’t want to throw him that kind, quick hello or that polite how are you and then scurry off the way you used to as a little kid. You actually want to talk to Joel Miller.

But you suddenly remember he’s not here for you.

He’s here for your father.

Joel!” Your mother screeches, five-inch high heels clacking loudly as she descends the staircase. She had ditched the apron and hair rollers—and put on one too many layers of her heaviest perfume. With a delighted squeal, she rushes up to Joel and pulls him into a bone crushing hug, almost causing him to drop the box he’s still holding. “Oh, it is so good to see you! It’s been far too long!”

You force back a small, amused snort.

As if she hadn’t been judging the man for a failed marriage just minutes ago in the kitchen.

It’s performative, too over the top to be sincere.

“S’good to see you too.” He steps back and laughs as he adjusts his glasses with one of his hands. He holds out the box to her with the other. “Picked up a pecan pie on the way over here. I would’a tried to make it myself, but the kitchen’s still all packed up in boxes.” He pauses, laughing again. “Then again, I ain’t really much of a baker. Store bought was for the best I reckon,” he admits, sheepishly. When he shrugs his shoulders, his shirt strains a bit over his frame and even your mother can’t help but stare a little.

Lightly clearing her throat, she takes the box from him and reminds him, “Didn’t I tell you that all you had to bring tonight was a nice, healthy appetite?”

Joel lightly pats his stomach. “Brought that too. In fact, I didn’t eat a thing all day long. I’m absolutely starvin’ right now. Could eat a whole horse.”

“Good! Dinner’s going to be served soon. William’s in the living room with the boys, watching football game after football game. Come with me, I’m sure you’re eager to see him.” Your mother spins on her heel and hands you the dessert. “Sweetie, will you be a gem and go put this in the kitchen for me?” It isn’t a request, it’s an order masked as a request—it’s the kindest she’s been to you all day. She takes Joel’s arm and leads him down the hallway, calling out over her shoulder, “And please set the table!”

You do set the table, and when you do, you decide to sit yourself right next to Joel Miller.

Your mother lightly clinks her knife against the rim of her wine glass and clears her throat. “Everyone! It’s time to join hands and say grace before we dig into our meal,” she announces, her voice breaking through the loud, buzzing chatter at the table. She waits until there’s complete silence and then takes her seat, the chair adjacent to your father’s. You’re on his opposite side and Joel’s right beside you. “I think you should do the honor, William. You are the man of the house, after all.”

Nodding, your father begins the prayer.

“Heavenly Father, bless this food we are about—”

You’re not listening. You’re distracted by the jolt of electricity that zips through your entire body when you put your hand in Joel’s. His hand dwarfs yours and it’s rough and calloused, but somehow it’s the most gentle, soothing touch. Heat prickles at your face and neck when you feel him sweep his thumb across the back of your hand—you open your eyes and glance over at him, wondering if that had just been an accident. You’re convinced it was, until he does it again, running his finger over each knuckle one at a time. Slowly, like he’s savoring the touch.

Biting your lip, you give his hand a gentle squeeze.

His head is bowed and his eyes are still closed, but a faint smile tugs lightly at the corner of his mouth and he firmly squeezes your hand back. There’s an unmistakable desire that’s already burning deep in your lower belly, a flame you can’t extinguish even when the angel on your shoulder reminds you that not only is Joel Miller twice your fucking age, he is also your father’s best friend. His best friend.

“…through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” your relatives chime together in unison.

You force out the declaration. “Amen.”

“Amen,” Joel murmurs, opening his eyes. He turns to you and his gaze flits to your hand in his and for a moment, it almost seems like he doesn’t want to let it go. It feels like Joel doesn’t want to let it go—and he doesn’t. He doesn’t let it go until the sound of your father’s loud, booming voice announcing it is time for him to carve the bird startles the two of you apart. Clearing his throat lightly, Joel turns his attention forward and reaches for his cabernet. He gulps down half his glass in one easy swallow.

Dinner’s fairly uneventful.

You eat in complete silence, as does Joel.

Part of you wonders if it’s because you’re sitting in between him and your father, the only person that he’s most comfortable conversing with. Assuming this is the case, you’re just about to ask him if he’d like to trade places when he turns to you and says, “Your dad told me you went to school in Chicago.”

He’s just being friendly, you remind yourself when your heart starts to flutter wildly at the notion that he wants to talk to you. He’s friendly. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Yeah. I did.” You pick up your glass of wine, taking a sip hoping it’ll ease the nerves. “I graduated over the summer and took a teaching job out there.”

“You became a teacher?”

“Yeah. I teach kindergarten.” You smile proudly.

“Can you believe that, Joel?” Your father lets out a scoff and shakes his head. “I spent thousands and thousands of dollars to send her to school. All that money and for what? For her to learn how to teach little ankle biters how to color inside the lines?” He rolls his eyes and gestures to your two brothers on the opposite side of the table. “Now my boys, they are smart. Chose good careers to pursue. Brandon starts applying to medical school in the spring. Oh and Matthew? He got early acceptance to Yale. He plans on studying law.” He shifts his attention over to you once more and shrugs. “Not too sure where I went wrong with this one.”

You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.

“Dad.”

Chortling, he waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, come on, honey. I’m just kidding around. You know that I don’t mean it.” He then reaches out, pinching your cheek roughly. “Don’t be so sensitive,” he tells you before turning his attention back to his plate.

But he does mean it.

His comments hurt, and you hate that they hurt.

Joel nudges your arm with his. “Y’know somethin’, it takes someone real special to become a teacher, ‘specially to kids that age,” he states in a matter of fact tone. “Someone who’s real sweet and patient, someone real smart too. Someone just like you.”

Warmth radiates through your entire body. It’s not just his words, but it’s the sincerity behind them.

You shoot him a small, grateful smile.

The two of you wind up talking to one another.

Joel’s moving his contracting business, bringing it back to Austin from Phoenix to run it with Tommy, his younger brother who you vaguely remembered meeting a time or two in the past. He mentions his daughter here and there, but doesn’t bring Connie up once—perhaps it’s too painful for him? It’s hard to tell. He seems to be in good spirits and truth be told, it doesn’t appear he’s mourning his marriage; but it’s difficult to believe he’s not missing her, the woman he’d spent three decades of his life with. It shouldn’t even matter to you whether he’s missing his ex-wife or not, if there are residual feelings still lingering around. But it does matter and you don’t know why. Or maybe you do know why, but you’re too ashamed to admit it.

“Do you like Chicago?” Joel questions, curiously.

Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah. It’s a cool city.”

“You plan on stayin’ out there permanently?”

“I’m not too sure,” you admit. “It’s too expensive. I don’t want to live with a roommate forever. Unless teachers start getting paid more, I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to afford to live alone in Chicago.”

Joel seems hesitant about his next query. “Do you ever think ‘bout comin’ back to Austin at all?”

Suddenly, you’re not too sure about that either.

You��ve been itching to go back and get as far from Austin, Texas as possible, but now, it means being far from Joel Miller. There’s a deep, sinking feeling inside of your chest at the thought.

Realizing he’s still waiting for a response, you have no choice but to tell him the truth. “I don’t think I’ll ever come back here, to be honest. Not to stay.”

“Oh. I see.” He sounds disappointed. “Are you—do you plan on visitin’ home again for Christmas?”

“I do. I’ll be here for Christmas and New Year’s.”

He’s being friendly. He’s being friendly. He’s—

“It’d be real nice to see you again then.” Flushing a deep shade of red, subtle regret flashes across his features, as if he’d said it without thinking. Picking up his glass, he drains the rest of his wine and you can swear he’s nervous. About what he’d just said, and about whether or not your parents, who are in such close proximity, had overheard him. Because what business did he have in telling their daughter it would be nice to see her again?

They’re both much too preoccupied. Your father is attempting to be slick checking his text messages underneath the table and you can tell by the smirk on his face that it’s one of his secretaries. He’s got a penchant for perky blondes in tight pencil skirts. Your mother is well aware of this. She is also aware he’s on his phone, but she turns a blind eye just as she always does and distracts herself by being the perfect hostess.

Feeling foolishly courageous, you turn back to him and nod, heart pounding against your sternum. “It would. It’d be very nice, actually.”

Relieved, he nods and murmurs quietly, “We’ll talk ‘bout it later, then. That okay, darlin’?”

Not wanting to seem too eager, you nod again and turn away from him, teeth sinking into your lip in a futile attempt to hide the giddiness in your smile—but the soft chuckle Joel elicits under his breath is a clear indication that it’s useless.

He knows how he’s making you feel. He likes it.

Your mother returns from the kitchen carrying two baskets of fresh crescent rolls, one for each end of the table. She sets one of them down right in front of you and you reach out to take one when a voice, one that sounds as awful as nails scraping down a chalkboard, remarks loudly, “Should you be eating so much bread, dear?” Ines, who’s sitting a couple chairs down, next to your grandmother, looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. There’s a smug little smile on her face, almost as if she were daring you to run your mouth like you’d done last year.

For as much as it pains you, you make your choice and decide not to take the bait. You pull your hand out of the basket of rolls and pick up your glass of wine instead, chugging it down like it’s water.

Frowning, Joel picks up the basket and takes a roll that you assume is for himself, but it’s not. Putting it on your plate, he shoots her a frigid glare. “Don’t you listen to her.” He says it loud enough for her to hear him. “You just enjoy yourself, alright?”

Your aunt bats her eyes, innocently. “Well, I’m just saying. If my skirt was that tight on me, I would be thinking twice about what goes into my mouth.”

Hushed laughter sweeps across the entire table.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” You slam your empty glass down so hard onto the table that the entire dining room goes completely silent. The little ones at the children’s table stare with big and wide eyes, mouths full of food hung open because a grown up had just used a naughty word.

Your mother says your name warningly. “Don’t you start,” she hisses, shaking her head. “Be quiet.”

Angrily, you round on her. “Seriously? You’re going to let her say that to me? You don’t care that she’s making comments about my weight?” You almost laugh. Of course doesn’t care, she has never cared and she never will. “I’m your daughter! Would it kill you to defend me for once in your fucking life?”

“Shut your mouth!” Your father stands up, shoving a threatening finger into your face, so close the tip of it almost touches the tip of your nose. He hasn’t put his hands on you since you were nine, but he’s as drunk as he is angry, and you find yourself back in the shoes of the little girl who would curl up into a ball in the corner of her room as she begged and pleaded for him not to hurt her. “You hear me?”

Joel stands and walks around your chair. Placing a hand on your father’s chest, he mutters, “Hey now let’s take a step back from her, alright?” He guides him back down into his chair. “Ain’t gotta be in her face like that, Will.”

“I’m sick and tired of her ruining everything—can’t get through one dinner without her screwing it up! Always has to run that fucking mouth of hers! She still acts like a goddamn fucking child—”

You can’t bear to sit there and hear another insult.

Fighting back the hot tears that are threatening to spill over, you quickly stand up and rush out of the dining room. You make a beeline for the front door and step outside onto the porch. It’s about sixty or so degrees in Austin and the cold nips at your bare legs, but that’s the least of your worries. Without a place to go, you descend the porch steps and find yourself walking towards the swing that’s hanging from the old bur oak tree in the front yard. You had asked your father for a swing when you were three years old—it wasn’t until your brothers asked for a swing a couple years later that he’d hung one up.

You sit down, hands curling around the rope that’s so old and weathered it’s beginning to fray slightly but not so much so that you’re concerned about it snapping. You’re so busy trying to keep it together that you don’t notice the sound of crisp, autumnal leaves crunching under a pair of boots behind you. A hand gingerly touches your shoulder. You let out a startled gasp and glance over to see it’s Joel.

“Hey there, darlin’,” he says, gently.

You stare at him in surprise.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Needed to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you grit the lie through your teeth.

Joel’s expression softens. “You ain’t gotta pretend with me, sweetheart.”

His concern is genuine. It’s real.

You don’t quite know how to handle it. Accept it.

“It got real ugly in there, ‘specially with your dad.”

Tears prickle at your eyes all over again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Baffled, Joel walks around the swing and a minor labored grunt escapes him as he squats in front of you. “There’s a few people who need to be apologizin’ for what happened, but darlin’ you sure as fuckin’ hell ain’t one of them.”

It’s odd. Feels foreign, even.

You’re not used to someone being on your side—it prompts more tears to spring forward and despite your best efforts to fight them off, it’s useless. You manage to whisper his name. It’s a feeble warning, one that’s telling him to go back inside before he’s caught in the torrential downpour of emotions you are mere seconds away from unleashing on him.

But he doesn’t budge. He waits. Joel knows you’re about to break and he’s ready to catch the pieces.

Finally, a tear slips and rolls down your cheek, only to be followed by another and then another. You’re holding onto the swing for dear life now, emotions that you’ve been holding in for your whole life now coming to the surface. The rope digs painfully into the palms of your hands. He reaches out and curls his fingers lightly around your wrists.

“S’okay to let go,” Joel encourages you and you’re certain he’s not just referring to the swing. “Listen to me, darlin’ girl. I ain’t gonna let you fall, alright? I’m right here to catch you. You can let go. I’ve got you, okay?”

You allow Joel to take your hands off the rope and he guides them around his shoulders as you begin to crumble. Leaning forward slightly off the swing, you wrap you arms around him and bury your face into his neck. “Joel,” you choke out his name as he wraps his own arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

He feels like stability.

He feels like security.

He feels like safety.

Your entire body shudders as you cry, cry, cry.

“S’alright, sweet girl. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He repeats his reassurance over and over again.

He wants you to believe it.

And you do believe it.

Joel’s as patient as can be. It’s growing colder and his knees are begging for a change of positon, but couldn’t care less about the discomfort. He rubs a soothing circle into your back and waits until there is nothing left except little hiccups and sniffles.

“Shit,” you mumble when you pull back and notice you’d left behind a wet spot on his shirt along with light traces of mascara. You wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. “I ruined your shirt.”

“S’okay. Nothin’ the dry cleaners can’t take care of for me.” Joel chuckles and lets go of you. “You feel a little better now, darlin’?”

“I do.” You glance over your shoulder at the house, then exhale a sigh and turn back to him, admitting quietly, “I don’t want to go back in there, though.”

He rises to his feet and pulls out a set of keys from the pocket of his black jeans. “Well, y’dont have to go back in there,” he states. “Is there somewhere I can take you? Friend’s house, maybe?”

“My best friend Megan went to Puerto Vallarta for Thanksgiving. Most of my other friends left Austin like I did,” you explain, sighing again. “Anyone who didn’t leave is spending their time with their family tonight and I don’t want to bother them.”

Joel hums, mulling it over in his mind. “Well, don’t know how comfortable you’ll be with the idea, but my place ain’t all too far from here. Ten minutes or so. Less if there’s no one out on the roads.”

“Joel, that’s so nice of you to offer, but I’ve already ruined your dinner tonight. The last thing I want to do is put you out even more,” you say, sheepishly.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t ruin a fuckin’ thing for me tonight. And you wouldn’t be puttin’ me out at all,” he promises. “S’gettin’ late and truth be told, I just wanna get you somewhere warm.” Holding out his free hand, he adds, “And comfortable.”

“But Joel—”

“I can be real stubborn too, y’know,” he teases you with a playful grin. “We’ll be out here all night long freezin’ our fuckin’ asses off.”

He isn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Okay,” you relent, accepting the offer.

You place your hand in his and he helps you off the swing. He doesn’t let it go as he leads the way to a sleek, black Dodge Ram that’s parked behind your grandfather’s silver Mercedes. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it. “Sorry, sweet girl. It’s a bit of a trip up into the seat,” he remarks, chuckling as he opens the passenger side door for you. He gives you a boost into the truck; the scent of new leather is mixed with that of his cologne. It is all man and couldn’t be sexier. “Good up there?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Joel closes the door and hurriedly walks around to the driver’s side of the pickup, climbing up into his seat with ease. “Seatbelt,” he tells you as he sticks the key into the ignition. The first thing he does as soon as the engine roars to life is turn on your seat warmer. He switches on the heater as well, waiting a minute before asking, “You warm enough?”

“I am. Thank you, Joel.”

“‘Course.” He nods and pulls away from the curb.

As Joel’s driving you further and further from your parents’ house, all you feel is sweet relief.

“M’sorry the place is such a mess.”

Joel leads you into his living room and touches his hand to the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Amused, you raise an eyebrow at him and say, “I’d hardly call cardboard boxes stacked neatly over on one side of the room a mess, Joel.” You take a look around his townhouse—most of his furniture’s still wrapped up in plastic, except for the black leather couch and the rustic, acacia wood coffee table. He has a flat screen mounted over the brick fireplace; he’s been sleeping on the couch, or at least, that’s what the pillow and Texas Longhorns fleece throw tells you. You turn to him. “If you want to see a real mess, you should see my apartment in Chicago.”

You watch him as he takes off his glasses and puts them down on the coffee table.

“S’it pretty bad?”

“My roommate’s a kindergarten teacher too. You’d be surprised at how many popsicle sticks two girls in their twenties can end up bringing home. Not to mention all the glitter.”

“If you’re tryin’ to make me feel better, it’s workin’ like a charm.” Joel picks up his blanket and drapes it over the armchair adjacent to the couch. “Go on and make yourself comfortable, darlin’. You thirsty at all? I’ve got water or I can make coffee. Also got a pack of beer in the fridge,” he adds, jokingly.

“What kind of beer?” you ask curiously as you sink down onto the couch.

He seems pleasantly surprised by your interest.

“Lone Star.”

“I’ll have one. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“‘Course it’s not too much trouble. Not at all.”

It’s hard not to stare as he walks away towards the kitchen. Your thighs clench together—his back, his shoulders, those unkempt salt and pepper curls of his that tuft at the nape of his neck right above his collar—this man is the epitome of utter perfection. Your mind wanders and you can’t help imagine the way your legs would look thrown over those broad shoulders. How his large hands would feel on your plush skin as they wrap around your thighs to hold them in place against his chest while he fucks y—

“Here you go, darlin’.”

Joel’s deep voice shatters your train of thought.

He’s standing beside you, holding out the bottle of beer, which he’d uncapped along with his own.

Blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you,” you say as you accept the beer from him, trying not to lose the sliver of composure that you’re holding onto—it wavers when your fingers accidentally brush his.

“S’it too cold in here for you?” he asks. “I normally keep the thermostat pretty low.”

“It’s a little cold,” you admit. “But it’s not a prob—”

It’s too late. Joel walks over to the fireplace and he manages to strike a match and light it with just his free hand. After tossing in a couple logs, he makes his way back over to the couch and he takes a seat beside you. “That a bit better, sweetheart?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “You said it was cold.”

He takes a long, generous swig of the golden lager before setting the bottle down on one of the green ceramic coasters on the coffee table. He sits back; an arm stretches out over the back of the couch in a casual manner and his legs spread open causing your thighs to clench together once more.

“You feelin’ alright?”

“Huh?” You then realize he is referring to what had happened at dinner. “Oh. Um. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Joel peers at you, his concern evident, clear in the depths of his dark brown eyes. “You sure?”

“No. Not really,” you confess, tracing the mouth of your bottle with your index finger. “But I’ll get over it. I don’t have a choice but to get over it.” Another lump starts forming in the back of your throat and you swallow it, quickly chasing it down with a gulp of beer.

“M’guessin’ your family’s got somethin’ to do with why you decided to leave Austin?”

“Bingo,” you deadpan. “I was so sick and tired of it all. How I was talked to, how I was treated. Like I’m such a fucking disappointment.”

He frowns. “You’re not a disappointment, though.”

“My parents think I’m a disappointment. My dad’s never told me he’s proud of me, Joel. Nothing I do, nothing I have ever done is good enough for either of them, but especially not for him.” There is a dull ache that settles in your heart and all you can do is silently will yourself not to breakdown again, not in front of him, at least. You sigh. “Do you know what it’s like, not feeling good enough for someone that is supposed to love you no matter what? Someone who’s supposed to love you unconditionally?”

Joel knows it’s a rhetorical question, he knows it’s not something you’re expecting him to answer.

But he does answer, because he does know.

“I do, actually. I know all too well what it feels like.”

He looks down at his left hand, which is resting on his thigh and you do too. Your eyes flicker over the fading tanline on his finger—where he once wore a wedding band. You don’t even think twice about it and reach over, sweeping your own finger over the patch of pale skin. Without missing a beat, you tell him, “You’re good enough, Joel.”

He can’t help but laugh a little. “She’d disagree.”

“She’s wrong.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t have to know what happened.”

“That ain’t how it works, sweetheart.”

Stubbornly, you lift your chin. “I don’t care.”

Joel laughs. “Y’think you know me, darlin’? Y’think you know what kinda man I am? Hm?”

“I do know.” You place your hand on top of his and his jaw clenches. “You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I know that you’re a good man.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong ‘bout that.” There’s a brief pause and he hesitates before confessing, “A good man wouldn’t be sittin’ here just fuckin’ dyin’ to kiss his best friend’s daughter.”

You freeze and grip your bottle so tight, you would not be the slightest bit surprised if it shatters right in your hand. “You—you want to kiss me?”

“Since the moment you opened up that front door and said hello to me.” Joel shakes his head. “S’not right.” He’s riddled with guilt, with shame. He pulls his hand out from under yours. “I ain’t a good man at all. You’re half my fuckin’ age and I shouldn’t—”

You cut him off, softly uttering his name. “Joel?”

“Yeah?” His voice sounds hoarse. Strained.

“Can you—will you kiss me? Please?”

You need more than just his kiss, so much more.

You need him to unravel you in every way possible, but beggars can’t be choosers and if one kiss was all you’ll get tonight, then you’ll fucking take it.

Joel swallows dryly. “That really what you want?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to meet your sweet, innocent gaze.

“Yes,” you breathe in reply. “Please. Kiss me.”

He leans in, and there’s brief hesitation on his part and he stops mere centimeters from your face, his nose lightly brushing against yours. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this.” His warm breath fans over your lips; they’re parted, eager to meet his own. “I shouldn’t let this happen. I—I should take you back home to your family before I do somethin’ real stupid.”

Your heart sinks. “That really what you want?” you parrot his own question back to him and hold your breath, knowing there’s a chance his answer could be the answer that you don’t want to hear, the one that could end up crushing you.

Joel lifts his hand, cupping the side of your face in his palm. “‘Course it’s not what I want.” His thumb strokes your cheek, his dark eyes taking in each of your features. He’s studying, memorizing them, as if he’ll never get another chance to be this close to you again. With the line he’s about to cross, you’re both about to cross, that just might be the case.

The tension seeps through your skin and into your bones.

You exhale shakily. “Then just kiss me already.”

He moves his hand and gently curls it around your chin, holding you steady as he leans further in and closes the gap of space in between you. He moves slowly and he’s gentle—too gentle. You want to tell him you’re not made of porcelain, but you’re much too preoccupied with how Joel’s mouth feels, how perfectly it molds against yours. He delicately nips your bottom lip with his teeth. It’s a silent request.

He wants more, more, more. Your lips part for him, granting him the access he’s seeking. Joel doesn’t waste a single moment and he explores every inch of your mouth with his tongue, eliciting a whimper from you. Without breaking contact, he takes your beer and somehow he manages to lean over to set it down on the coffee table without dropping it. He then pushes you back into the couch and the next thing you know, you’re lying on your back and he’s settled in between your legs, using one of his arms to keep himself propped up, while the other wraps itself in your hair. Your own hands clutch at fistfuls of his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric so tight, the skin over your knuckles stretches painfully thin.

You whimper out again, the noise prompting a low growl to rumble through his chest—suddenly, he’s not being so gentle. He isn’t being rough. But he is hungry, he’s possessive, and he’s letting it show in the way he’s swelling your lips with his kisses, how his fingers are gripping the hair at the base of your neck as he firmly tilts your head backwards to give himself better access to your mouth.

Your mind is racing, and yet, you can’t think at all.

It’s not until his hips buck into you and you feel his bulge through his jeans against you that you break away from him. “Joel,” you gasp his out name. You grip his shirt even harder, chest heaving as you try to catch a much needed breath of air. You can feel the arousal pooling between your legs. The flames burning in the fireplace are nothing in comparison to the ones that are burning deep in your belly.

“Fuck,” he curses, pulling back. “M’sorry—”

The last thing you want is for him to be sorry.

“No! Please don’t be sorry,” you rasp, gazing up at him. Your eyes are glazed over with a lust you have never felt for another man before. “I want this, you know I want this—don’t you?”

Joel sighs, brushing a soft kiss to your temple. You wish he could take a peek into your mind, see how badly you want to be wrapped up in his arms—you want to get lost in his embrace, feel him all around you, inside you. You want him to write his name on your bare skin with his tongue, whisper his secrets into the spot where you’re aching for him most.

He sighs again and lightly shakes his head.

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

“I want this,” you repeat yourself. “I want you.”

Relaxing the death grip you have on his shirt, your hands release the fabric and move to the buttons. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo each one of them; after an embarrassing fumble or two, you manage to get them all and push Joel’s shirt off of his shoulders. He sucks in a quick, sharp breath as your greedy hands begin roaming, exploring every inch of smooth, tan skin on his upper body.

Your touch erases all the uncertainty he’s feeling.

“Wanna feel you too, baby.” Joel takes the hem of your sweater and gestures for you to sit up slightly so he can pull it over your head. Carelessly tossing it somewhere behind him, he glances down, blood rushing to his cock as he takes in the sight of your supple curves clad in sweet, delicate white lace. “Christ, you look so fuckin’ soft.”

He doesn’t even realize he’s saying it out loud, not until he catches the flirtatious little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. You sit up slightly once again and reach behind you to unhook the lingerie and take it off, adding it to the ever growing pile of clothes on the hardwood floor. Licking his lips, he meets your gaze for just a moment before dipping his head down, wrapping them around one of your hardened nipples. “Joel,” you mewl his name as he flicks the pebbled flesh with his tongue.

Joel releases it with a lewd, wet pop and he tosses you a smirk before he moves to the other to give it the same attention. He’s a biter, you find out as he takes it between his teeth, nipping over and over.

Your throbbing center clenches around nothing.

“Joel, please. I need you—I fucking need you.”

He tears away from your nipple. “Where, baby?”

You open your mouth to answer him, but your own gasp cuts you off as he starts trailing his lips down the length of your body until he comes to a stop at the waistband of your skirt. One of his hands finds the zipper on the side and he looks up at you, as if asking for permission. Desperate, you nod. Pulling the zipper down, he slides the skirt, along with the pair of lace white panties you’re wearing off of you and discards them, leaving you completely naked.

Your insecurities begin to trickle in, but Joel’s able to halt them right in their tracks.

“You’re too fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he says, his reassurance calming your nerves instantly. “So beautiful. So beautiful and so fuckin’ perfect.”

You watch as he makes himself comfortable—well as comfortable as he can—in between your legs. He shoots you a sheepish look.

“Knew I should’a put the damn bed together. But I been puttin’ it off and puttin’ it off all week long.”

You giggle breathlessly. “Who needs a bed?”

Chuckling, Joel feathers a kiss on your inner thigh.

Your smile is all but slapped right off of your face.

“Joel.”

Any traces of humor vanish. You’re both reminded of the next wall that’s about to be broken, the next line that’s about to be crossed.

He looks down and groans. “Such a pretty, perfect little pussy,” he remarks, his voice low, husky. “Bet she’s nice and wet for me, ain’t she baby?” He lifts his hand and drags the tip of his finger up your slit slowly, your slick coating his digit. He smirks up at you. “Oh, she’s fuckin’ soakin’, sweet girl. S’this all for me?”

Foreplay wasn’t in the vocabulary of guys your age and while part of you wishes Joel would hurry, you also find yourself enjoying the fact that he’s taking his time, teasing you—making you really want it to the point where you’re willing to fucking plead him for it. Joel Miller’s the only man you’d ever beg for.

He skims your other thigh with his nose and kisses it just like he’d done with the other. “Tell me darlin’ s’this where you need me? Right here?”

Frantically, you nod your head.

“Words, honey. Gotta use your words for me.”

“Yes!” you choke out. “That’s where I need you. So bad. Need you so fucking bad. Please Daddy—”

You freeze and momentarily, he does too. Truth be told, you wouldn’t really blame him if he just stood up, gathered your clothes and tossed them at you, demanding you put them back on and leave.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Daddy, huh?”

Your face is on fire. “I—it slipped,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to call you—I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m not even sure where that came from. I’ve never—”

You’re on the verge of panicking, then notice there is a certain glimmer in his eyes and realize he liked it when you’d called him that. You’re taken aback.

He fucking likes being called Daddy.

“Sweetheart, there ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout. I promise. You can call me that. But on a condition.”

You stare at him, no idea what the condition could possibly be.

“Ain’t allowed to call anyone else that. Ever.” There is a possessiveness in his tone and it nearly makes you come on the spot. “That understood?”

You nod obediently. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good. That’s a real good girl, honey.”

For a split second, you can’t breathe.

This man will surely be the death of you.

Joel plants one final kiss, this one on your mound.

“Please,” you whimper, the heat in your lower belly growing and fizzling out to the rest of your body at the feeling of his breath over your aching core.

“Please what?” he murmurs into the sensitive skin as his arms curl around your legs. “Tell Daddy—tell Daddy what you need baby, so he can take care of you.”

“Your mouth,” you beg him, desperation mounting with each passing second. Your hips buck upward; his biceps flex as he tightens his arms around your thighs, pinning you down in place. “Your mouth—I need your mouth. Please.”

Joel moves his head to the junction of your thighs, his mouth hovering right over where you needed it the most. He looks up at you with hunger, like he’s a ravenous, starved man who hasn’t had a thing to eat in days. “What a good girl,” he praises, dipping his head even lower. His mouth waters at the sight of your glistening folds. “Bet you taste as delicious as you fuckin’ look, don’t you, pretty girl?”

He flattens his tongue and glides it up your slit, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he gets his first taste. You gasp out when it grazes your swollen, aroused clit and your head falls back onto the couch. “Oh fuck,” you whine, reaching for his hair. You weave your hands through his graying locks and pull his face closer. Another swipe of his tongue causes your back to arch up off the leather and the edges of your vision to blur.

He pulls an arm from around your legs and drags a finger down your drenched entrance, lips securing themselves around your clit. His gaze stays locked on you as he pushes his long, thick digit into you—you feel him smirk as he curls it upwards, pressing the pad of his finger firmly against the soft spongy spot inside you, making you see stars. Joel slips in a second finger and curls it along with the other to double the pleasure. He begins thrusting his digits in and out of your warm cunt, eliciting what had to be the sweetest sounds that he’d ever heard in his entire life from you. He combines it with with slow, firm, and precise stokes of his tongue on your clit.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” you encourage him, your loud, breathy moans bouncing off the bare, freshly painted walls of his house. “Yes Daddy, fuck—feels so fucking good, please don’t fucking stop—”

It’s not like you have to tell him what to do.

Joel knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows it too. He listens to every single one of your moans and feels every single buck of your hips. He is sure to pay extra attention to when your hands pull and tug at his curls; he remembers what combinations of licking, sucking, and fucking make you squeeze your plush thighs tighter around his head; reminds himself of which technique brings your body off of the couch, what makes your toes curl. Joel’s quick to learn your body’s cues, each and every last one. He already knows when to give you more, when to give you less—when he needs speed up, when it is time to slow it all down.

You sing his name over and over again, pressure of an orgasm already building between your hips. His tongue swirls around your sensitive little bundle of nerves as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt and you glance down. You almost choke when you catch a tiny glimpse of the muscles in his forearm, the way they flex underneath his skin with each of his movements as he’s fucking you. Your gaze flits to his face. His own eyes are fixed intently on you.

You’re milliseconds away from release.

“Joel, I’m so fucking close. I’m gonna come—”

His arm squeezes your thigh in encouragement.

One last, broad stroke of Joel’s tongue on your clit sends an overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing over you. Strangled cries tear themselves from the back of your throat as your velvet walls flutter and convulse, squeezing his fingers. Joel, who’s face is still half buried in your pussy, takes it upon himself to help you ride through the high. He peppers soft, delicate kisses onto your swollen clit as his fingers continue to slide in and out of you slowly. He waits patiently until your loud cries dissolve into nothing but breathless little whimpers before he crawls up, positioning himself on top of you, a hand on either side of your head. His beard and mustache glisten with a mixture of saliva and slick—and somehow it it ignites another fire and you’re ready for more, so much more.

“Sweet girl,” Joel murmurs. Leaning down, his lips meet yours and you taste yourself on his tongue

You place a hand on his chest, right over his heart, which beats strong and steady against your palm.

You start dragging your hand down his chest, your fingernails raking over his skin. It travels lower and lower, gliding over the softness of his stomach. He tenses when you brush the waistband of his jeans.

Tearing away from you, he grits out, “Baby. No.”

You immediately snatch your hand away from him.

“You changed your mind?” you question, stomach sinking at the thought of it being over already.

You’re just so fucking greedy for this man.

He offers reassurance—and an explanation.

“No, that ain’t it at all. S’just—” Joel pauses briefly and flushes a shade of red. “S’just that, well, I ain’t got condoms on me, darlin’.”

Relieved, you assure him, “It’s okay. I’m clean.”

“Me too. But that ain’t what I’m worried about,” he admits, his face going from red to maroon.

You smile, finding his embarrassment endearing.

“I’m on birth control.”

Joel clenches his hands into fists. His cock strains against his zipper at the thought of it—taking your cunt bare. “Y’sure you want this?” He rasps out. “I need you to be a hundred percent sure ‘bout it.”

“I’m a thousand percent sure, Joel. I fucking need it. More than anything I’ve ever needed in my life.”

That’s all he needed to hear.

Joel stands up, his gaze never leaving your own as he kicks off his black leather boots. You sit up, and it takes every ounce of strength you have in you to remain composed as he unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans and pushes them down his legs. You bite down on your bottom lip and try not to stare at his bulge like it’s your first time ever seeing a dick, but if he’s as big as he looks in his boxer briefs, maybe this would end up being a lot more than what your body could handle.

He hooks his thumbs underneath the elastic of his boxer briefs and slides them off, allowing his thick, hard cock to spring free from its confinement.

You swallow harshly. He’s fucking massive.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” Joel chuckles at the expression on your face as he kicks aside all of his clothes. His length rests on his lower abdomen and precome smears the skin there. Wrapping one of his hands around it, he gives it a couple strokes, just a hint of relief until you come into play. “Hm?”

Licking your lips, you nod and stand up. You take a couple of wobbling step towards him—Joel’s cock hasn’t been anywhere near you and you’re already fucking walking side to side. “Come here,” you say to him, taking both his hands in your own. You pull him back to the couch and gently guide him down into a sitting position. Swinging your leg over both of his, you straddle his lap. You gingerly place your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh softly when you feel him brush against your pussy; the contact makes you both moan in unsion. “This okay?” you ask him, breathily. You can’t be sure as to why you’re suddenly feeling a bit shy, like you’re not planning to ride his fucking soul out of him.

“More than okay.” Joel brushes your hair over your shoulder and then drags his hand down the length of your body, committing to his memory every one of your curves. “Gonna be a real good girl and ride my cock, baby?”

You gift him with a cheeky grin. “Yes, Daddy.”

The shyness begins to dissipate and you dive your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock, causing his breath to catch in his throat. You lift yourself slightly off his lap, teasingly gliding the head of his cock down your drenched slit, then up, letting it graze over your clit, which is still senstive to the touch thanks to his lips and tongue.

Joel’s hands find their way around you, running up the curve of your spine. “Wasn’t aware that my girl was such a little fuckin’ tease,” he remarks in a low tone. He slides his hands back down and his large, warm palms cup your ass, fingers kneading flesh.

“Your girl?” you repeat, your heart skipping a beat, stomach fluttering at the idea of being his. “Is that what I am to you, Joel? Your girl?”

“S’that what you want, honey?” Joel whispers, his eyes finding your own, two hopeful gazes meeting in the deepest, most intimate moment that you’ve shared all evening. “Y’wanna be my girl?”

Leaning forward, your reply is preceded by kiss, so soft and so sweet his heart swells inside his chest.

“I do,” you mumble against his lips. “I really do.”

Still gripping your ass, Joel eases you up and lines himself up at your entrance. He bucks his hips and slides the head of his cock past your folds and into your heat. “Breathe, baby,” he whispers, his hands moving to your hips, thumbs grazing your skin. He slowly guides you further down his shaft, grunting as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. “Christ, you’re so goddamn fuckin’ tight—”

The initial stretch is almost too much for you. Your nails sink deeper into his shoulders as he pulls you down further down onto him. “Joel,” you whimper, biting back a loud cry. You’re fully seated, his cock completely sheathed inside you, his head pressing against your cervix. You’re so full of him.

One of his hands abandons your hip and slips over your lower belly.

“This where you’re feelin’ me, pretty girl?” he coos gently. “This where you feel Daddy’s cock? In your belly?”

“Yes,” you sigh out contentedly. “Feels so good.”

You lift yourself off of him, then slide back down in a slow, languid motion.

Joel’s head falls back onto the couch. “Christ.” He mutters the word, his chest heaving. Staring up at the ceiling, he takes a moment to catch his breath and silently wills himself not to explode. Once he’s managed to somewhat compose himself, he looks at you again, pupils blown so wide you can’t find a single trace of brown. “Go on, then,” he rasps. “Go on, sweetheart.”

The living room fills with the sounds of low moans and panting breaths as you move, alternating your maneuvers between rocking and bouncing on him in a frenzied, fast paced rhythm. The friction of his pelvis each time you grind into it winds up the coil between your hips and suddenly you’re desperate, so pathetically desperate for another release.

“Yeah, that’s it baby,” Joel encourages, feeling the beginning of his own climax building quick—much too quick for his liking. “Jus’ like that, honey. What a good girl you are for me, so fuckin’ good for me. Just like I fuckin’ knew you would be.”

“Fuck,” you whine. “You feel so good, Daddy. Feel so fucking good inside me—”

Leaning back, you firmly plant both your hands on his thighs and arch your body, head falling back as you pick up the pace. The burning fire casts a soft, orange glow around you and his jaw falls slack. His eyes drink in every single fucking thing about you, watch you with an adoration that, for the first time in your whole life, makes you feel wanted. Actually wanted.

“Joel,” you whisper his name over and over. You’re both beginning to lose track of where you end and he begins. You can hardly hear the praises that are spilling from his plush lips over the squelching wet sounds of your cunt sliding up and down his cock. There’s no chance to warn him—your mouth parts in a silent scream as you come undone on him.

“M’so fuckin’ close,” Joel grunts. He feels his cock twitch as your pussy grips him like a vice. “Where? Where do you want it, pretty girl?”

“Inside me. Please, I need you to come inside me,” you plead him, the innocent tone of your voice the last thing to push him over the edge he’s teetering on. “Fill me up, Daddy—please, want every drop of you inside me—”

Joel reaches for your arms and yanks you forward, into him. Throwing them around his neck, his own arms wrap around you and roughly slam you down onto him, holding you firmly in place. He bucks his hips upwards, balls tightening, his cock pulsing as he comes. Strings of hissed curse words and deep gutteral groans muffle when he drops his face into your collarbone. Still holding you in place, he spills his load into you, his seed filling you to the brim.

He sags back against the couch and pulls you with him. Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he lets himself stay buried inside of you, the primal in him relishing the heavenly feeling of his come dripping messily out of your pussy and all over his thighs.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks after a minute.

“M’perfect,” you mumble against his chest. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re coming down from a high or if it’s because he’s tracing patterns on your shoulder blade with his finger, but you shiver in his arms.

“Let me get the blanket—”

Joel starts to move to get up, but you stop him.

“No, please don’t,” you say, pushing him back. You put all of your weight onto him, as if he can’t move you off to the side if he really wanted to. “I—I want you inside me for a little while longer. Please.”

“But baby, you’re cold—”

You don’t bother explaining to him that you’re not.

“Just hold me. Please.”

And that’s exactly what he does.

Snuggling into him, you close your eyes and Joel’s hand strokes at your hair. Between that, the thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek and the sound of the fireplace crackling behind you, you’re nearly soothed into sleep.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“I hate Thanksgiving,” you admit, smiling tiredly to yourself when you feel a laugh rumble in his chest.

“Do you, now?”

You nod. “I do. But I’m really thankful for you.”

Giving you a gentle squeeze, Joel kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “Well, m’thankful for you too, sweet girl.” He pauses momentarily. “I ain’t all too sure how I’m s’pposed to just let you go home. I know I have to but—”

Lifting your head off of his chest, you take the side of his face and cradle it in your palm. You meet his gaze, heart sinking when you see the sadness that has replaced the lust from earlier.

He doesn’t mean home to your parents’ house. He means Chicago.

You graze his beard with your thumb. “I’m coming back in a few weeks,” you remind him, gently. “I’ve only planned to spend a week out here just for the holidays, but I can visit sooner. As soon as the kids go on winter break, I can come back to Austin.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course I would, Joel. I’m not sure how it would work what with my parents and all, though. I don’t want them catching onto us.”

“C’mere.” Joel brushes your lips with his before he makes his promise. “I’ll figure it out, baby. Leave it all to me and I’ll figure it out.”

divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎

#asdfghjkl BYE #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #dbf!joel #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x y/n #joel miller au #dbf joel miller #dbf joel x reader #fic: someone to be thankful for

[elliesbelle]

nobody compares to you

chapter 10

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, descriptions of alcohol, straight men eww, unwanted advances, reader is implied to be shorter than both abby and ellie (if you think you're not, let's just pretend for a line or two for the sake of storytelling lol), descriptions of sexual harassment, descriptions of physical violence, minors do not interact

word count: 5.5k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-if if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

featuring the equal creatures song "waiting in the wings"

Friday night came a little too quickly for your liking. After much consideration, you’d settled on a pink bomber jacket with a white corset top and black leggings for your outing at the Bow and Arrow. You contemplate wearing your usual black boots, but you decide for tonight to give your feet a rest from being covered with painful blisters. While you meticulously add finishing touches to your makeup, your phone buzzes furiously on your bathroom counter. You tap it to reveal a text from Abby.

You allow yourself a tiny smile at Abby’s banter before setting your phone back down. 

After you decide that you’re satisfied with your appearance, you spray yourself with hints of a freesia perfume Tara had gifted you for your birthday last year. Normally, you’d wear your signature lavender fragrance, but you’d figured that even tiny advances outside of your comfort zone were a good, healthy first step to moving forward with your life. You wonder silently if Abby would notice and like it. 

You spend the next couple of minutes pacing all around your living room, occasionally bouncing up and down on your tiptoes in sheer nervousness. When you hear three gentle knocks on your front door, your heart jumps out of your chest. You breathe in deeply from between pursed, painted lips, just the way your old therapist taught you, before striding over to anxiously turn the doorknob and reveal Abby waiting expectantly. 

She was wearing a brown, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up over her muscled forearms and the top two buttons undone. Her dirty blonde hair was in her usual tight braid and fell down her back. She has her hands tucked into the front pockets of her black slacks and upon laying eyes on you, her face breaks out in a wide smile. 

“Well, good evening, pretty lady,” She greets you. “You look very nice tonight.” 

“You’re looking pretty suave yourself,” You reply, ignoring the rising heat in your cheeks. 

Abby smirks. 

“You ready to go?” She asks. 

“Mhmm,” You murmur, reaching for your purse & keys from the entryway table before closing and locking your front door behind you. “Lead the way, Miss Anderson.” 

You and Abby chat about your respective days on the way to the Bow and Arrow. You take the bus part-way, sitting next to her towards the back. It isn’t lost on you the way Abby’s hand twitches almost expectantly to hold yours, but you can’t summon enough courage in the moment to welcome the action. Though your body yearned for the physical intimacy, something else inside didn’t feel right just yet. However, you did at least allow yourself to take Abby’s hand for a few, short moments when she helped you out of your seat, and then again when she helped you hop off of the bus. 

The sun had almost entirely set by now, your shadows mainly illuminated by the lampposts and lights from the nearby shops and restaurants along the street. After several minutes of skipping next to Abby, you start to see the vague outline of the Bow and Arrow from a distance. Your fingers start to nervously fidget and you feel yourself chewing the inside of your lip in apprehensive anticipation. 

Making up an excuse to turn around and go home right now would be simple enough, though a little sudden and impolite. For the past day, you’d been trying to focus diligently on your schoolwork and classes so as not to dwell too far on what tonight could bring. However, the reality was starting to set in and your hands became clammier with every tentative step you took towards your destination. Perhaps it was a preemptively good idea not to take Abby’s hand earlier. 

You turn towards Abby, who hasn’t noticed your apparent restlessness. She looks completely at ease, confident as she always was. She oozes of enthusiasm, clearly looking forward to the night out. You sigh discreetly, resolving to at least make an effort to live it up, even just for a few hours. You make sure not to let your eyes wander too far towards the familiar, dark alleyway next to the bar. 

When reaching the entrance, you’d already pulled out your ID to flash at the bouncer, who lazily glances at it before handing it back to you and nodding you forward. The bouncer doesn’t card Abby and instead, gets up from their stool to clasp her hand and pat her back. 

“Yo, what’s up, Anderson?” The bouncer says in welcome. 

“Hey, Cam,” Abby replies. “Didn’t know you were working tonight.” 

“We’re not all doctors, man. Gotta pay those bills somehow.” 

“Not a doctor yet, dude.” Abby chuckles. 

“Yeah, yeah,” The bouncer waves her off nonchalantly. “You go enjoy your night.” 

You stand there and watch the interaction in both awkwardness and admiration. Abby really did know everyone around, even outside of campus. 

“Come on,” Abby motions you to follow her. “I think I see some of my friends here already.” 

You nod your head and trail after her timidly. 

Your wary eyes explore the bar, slowly taking in how it’s changed since the last time you’d visited. They’d added another TV among the line-up against one of the walls, and there were numerous amounts of low-lit string lights now hanging from the ceiling. You recognize a couple of the bartenders working tonight, in addition to a few more who seemed fairly new. They’d hung up a large version of the original rainbow Pride flag by a window in the front right next to the blue-pink-and-white transgender one. But even with these few new changes, the place looks generally the same. You secretly wish it didn’t, afraid that the daunting familiarity might trigger some unpleasant memories. 

Abby leads you towards a group of people gathered around one of the wall-mounted television screens where a Nintendo 64 was hooked up to. Three of them were engaged in an intense game of Mario Kart, all yelling at each other over both the race course music and a SZA song currently blasting through the bar’s speakers. Their spectating friends were heckling genially and cheering them on as the race ended with whichever player competing as Yoshi finishing in first place. 

“That’s how it’s done, bitches!” A guy who you recognize as Abby’s friend Jordan from the other day proclaims in triumph. 

“Whatever, asshole. You only won ‘cause I slipped on a banana peel during the second lap.” A girl wearing a black leather jacket to his left complains. 

“Excuses, excuses,” Jordan waves off, shaking his head mockingly. “Sounds like a serious skill issue to me.” 

“Leah, you better get your man right now before I beat his ass.” 

As you and Abby approach the group, one of her friends leaning against the wall looks up from the bickering to meet Abby’s gaze. 

“Yo, Abs, finally!” He says, beckoning her over. He was a tall, beefy man with his black hair tied up in a man bun and his face covered with a full beard. You knew he was one of Abby’s close friends, but you couldn’t remember which one he was. 

“You missed me that much, Alvarez?” Abby taunts, nudging him in the shoulder before grasping his outreached hand in greeting. 

“Cocky asshole,” Her friend chuckles. “Please save me from the torture of watching Jordan and Nora bitch at each other over this game all night.” 

“Why’d you even let them near this again after the last time we were here?” 

Abby and her friend jest for a moment or two before you’re eventually acknowledged. 

“So anyway, who’s this?” He asks. 

“Oh, right—” Abby says apologetically before introducing you. 

“Nice to meet you,” Her friend responds. “Manny. Have we met before?” 

“I’m not sure, honestly,” You admit. “I haven’t really been the most social or noticeable person of late.” 

“Pretty girl like you? Nah, I’m sure that’s not true.” Manny remarks boldly. 

You freeze at his unwanted flattery, which Abby doesn’t notice. You wonder internally what the hell her obviously and painfully straight guy friend was doing at this lesbian bar. 

Abby proceeds to acquaint you with the rest of her friend group: Jordan, Leah, Nora, Nick, and Jay. Jordan, Nora, and Jay were the three holding the controllers connected to the video game console, each either saying hello or nodding towards you in friendly greeting. The guy Nick who wore a black beanie raised his can of beer towards your direction when Abby introduced him before uttering a simple “wassup” to you. Next to Jordan is a girl with long black hair tied back in a low ponytail. Abby introduces her as Leah, after which she smiles sweetly at you. 

After she’s named all her friends, Abby turns towards you. 

“Wanna grab a drink?” She questions. 

“Yes, please.” You reply gratefully. 

You follow her to the semi-crowded bar where she settles on a somehow unoccupied barstool, you taking a seat on the one next to her. 

“What would you like, pretty girl?” Abby asks. 

“Umm, vodka cranberry, maybe?” You say. 

Abby smiles and nods before raising her hand to grab the attention of a bartender. After a few moments, she’s able to flag one down. 

“Can I get a vodka cranberry and a blue motorcycle?” She yells over the music, pulling out her wallet and handing over her credit card. “And start a tab?” 

“No worries, Abby,” The bartender smiles, taking her card. “Light ice on the motorcycle?” 

“Please.” 

The bartender nods as they swipe Abby’s card on the POS system before handing it back to her and walking to the side to prepare your drinks. 

“So you come here a whole lot, huh?” You remark as you both wait. 

“What makes you say that?” Abby asks, turning her body to face you better. 

“Everyone around here seems to know who you are.” 

“Nah, I’m just that cool and hot and popular that just about everyone knows my name anywhere I go.” Abby teases arrogantly. 

You laugh, rolling your eyes at her cockiness. 

“You are so full of yourself, Miss Anderson.” 

“Anything to make you laugh, pretty girl.” 

You and Abby banter for a minute or two before your respective drinks are placed in front of you, the bartender additionally handing you each a napkin. 

“Okay, so what the hell did you order?” You inquire of Abby, eyeing her turquoise-coloured beverage. 

“You’ve never had a blue motorcycle before?” 

“Hey, I’m a simple gal; I know only like, four or five different names of basic alcohol. Two of which are vodka.” 

Abby throws her head back, laughing boisterously. 

“Oh, man, are you really that much of a grandma?” She teases you. 

“Absolutely,” You joke. “I just shape-shifted for tonight to give the appearance of a 20-something-year-old college student so as not to be judged for my wild, party animal habits.” 

“God, you are so nerdy,” Abby chuckles. “Good thing you’re really cute.” 

You roll your eyes at her once more before taking a sip of your drink. 

“How’s your very basic and boring vodka cranberry?” Abby quips. 

“Oh, fuck off,” You giggle. “How’s your weird, little smurf drink?” 

“Extremely delicious, thank you so much for asking.” She responds. “Want a taste?” 

You grimace. 

“What!” Abby exclaims, chuckling. 

“I’m not exactly the most adventurous when it comes to what I put in my body.” 

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” Abby offers, sliding over her blue drink towards your direction. 

“What the hell is even in it?” 

“Oh, just try it, you fucking wimp!” 

You whine in hesitation before bringing the cup up to your pursed lips, taking the most minuscule of sips. 

“Oh, come on!” Abby complains as you place the drink back down. “That was barely fucking anything!” 

“You wanted me to drink it, so I drank it!” 

“Chug it like a fucking man!” 

“Are you trying to get me drunk tonight, Miss Anderson?” 

“Drink it.” Abby tauntingly asserts. 

You purse your lips once more before relenting to take a much bigger gulp from the cup. As you slam the drink back down onto the bar and slide it back towards Abby, you scowl at the mixture of different flavours staining the surface of your tongue. 

“What the hell did you just fucking poison me with?” You grumble, your mouth salivating in disgust. 

“Calm down, you big baby, it’s just some basic liquor with a bit of Blue Curaçao mixed in.” Abby chuckles. “You know, rum, tequila, gin.” 

“Oh god, tequila?” You anxiously chuckle. “Well, get ready for just about anything to happen tonight.” 

“Oh?” 

“Tequila is my sworn enemy and weakness.” You admit. “Never know what’s gonna happen when I’ve got that shit in my system.” 

“Is that so?” Abby asks, placing her elbows on the bar and her chin on top of her interlocked hands. “I’m very much intrigued to know more.” 

“I’m sure you are.” You say, taking a generous sip from your own drink. 

“Any other weaknesses that you care to share with the class?” She coaxes. 

You lean in close enough for her to hear you whisper pointedly, “I guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself, Miss Anderson.” 

As the night goes by gradually and the more intoxicated you get, the more at ease you begin to feel. Abby’s friends eventually reveal that a local band was going to be playing a few songs live on the rooftop dancefloor later on, and you all liquor up in case they turn out to be an amateur disaster. 

Though they weren’t exactly your crowd, Abby’s friend group was generally amiable and sociable. She made sense amongst them, all of them having established a repartee with her and not being intimidated like a lot of people were. You didn’t care much for her guy friends, who were slightly crude & vulgar and all of whom you could easily tell were straight and who you felt had no place being in a lesbian bar. But with the rest, you generally got along well with. 

You piece together that the nice girl Leah is Jordan’s girlfriend from the way they stuck to each other’s side as much as possible. She was friendly, always including you in the conversations and acknowledging when you spoke.

Often standing beside her was Jay, who Abby at some point quietly whispers to you is her best friend. Next to Abby, she was the most outwardly lesbian-looking one in the group. She wore a sports cap backwards over her long, straight black hair and a grey hoodie underneath an old, dishevelled jean jacket. Her fingers were decorated with several silver rings, and you saw hints of tattoos whenever she would stretch her arms out and cause her sleeves to ride up slightly. Her rather short stature was dwarfed by her rambunctious character, often making you giggle at her drunken jabs at straight people. 

The girl Nora was who aroused the most curiosity from you out of the whole friend group. She was slim, athletic-looking, and very beautiful. Her dark, kinky hair was worn in a tight, high bun, apart from a few ringlets that fell effortlessly down the sides of her face. She wore a tight, black leather jacket that hugged her form nicely. From both her physical appearance and disposition, she gave off the vibe of the beautiful, mysterious love interest to the main character in a romantic indie film. She seemed to have this easy, welcoming banter with everyone, especially Abby. You wonder to yourself if there was something there between them before realizing that it was none of your business. 

You were surprised at how much of a good time you were having. Abby was by your side for most of the night, often nudging your shoulder playfully, explaining references, or whispering flirty comments in your ear. She paid for both of your drinks, to which you reprimanded her for the entire time, even up until she closed out her tab when you’d both had enough to drink. You were enjoying yourself to the point where you’d almost forgotten the significance this bar held for you. 

A little while before the promised local band were set to make their appearance, another friend of Abby’s belatedly joined the group. 

A gust of cold, autumn wind blew in unkindly from the outside when the front door of the bar opened to receive another patron. Your eyes unwittingly wander towards the movement, suddenly widening when they fall on the face of the familiar newcomer. 

Your ex-girlfriend Adriana strides into the bar, scanning the place for her friends. Your rattled and petrified state is short-lived when Jordan spots her as well and hails her over. 

“Yo! Adriana! Over here!” He calls. 

As Abby and the rest of her friends greet her and playfully berate her for her tardiness, you shrink behind the group as you attempt to compose yourself. Though it had ended amicably between you two, it had still been several years since you’d actually come face-to-face with Adriana. You’d never established a friendship with her afterwards despite it all, still feeling too much guilt for hooking up with her friend almost immediately after your breakup. 

Adriana leisurely makes her way through the group, greeting each one jovially. After she laughed at an inside joke Nora had uttered to her, you concede silently that you couldn’t avoid being seen by her any further, not without resorting to running to the bathroom and hiding for the rest of the night. You slowly step out behind Abby’s tall, burly figure, attempting not to draw attention to yourself and trying to ease back into the situation naturally. 

After a few moments, Adriana’s eyes fall on you. You see the recognition slowly setting in by the expression on her face and once you can tell that she’s realized who you were, she gives you a small smile. She doesn’t say anything to you and continues to engage in conversation with others, but you feel a little less awkwardness after you return her smile. Though your chest still feels a bit tight from the tension, you’re slightly more relieved and at ease knowing that Adriana still kept her word after all these years of having no ill will towards you. 

Several minutes after Adriana’s arrival, you saw other patrons starting to head towards the rooftop, and your group eventually followed suit. Once you reach the next floor, you see a small stage where a few instruments were already in place and a couple of band members were setting up for the show. Your group chatters amongst themselves as you all wait patiently. 

Abby taps your shoulder at one point to let you know she was heading back down to use the restroom for a second. You giggle and tell her she didn’t need to let you know, to which she rolls her eyes humorously and promises she won’t be gone for too long. As she walks away, you realize that on her other side was Adriana and that you were now stuck standing side-by-side with each other. 

“H-hey, Adriana.” You say, giving her a slightly uncomfortable smile. 

“Hey. Didn’t know I was gonna see you here tonight.” She responds lightheartedly. 

“Yeah, Abby invited me out.” You explain. 

“Oh, I see. I didn’t know that you two still talked.” 

“Honestly, we reconnected only recently.” 

“Ahh, I see.” 

There was a moment or two of silence where you were unsure of how to proceed with the conversation. Luckily, Adriana seemed comfortable enough to continue speaking. 

“So how have you been since we last saw each other?” She asks you. 

“Oh, umm,” You begin slowly. You didn’t feel the most comfortable sharing the traumatic shit show your life has been the past two years with your ex-girlfriend, so you settle for a simple “same old, same old” at the moment. 

“That’s good.” She replies. 

“How about you?” 

“Swamped as fuck with all my courses. I honestly wasn’t gonna come out tonight ‘cause I was busy as hell trying to get some work done. That’s why I was late. But my partner is actually in the band that’s performing tonight, and I wanted to be supportive.” 

“Oh, that’s really sweet of you. I’m sure they’ll appreciate you being here.” 

“Just wanna be a good and loyal girlfriend, that’s all.” 

Another lull follows. Adriana seems perfectly calm and content with the silence, but you continue to struggle internally with overdue guilt. You decide that dealing with the discomfort for the rest of the night wasn’t worth it. 

“Hey, uhh,” You start. “By the way, I’m sorry about how things went down between us. You know, how we ended and all.” 

“Hey, ancient history.” She assures. “It was honestly fun while it lasted, but I still think it was for the best.” 

“Still, I honestly do still regret how I was back then.” 

“Nah, don’t be so hard on yourself. I don’t think it would have worked out regardless.” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” You hesitantly agree. “Probably should have put in more effort on my part, though.” 

“I don’t really think that was the case,” Adriana says. “It was just sort of obvious at one point that you were just way into someone else so much more than you were into me.” 

You cringe. 

Damn. Was I that bad at hiding how much I liked Abby back then? Sorry for being such a shitty girlfriend, Adriana… 

“Was I that obvious?” You ask remorsefully, grimacing. 

“A little,” Adriana chuckles. “But it’s okay. She was obviously more your type than I was.” 

“You think?” 

“I mean, I think Ellie Williams is a lot of girls’ type, at least around here.” 

Everything around you freezes immediately as you feel your heart come to a stop. Your throat closes up at the same time that your hands grow cold and clammy. 

E-Ellie? 

Before you’re able to wrench yourself from your petrified state, Adriana speaks again. 

“Oh, I think I see my partner up there. I’m gonna move up closer, but I’ll meet up with you guys later on, okay?” 

She glances at you for half a second to give a short farewell smile before walking towards the stage where another band member with an electric guitar slung around their shoulders has joined the others. 

You remain suspended in the moment Adriana had left you behind with. The rest of Abby’s friend group was busy drunkenly conversing with one another to notice your near-comatose state. A deafening ringing resonates in your ears, the sounds of the expectant crowd and the tuning of instruments completely drowned out. 

Ellie… 

Your eyes wander towards the middle of the dancefloor that is currently occupied by unfamiliar audience members. Without warning, you’re suddenly and unwillingly ripped back into your memories. 

“Look, I’m really not interested!” You yelled over the music blaring from the DJ station on the stage. “I’m sorry!” 

“Oh, come on,” A woman at least ten years your senior griped. “We’re just dancing! Doesn’t have to mean anything!” 

You attempted to tug her hands away that were clutching your hips far too intimately, but her grip was tight and unrelenting. 

“Please, just leave me alone!” You implored the handsy stranger. 

“Don’t be like that now!” She exclaims. “Let’s just see where this takes us and—” 

Her sentence was cut short by a sudden fist in the air colliding with her face. Even over the loud bass drops, you could hear a crunch that you were almost sure was the sound of the woman’s nose being broken. 

“What the FUCK, you fucking cunt!” She screamed. 

You looked over at your saviour assailant to see an outraged Ellie. 

“You like harassing innocent girls, bitch?” Ellie spat. “Don’t know how to keep your hands to yourself? Well, it seems like I can’t either.” 

You saw Ellie winding up to attack once more, and you quickly grabbed her right arm before she could move any further. 

“Ellie! Ellie, it’s okay, I’m fine! It’s not that—” 

“This bitch thinks she can do whatever the fuck she wants to you!” Ellie hissed towards the stranger who was slowly retreating into the crowd, cowering at Ellie’s growing fury. 

“It’s okay, I’m not hurt!” 

“It’s not fucking okay!” 

“Ellie, baby, please, let’s just move—” 

The rest of your sentence was cut off when Ellie angrily marched off towards the staircase leading back down to the main floor of the bar. 

You nearly tripped over your high-heeled boots trying to run after her. 

“Ellie!” 

A firm hand on your shoulder transports you back to the present. You jump and look up to see Abby has returned, your hazy eyes meeting her blue ones. 

“You good?” Abby asks. 

“Oh, um, yeah, sorry.” You utter. “Just spaced out there for a second.” 

Abby chuckles and says, “Already lost without me even after a few minutes, pretty girl?” 

You give her flirty joke a half-hearted smile before turning towards the stage, realizing that the band is about to play. 

They start out with their own rendition of Paramore’s “All I Wanted,” and you note to yourself that they were actually quite good. But as they progress through the song, you find yourself unable to fully concentrate on their performance. 

Ellie… 

Abby and her friends cheer and yell in support as the music comes to a momentary end. You barely register the lead singer introducing their next song, an original of theirs called “Waiting in the Wings.” 

You feel Abby move closer towards you, her body radiating heat onto you. At this sudden contact, you force yourself to be more present in the moment and attempt to push all thoughts of Ellie out of your mind. 

The song begins in a minor key, starting off slow as the lead singer begins to croon. 

🎶 There’s a million people in this room who want me more than you // There’s a million people who want me more than you 

There’s no one in this world who loves you like I do // There’s no one in this world who loves you like I do 🎶 

You watch as the crowd of people nod along to the song, some already preemptively whooping. 

🎶 Alone in a crowded room, I wish I was with you // Whether I’m here or there, it doesn’t matter to you 

But you don’t know what you have ‘til it leaves you // You don’t know what you have until it leaves you 🎶 

You suddenly feel one of Abby’s arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you in closer to her. 

🎶 There’s a line of people waitin’ for this to fall through // There’s a line of people waitin’ for me to leave you 

So please, baby, love me like I love you 🎶 

You can feel Abby’s piercing blue eyes gazing at your face, expectantly and determinedly. 

🎶 Someone here wants me, they want me more than you // Someone here wants me, they want me more than you 

There’s someone here who wants me, they want me more than you // There’s someone here who wants me, they want me more than you 🎶 

Despite this aching feeling bubbling in your stomach, you will yourself to meet Abby’s stare. 

🎶 There’s a million people in this room who want me more than you // There’s a million people who want me more than you 

There’s no one in this world who loves you like I do // There’s no one in this world who loves you like I do 🎶 

Abby begins to lower her face, her lips nearly touching yours. Her breath tickles your cheeks before you suddenly pull away from her embrace. 

The crowd is distracted as the song ends, applauding and sounding off in response. As their cheering eventually dies down, you watch as Abby’s face falls a little and an expression of slight regret is painted across her features. 

“O-oh, oh my god, Abby, I’m so sorry,” You quickly explain. “I didn’t mean to pull away like that; I swear to god, you just surprised me, that’s all.” 

You knew that it was all quickly strewn lies streaming from your lips, but you didn’t want to ruin Abby’s night by making her feel guilty. You pray that she believes your feeble excuses, and it thankfully seems that she does. 

“Serves me right for trying to sneak a kiss from you out of nowhere,” She says, smirking lightly. “I’ll do better next time.” 

“It’s okay, it’s just the tequila,” You laugh shakily. “Even just a few sips of it kind of makes my emotions a wild card.” 

“Well, you did warn me earlier,” Abby remarks, smiling. “No tequila next time; got it.” 

You chuckle nervously, biting the inside of your cheek. 

Abby begins to say something when Nora suddenly grabs her attention. 

“Oh my god, Abs, that’s the girl I was telling you about before,” Nora exclaims, pointing in a vague direction where it was indistinguishable who she was referring to. “See with the long ponytail?” 

“Holy shit, where?” Abby asks distractedly, looking away from you and towards where Nora's gesturing. 

Seeing an opportunity, you place your hand lightly on Abby’s arm before saying, “Just gonna run down to the restroom for a quick second, okay?” 

Abby turns back towards you and asks, “Do you want me to come with?” 

You muster enough bravado to jokingly say, “Believe it or not, I actually know how to pee all on my own like a big girl.” 

“Alright, alright,” Abby chuckles. “Hurry back.” 

You give her a noncommittal smile before weaving your way out of the crowd and towards the staircase. 

The bar’s gender-neutral restrooms were your first choice in brief sanctuary, but that plan was immediately foiled when you see the long line leading towards it. You sigh and resort to walking out the front door of the bar to catch your breath outside instead. 

Though it was much later in the night, the weekend guaranteed plenty of college students noisily roaming the streets of the downtown area. Wanting not to be disturbed, you reluctantly turn into the dingy alleyway to the left of the Bow and Arrow. 

A couple of people pass through the dark street, but you feel safe positioning yourself underneath the closest streetlamp as none of them lingered for too long. 

Sighing as you lean against the cold, stone wall of the next-door building, you look up at the lamp post you’d chosen as your temporary companion. You place a hand on its cool, metal base, remembering the last time you stood underneath its dim luminescence. 

“Why, Ellie?” You asked her. “Why’d you take it to that extreme?” 

Ellie’s eyes bore into you, the unspoken truth threatening to overflow from the ocean green. 

“You know why.” She said softly. 

“I—” You began, your lips trembling in hesitation. 

“You do, don’t you?” Ellie whispers. 

You don’t respond. Without thought or consideration, you find your body pressed up against Ellie’s, your mouth instinctively finding that of her own. 

The moment your lips met hers, you knew you never wanted to kiss any other lips but hers again. 

Every knowing and deliberate look, every inside joke, every accidental brush of your hands led up to this exact moment. And yet nothing could have prepared you for the bliss, the euphoria of finally kissing Ellie. Her strong, muscular arms wrapped around your waist, nearly lifting you off of the ground to pull you closer. You surrendered to your body’s instinct, almost as if fate was guiding it. 

The meaning of life laid behind Ellie’s lips, and what other choice did you have but to fervently search for it? 

You didn’t remember when you’d wrapped your arms around Ellie’s neck, only realizing you had done so when you found your fingers clutching at her auburn hair so firmly that her half-bun updo threatened to come undone. The more Ellie moaned into you, the tighter your grip on her hair became. 

You’d both forgotten where you were and how you’d gotten there. You just knew that you were no longer standing in that dark alleyway next to the Bow and Arrow. You were suddenly in this completely separate universe, a vast yet secret galaxy that consisted only of you and Ellie. It belonged to nobody else but you two. Nothing else mattered anymore, only you and Ellie and your little infinity. 

But you didn’t exist there anymore. It’s two years later, and you no longer live in that bubble of romance and fantasy. 

You step away from the wall, staring up at the clear, black sky. You try but fail desperately not to find the intricate patterns of Ellie’s freckles replicated in the constellations above. 

That universe of yours and Ellie’s was no longer within your grasp. It’s a place you hadn’t allowed yourself to visit for an eternity. This present moment, lonely and nostalgic, is the closest you can find to it. It was like a narrow, cruel window that allowed only a glimpse at the heaven you once knew. 

You sigh. Reluctantly tearing your eyes away from Ellie’s celestial clones, you bid farewell to your brief, ill-lit hideout and exit back to the main sidewalk. You make your way once more towards the front door of the Bow and Arrow, knowing that you would make Abby worry if you lingered too long outside of the bar.

author’s notes:

it's here it's here, it's finally here. can y'all believe i've really written TEN whole chapters of this fucking series? the word count is literally like, over 40k. what the hell!

as mentioned and linked above, i created a playlist for this series if you wanna check it out! it's all songs that are either mentioned or included in the series, in addition to songs that i feel match the vibe of the story! i will continue to add to it as we progress (and if you pay attention, i may add some songs preemptively right before publishing a chapter that may have to do with that specific chapter)

again, if you lowkey recognize the lesbian bar i very, very loosely based the bow and arrow on, no you don't

jay is lowkey inspired by my irl ex-girlfriend adriana's friends back in college who had a similar physical description and i was lowkey more attracted to than adriana herself oops

the song in this chapter is by the band called equal creatures where my very good friend laurie is the lead singer! if you love me, please check them out!

sorry to make the creep hitting on the reader in the flashback a woman, but sexual harassment is not gender exclusive and i wanted to showcase that as well.

the line "the moment your lips met hers, you knew you never wanted to kiss any other lips but hers again" is heavily inspired by valerie's speech from the "v for vendetta" movie (if you haven't seen the movie, even if you have no intentions of actually watching it, please watch this scene, it's so fucking moving and it's one of my all-time favourite scenes in cinematic history, no joke)! the line is said at the 2-minute mark!

reader and ellie's first kiss is also heavily inspired by my first kiss with my ex (it was romantic as hell, ask me one day to tell y'all how it happened)

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @elliesinterlude, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, @valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn, @uraesthete, @softbunlvr, @cherriesxinthespring, @amitycat, @thefishymissy, @yevheniiaaaa, @machetegirl109, @bertandfearnie, @ximtiredx, @efam, @elliesnumber1gf, @digit4lslut, @tayyyystan, @emothurman,

@livvy-2000, @abigaillovestoread, @gold-dustwomxn, @liabadoobee, @yuckyfucky, @qtefolleunpez, @libr4sonsa, @17luv, @robinismywifee, @villainousbear, @ashlynnnnnnnn15, @scarlettadore, @vianna99, @g0n3girls, @totheblood, @embermdk, @awyunh, @kenz-ee, @marvelwomen-simp, @eleactric, @simpforellie, @omgidksblog, @anxiouso, @nyrastar, @lillysbigwilly, @hopeless-y, @elliesbabygirl, @alexpritch, @thestarsanctuary, @aethelwyneleigh27, @cass00x, @mulan-but-gay, @carmellie, @destielcore, @tfuuka, @elliewilliamsmissingfingerss, @sagestuffing, @ewwitsbella, @igoferalforelliewilliams, @miaelliesgfxoxo, @saturnvalentine, @elysiagyaru, @asteroidzzzn, @gay4jinx, @97cityy, @joliettes, @p1llowthoughtss, @ellieslegalwife, @aouiaa, @lez-zuha, @ineffablefics, @peepshake, @lil-elliesgf

#nobody compares to you series #ellie williams #dealer!ellie #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #the last of us #tlou #the last of us part 2 #tlou2 #ellie fanfiction #Spotify #audio #belle speaks #v #belle writes

[shadowlali]

pure temptation

COD - Alejandro Vargas x fem!reader

[18+] wc: ~2.1 k summary: Coronel Alejandro Vargas cannot resist the mayor’s daughter masterlist

warnings: NSFW, no use of Y/N, Alejandro is taller and can pick reader up, reader has long hair but other than that no other physical descriptions, some proofreading, age gap (f!reader in her 20s and Alejandro is in his 40s), oral (f! and m! receiving), slight spanking, squirting, unprotected sex, creampie

The one temptation Alejandro tries to deny himself is you. He knows it's wrong to feel a deep need for the mayor’s daughter. While Los Vaqueros don’t need permission from your father to operate within Las Almas, there is still a respected alliance.

How would it look if he's caught with the mayor’s daughter? Alejandro is older, with enough responsibilities to keep him occupied. He can’t risk the scandal. But, has he not given so much of himself to this town? To the people? Alejandro deserves this. He deserves you. He's been alone for so long.  

You grew up in Las Almas. It's a place you're proud to call home, especially now. All the work done by Los Vaqueros to rid the place of El Sin Nombre has paid off.

-

You had never met them until the night of your father’s victory party at the plaza. That’s when you crossed paths with Coronel Alejandro Vargas. You were a little flustered when introduced to him. He was tall with broad shoulders and a self-assured presence. He wasn’t like anyone you’d met before. When he leaned in for a hug and a kiss on your cheek, he lingered a little longer than what was considered polite.

You didn’t miss the way his hand slowly slid away from your lower back, as if he didn’t want to let go. It was difficult not to steal glances at him throughout the night. You imagined those arms of his being able to hold you up while losing himself completely in your body. 

-

You’ve been so good your entire life. The perfect daughter, friend, neighbor – whatever it is, you are. Your dad never lets you out of his sight, claiming it's for your own good. None of the men in Las Almas are good enough for his daughter, according to him. You're tired of sneaking around with boys who don’t know how to please you.

Coronel Alejandro Vargas looks like he knows exactly how to please your needy body. Your father would pop a blood vessel if he found out you're attracted to Alejandro. That isn’t going to stop you.

It's not hard to figure out the schedule of Los Vaqueros’ weekly runs into town for supplies. Your sundress is short and flowy, reaching the top of your thighs. You walk over to the local store, hoping to catch Alejandro before they leave. As you round the corner, a hard body collides with you. 

“Careful, muñeca,” a deep voice says as firm hands wrap around your waist. [doll]

You look up to see Coronel Alejandro Vargas staring down at you, an amused expression on his face. He makes sure you're balanced before letting go. 

“Sorry Ale— I mean, Coronel,” you respond, your skin tingling. 

“It’s alright, you can call me Alejandro.” 

You smile,” Okay. It’s nice to see you again, Alejandro.” 

“Where’s your father? Did you come here by yourself?” He asks, concern etching his eyes.

“He’s in a meeting. And yes, I’m here by myself.” You give him one last bright smile before walking around him and into the store. 

Through the store windows you can see him speaking to a few of his soldiers. You watch as he takes a few steps towards one of the Jeeps then walks towards the store entrance, and back again. He looks conflicted.

You wonder what he's thinking until you see him motion the soldiers into one car, leaving the other to himself. Finally alone, Alejandro leans against his Jeep, face in deep concentration. You ignore Alejandro as you exit the store and keep walking towards the direction of your house. A few long strides later and he catches up to you. 

“Muñeca, I think it's best I take you home. It’s too dangerous for you to walk these streets.” 

“I appreciate it Alejandro, but I think I’ll be okay. You took out all the threats, remember?” you tease. 

“Not all of them, let me take you home,” he said as he reaches for your grocery bags. 

It only takes him a few minutes to arrive at your house. Your heart races once you notice both of your parents still aren’t home. 

“Thank you so much for the ride, Ale. Can I thank you with a cup of coffee?” You ask, your fingers lightly brushing his arm resting on the center console. 

There's no mistaking what you're implying by that question. Alejandro glances at your fingers tracing a pattern on his skin before looking into your eyes. It only takes him a few seconds to answer. 

“Yes.” 

You've just closed the front door and placed down the grocery bags before he presses you against it, his hard body molding perfectly to yours. 

“How long until your parents are home?” 

“Two hours maybe?” you manage to breathe out. 

“Just enough time then.”

Your heart races,” For what?” 

“Do you trust me?”

You pause for only a moment, nodding quickly. ”Yes, I do.”

Alejandro’s hands run up your arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He reaches for your chin with one hand and gently tilts it up while his other hand presses against your rib cage to keep you against the door. You're dazed with want until he finally presses his lips on yours.

You’ve finally gotten your wish. He's here, in the privacy of your home, devouring your mouth like he wants to commit the shape into his memory. You part your lips and flick your tongue on his.

Alejandro moves to grip your throat, his tongue becoming rough but his hand holding your neck so softly. Your hands can feel his defined muscles while you rub up and down his chest. He breaks away and presses your hands to the bottom of your dress. 

“Lift it up.” 

Your head feels heavy but you manage to lift the dress right above your panties. He stops your hands and traces the seam of the silk material with his long fingers.

You feel heat between your thighs, wanting Alejandro to alleviate the ache. Alejandro’s fingers move the silk to the side to tease your slick entrance. 

“Will you let me taste this pretty pussy?” 

“Please, oh God.” 

Alejandro drops to his knees while warm hands slide up your thighs to remove your panties. He groans once he sees how wet and luscious you are.

“Better than I imagined,” He whispers. 

Alejandro hooks your thigh around his shoulder and drags his nose on your inner thighs. He licks up the stickiness from your folds before lapping at your entrance in rough strokes. You begin to rotate your hips in small circles, wanting his tongue anywhere and everywhere. Alejandro’s firm tongue thrusts into your tiny hole, making you cry out in surprise.

Your hips move faster to rub your swollen clit on his long nose. Your hands grip your dress tightly, desperately wanting to run them through his hair. He eats like he's starving. Alejandro comes up for air before quickly lapping at your clit. His moans of pleasure vibrate against you. 

“Dios, Ale!” 

Alejandro’s tongue swipes up to flick repeatedly on your clit. He keeps the same pattern, sucking the sensitive bud or thrusting his tongue inside of you. Your legs tremble from the pleasure but you manage to find the strength to hold yourself up.

Your hips speed up their movement, grinding on his nose. He can’t resist spanking your ass, loving the way it recoils back into his palm. The air catches in your lungs, your mouth opening in a silent scream. Alejandro once again fuses his mouth to your clit and begins to give light bites and licks.

The delicious pain mixed with the sweet movement of his tongue is too much for you. Your body tenses from the rippling sensations of your orgasm. He groans, his tongue quickly lapping at your entrance once you began to gush. It feels like an eternity until your body stops shuddering.

Alejandro catches you by the waist as he stands up. “¿Estás bien, muñequita?” [Are you okay, little doll?]

You breathe in deep for a few moments before responding, “Yes Ale, fuck. That felt amazing.” 

Your hands tug his hair to bring him close, your lips pressing firmly on his. He's quick to slide his tongue over yours, having you taste your sweetness. You savour the wetness clinging to his mouth and chin, shivering from the obscenity of it all.

Alejandro picks you up, wraps your thighs around his waist and has you lead him to your room. You can feel his hard cock press against your naked pussy as you grind on him. Once inside the bedroom, you make him sit on the edge of the bed, your mouth watering for a taste of him.

You drop down to your knees and unbuckle his pants, getting nervous from the size. Alejandro’s cock is warm and hard between your palms, his slit dripping salty precum. He groans from the licks and kisses you give, starting at the base to the tip of his cock.

You take a deep breath and swallow as much as you can, one of your hands stroking the length you can’t reach. Each suck causes you to hollow your cheeks as tears gather in your eyes from the tight fit in your throat. His hands run through your hair, gathering it at the top of your head to be able to see your face. 

“Muñeca, that feels – fuck. Don’t stop.”

You know he wants nothing more than to fuck your throat from how tightly he holds your hair and how hard his thighs are clenched. Your scalp tingles slightly from his grip and your throat works hard to accommodate the size of him.

He tastes clean and warm and indecent. How would people react if they saw the mayor’s perfect daughter on her knees sucking off Coronel Alejandro Vargas? The sounds of need that come from him only encourage you to suck faster. Alejandro pulls you off a few seconds later, your lips wet with saliva. 

“Enough, I want you on the bed.” 

Alejandro helps you take off the sundress, palming your tits in his hands. You climb on the bed while he takes off the rest of his clothes. He grabs your hips and brings you right at the edge of the bed, the perfect height for his waist. He spreads your thighs wide and lightly slaps his cock on your clit. You cry from the motion and move to grip the sheets. 

“¿Lo quieres, muñeca?” [You want it, doll?] 

“Sí, Ale.” 

Alejandro drags his tip from your clit to your entrance, gathering your wetness to sink inside of you. Your back arches the moment you feel him slide all the way in, so long and thick. 

“Bella,” he groans, voice thick with lust. [Beautiful.]

He keeps one hand on your tits, alternating between squeezing and pinching your nipples. He sets a pace, using his grip on your thigh as leverage. Every slide, in and out, in and out, stretches you perfectly. He reaches so deep inside of you, making you feel intoxicated from lust.

The slight sting from the stretch of his cock only adds to your pleasure. You trail one hand down your stomach to reach and feel where Alejandro pounds into you. It's incredibly hot and sticky. He moves his hand from your chest, over your fingers to play with your clit in small circles. You shiver from the sensation, clenching tightly around him.

He gives a rough, sloppy thrust and stretches your thigh out even more. You can’t even recognize your own voice, your gasps and whimpers sounding so desperate. Alejandro moves his hand, gripping your thighs to drag his cock out completely before pounding back inside of you. You replace his hand, rubbing your clit in fast circles, tits jiggling with the force of his thrusts. 

“Feel so fucking perfect,” he grunts. “I want you to come. I’m – i’m so close.” 

His hips slap roughly against your thighs, his fingers moving yours away to play with your swollen clit. It doesn’t take long for you to shatter completely from another orgasm, tightening around him in waves and squirting all over your joined lower bodies.

Alejandro’s voice is raspy as he comes, filling you completely. He doesn’t stop his thrusts right away, wanting to mark you from the inside until you're stuffed. His sweaty body joins you on the bed at last, your bodies limp from the pleasure. 

“Dios,” he starts, ”I never imagined it would be like that.” 

You turn to look at him, a lazy smile on your lips. “I didn’t either.” 

You both continue to lay in bed, petting and kissing every inch of each other’s bodies. After a while he reluctantly gets up to leave, promising to see you soon. 

“Maybe you can show me around the base, Alejandro?” 

“Sí, I think you’d like it.” 

Alejandro gives you one more long, tempting kiss before walking out the door. You know you’ll see him again very soon.

#alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro vargas x female reader #alejandro vargas smut #cod x reader #cod mw2 x female reader #alejandro vargas #cod mw2 smut #shadowlali

[tightjeansjavi]

The Rite of Movement | drabble

“Your Pussy is God”

A/N: happy international women’s day to you, my baby loves! Cooked y’all up something real good on this special day celebrating all women 💗 pornstar!joel is here to worship each and every one of you ;) big thank you to my baby love bug @strang3lov3 for this moodboard and @itsokbbygrl for doing a quick beta read!

~word count: 655~

Summary: your pussy is god, baby love

Pairing | pornstar!joel x pornstar!female reader

Warnings: none, fluff, smut, domestic intimacy, established relationship, pussy eating, unprotected piv, body worship, pussy drunk Joel, filthy talk, language, soft vibes!, Joel is in his 40’s reader is in her 30’s, readers nickname is baby love, reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni!

series masterlist

You feel the gentle scrape of his beard along your cheek bringing you back down to reality, ears ringing, breaths mingling as he presses a kiss to your lips, lashes fluttered, chests rising and falling in sync.

Sweat slicked, sticky skin adhered together like glue. He pulses inside of you, cock dully throbbing around your fluttering cunt.

There are no cameras this time. Just you and Joel in the shared comfort of the early morning where the sun has barely begun to rise along the horizon. The mourning dove coos outside of the open window, soft cream colored curtains billow in a cool breeze that kisses your exposed skin.

He lets out a grunt, low and deep as he slowly eases his cock from between your thighs. One strong arm loops around your waist, hugging you to him as his lips brush across your jaw. His movements are languid, no rush behind them as he trails his lips further, and further.

He kisses the column of your neck, tongue dragging across your pulse point, licking up your salt and perspiration, tasting the familiar tang on his tongue. He groans, nose pressing, dragging downwards.

“What’re you doing, baby?” You hum, lashes still fluttered shut as your hand slides upwards, resting along the back of his head and carding your fingers through his sweat stained curls.

“Tastin’ you, baby love.” He rasps, dragging his lips further to kiss the edge of your shoulder, between your breasts, tongue dragging down your sternum, stopping just above your belly button.

“Mmm.” You sigh contentedly, “continue.”

His lips curve upwards against your skin, grinning like a devil at your comment for him to continue. “Can I clean up the mess between your thighs? Let you ride my tongue out before the sun rises?” He pressed an open mouthed kiss against your hip, nibbling gently eliciting a giggle from you.

“Mhmmm. I would love that, baby. Clean up the mess that we made.” You correct him softly, peeking an eye open to watch him.

“You’re so pretty.” He coos, letting his freehand gently grasp your thigh and press it open as he sinks down further. “So pretty in this light, so soft, all mine.” He babbles, mind fuzzy and pussy drunk.

Your hips shift, making room to accommodate him comfortably. He wraps one arm around your stomach, gently pulling you down closer to his mouth while his freehand teases through your folds, spreading your inner lips open, messy and sticky with yours and his cum.

“Such a pretty little messy pussy, baby love.” He hums, smacking his lips together in anticipation because there isn’t a moment in the day where he’s not thinking of tasting you on his tongue. It’s his fuel, his energy, his life source—

“I love it when you talk about my pussy, Joel. Makes me feel so good inside that you think she’s so pretty.” You open both of your eyes, meeting his gaze just as he drags his tongue from your weeping hole, through your folds, and up to your clit, his eyes never leave yours. He gathers up your combined releases on his tongue, swallowing it down like he was quenched with thirst.

“Mmm. That’s what you deserve, baby love. To feel good, to feel loved, worshipped, admired, fuck—ain’t nothin’ I wouldn’t do to make you feel my love.” He makes your heart and pussy clench, and he doesn’t even have to try.

“Dude.” You giggle. “Who the fuck is cutting onions? How can you go from filthy to romantic in—oh” you sigh softly, head falling back against the roused pillows as his tongue flicks back and forth across your clit, lips wrapping around the nub, sucking gently with the intent to make you come undone all over again.

“Like this.” He chuckles, continuing his ministrations and taking you apart with his tongue, coaxing you to give him just a little bit more of his favorite meal.

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#fic: your pussy is god #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #soft!joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel x female reader #joel x f!reader #joel x reader #joel x you #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller one shot #joel miller drabble #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pornstar!joel #joel miller imagine

[sailorholly]

Strictly Business Pt 2

Summary: Spencer wants to gain sexual experience before asking out his dream date. You just want a way to release stress. What could go wrong?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x F. BAU Reader

Warnings: Smut. Oral (f. receiving). 18+ only. Minors DNI. Typical Criminal Minds violence and case descriptions.

W/C: 1.2K

See the Strictly Business Masterlist here

Catch up here: Part One

The morning after Rossi’s, you got called in on a case. Three bodies were discovered and you all knew you had to work quickly or there would be another.

You and Spencer decided to wait until after you were home from the case to begin your physical relationship. You quickly learned it was easier said than done. Hotch paired the two of you on the way there. So you were around each other constantly. Your body was hyper aware of every move he made.

You were sure you had a similar effect on him. He would sneak glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking. You could tell he was thinking about it too. You had caught him checking you out on more than one occasion.

It was like you were drawn together like magnets, always finding excuses to touch each other. His long legs would brush against yours while sitting. You would touch his back when you walked by. When going over files, both of you placed your hands on the other’s and let it linger a little too long. You were practically bubbling with anticipation.

It was taking longer than usual to find this unsub. The stress was affecting the whole team. You were starting to take your frustration out on each other. It all came to a head when Derek and Penelope started fighting when she couldn’t find the answers he needed.

His misplaced anger was the last straw for Hotch. He told everyone to take the night off. He wanted you to relax and try to rest.

You just got out of the shower. You stayed in longer than you expected, but you were enjoying the spray of the warm water on your tired body. You put on a tank top and shorts. Your nightly skincare routine is interrupted by a knock on your hotel room door.

You look through the peephole to find Spencer pacing the hallway outside. You open the door letting him in. “Hey, was there a break in the case? I can be ready in a few minu-“ Spencer cuts off your sentence by placing his large hands against the sides of your face, his lips moving eagerly against your own. He pulls away as quickly as he began. You didn’t have time to reciprocate the kiss.

“I’m so sorry. I’ve wanted to do that all week. I thought if I just did it quickly, my nerves would subside. But it didn’t work.” He smiles at you sheepishly, his whole face turning different shades of red.

“It’s okay. I’m really nervous too. It’s all I can think about. Do you want to start tonight?” “Yes!” Spencer answers almost too quickly. You giggle and take his hand leading him to the bed. “Let’s talk about what you’ve done before so I know what you’re familiar with.”

“I’ve had sex once.” he replies. “Okay, what did you do during sex? Did you use your fingers?” He keeps his eyes on yours shaking his head no. “So you went down on her?” “No, I didn’t do that either.” Your eyes widen.

“So you just put it in?! Spencer, you have to get women ready first.” “I know that!” he says defensively. “You’ve read so many of my romance books, surely you know what to do.” He clears his throat. “Yes, in theory, but having you right here in front of me is completely different.”

“I wanted to do something to her, but she didn’t give me the chance. She started kissing me. One thing led to another and she lifted her skirt and got on top of me. It was over before I knew it.” You sigh, “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

You decide to start with kissing to get comfortable with each other. This time the kiss isn’t rushed. It almost feels natural. Spencer pulls away first. He nips at your earlobe. Your breath hitches when his lips latch onto your neck. He sucks the tender skin there causing a moan to escape your lips.

He pulls away, his gaze falls to your face trying to gage your reaction. You place your hand on his thigh. “That was great. I think we can move on now. Is there anything in particular you want to start with?”

Spencer lowers his eyes to your tank top, your nipples visible through the thin fabric. You take his hand placing it on your breast. Spencer loudly swallows. “It’s okay, Spence. I want you to touch me.”

That was all the confirmation he needs. Slender fingers begin toying with your nipple. His other hand pushes you gently against the bed. His mouth descends on your hardened peak through your shirt. You arch upward into him.

His movements are more confident now. His hands travel to the hem of your tank top, lifting it over your torso and off you completely. Wandering hands find their way back to your chest. He gently kisses down your stomach while he rolls your nipples between his long digits.

When he reaches the waistband of your shorts, he stops looking up at you. “Is this okay?” You squirm under his intense gaze. “Yes, please touch me.” Your response comes out needier than you expected. He smiles, loving the effect he’s having on you.

He slowly slides your shorts down your legs, leaving you exposed to him. He swipes a finger down your center, collecting the wetness already gathered there. “You’re so responsive. So wet and I’ve barely touched you.”

You watch incredulously as he places his finger in his mouth. He gently sucks before removing it with a loud pop. “Can I taste you?” he asks as casually as if he was asking to borrow a pen.

You raise up on your elbows to look down at him posed between your open legs. “I think I might die, if you don’t.” Spencer scrunches his nose before responding. “Actually it’s not possible to die from-“ “Spencer, please?!” You interrupt him with your begging.

He smirks lowering his face to your waiting heat. You almost fly off the bed when he licks a hot stripe up your center. One hand grabs your hip pulling you down. He places the other over your stomach to hold you in place.

He dives in, eating you like you’re the best meal he’s ever had. His lips tug on your clit. You reach down tangling your hands in his curls, pulling him closer. His moans vibrate against you, adding to the pressure building low in your stomach.

He laps at your core taking everything you give him. Your body arches toward him, but he firmly presses you back into the mattress. You dig your heels into his back. You can feel his fingers pressing into your hips, you know there will be bruises in their place tomorrow. But you don’t care.

He fastens his soft lips around your clit, lightly sucking while his tongue flicks rapidly against you. He doesn’t slow down when you shatter. Your legs shake around his head, cries of his name fill the otherwise silent room.

When you come back down, Spencer pulls away. He places a light kiss to your inner thigh. You sit up, handing him your discarded tank top to wipe his mouth. “You got a little something there.”

You point to your own mouth failing to conceal your smile. Spencer snakes his tongue out, licking your remaining arousal off his lips. Although he said it was impossible, you weren’t sure you would survive this.

Part Three

Tags (if you wanna be added let me know!)

@cindylynn @potter-puff007 @multifandom-worlds @mochie85 @modern-mermaid @analethicia @marimorena06 @ghostheartbeat @clownprincess09 @thebiggestscamislife @whistle1whistle @lockwoods-coat-and-reids-vests @twsssmlmaa @cynbx @padlockedhearts @wheredafandomat @salempoe @emarich7 @itzdarling @baku-hoes-blog @anonymously-ominous @arabis-world

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!readr #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid smut #spencer reid self insert #strictly business

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

“Not quite my type”

Shelby Brothers x reader

Summary: Everybody says they have “a type,” but we don’t always fall for that type now do we?

Note: Physical descriptions are used. This is a sequel to this post that goes over my hcs for the Shelby brothers’ (excluding Finn) types!

Arthur

(Short and curvy—> Tall and lean)

Arthur always liked a softer lady, someone on the shorter side too. However, Arthur’s type is truly any woman that shows him kindness and patience. Out of all the Shelby brothers, Arthur would be the first to change his preferences for his partner. He doesn’t treat you as competition or as being masculine, no. Arthur treats you like a princess… think of Gimli speaking to Galadriel. If you were not only tall, but muscular, Arthur would only find you that much sexier. A noble, strong, otherworldly woman chose him as a partner, he’s a lucky man. Once he’s in love, he romanticizes every part of you. From your long legs to your elegant back.

Tommy

(Tall and lean —-> Short and curvy)

Tommy tended to go for lean, sophisticated ladies. When he was young they called his type “Gibson Girls.” That is not to say that he would turn down a woman based only on her height or waistline. It would take some getting used to, sure… but he does get used to it. Tommy likes the subtle curves of a woman. Her spine, her neck, her thighs. There is something gentle and romantic about a softer bodied woman. He likes to buy you fine dresses to accentuate your figure and jewelry to compliment your eyes. Tommy likes to show you off, until men start to get too close. His favorite place to put you is right on his lap, his hand gripping your thigh.

John

(Plump backside—> Not so much)

So, you’ve got a small or flat backside. Not everyone gets to just have one. No shame in it! Now, if you’re worried John would love you less for it… It wouldn’t matter. He will spank it anyway. And John is an easygoing guy when it comes to sex appeal. Some pricks only want girls with big bosoms or dainty hands. John likes all sizes. Tits are tits, an ass is an ass. He isn’t exactly a poet about it though, so you might not always feel as sexy as he sees you. Until he gets his hands on you, anyway. John doesn’t even care about lingerie! If you’re his girl, all you need to do is give him a wink and he’s yours.

Tags-

@graveyard-stray @roeun

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders headcanon #peaky blinders x reader #thomas shelby #arthur shelby #John Shelby #arthur shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #john shelby x reader

[juneknight]

obsessed

Part One | Part Two

Marc really likes to eat pussy. He offers to eat yours.

About this: college au (dorm room Marc)/fem!reader.

Immersivity: reader is given no overt physical description and no name. Details about her figure/body could be assumed based on the fact that she wears a pair of Marc's stollen pajama pants. Any further details which hinder your immersive experience are welcome to be pointed out to me.

*

“Don’t say it. Don’t say a word.” 

“I’ve got a handful of words. Mostly are you kidding me?”

You groan, throwing an arm over your eyes so that you don’t have to see his incredulous face. It doesn’t help, though; Marc has a gaze that you can feel when he’s pinned you with it, a burning heat that rolls over you—or maybe that’s just your own embarrassment. 

“This is why I don’t tell you anything.” 

“Hey, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he says gently. His voice is nearer, like he’s sat up. For the last hour he had been laying on the floor, too stoned to move and then too lazy once his high had worn off. You would have liked to be laying there beside him no matter how uncomfortable the floor was, but lounging on the couch offered you some vital distance. Marc flicks at your elbow. “I’m not making fun of you or something. I just find it hard to believe—but I guess I shouldn’t, with some of the clowns I’ve seen you date.” 

Eyes shut, you reach out and wack at him softly, your fingers just skimming his soft, dark curls as he ducks. 

“They do offer, right?” 

“Sometimes. But I usually say no.” 

“You…say…no,” he repeats flatly. “Someone asks to eat your pussy and you say no?” 

God, why does he have to put it that way? There should be some things you never have to hear your friends talk about. Friends meaning Marc. It’s safer that way. The last thing you need is to hear his voice echoing in your ears at night while you listen to his quiet breathing across the room of your dorm. The last thing you need to be thinking about is the way his pretty, full mouth must have looked when he said your pussy. 

“I don’t like it,” you admit. 

“So someone has eaten your pussy.” 

“Will you stop saying that? You don’t need to say the whole phrase every time. You’re wasting breath.” 

“Pussy is one thing I could never waste my breath on,” he teases, lowering his voice in a mimicry of desire that makes your thighs clench beneath the plaid pajama pants you stole from him once the colder winter months arrived. Then, his voice softens, coaxing you to peek at him from behind the safety of your arm: “Hey. If you didn’t like it, that’s that. Everybody is different. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.” 

“I thought I’d like it,” you admit, face hot with the embarrassment of talking about this. “But it…wasn’t the best.” 

Marc raises his eyebrows. “Ah. That could turn anyone off, I think.” 

“It hurt a little.” 

Marc’s brows lower, plummeting his face into a dark expression. He has the most incredible resting bitch face you’ve ever seen, though this seems marginally different from his somber neutral expression. “He hurt you?” 

“I don’t think he meant to,” you’re quick to assure him. “I’m just—ah—sensitive.” 

Marc sighs through his nose. Jaw clenched, he walks on his knees to the nearby coffee table that is littered with graded papers from this semester, fliers that you’ve peeled off the bulletin boards around campus, the rest of Marc’s weed and the half-empty bottle of wine with the goofy wine stopper in the shape of a moon that he’d gotten you for your birthday. Finally, he plucks a pen without the cap from the mess and turns over a flier for a fundraising event. 

“Name,” Marc says shortly. 

“What?” 

“I want his name. Dorm room number. Class schedule. Never mind, I’ll find those things—I know a guy. Just give me his name.” 

You gape. “What are you going to do, give him a 101 course on oral sex?” 

“101? Don’t insult me, princess. No, I’m going to kick his ass.” 

It’s fucked up. It should be fucked up, but your heart flutters. Violence isn’t supposed to be sexy, and in most cases, it isn’t. But there’s something about Marc taking slights against your person so personally. Something about the way he wants to defend you and protect you. It satisfies the itch in the most primitive part of your brain. 

“Don’t even joke about that,” you say, fighting a smile. “Besides, he’s all the way back in my hometown.” 

At your words, Marc scribbles something down with the pen.

You laugh. “Marc, goddamn it. That wasn’t a hint.” 

“Not a hint,” he mutters. “A clue.” 

You pick up the remote from where it balances precariously on the arm of the couch and you toss it at him. It taps his shoulder before clattering to the floor, the back coming off and two triple A batteries scattering across the carpet. 

“Marc Spector, protector of the pussy.” 

He shakes his head. “No, not a protector. If I’d been able to protect you, it never would have happened in the first place. I’ll take the next best thing: vengeance.” 

“I wasn’t very relaxed,” you admit. “So that didn’t help. I couldn’t stop thinking, why would anyone want to put their mouth there?”

Marc tosses the pen aside. The brief adrenalin of the moment has faded, and now the exhaustion that had you both collapsed into lazy puddles returns. A glance at the clock shows that in a couple of hours, the sun will be rising. It’s not the first all nighter you’ve pulled with Marc, and it likely won’t be the last. This is always your favorite part of the evening: when the homework is done, essays submitted, obligations fulfilled. Then the two of you just talk. And sometimes smoke (in his case). And sometimes drink (in your case). Your buzz had faded hours ago, and still you weren’t ready to drag yourself to bed. Talking with Marc is your favorite recreational activity. 

Laying back, Marc puts one hand behind his head and rests the other on his chest. You watch it rise and fall softly with his breathing, letting the sound of his voice wash over you. 

“You only think that because you’re straight—” Your brows raise. Marc thinks you’re straight? “—or because society is always trying to make women feel like their pussies are gross. That makes no sense, babe. If a pussy is gross, then why does every guy want to fuck one so bad? Personally—” 

Marc cuts himself off. The silence lingers. If it were anyone else, you might think that Marc was baiting you into asking more about it, but you can tell by the way his lips thin and then pucker unhappily that he has let something slip. There’s no chance in hell that you’ll let it go. 

“Personally?” you prompt him. 

He closes his eyes and sighs. “I love it.” 

“You love it.” 

“Cunnilingus. Eating pussy.” You can’t help but scoff. Marc just shakes his head, still resting his eyes. He sounds resigned to your disbelief. “I mean it. If you knew how much I think about—it—you’d think I’m fucking obscene. Girls just…they smell so fucking good. And when they’re wet, really wet, when you’ve been teasing her all night? You can smell them through their clothes.” 

On instinct, you quietly tuck one heel over the opposite ankle, crossing your legs. Swallowing to keep your voice even, you say: “No you fucking can’t.” 

“You can. I swear to god you can. And when you’re about to fuck and she grabs your hair—” Jesus Christ, Marc slips free the hand he was resting his head on and absently sinks his fingers into his dark curls tugging on his own fucking hair. “—she’ll let me know that she wants it. Nudging my head down. Whining if I get distracted kissing her skin or sucking on her tits. Spreading her legs for me. She thinks I’m teasing her, but I’m teasing myself. Because god do I want it.” 

His chest has begun to rise and fall faster now, at a rate more similar to your own. His eyes flicker behind his closed lids, like he’s watching a movie. Safe from his gaze, you let your eyes flicker down to the crotch of his jeans. Is he getting turned on? It’s hard to tell through the restricting denim. God, why hadn’t he made himself more comfortable hours ago and peeled those jeans off, leaving them in a pile beside the hamper like he usually does? Maybe he would put on those sweatpants he sometimes tugs on first thing in the morning, the ones that do very little to hide his generous morning erections. 

“And then you just—go down on her.” 

He hums. “Spread her open first. I like to see how wet she is, to see how wet just the thought of me has made her. And god, if the smell is good, the taste—” He groans, an orgasmic sound that has your pussy clenching around nothing. 

“Come on,” you mutter. “You’re exaggerating.” 

His eyes shoot open, turning his molten gaze on you. You literally rear back, shocked at the sudden movement, feeling burned by his scrutiny as he rakes his dark eyes over your face. 

“Are you kidding me?” he says. “You’ve never tasted yourself?” 

The gobsmacked look on your face must say enough. 

“Never? Not even a taste? I know you masturbate. I stole the batteries from your vibrator for the remote control. You’re telling me that you get your fingers wet even semi-regularly but you’ve never thought, Hey, I wonder what I taste like?” 

You purse your lips. It had literally never crossed your mind. 

Marc gives a soft little incredulous laugh before collapsing back to the carpet, tucking his hand behind his head again. Eyes shut, he murmurs: “You should try it.” 

“What, like now?” 

You must be possessed to have let the words pass your lips. There’s no other explanation. The fine line you’ve been dancing along to maintain a friendship with Marc—and not terminally embarrass yourself by admitting your ever-growing attraction and feelings for him—it is a line in the sand that you’ve been respecting for ages now. Not to say that it hasn’t grown harder once he moved into your dorm room, when you got to see him coming out of the shower with nothing but a towel on, when you sometimes heard the rhythmic creak of his bed at night while he jerked himself off. When you woke up in the morning and he would have started the coffee, bedhead outrageous, saying good morning with his voice still croaky from sleep while sitting at the tiny table with mismatched chairs that you’d found together along the side of the road. 

Yes, god it’s been hard. And you’re more keenly aware than ever that all of your effort could be destroyed in an instant if you let down your guard for even one moment.

Marc’s eyes are open again, staring up at the ceiling blankly. He doesn’t even look at you. Probably can’t look at you, feeling so awkward and grossed out—

—because your question is as good a confession as any that you are wet. 

His eyes slip closed again. He shrugs. “‘S your pussy.” 

With his eyes closed, it’s easier to slip your hand beneath the waistband of his pajama pants, beneath the waistband of your panties. If he was watching you, you probably wouldn’t have had the courage. Marc doesn’t need to know how obscenely wet you are. When you slip a finger between the seam of your lips, the wetness is burning hot, your flesh aching for your own touch. Or his. Preferably his. The temptation is there to let your finger wander, to let it caress your clit or fill that aching empty space inside of you. Instead, you slide a finger from your hole to your clit, gathering the slick. 

Pulling your hand free, you examine it in the cheap fluorescent lighting. Swallowing hard, you slip the finger into your mouth and whatever you were expecting? This isn’t it. You are mostly tasteless with just a hint of musk, an echo of salt maybe. 

“Well?” You nearly choke on a gasp, Marc’s voice so suddenly close to you now. He has sat up, bracing himself with his palms flat on the floor, eyes dark and burning where they flicker between your eyes and your mouth. “Gross? Disgusting?” 

“No,” you breathe. 

“Told you,” he breathes back. 

“And you—you like it?” 

“I’m obsessed,” he says, unblinking. “It keeps me up at night. When I’m in between her legs, I’m possessed. I want her dripping down my chin. I want to feel the way her pussy clenches when she cums around my tongue. I want a headache from how hard she’s tugging my hair because I’ve made her cum so many times.” 

“Jesus Marc,” you laugh. It comes out a little too weak and breathy to be effectively categorized as humored. His mouth quirks up at the edges though. Whatever hypnotic spell that had been cast when you—god, you can’t even think it without squirming, had you really done it? Had you really tasted your own slick with Marc right there? Had he been watching you?—the spell is broken. He reaches up to rub at one bloodshot eye with his open palm before collapsing back onto the carpet. 

“Told you,” he says. “I’m perverse.” 

“I already knew that.” 

He snorts but doesn’t take the bait. “It’s been too long.” 

“Since?” 

“Since I’ve gotten laid.” You raise your eyebrows. Marc Spector not getting laid? Those words in that order didn’t compute. Marc had always been open about how much he enjoyed sex, and he’d certainly never been shy about having it when the opportunity presented itself. He continues, unaware of your thoughts: “Ever since you established the dorm room sex embargo.” 

You scowl. “If I remember right, you were all too quick to agree that we shouldn’t bring people back to the dorm. I can’t help it if that is more to your detriment than mine.” 

“I can’t tell if you’re calling me a slut or yourself a prude.” 

“Neither. Don’t call yourself that.” 

“I’m only teasing you,” he murmurs. He sounds on the verge of sleep, his words no slower but much more softly. Someone goes by outside the dorm room laughing loudly, and it just reminds you of how quiet it is inside the room. Netflix has long ago paused the show you were watching, and neither of you had bothered to restart it. 

“If you miss it that bad, maybe you’re a sex addict.” 

His eyes roll beneath his lids. You lay your cheek on the couch cushion, leaning down so that you can stare at him. Your eyes trace the angles of his face: the sharp jaw, the curved nose, the full mouth. God, he’s handsome. Pretty, even. 

“I’d do it for you, you know,” he says, breaking the lengthy silence. 

“Do what?” you wonder. 

“Eat your pussy.” Your breath catches. Heart stops. Brain stutters to a halt, even as he goes on: “I’d make it good for you. Slow and careful until you know what you like. And you would like it. I’ve never met someone who didn’t.” 

“Are you seriously offering to go down on me?” 

He hums in the affirmative. One eye opens suddenly. “Why, are you considering taking me up on it?” 

#marc spector x reader