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luxcuriousao3 · 3 months ago

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Task Force 141 + The Best They've Ever Had

Just thinking about you being the best fuck the boys have ever had.

warnings: smut (obvi), piv, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected sex, protected sex, fingering, briefly mentioned s/m but no actual s/m, reader is kinda a fuck boy (fuck girl?), slight hint of dacryphillia if you squint maybe, no use of y/n

Gaz

You go for Gaz first—he's the prettiest, and he's incredibly smooth. He charms you easily, makes you comfortable enough to invite him back to your place despite having just met that night. He's all confidence and no arrogance. He knows he looks good and he knows he fucks good. He's sure he's going to blow your mind, leave you aching for more…

Instead, you give him head so good his climax comes early, his come flooding your mouth. A broken moan leaves him when you swallow and look up at him through your lashes, a sweet, innocent smile on your face, but your eyes are sultry enough to get a man hard in seconds. His spent cock twitches valiantly, but his orgasm was so strong that he knows he won’t be able to go again for hours.

He’s incredibly embarrassed, but he tries not to show it, and gets you off twice in apology—once with his fingers and once with his mouth. You see him out at the end of the night. He was hoping to stay longer, perhaps get to fuck you after all, but you’re a busy woman, and you’ve got things to do early tomorrow morning.

Gaz doesn’t tell the rest of the boys about this particular hookup, knowing he’d never hear the end of it from Soap—but he keeps the memory of it close for long, lonely missions.

Price

Perhaps surprisingly, Price is your next victim hookup. He doesn’t get out much, but you manage to catch him on one of his rare nights off.

He takes you back to his place, a small but neat flat not far from the base he’s stationed at. There’s a fine layer of dust on all of the furniture, showing how rarely he’s home, and he’s amused by you jokingly asking if he’s actually breaking you into someone else’s apartment.

He pours you both a glass of wine, and you talk for a while as you drink, continuing to get to know one another. Well, it’s really just him getting to know you—he’s a private man, and he knows how to talk without actually saying much—but he finds that he doesn’t mind that. You’re quite a talented speaker, genuine and animated about every topic that comes to mind. Your little quirks and mannerisms only make you more attractive.

Once both your glasses are empty, and the two of you have drifted close enough to touch, he cups your chin in one hand and leans down to kiss you. He can feel you smile against his lips, and you pull away with a little giggle that makes his brows raise in curiosity.

“Your beard tickles,” you tell him, before sitting up a little more so you can kiss him again. It’s endlessly endearing, and he can’t stop himself from deepening the kiss, his cock chubbing up in his jeans. He’s eager to find out if his beard will tickle your cunt, too.

Not too long later, he gets his answer—a resounding yes—as well as discovers a new addiction. You taste like heaven, like well aged whiskey, like his favorite brand of cigars, and he suddenly realizes he no longer wants to die in the field in some fiery blaze of glory.

He’d much rather you just smother him with your cunt.

Unfortunately, he has a duty to his country, so he reluctantly shifts you off of him so he can breathe. It’s for the best, really, because he’s about to come just from eating you out. You don’t give him a chance to rest, though, moving down his body and sinking down onto his hard cock. You both gasp at the same time—Price from the pleasure, and you from the stretch. Clearly, you hadn’t realized just how thick he was, and now you’re tearing up and pouting while sat on his cock. He shushes you sweetly, stroking your cheek and rubbing your clit, enamored by the adorable picture you make. Soon enough, the sting fades, and you start riding him like your life depends on it. He plays with your tits the whole time, sucking and licking your nipples, his hands on your hips guiding your movements.

When he comes, it’s pure ecstasy. He’s never felt this good before, not even with his ex-wife. He knows then that he wants to keep you—and he can only hope that his seed filling your sweet pussy takes root deep in your womb.

Silly you forgot to put a condom on him, and of course, he didn’t see any reason to remind you. You sigh when you realize, and mutter something about getting the morning after pill. His grip tightens on your hips for a second, but he forces himself to relax. It’s only eighty percent effective, he tells himself. There’s still a chance.

Ghost

You meet Ghost next. You see him at the bar, all broad shoulders, bulky muscles, and towering height. But what makes you throw caution to the wind is the mask. You sidle on up to him, give him your signature sweet smile when he looks you up and down, and don’t let it phase you when he just grunts in reply to your greeting. It takes longer than it usually would to get Ghost back to your apartment—most guys are raring to go once you give them the signal—but after a few gentle touches, one long winded ramble about a topic you’re passionate about, and a couple shots, he gets that familiar look of want in his dark eyes, and you know you’ve got him, hook, line, and sinker.

You don’t expect him to be a gentleman, but he insists on making you come on his fingers before he even takes his clothes off. It’s actually really fucking hot, and you’re even more eager than usual to return the favor. You sink down to your knees to try and suck him off, but he effortlessly hoists you back up and tosses you onto the bed, slowly undoing his belt and pulling it off. You spread your legs wide for him and bite your lip, half hoping he’ll snap the belt against your cunt or bind your wrists with it. Instead, he tosses it aside, opens up his fly, rolls on the condom, and presses inside you. He’s fucking massive, and you grasp one of his hands in yours as you whimper and whine through the stretch. He goes slow, at least until you’re adjusted—and then he’s obeying your demands as you order him to give it to you harder, faster, more, more, more.

Ghost has to keep stopping to just grind into you, because the way your tits bounce as he rails you, the sounds you’re making, and the tight, hot, wet grip of your pussy is too fucking much. He’s never been one for hookups really, hasn’t fucked anyone in ages, but there was something about you. Pretty face, beautiful body, and clearly into him, even with the mask—it’s not something he experiences often. He’s struck with the sudden urge to pull off the mask and kiss your lips, swallow every gorgeous gasp and moan you let out—but he can’t, won’t, so instead he buries his face in your neck, panting harshly as he thrusts into you, hard and fast, just like you’re begging for.

When it’s over, and he’s filled the condom with a frankly concerning amount of come, he stays buried deep in your pussy, with you pinned beneath him, his face still tucked into your neck. He doesn’t want to move, and the fact that you seem content to let him stay like that only makes him want you more.

When you finally shift like you want to get up, he has to fight the overwhelming urge to just ignore you. Instead, he finally pulls out of you and sits up, letting his eyes rove every inch of you as he does up his trousers. That little smile you give him makes his heart stutter, and he's torn between fleeing and begging you to let him stay.

You make the decision for him, thanking him for a great fuck and asking him if he needs you to call him an Uber.

Pride stinging and chest aching, Ghost walks back to the barracks.

Soap

Soap’s a stray dog that just wants a forever home. A handsome, lonely, loveable, eager mutt. So when he’s pounding into you in the back seat of your car because he was too excited to wait till you got back to your place, moaning and grunting and whining like the puppy he is, the words just slip out.

“Want ye, want ye tae be mine, please bonnie, want ye all fer myself.”

You coo at him, finding how pussy drunk he is adorable, and thread your fingers through his mohawk to pull him in for a kiss. He groans into your mouth as he comes, humping you through the aftershocks of his orgasm. You giggle, pulling back to nibble at his stubbled jaw as he pants in your ear.

“So?” He asks, voice wrecked but hopeful, and you feel a little bad when you realize his words weren’t just dirty talk. “What aboot it, lamb? Will ye be mine?”

“My pussy that good?” You tease him, trying to let him down easily. You can tell he realizes, his eyes tightening just a little in disappointment before his expression smooths back over into the cocky one he’d charmed his way into your pants with.

“Best I’ve ever had,” he answers, and you can hear the truth of it in his voice, even as he winks at you, holding up a two fingered salute. “Scot’s honor.”

“Pretty sure it’s scout’s honor,” you correct him, but he just smirks and shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says. “Scot’s honor is better. We’re a loyal bunch.”

And Christ, but he’d be a loyal dog to you, if only you’d keep him.

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dmitriene · 4 months ago

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Bear price part 3 with how he acts with his pregnant wife and then later the cubs? Please 🙏 I actually love your stufff so much 🦅

cw: hybrids, pregnancy, motherhood, giving birth, nothing here is really accurate.

despite the fact that there is no greater joy for john price than knowing that you are pregnant with his cubs, he knows very little about what it is like to carry a child, and even more so he does not know much about the process of childbirth, all his actions are only instinctive, driven by the churning pull of a gnawing need to protect you and make your every will come out real, should you ask for anything at all.

a devoted mate, he is always concerned about your comfort, especially now, knowing how sensitive and vulnerable you are during this period, when all your energy is spent on growing the one who is in your belly, making the child healthy, stronger, so you have to rest more often, take care of your well being and eat as much as possible, which john takes upon himself, walking restlessly around the house every day, from dawn to dusk, assisting you at any given moment.

the bear inside of him, innate, animalistic habit, teases his senses with a growl of a need to keep you hidden, tangled in his arms for till the birthing comes, trapped, having to go through your pregnancy in this same cabin you live in together, in this same furs you sleep beneath every night, in john's pawing, possessive hold, but the nature can be unforgiving, the pregnancy a process he has no say in, and he won't risk your health, no matter how hard the animal in him claws.

john makes sure to find you a gynecologist, the one that would visit you, without needing for you to step outside, let other predators sniff out a pretty thing with her baby bump for anyone to try and court, even though you're long mated, thus, he makes sure that the person that steps through the doorway of your house is a woman, and one that not even close to being a hybrid, to make sure that your pregnancy proceeds smoothly and without possible health problems, once every few weeks.

what bothers you both, is that your baby bump is really, really huge and heavy, you sway around the cabin with breathy grunts and little steps, in which, john has to assist you later, large, calloused warm palms cupping underneath your tummy and lifting, thumbs stroking over the stretched skin and dark line that runs through and down your belly button, easing the tension and the strain you feel all over your body, slumping back against the full, brawny expanse of his chest, sighing in immediate relief, while your husband wonders just how many there are.

the other issue, is how horny you are, and john as well, but your tummy ain't giving much choices on how to treat this problem, so while he can pleasure you, his jaw open wide to drink the slick from between your quivering, parted thighs, suffocatingly plush around his head as you squeeze, too sensitive to the sensation of his curling, thrusting tongue and rasping beard, hiccuping and moaning each time his swollen, glistening lips close around your twitching clit, all while he's bought to hump his hips into the air.

the birth day comes with your hand clawing at john's with a force that leaves bleeding scratches at his hair dappled skin, and yet, he stays close, holds your curling fingers in his own, kissing over your sharp knuckles, whispering sweet, soothing reassurances while you gasp and push to get command of doctor's voice, sobbing in pain and exhaustion, skin all clammy with sweat, and even the loose nightie you wear feels too much on your overstimulated, itching body, but you make your best to keep pushing, legs feeling numb.

when the fog of pain clears, there's a light weight at either side of your armpits, cradled by the intuitive curl of your arms, two babies, a sweet girl and a boy, looking so similar, bodies swaddled and tiny as they sleep against you, john is here, talking with the doctor, glancing over when you manage some quiet, weak murmur, and he reaches out to smooth over your disheveled, damp hair, leaning down with a lingering kiss against your still warm forehead, before whispering at you to sleep, tone low and rumbling, your eyelids growing heavy, knowing that he has everything under control.

your body does needs time to recover, and so, john fusses over you, making sure you sleep and eat enough, feed babies from time to time and hold them close when you feel rested enough, all the rest is on his shoulders, to watch over your little boy and girl, make sure there's no any issues, he rocks them in his massive hands and hums some silly, old melody he knows, baby blues watching how they babble up at him and twist their little fingers in the hairs on his chest or beard.

talking with them while he goes around the house on chores, making sure they play with some sensory toys, and not only his round, beary ears and furred features, john takes on all the responsibilities of raising children until your body is recovered enough, and when you finally join him, parenting swallows the two of you into a flurry of endless worries, practically missing the moment of growth of your adorable cubs, already walking around the house with tapping feet's and shrieking giggles, running from their dad's catching hands as you watch them wide grinning from the couch.

john learns quick how being a dad feels and what requires, and he's never been happier, every early morning starting with your supple body tucked against his side, and your babies peeking politely through the door before rushing in and jumping on the bed to greet you in another day with too much enthusiasm, as he ushers them to go and brush their teeth, stealing a moment to feel you a little bit more, squeeze greedily at your curves and peck your pouty lips, before he'd need to raise up and cook a big breakfast.

and if he get's too pussy drunk in recent months, it's not because of how much he missed feeling the pulsing tightness of your gummy cunt around his engorged, dripping cock, but because he's forever grateful for the gift you gave him in the face of your precious babies, and the primal need to be surrounded by more of them, if he's succeeded to be a father, then he can build a big, big family as well, and you can't object, not with the way your hips roll to meet the rutting of his girth, not with john's enraptured gaze on you, so more it is, then.

main masterlist. quidelines.

#𐔌 . 𝘫𝘶𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 .ᐟ #john price smut #john price x female reader #john price fluff #john price x f!reader #john price comfort #john price x reader #captain john price fluff #captain john price x reader #captain john price smut #captain john price x female reader #john price drabble #captain john price x you #captain price smut #john price x you #captain john price fanfic #john price cod #bear!price #bear!john

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girl-lostconnection · 5 months ago

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YOUR FRUIT BAT READER HAS MY WHOLE HEART 😩😭🫶🏻 any more thoughts to spare… no pressure tho i absolutely adore your writing <333

- @beloveds-embrace

For @beloveds-embrace. Some not the most appropriate thoughts about Price and Reader for you, friend

I’m thinking about fruit bat!Reader x Komodo Dragon!Price whom it takes some time to get to their core.

Price who’s uncharacteristically careful, feeling like a right twat after realising he doesn’t know much about their new addition to his team. New addition to his boys.

Price returns to your file and starts noting what can he do to do better. It’s not proper for a leader to know this little about their subordinate. It’s not proper for the leader of the pack not to welcome you like he should’ve.

Price who starts taking fruits during breakfast just to pawn them off to you a minute later, rumbling that he forgot he can’t eat this much.

(The man does it every bloody morning, does he think he’s actually sneaky with that?)

But no one says anything and he hums in satisfaction when you gobble down an orange or an apple he gives to you. Lizard part of his brain pleased to see you fed and happy with his offering.

Lizard part of his brain has already switched to proper courting without him catching up on it up until he finds himself massaging the nape of your neck.

Fingers digging into tense muscle, fingers sliding lower to the base of your wings, to the additional back muscles only you and Kyle have. He knows these are the places you can hardly reach yourself.

He knows that it’s usually reserved for pack to touch there — too vulnerable of a place, too easy for someone of his size to tear out the tender thin wing off your back.

But you don’t move away, deliberately not looking at him. Like if you pretend he’s not there you won’t need to explain why you are letting him this close.

Price hums massaging your back, warm palms sending shivers all over your body, your ears burning when he leans forward, beard tickling your neck.

He’s close enough to bite down. Close enough to close his jaws around inviting slope of your neck, to force you down.

But he doesn’t. There is no need for this.

You are not growling Simon, you are not cheeky stubborn Soap, you aren’t even Kyle with his habit to test waters until John pulls him under it.

You are you.

John presses small, soft kiss behind your ear, fingers tracing the skin of your wings, fingers melting you into nothing.

“Tha’ okay, love?”, he murmurs, pressing his cheek to your neck, his smile wide wicked thing full of teeth when you give him a shaky nod.

“Can’t hear you, sweetheart”, John is not used to this but he finds he rather likes to have a pretty bat like you being this good for him. Such a sweet little soldier, making his mind hazy with want to lick all over you.

Leaving saliva and his scent, marking you proper. Not right that you don’t smell like them yet.

John pulls you in, cradling in his hands, eyes warm and heavy. Komodo dragons fight to prove they are worthy of being at the top. Komodo dragons need to know that they deserve what they have.

John knows that for now he didn’t prove that he deserves you, your trust, your bond.

That’s alright. Just means he will need to put in some much needed hard work.

John presses his face to your neck and breathes in, smiling when your wings give him a small flutter. Sensitive little thing.

“Come on, love. Think I saw some mangoes dropped in with re-supply . Gonna have a feast today”, he grumbles, eyes crinkling with pleasure when your eyes light up.

Yeah, both of you will feast alright.

#call of duty #cod mw2 #girl.snippets #fruit bat au #task force x reader #task force 141 #john price x y/n #captain john price x you #john price x you #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price #price x reader #price cod #john price #captain price

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bugdoppio · 2 months ago

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HEADCANON DROP HI HELLO (ignore how i accidentally switched pete and josh's position i drew this in school without my phone okay. forgive me)

BILL !!

hes the level of white that his face gets actually red when hes rlly angry

worst acne out of all of the club plus probably has a bald spot on his head from how stressed out he is all the time

surprisingly his hair is the cleanest out of all of them because his mom forces him to take baths frequently (hates her for it) -> weirdly that does not stop him from smelling like shit so

has VERY bad myopia (short sighted)

absolutely awful posture. pack it up hunchback of notre dame

has very bad lactose intolerance but does NOT stop him

i like to think maybe it was his dad who introduced him to comics and nerdy stuff and they really bonded over that so he resents his mother a lot for "taking his dad away from him" when they had the divorce

NOT a reader at all, only reads books that dont have pictures on them if its for school, otherwise he does NOT touch that shit

has a surprisingly good singing voice but the talents wasted because he doesnt like music at all

very very VERY closeted bisexual would rather die than admit he feels a little something when looking at pretty men

has a habit of biting himself when he's frustrated

has arachnophobia so bad to the point it's actually funny. if u tell him theres a spider on his shoulder he will scream so loudly and freak out and not speak to u for a week when he realizes u were lying

his bones are really easy to break for some reason? shove him the tiniest bit hard he will break something when he falls on the ground

i feel like he'd have a peanut allergy. no i will not elaborate

judges really hard whenever someone gets a very complicated coffee order but cannot handle a singular sip of black coffee. spits it out immediately

brags about being the oldest of all of them when its like. him and josh are less than a month apart

very very low pain tolerance will be so dramatic over every tiny papercut

umm umm something something npd and ocd because oomf said so

last one of the club to grow facial hair

hates HATES pda but is so clingy in private its insane

chews on every pen or pencil he owns. beaver ass

has really really dry lips to the point his doctor told him to regularly put on chapstick but he never does it because he "feels gay" doing it, lips get cracked and bloody every time the weather gets a little dryer than usual

always wears long sleeved shirts or jackets over t-shirts because he hates how his arms look (theyre very skinny. bro cannot throw a hard hitting punch or lift a mildly heavy object for his life)

cannot peel any fruit. ever.

never got his drivers license. even in epilogue he has to take cabs everywhere

also epilogue i feel like he'd have a little bit of a drinking problem maybe

JOSH !!

very very greasy curly hair that has so much frizz. CANNOT be brushed dry ever or itll puff up ljke a pomeranian

probably started growing a neckbeard before any real facial hair but he gets self conscious about it so shaves it -> gives up shaving it in epilogue and his real beard started to grow

his weight isnt that much his fault its more of a genetic thing tbh -> tried working out to see if he lost weight once but when his fat didnt immediately turn into muscle in like. a week. he gave up

his mom probably got him to do piano or violin classes and when the club went to a recital to make fun of him they were like. a little impressed cuz he was not bad at all tbh -> probably tried to audition to school band or somethibg? but immediately shouted FUCK the second he got a note wrong and got kicked out

has some form of jaw misalignment? but never told his mom because he would rather die than be seen with braces

gamer headphone dent 💔

immediately asks any girl wearing a band shirt "name five songs" even if he doesnt know the band at all

owns a concerning amount of body pillows

secretly has a thing for mean assertive women

bpd maybe?

has VERY bad hyperopia (long-sightedness)

used to own hamsters and got so sad when they died he missed club meetings for like a week -> club genuinely thought it was a grandma or something not yoda 1 and yoda 2 (he'd name them that because he forgot which one was which and just named them the same thing)

has so many cousins and extended family its insane. he swears that if he hears "youve grown so much, last time i saw you you were a little baby!" he will LOSE IT

has freakishly good aim for some reason? like, the club wouldve gone to paintball or laser tag or something and bill would throw a tantrum over always getting shot by josh immediately

hates overly sweet things

PETE !!

very very hairy everywhere except on his head 😭 bro has a receding hairline at 17 someone save him (literally the only reason he wears the baseball cap all ghe time)

probably the first one to grow facial hair out of the club, brags about it so hard

tried piercing his ears by himself once but it got infected so he had to give up

rlly dark eyes and has the most beautiful luscious dark lashes youve ever seen (guido mista coded)

nose is very curved and downturned

MOLES MOLES SO MANY MOLES

kinda crooked teeth but his parents cant afford braces for him so

owns a bunch of exotic pets and used to prank the club with them until bill accidentally stepped on his pet spider and killed it or something

yk when u smell sweaty and bad and try putting deodorant on top to fix it but just ends up smelling like a mix of sweat and deodorant and its lowkey worse? yeah thats what pete smells like. all the time. and axe body spray

tried smoking one (1) time to look cool and regretted it so much. never again

probably unironically got scurvy once due to not brushing his teeth or eating any fruit and thought his gums bleeding meant he was turning into a zombie -> tried biting josh once to be funny and "turn him into a zombie too" but he bit too hard and it got infected (he felt SO bad)

really strong immune system from eating dirt as a kid? almost never gets sick -> when he does its really bad and the club lowkey thinks hes gonna die when it happens

if not working at sick mofo in epilogue i like to think he could've ended up working as a horror sfx artist

also could probably have been good at sports if he tried but he never did (plus hates jocks so)

surprisingly really knowledgeable about food and spices and stuff (maybe his mom taught him) but he HATES cooking so never does anything abiut it

watches gore and shit but would throw up immediately if he saw a major injury like that in real life

has freakishly good reflexes from his older brothers picking on him all the time

JERRY !!

THICK EYEBROWS !!!!!!!! KINDA HAS SIDEBURNS TOO !!!!!!!!!! im not normal

thin lips ..and eyebags …. plus kinda defined cheekbones make him look rlly tired all the time

hes really myopic but doesnt have glasses -> his eyes look closed all the time cuz hes always squinting trying to see 3 feet in front of him (plus his eyebrows furrow together when he does so thats why sometimes he looks like he has a unibrow) -> probably starts wearing contacts in epilogue

also literally only failed his driving test becayse of myopia SOMEONE GET THIS POOR BOY SOME GLASSES

had a tooth gap when he was younger (think that one flashback where theyre all kids) and had to wear braces for a while to fix it -> was relentlessly made fun of because of that by the club until bill got braces too and threatened to punch whoever made fun of braces again

weirdly good at finding out info about people …. stalker ass .!!!! has doxxed people he dislikes on forums occasionally -> stops doing that in epilogue but maybe finds himself accidentally stalking someones profile when on the internet and feels bad

waaayy taller than the rest of the club but has a shitty posture so he looks kinda on par with the others -> like 180cm but looks 175cm

best jawline out of all of them lowkey 😭

maybe a little unaware on physical boundaries and stuff … physical touchy guy

FRECKLES + hes probably the one wity tge least acne out of all of them cuz he would probably start picking at his pimples the minute they show up (does NOT wash his face though) -> acne scars in epilogue

greasy hair, probably washes it every 2 weeks (has rlly nice smelling shampoo when he does wash it though) -> washes his hair more frequently in epilogue (REALLY soft)

very blunt when he has strong opinions about something but otherwise has ZERO backbone. will immediately change his mind on something if he wants to impress someone

a sagittarius because he looks like he'd have a birthday in december plus weird al yankovic song your horoscope for today (listen to it right now.)

very clammy sweaty hands and HATES it, sensory nightmare, always fidgeting with the hem of his sweater to dry them out

autistic .!!! plus has rlly bad anxiety probably

and fomo. oh lord he has so much fomo -> probably one of the biggest reasons he still hangs out with the club tbh -> plus has really bad codependency and abandonment issues maybe? cannot do something by himself he has to have someone with him

gets his ears pierced in the epilogue and LOVES it, too scared to get more though because it was really painful

is a pretty good artist, could've become a professional easily but was more preoccupied with other stuff probably

owns a huge ginger main coone cat that bullies him around

low blood pressure

very skilled at calligraphy… most legible handwriting out of all of them

umm urrmm thats it i thinks .... i hope my vision is not too out of character .......,,,, Guh

#the eltingville club #welcome to eltingville #eltingville club #bill dickey #eltingville #josh levy #jerry stokes #eltingville fanart #pete dinunzio #headcanons #rub my bellaayyyy #hemi art

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yanderenightmare · 4 months ago

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Reo Mikage & Nagi Seishiro

♡ TW: nsfw, doubt, misunderstanding

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about how, drunk one night after partying with some of your boyfriend Reo’s teammates and watching him and Nagi sing one too many karaoke songs in each other’s arms, you make a dumb joke about how if they wanted to fuck, you’d be down to watch.

He doesn’t answer, and your eyes are already closed, ready to fall asleep, so you don’t see the look he gives you—peeled eyes already picturing it.

You think nothing of it when he rolls over you a few moments later, feeling hornier than usual. You’re too drunk and tired to put much effort back into it, but Reo doesn’t seem to mind—holding you close while panting at your ear, being clingier than usual. You just blame it on the drink.

Nagi’s Reo’s best friend and roommate, so it’s not strange for them to be close. Nor is it strange for the three of you to hang out, either. It’s just… somehow, the vibe feels a little weird after that night. You’re not sure why, but every time you come over, it’s as if there’s this expectation in the air, as if they’re waiting for something.

The three of you are drinking one night not long after. And that odd feeling you’d been feeling lately quickly disappears along with the first few cans of beer. Everything feels normal. The three of you watch a movie, talk a bit, and have a few laughs, and after switching to something stronger, you all end up sitting on the floor, passing the last of the bottle around like college kids. Good ol’ times.

And then Nagi kisses you.

“What the fuck?”

You jolt back, and the empty bottle rolls across the floor.

There’s a standstill as you ask yourself what just happened, believing the question is more than clearly expressed on your face. But, instead of apologizing or explaining himself, Nagi just looks at Reo, causing you to look at him as well. And that strange feeling reappears—the one that tells you there’s something you’re missing.

“What’s going on?” you decide to break the silence since neither of them was bothering to clue you in, keeping your eyes trained on Reo, giving him a glare, demanding he explain himself.

His voice is low, a little embarrassed perhaps, and a little suggestive in the way he speaks as if hoping you’d take his meaning without further clarification, “You said you wouldn’t mind if Seishi joined us...”

It completely stunts you, head entirely blank for a second or a few until it settles, and you backtrack to that night a week ago.

“What?” You shake your head with an off-put and perplexed grimace. “That was a joke!”

You sit there then, feeling weird all over—seeing only one conclusion after wracking your brain.

“Oh my god!” you exclaim and get up in a hurry. “I can’t believe this—if the two of you want to fuck, get your butts out of the closet and do it already!” You storm off, flushed and mortified beyond repair, muttering loudly, “Can’t believe you’re dragging me into this. I’m going home. Never call me.”

You’re stopped before you get very far. Reo’s hand around your upper arm is not too hard but enough to make you halt despite your determined stomping. Needing to get out of there quick before the tears could come—you can’t believe you’ve been someone's beard all this time. Can’t believe he’d string you along like this, use you, and you actually thought you loved–

“You got it all wrong,” he insists, pulling you back to look at him. “It’s not Seishi and me.”

“I mean, how would we? We’re both tops,” Nagi adds, only a step behind.

You bite your lip. So confused you’re sputtering when you ask, “What then? So, you want a threesome? Is that what this is about?”

Reo laughs nervously—something he never does—saying, “Not exactly...”

You can’t say he’s being of much help. “Then what?”

“Y’know…”

He’s blushing profusely in a manner you’ve never before seen.

He can’t even look at you as he bows down and whispers in your ear, “I want to watch.”

♡ MISCELLANEOUS masterlist

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marvelavengerspovs1 · 1 year ago

Text

Double Trouble

Pairing: Stucky x F!reader

Warnings: MDNI (SMUT 18+), dom!Bucky, soft dom!Steve, sub!reader, dry humping, spitting, masturbation, double penetration, degradation kink/name calling (slut to reader), praise kink, threesome, I think that’s it but lmk if I missed something

Length: 1.5k

Summary: Bucky will only allow you to let go if you have been good.

A/N: Thank you so much for the support on my last Stucky post!

MDNI! 18+ ONLY! I cannot control what you consume so you have been warned!

I do not give consent for my work to be translated, copied, or sold!

You never imagined your life would turn out this way. You never imagined that you would be an Avenger, that you would have some sick ass powers, or that you would be in a relationship. The best part is that you didn’t have to stick to just one man, you had two very handsome super soldiers to keep your bed warm at night.

You gasp as you feel Steve bite the small area where your neck and shoulder meet. He quickly licks over it and places a small kiss to relieve the pain.

“Steve…” You moan out his name.

Steve silences you with a kiss on your lips. You lean into him, pushing Steve to sit on the edge of the bed. Once he sits down, you straddle his lap. You push your pulsing core onto his hard and clothed cock.

Steve hisses, pushing you down by your hips and lifting his. “There you go Honey, you’re being such a good girl.”

You moan at his words. “Please Stevie, I need more!” You whine.

“Don’t listen to her Steve, she has a whole lot more begging to do.” Bucky chimes in from his spot on the bed.

Bucky lays on his typical side of the bed, the left. He has his left arm propped behind him, his shirt off, a pair of gray sweatpants on, and his right hand in his boxers. His long hair is pulled back into a bun and his beard is long from not shaving in weeks.

You turn your head to look at Bucky. You can see the small movements his hand is making. He’s jerking himself off but he doesn’t want to come just yet.

“Please Bucky, Stevie said I was being a good girl!” You beg.

Bucky tilts his head to the side as Steve continues to kiss your neck. “You haven’t proven anything yet, Doll,” Bucky smirks at you.

You continue to grind down on Steve’s dick, chasing your orgasm. You weren’t close by any means, but any movement would bring it closer.

“Doll, you look pathetic trying to get off on Stevie.” Bucky laughs at you.

You moan at his words and feel Steve get harder. You lift your arms and Steve lifts your shirt off. He continues to lift his hips to meet yours as he rips off your bra and looks at your breasts. Steve licks his lips before putting his mouth onto one of your tits. He lightly grazes your nipple with his teeth before licking it and then gently sucking. You moan and arch your back, pushing your breast further into Steve’s mouth.

“Please Stevie, please make me feel good!” You moan, sounding breathless.

“Be a good girl and I’ll let Stevie make you feel good,” Bucky tells you.

You look at him and see that he’s moving his hand faster, a sign that you were being a good girl. You continue to roll your hips onto Steve, allowing him to be the one in control. Steve switches breasts, making sure to give it the same treatment.

You feel the familiar knot in your stomach. You know you can’t let loose without Bucky’s approval or without Steve feeling equally as good.

“Stevie…. Bucky… I’m about to-!” You can’t let the words out, too focused on moaning.

Steve releases your breast from his mouth and turns to Bucky. “Should we let her?”

“Hmmm…. Do you think she’s been a good enough girl?” Bucky asks as he watches your hips move more erratically, trying to find some relief.

Steve lets out a moan as you rub him in the right spot. “Mmh… She’s been an angel Buck. Maybe after I’m done with her you can try her out.”

You moan at the sensation. The boys talking to each other like you weren’t there made you feel something. As well as his hard cock hitting your cunt in the most delicious way.

“Ok, you can let her come.” Bucky finally agrees, moving his hand at the same speed you’re thrusting your hips.

“Yes! Thank you, Bucky! Thank you!” You moan in excitement as Steve goes back to kissing your neck, this time massaging your tits with his hands.

The room is filled with your impatient moans, Steve’s heavy breathing, and Bucky jerking himself off. You start to feel your orgasm coming, the familiar pull exciting you.

“Stevie, I'm so close! Yes right there! Keep going! Yes!” You moan.

Finally, you snap. You feel your orgasm course through you, your toes curling with pleasure, and the most filthy moan escaping your lips. Steve and Bucky follow behind you, feeling the relief you feel.

“Come here Doll,” Bucky motions for you to come to him.

You obey him, leaving Steve to ride out his orgasm. You crawl to Bucky and let him help you straddle his lap. One thing about these super soldier men, they can go all night.

“Are you going to be a good girl again and let me claim the sweet pussy?” Bucky asks, cupping your cunt.

You push yourself down harder, wanting him to take you. “Yes, Sergeant.”

“Good girl.” Bucky lifts you and walks over to Steve who already has his boxers off. “Stevie, why don’t you help our girl?”

Bucky sets you down and makes you stand between Steve’s legs. Both men help you out of your jeans and underwear before Bucky makes you widen your stance, placing your hands on his chest. Then you feel it. Steve’s long and thick finger is stretching your hole. Slowly but surely he stretches you out, adding one finger after the other until you are prepped for his cock.

“She’s ready Buck,” Steve says from behind you. You turn to Bucky and see that he is naked now.

Bucky helps Steve get his thick cock in you, making sure that the two of you are comfortable. You moan as his throbbing tip is at your entrance, feeling how good Steve is stretching you. Bucky then pushes you back onto Steve before settling above you, thrusting into your pussy without any warning. You let out a loud yelp that is followed by a moan.

Both men slowly pull out until only their tips are inside of you. They thrust back in, their hips flushed against yours. They repeat their movements, changing their speeds. Bucky would go fast while Steve would go deliciously slow, and vice versa. You moan pornographically, their movements being everything you want.

“Look at her Stevie, she’s a slut!”

“Makes me wonder why we fuck her and not each other, we don’t do around acting like a porn star, right Buck?”

“Mhm, that’s right Stevie!” Bucky wraps his left arm around your neck and gives it a light squeeze.

“Yes! Please! Treat me like a slut!” You moan.

Bucky leaves his hand around your throat but doesn’t squeeze. He gently moves your neck to the side before leaning down to kiss Steve. Bucky forces his tongue down Steve’s throat and he hums in approval. You moan at the sight. The super soldiers thrusting into you, treating you like a toy, but being into each other.

Bucky gently squeezes your throat once more. “You like that slut? Do you like us treating you like you’re not even here? You like that we’re fucking you because no one else will ever be allowed to touch you?”

You nod your head quickly, your breaths coming faster. You start to feel your orgasm coming again. Hearing Bucky degrade you and the slapping of your skin against both men brings you closer to the edge.

“We’re going to fill her Stevie. We’re going to make sure that the slut knows she belongs to us and only us.”

They both start to go in sync, almost as if they practiced it. Like they knew you would be a goner.

“Yes, Bucky! Yes Stevie! Yes! Yes! YES!” You start to moan louder and louder. “Please, I'm so close! Let me come! Please!”

Steve starts to kiss your neck again, biting hard. You moan and Bucky silences you, his tongue pushing past your lips. You lean further into Bucky, tasting Steve on his lips. Bucky kisses you like he’s starving and you’re his next meal. Bucky leans back and grabs your chin with his left hand. He tilts your head back and makes your mouth stay open. He then spits into your mouth, ordering Steve to do the same. Both men spit in your mouth multiple times before Bucky forces you to close your jaw.

“Swallow and I’ll let you come.” You gladly drink their spit.

Bucky nods at Steve and her reaches between your bodies until he gets to your clit. He plays with your clit, making sure that you can only feel pleasure. You feel the pressure in the pit of your stomach build up. Your toes start to curl with anticipation. You can tell that both men are close as well, their thrusts turning sloppy.

“I’m going to come! You moan out.

Bucky and Steve thrust three more times before you unravel. You yell their names as you feel your orgasm wash over you. Both men stay in you and thrust until they come. Bucky and Steve come at the same time, Steve holding the back of Bucky’s neck to pull him for a kiss. They kiss until every last drop of their come is in you.

“You are a good girl.” Bucky praises you.

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fireya-x · 3 months ago

Text

heavy, dirty soul

【 AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist 】 ✦ John Price x Reader ✦ After a long mission, John is exhausted, bruised and distant. You take care of him. ✦ 3.7k words ✦ tags/cw: hurt, comfort, emotional intimacy, intimacy without sex, nsfw but no smut, nudity, injuries, showering together

He looks like hell.

Grimy, worn out, and the kind of tired that settles in a man’s bones and makes him older than he is. His shoulders hunch beneath the weight of his tac vest, stained from whatever hellhole he clawed his way back from. Dirt crusts the hem of his sleeves, and a dark smudge clings stubbornly to his jaw, half-hidden beneath the unkempt mess of his beard. His eyes – those deep, sharp blues – barely flicker when you step through the door.

You set the takeout down and say nothing.

The scent fills the office quickly: warm rice, spiced meat, a trace of soy and citrus curling up from the sauce. Something hearty. Something grounding. The kind of meal you knew he’d need after a mission like that. You’ve seen it before – how he gets afterward. How he forgets to eat, to breathe, to let go of the op and come back to himself.

The room is dimly lit, blinds half-shut to keep the afternoon sun from glaring off the tablet screens scattered across his desk. Papers are messily stacked, half of them likely reports left untouched. The takeout’s aroma gradually overtakes the faint smell of cigar smoke.

He sits across from you, staring at the food like it’s the first real thing he’s seen all day.

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t reach for it. Doesn’t even shift in his seat.

You pull the container open for him, the heat unfolding slowly. Your fingers brush against the flimsy plastic cutlery as you fish out the fork, which bends slightly in your grip as you spear a piece of chicken, dripping with sauce.

His gaze follows the motion, but his body stays slack and unmoving.

So you lean forward, holding the fork right to his face.

“Seriously?”

His voice is low and dry, scraped raw from disuse – or maybe too much yelling. There’s a rasp to it, the kind you’re used to hearing when he comes home after long briefings or training days that stretch well past what anyone else would consider reasonable.

His brow twitches, eyes flicking up to meet yours with something close to disbelief, though it’s dulled at the edges.

“Eat, John.”

It’s not a request.

He stares at you for another second, then exhales hard through his nose. A faint smile tugs briefly at the corner of his mouth, but it dies quickly as he leans in and takes the bite.

You hold the fork steady as his lips close around it. He chews slowly, jaw tense, like he doesn’t trust that the first real food he’s tasted in days will stay down. He swallows. Licks the corner of his mouth, where some of the sauce clings.

“Good?” You ask, softer this time.

He nods but doesn’t look up. Instead, he pulls the takeout container closer and starts eating like a starving animal, like his body just remembered it needed food to survive.

Something in the way he moves tells you he hasn’t eaten properly in days. Like feeding himself was too far down the list.

You move around the desk without a word, crouching beside him, hands already going to the buckles of his vest. He doesn’t stop you, just tilts his head slightly to give you better access.

You slide it off his shoulders, careful not to tug too hard where you know he’s probably sore. It slips free with a bit of resistance, then drops to the floor with a heavy thump.

Underneath, his shirt clings to him like a second skin: sweat-darkened, stretched too wide at the collar, the fabric worn thin in places. There’s a patch of blood on the sleeve – old, maybe his, maybe not. You don’t ask. You never do.

Your hands move to his shoulders, thumbs pressing gently into the muscle there, working over the tight knots hidden beneath the surface. His body responds slowly, with a slight shift and a barely-there sigh, but his eyes close, and he leans into your touch with the kind of trust that always takes you by surprise – that quiet, unspoken surrender.

And somehow, that’s what nearly breaks your heart.

Not the blood. Not the bruises. Just that – how rarely he lets go, and how much it means when he does.

“That tough?” You ask, even though you already know the answer.

And the silence answers for him.

So do the little things – how his head dips forward slightly under your hands, his fingers curl into fists, and he breathes a little deeper with every slow pass of your palms over his shoulders.

This is routine. Nothing new.

You’ve done this countless times. Brought him food when you heard they were back on base, sat beside him in silence until the weight of it all began to slip off his shoulders, piece by piece. You don’t mind. Not for a second. Because he lets you see him like this. Because he trusts you with the aftermath.

And that means more than anything ever could.

Then his hand comes up slowly and covers yours where it rests on his shoulder. His thumb begins to rub slow, lazy circles into the back of your hand, and the movement is so gentle, so unlike the man you imagine he has to be out there. There’s no pressure, no urgency. Just a quiet ‘thank you’ – a wordless gesture of gratitude.

“You’re filthy,” you murmur, your fingers trailing down the nape of his neck, massaging in slow, steady circles. The skin is warm, a little damp. His hair is ruffled from his hat, sticking up in odd places, flattened in others. You smooth it without thinking.

“Don’t remind me,” he murmurs back, and there’s no bite in it. Just exhaustion.

Your hands skim lower between his shoulder blades, thumbs pressing in, and you feel him unravel slowly, like a spring wound too tight, finally loosening.

You pause, resting at the hem of his shirt, toying with the edge. “John,” you say softly. “I’m serious. You need to get out of this. All of it. It’s disgusting.”

He hums low in his throat. “You volunteering?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you strip the shirt over his head and drop it to the floor, revealing the full expanse of his back.

You suck in a breath.

His skin is a patchwork of bruises, old and new. Faint yellow blooms along his ribs, a fresh violet welt at his side, a jagged scrape near his shoulder. There’s dried blood near the collarbone, a rough streak of grime trailing down his spine, and the smell of smoke still clings to his hair. You’ve seen him like this before – battered, filthy, freshly returned from god-knows-where – but somehow, each time still cuts a little deeper like a bruise under your own skin that never quite fades.

“I hate seeing you like this.”

He exhales hard, and it almost sounds like a low and shaky laugh. “S’not as bad as it looks.”

“You always say that,” you murmur, your palm brushing lightly over the discolored skin, dusting off some dirt. “You need to get this shit off you.”

“I’ll shower later.”

“No,” you say, firm but not harsh. “You need to shower now . There’s blood on you. You reek. You’re not just gonna sit in it.”

He stares at the takeout box, jaw tight, like he’s weighing whether to push back or let you win this one. You ease closer, fingertips brushing his forearm, voice dropping with it.

“I’ll come with you.”

That makes him glance up. Something loosens, not in surrender, but in trust. That’s what this has always been with him. Not letting go because he’s weak, but letting you in because you’re the only person he lets see past the grit.

He nods, barely more than a breath of movement. But it’s enough.

You don’t say another word as you reach for his hand, and he takes it without hesitation. The trip down the hall is silent, his steps just slightly heavier than yours.

Inside the single-use washroom, he stops just inside the door while you lock it behind you. His shoulders slump in that particular way he only lets happen when no one else is watching, like the last thread holding him upright has finally snapped.

You step toward him, hands going to his belt. You make quick work of it – there’s no seduction here, not meant to be – just the firm, practiced touch of someone who’s done this before, who knows he’s hurting and wants to get him out of his own skin before it closes in on around him.

You open the belt, unfasten the button, and guide the zipper down. The fabric is stiff with dirt and sweat, heavy as it slides from his hips. You crouch to help him step out of the cargo pants and briefs, easing them over his bruised legs, and you try not to wince when you catch the red-scraped line along his thigh.

He says nothing. Just lets you do it.

You undress after, folding your clothes on the bench. His eyes are already on you when you straighten, not with hunger, but with that same wide-eyed exhaustion. Like you’re the only still point left in a spinning world.

You reach for his hand again and step beneath the warm stream of water.

The water flows down between your bodies, hot enough to sting, to chase the ache from your joints. It splashes off his shoulders in thick rivulets, soaking the floor at your feet and catching in the creases of old scars and bruised muscle.

You move slowly, your hands gentle as they glide over his skin.

You start at his collarbone, lathering some soap until it turns slick between your fingers, then work your way down, tracing over muscle, bone, scar. You now know each line of him – the ridge of his sternum, the subtle rise and fall of his ribs, the old scar that curves beneath his pec.

He doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t need to. His eyes are closed, lips parted, breath steady but slow, so deliberate, like he’s trying not to miss a single second of it. Like if he keeps still enough, this moment might last longer.

You ease your hands to his waist and turn his body gently until his back is to you.

And there it is.

The map.

You know it by heart now. The constellation of healed-over bullet wounds, the pale ghosts of shrapnel near his lower ribs, the raised, silvery slash across his left scapula – the one you first traced with trembling fingers months ago, when he finally let you see it in the daylight.

But there are new stars on the map tonight.

A black-purple bruise like a boot print blooms over his lower back, raw around the edges. Two smaller, thumb-sized bruises sit along his left flank – grip marks, maybe. His right shoulder bears a scrape that looks half-healed, dirt still stubborn in the raw skin.

You press your palm lightly to his spine, just between the old scars, grounding him.

He doesn’t flinch.

Your fingers skim over every mark, cataloguing them silently. You don’t ask what happened. You already know. You’ve learned the language of his body, the different hues of pain, the quiet story written in scars and skin.

You dip the soap in your hands again, rich lather clinging to your fingertips, and move down the line of his back. He’s quiet, letting you tend to him like he’s something sacred. Like he knows he can’t hide anything from you here.

You drag the suds across the worst of the bruises, careful not to press too hard. Your hands work lower, over the curve of his hips, the muscle of his thighs. You handle him like someone would a broken thing. Not because he’s fragile, but because he’s been through too much to be treated with anything less than absolute care.

“Turn around for me.”

He does, slowly. Steam curls around the line of his shoulders as he faces you. His eyes open – heavy-lidded and damp – tracking every motion you make, gaze quiet and unreadable.

You take him in like this: bare, open, bruised and battered, and beautiful in the most brutal way. His chest rises and falls with slow, steady breaths. The water sheets off his skin, trailing down the ridges of his ribs, catching in the hollow beneath his throat, darkening the thatch of hair on his chest.

You lift the soap again and step closer.

Your hands move over his chest, gliding through coarse hair and the slick heat of his skin. You know this terrain just as well as his back – that faint scar under his right pec from a close-range shot, the shallow dent near his collarbone where bone once broke clean through.

You drag the lather lower, across his abdomen, the ridged muscle beneath softening under your touch.

He just watches you. Jaw slack. Eyes impossibly soft, like he’s still trying to understand how this moment is real.

You lather the soap again and reach between his legs.

Your touch is slow. Careful. Not teasing. Not meant to arouse. This is different – gentler than anything else, more intimate than sex. You wash him the same way you’ve washed every other part of him – thorough, tender, respectful. Like this is just another part of him you want to take care of. Another place where the world left its mark, and you’re here to make it clean again.

His cock rests heavy against your hand, softened by exhaustion and heat, twitching only faintly when your fingers glide down the shaft to his balls. You cup him delicately, run the soap through every crease, every fold.

His breath catches once – barely a sound – but it’s not from pleasure.

It’s from the way you hold him like he’s something worth cherishing.

When you rinse him, your fingers guide the water with the same reverence, making certain nothing is left behind.

No blood, no sweat, no grime.

Nothing of the outside world.

Only the clean, worn-down man standing in front of you.

You glance up at him, and the look he gives you guts something inside you.

He’s looking at you like you’re the only person who’s ever touched him like this.

Who has seen him like this.

And loved what you saw.

You reach for the sprayer again, adjust the angle, and wash yourself. He doesn’t look away. His eyes follow every motion, how you drag the soap across your chest, over your hips, down your thighs. You scrub briskly, working through the fatigue now also settling deep in your limbs, but his gaze never strays.

He watches like he’s memorizing you all over again.

With nothing but awe.

Like the steam has made everything holy. Like he’s standing in a church, and you’re the only thing on the altar.

You rinse clean, slick and glistening under the dim light.

When you step out, you grab the towel and wrap it around yourself, water still trailing down your legs. Another towel is pressed into his hands. He takes it without a word.

The silence between you now is different. It’s heavier. Thicker.

Full of everything you haven’t said. Full of everything that doesn’t need to be said.

He dries off slowly, watching you the whole time. His hands move a little clumsily, like he’s not entirely sure how to be in his own body anymore – like he’s still trying to catch up to the tenderness he’s just been given.

When he’s done, you cross the small space between you and place your hands on either side of his face. Your thumbs sweep gently beneath his eyes, brushing away the dampness there. It’s not really tears.

But something fragile. Something honest.

You press your forehead to his. For a moment, neither of you move. The world narrows to this: damp skin, quiet breathing, the pulse beneath your fingertips.

Then you kiss him.

A slow, careful press of your lips to his.

He doesn’t pull you closer, doesn’t deepen it. He just lets it happen – like he understands exactly what it is. Like he knows it isn’t meant to spark anything but stillness. A stillness he can’t give himself, but craves all the same.

Without a word, he hands you one of his sweatshirts, and you pull it over your head. It swallows you, the sleeves brushing your fingertips, the scent of him baked into the fabric – clean laundry, cigars, and something warm beneath it all that’s just… him.

It’s comforting. Familiar.

Something that makes you feel closer to him, even when exhaustion has pulled him somewhere distant and quiet inside himself.

You followed him back to his office under the pretense that he forgot something – the tension already rebuilding in his shoulders. Each step is heavy, like he’s pulling against some invisible chain, drawn back into the familiar orbit of responsibility he can’t seem to escape, no matter how many bruises or wounds he carries.

You almost don’t believe what you’re seeing.

Like a machine, he walks back to his desk, as if the shower never happened. As if your hands hadn’t just touched every broken inch of him, hadn’t washed the blood and dirt from his skin with reverence. Like none of it reached him. It was as if the threshold to his office reset him, and all it took was one look at the desk for the weight of the world to settle back on his shoulders.

He sinks into his chair with a sigh, the leather creaking softly beneath his weight, and immediately reaches for the paperwork scattered haphazardly across the desk.

“John,” you say quietly, gently, but not without an edge of warning.

He glances up, meeting your eyes briefly before he sighs, already anticipating your next words. “Don’t start,” he mutters, turning his gaze back toward the paper. “This won’t take long.”

“Right,” you scoff. “We both know you’re lying. You’ll be here all night. Again.”

He huffs, trying for irritation, but it barely carries any weight. “You’re relentless.”

“Only because you’re stubborn,” you counter. You tilt your head, watching him carefully, aware of every lingering bruise beneath his clothes. Your voice softens, concern seeping through. “Come on, please? Lie down. Get some rest, or I swear to God, I’ll drag you to bed myself.”

That finally makes him look at you properly, a flicker of amusement surfacing behind the exhaustion in his eyes.

“Bet your team would pay good money to see me try,” you add, a grin forming despite your seriousness.

He snorts, shakes his head, a smile tugging briefly at the corners of his mouth. But his shoulders remain stiff, and his voice drops again. “Can’t yet. There’s still work –”

“Bloody hell, John, that can wait,” you interrupt. “You’re barely awake as it is.”

His jaw tightens briefly, that familiar flicker of pride flashing in his eyes before giving way to weary resignation.

“I’ll stay if you want,” you offer, meaning it. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Absolutely not.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes and reaching for his hand across the desk. “John –”

“You never sleep well here,” he says, voice rougher now, protective frustration bleeding through. “Those bunks are shite, and you always wake up sore. It’s not happening.”

You laugh softly, stepping closer. “I don’t care.”

“I do,” he says without hesitation. The fierceness in his voice makes your chest tighten.

“John,” you murmur again, just his name – but it’s enough. A soft plea, steady and warm, tugging him toward you even as he tries to hold his ground. “I’m staying with you tonight. And if you don’t move right now, I will drag your stubborn ass down the corridor.”

He opens his mouth to argue again, but the look in your eyes seems to drain the fight from him, replacing stubbornness with reluctant acceptance. He sighs deeply, head bowing slightly, and finally allows you to tug him gently from his chair.

You lace your fingers tighter with his, feeling the calloused warmth of his palm pressed against yours, and lead him out of his office into the empty corridor outside.

It’s late enough that nearly everyone has left for the night, and the low buzz of lights overhead is the only sound accompanying you both as you slowly walk toward his quarters. Beside you, each step John takes feels heavier, slower – like the exhaustion is finally catching up to him, dragging at his limbs, weighing him down with every breath he takes.

When you finally reach his quarters, you push the door open and guide him inside, flipping on the single lamp beside the bed. The soft yellow glow spills gently over the sharp edges of his tired face, brightening the deep shadows beneath his eyes.

You lead him silently to the bed, nudging him down until he sits at the edge of the mattress, staring blankly at the floor like he’s not quite sure how he got there.

“Lie down,” you demand, your voice soft as your hand presses gently on his shoulder. He lets you guide him, shoulders easing back until they finally meet the pillow. The mattress dips beneath him, but his body remains rigid, like he’s waiting for something. A call. Another demand, another battle. An alarm that never stops ringing in the back of his mind.

You climb into the bed and shift toward him slowly. You barely fit onto the mattress beside him, so you let your arm slide carefully around his waist. Your chest is pressed against his side, and your head finds that familiar spot tucked perfectly against the curve of his neck.

His muscles remain locked tight, like part of him doesn’t believe he’s allowed this. You.

You sigh softly, pressing closer, and lift your chin to kiss the line of his jaw. A familiar gesture, one you’ve done countless times when words weren’t enough to reach him.

It’s a promise: I’m here. You’re safe. You’re with me.

And the moment your lips touch his skin, something in him finally breaks.

He exhales – long, deep, a breath dragged from somewhere buried. The sound carries the weight of the entire day, or maybe, of too many days. His arms come around you slowly, then fully, wrapping you in a firm, unspoken need.

“Thank you,” he whispers, the words carrying more than simple gratitude – they’re heavy with trust, with love, with quiet awe at the simple gift of your presence.

You smile softly against his chest, pressing closer still, your fingers drawing slow, soothing circles along his side.

And only then, with you wrapped safely in his arms, your heartbeat anchoring him, does he finally, quietly, drift into sleep.

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whimsiwitchy · 9 months ago

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he's hooked (oneshot)

hugh jackman x actress!reader

summary: y/n is an actress in her early 20’s. after having the best night of her career, Hugh Jackman introduces himself. the two stars hook up in the venue's bathroom and for y/n it was nothing but a one night stand. However, Hugh becomes obsessed and can’t let her go so easily.

warnings: use of y/n, she/her pronouns, age gap (22/55), smut, protected vaginal penetration, dirty talk, reader is kinda cocky, hugh is very persistent, reader mentions age gap a lot, oral (f receiving), one use of daddy (in a playful way), bathroom sex.

authors note: y'all I am trying my absolute best to write smut. this is my second attempt and while i'm not super proud of it, I am proud of myself for trying. practice makes perfect I guess lol. anyways, I hope you enjoy. (sorry if it sucks butt) love y'all <33

Tonight felt like a dream. It was the 97th Academy Awards and you had won your first Oscar for best actress. When your name was called, you were completely shocked. The category was filled with nominees that you had looked up to your entire life and you genuinely thought you had no shot of winning. You were completely honored to win such an award so early into your career. After the ceremony was over, most of the attendees made their way over to the Oscars Governors Ball, which was one of the few after parties that are held annually after the event. It felt surreal to be in a place full of Hollywood's biggest names and it was even crazier that you were now one of them. You were currently sitting at the bar waiting for a drink when a deep accented voice spoke. “Congratulations on your big win tonight. You deserve it.” When you look over to see who was speaking, you’re met with a very handsome Hugh Jackman. “Oh thank you. Congrats to you too, best actor.” Your tone is teasing yet sincere. “I’m Hugh.” He offers his hand to shake, which you take. “I know who you are, Mr.Jackman. I’m y/n.” You shake his hand firmly, letting it go right after. “I know who you are, Ms. y/l/n.” He joked back and you let out a small laugh. You look forward as the bartender sits your drink in front of you and you give him a quick thank you. From the corner of your eye, you can see Hugh’s eyes trail your body. “Did you just check me out?” You turn your head to face him. “It’s hard not to when you look that good.” Hugh says without missing a beat. “Aren’t you married? I don’t think your wife would appreciate you hitting on a twenty two year old.” You give him an accusing look. He lifts his left hand, showing off his bare ring finger. “I'm divorced, babe.” You almost miss the smirk that rests on his bearded face.

“Hm. Well in that case, there are plenty of beautiful women here your own age here that would happily go home with you tonight. Maybe you should flirt with them.” You turn back to your drink, taking a long sip through the skinny straw. “None of them are as pretty as you. You’re the most gorgeous woman here by far.” You let out a laugh of disbelief. “Bye Hugh Jackman. It was nice meeting you.” You slowly climb down the tall ball stool and grab your drink. Before you can walk off, Hugh calls your name, causing you to turn back towards him. “I’d love to take you out to dinner sometime.” He smiles and you’d be lying if you said the sight didn’t make your heartbeat stutter. “You know that Real Steel was my favorite movie when I was like eleven. Does that make my age more apparent to you or do you not care?” He furrows his brows, pretending to think for a moment. “Hm. I don’t think I care very much.” You laugh, dropping your head. “You’re unbelievable.” He smiles. “So is that a yes?” “No.” You smile and walk away.

—

Your friend Kayleigh was ranting to you about a technical issue that happened during her performance earlier in the night and you were trying your best to pay attention. Sometime in between the chat you had with Hugh and now, he had removed the black suit jacket he had on. The sleeves of his white button up dress shirt were rolled up, showing off his large forearms, his biceps peaking out slightly. It was overly distracting. “Girl what the fuck are you staring at?” She moves her head around trying to match your staring gaze. “Y/n please don’t tell me you're staring at that old man right now.” You give her a sheepish look. “God, straight people are so fucking weird.” She sighs. “It’s not weird. He’s kinda hot.” You admit. “Whatever you say. Why don’t you just go talk to him? I’m almost positive he’d fuck you if you ask.” You look back over to where Hugh is talking to some older woman, just like you had suggested. “I kinda already turned him down. Well, not for sex. He asked me to dinner.” Her face scrunches up. “Ew. He’s like older than your parents.” You laugh. “Is it bad that I find that hot?” She nods. “Yes y/n. That’s like really fucking weird dude.” You ignore her. “Should I go try to get him to fuck me?” You ask, genuinely wanting her opinion. “If that’s really what you’re into these days, go for it. I’m highly disgusted by you right now though.” You stand up and grab the small clutch you had with you. “Eh. You’ll get over it. You’ll be okay on your own for a little bit?” She gives you a thumbs up and you make your way over to Hugh and the woman he was speaking to.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt.” You apologize and turn to Hugh. “Could I talk to you alone for a moment?” He looks confused and completely caught off guard. “Uh, yea.” He turns to the woman. “It was nice to catch up with you.” She says something back that you don’t catch, too busy staring at the vein that is basically jumping out of Hugh’s arm. “You wanted to talk to me?” His words bring you out of your thirsting trance. “Follow me.” You grab his hand, dragging him through a door and into a hallway. “Where are we going?” He asks, taken aback by your lack of plan. “I’m not sure.” You say as you continue to drag him. “Y/n slow down, we can talk here. There’s no one out here.” He stops walking and it makes you tumble back, his grip on your hand stopping you from continuing forward. “We need somewhere private.” His confused expression only deepens. “I don’t know how much more private this can get darling. If it’s really that much of a secret, we can stop talking if someone comes by.” He offers and you huff. “I don’t actually wanna talk Hugh.”

“You’re confusing me here darling.” You wiggle your hand out of his and raise it to your head in frustration. “I want you to fuck me.” You look at him and his eyes go wide. “I’m sorry…what?” “If you don’t want to, that's fine, we can go back.” Your confidence began to falter. “Wait, that’s not what I'm saying.”

“So you want to fuck me?” He takes a moment to think before answering.

“Yes.”

“Then help me find somewhere private.” The two of you make your way down the never ending hallway, checking every door you see. Hugh opens a door and closes it, making his way down the hallway. Seeing as it was the only door that opened so far, you went to check it yourself and saw that it was an empty bathroom. “Why’d you keep going, this is perfect.” You shout at him. “I’m not fucking you in a bathroom.” He looks at you like that was obvious. “Well it’s not like we have any other options. Come on.” You go inside and wait for him. Once he’s inside you motion to the door. “Lock it.” You tell him. “We’re really doing this?” He asks, confirming. “Unless you don’t want to.” He takes a pause before speaking again. “Get your pretty ass over here.” He growls.

You walk over to him slowly. He pulls you close to him once you’re in arms reach and you look up at him through your lashes. “Too damn sexy for your own good.” He whispers before leaning down and locking his lips with yours. The feeling of his beard against your skin was addicting. The kiss was slow at first, both of you testing the waters with each other. It was you who begged to enter his mouth, tongue sliding against his lips. You didn’t want to come off so desperate but you needed more from him. His large hands slid down to your ass, giving it a tight squeeze that has you gasping. His tongue dives into your mouth, exploring every crevice. It’s messy but it’s hot. “Jump.” He commands and you listen. His hands grab the back side of your thighs and he walks you over to the counter, sitting you down inbetween two of the sinks. His lips are back on yours the moment your body touches the cold surface.

“You sure you want to do this baby?” He asks. “Positive.” You breathe out. Hugh bends down, sitting on both of his knees. Grabbing your ankle, he gives kisses to the skin that your heel doesn’t cover. He moves upward, leaving long sensual kisses up your calf and thigh, raising the end of your dress as he goes. As simple as the gesture was, it felt erotic, never having a man take this kind of care with you before. His lips move higher, curving with your leg until he’s hovering above your pussy. “You’re wet already baby?” His voice is cocky and if it weren’t for the heat of his breath making your mind foggy, you would’ve called him out on it. He gives the wet spot on your panties a shy kiss. The act has you letting out a quiet moan, sounding louder from the echo of the bathroom. He slips a finger behind the cotton of your underwear and tugs at it while looking up at you. “Can I take these off?” He asks, finger still tugging the fabric dangerously close to where you need him the most. “Yes.” It’s breathy but it gets the job done because Hugh moves his head up, grabbing the top of the fabric with his teeth. He starts to tug your panties down, using one of his hands to help the other side. You lift your body slightly as Hugh pulls them down farther. When they’re all the way off, Hugh sits back with your panties hanging from the big toothy smile he's wearing. The sight was definitely going to be what you pictured the next time you touched yourself.

“Oh fuck me..” He grabs your panties from his teeth and slides them into his back pocket. “Mhm. not yet, baby. Wanna eat your pretty pussy first.” He leans back in between your legs, lips ghosting over your heat. “So perfect.” He whispers as he kisses each pussy lip three times before finally kissing your clit. “Mhmm, please Hugh.” His tongue slides from your opening to your bud teasingly slow. You can feel his beard scratching the sensitive skin but it only adds to the pleasure. He swirls his tongue around your clit a few times before sucking it into his lips, the feeling causes you to jerk your hips. His hands, that were gently holding your ankles, moved up to hold your hips down. His mouth moves down to your opening, tongue plunging in and out a few times before moving back up to your clit. You hadn’t even noticed that one of his hands moved from your hip until you felt one of his fingers dip into you slowly. He curls the finger and moves it back and forth at an unexpectedly fast pace. Before you can adjust to it, he’s adding another finger and it all becomes too much. “Fuck..I’m gonna cum.” Your words are mixed with moans. He doesn't let up, his tongue and fingers speeding up and it has you cumming hard around his fingers, loud moans feel the air. He gives your pussy one last kiss before leaning back and removing his fingers. When you can fully see his face, it is a sight to see. His salt and pepper beard is covered in your slick, lips glossy.

“Want you to see how good you taste darling.” He says while moving his two fingers to your lips. You open your mouth and stick out your tongue, taking his fingers in your mouth slowly. Hugh hisses as you suck around his fingers, tongue swirling around each one. Once you're confident that they’re clean, you grab his wrist and take his fingers out of your mouth with a pop. “You still gonna fuck me old man or did you already cum in your pants?” You joke with him. He stands up, both knees popping in the process. Just as you're about to laugh and make fun of him some more, he grabs you off of the counter to stand you up. He turns you around and bends you over the counter. “You keep talking like you weren’t the one staring at me for an hour before asking me to fuck you.” He goes to undo his belt buckle and you shiver at the sound. You're looking back at him through the mirror. “Whatever.” You reach over to your clutch and open it, grabbing a condom. You reach back and hold it back to Hugh. “Here, put this on.” He grabs it with a questioning look. “Why were you carrying condoms?” You roll your eyes and rest your head in your hands, elbows propped up. “Can you mind your business and fuck me already. I’m getting bored.” You were lying right through your teeth. You were far from bored but you wanted to keep the whole ‘hard to get’ game going a little longer.

You watch him open the condom and see his arms move as he rolls it down his cock. As bad as you wished you could see him fully but it was kind of exciting- not knowing what you were about to get. “How do you want me baby?” He asks, looking at you through the mirror. You get a small glimpse of his dick as he slaps it across your ass. “Give me all you got daddy.” He smirks and shakes his head at the name. He lines up his member with your entrance and slides in slowly. Once he’s bottomed out, he doesn’t wait long before he’s slamming back into you. The stretch stings slightly and you hadn’t expected him to be so big. He slaps your ass hard and you yelp in response. You drop your head down at the pleasure. “Nuh uh. Look at me while I fuck you baby.” You raise your head to look at Hugh through the mirror again. “That’s it. Look at how pretty you look getting fucked by an old man.” You couldn’t help but listen to him. Hugh was fucking you dumb and you couldn’t think straight. His balls hitting your clit was what sent you over the edge for a second time. “Please don’t stop Hugh mhmmm fuck baby. I’m cumming, please don’t stop, baby.” Your moans match the rhythm of his hips, each thrust knocking the air out of you with its force. “Just like that sweet girl. Fuck not gonna last much longer.” Even after your high, the pleasure continues as Hugh chases his own. You push your hips back, meeting his thrust. The act makes Hugh moan. “Mhm, I'm gonna cum baby.” His hands squeeze your hips, thrusts getting sloppy as he cums.

The two of you stay quiet as you both freshen up and try to make it less noticeable that you two left to have sex. You push yourself up onto the counter, sitting lazily as you watch Hugh toss his hair around. “Can you kiss me again?” You ask Hugh. He smiles and walks over to stand in between your legs. He grabs your cheeks and kisses you. “Mhm. You're a good kisser.” The compliment is sincere. You could kiss his lips for hours if he’d let you. He hums. “So, are you gonna let me take you out now?” You look in his eyes and smile. “Hugh we can’t. This was fun and it was good sex but that’s all it was.” “Why can’t we?” He’s quick with his words. “It’s just not practical Hugh. I think you're handsome and you seem like a sweet guy but I'm too young for you. The press would tear us apart quicker than we got together.” You explain. “Fuck the press. Let me take you out and get to know you at least.” You sigh. “I’m sorry Hugh. I can’t.” You offer him a small smile. “I’m not gonna stop trying. You’re too good to lose.” He kisses your cheek. “I should get back out there. I have a friend waiting for me.” He steps back, letting you hop down from the counter. “Bye Hugh Jackman.” You give him a small peck on the lips before leaving the bathroom.

—

A few weeks later, you were on set for the newest film you were working on. You’d just arrived an hour earlier and were sent to your trailer to get ready for the first scene. When you walked through the door, you were greeted with a bouquet of wildflowers and a note that read:

I can’t stop thinking about you. -H.J (xxx) xxx-xxxx

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#hugh jackman #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman fanfiction #hugh jackman fic #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman smut #hugh jackman oneshot #hugh jackman x female reader #hugh jackman x actress!reader #hugh jackman x y/n #hugh jackman x you #hugh jackman x younger!reader #hugh jackman age gap fic #hugh jackman age gap

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nastydogpublishingco · 11 days ago

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rick grimes who is not going to give you a fucking hickey

rick grimes who is 15 years older than you, goddammit, and well past his “hickey days”

rick grimes who dismisses your pouty bottom lip with a wave after rebuffing your 12th whiny opine of the day about why you think he should stain your pretty throat with as many hickeys as possible, because honestly, he’s trying to maintain some fucking level of respectability around here

rick grimes who’s already had it up to here with the whispered gossip and dodgy looks he’s been getting since the group found out about y’all’s relationship, partially because of your substantial age gap (which, jesus, it’s not like he feels particularly good about that either, but he just couldn’t fucking help himself, ok?), but also because it’s common knowledge that he shares you with daryl, which…ok, yeah, maybe it’s a little unconventional, but it’s the fucking apocalypse! who has the bandwidth to care about shit like that anymore?

rick grimes who’s really, seriously not going to give you a fucking hickey, you need to stop asking him, he’s gonna get well and truly pissed off soon if you don’t stop —

rick grimes who sees a hickey on your throat one day.

clear as day, right beneath the soft hinge of your jaw, a bruise blotched into the otherwise flawless expanse of your long, pretty neck. and when his gaze dares to skate a little lower, wouldn’t you know it — there’s another one, on the other side, where the column of your throat melts into the rest of your shoulder, vivid and offensive.

you say they’re from daryl. you blink your long lashes and screw up your plush lips and fold your arms, like rick’s the one being ridiculous, like you didn’t just waltz in front of him with another man’s mark on you —

and listen. he loves daryl, honest to god. that’s his best friend, his right hand, the man he’d trust with his life one hundred times over. and daryl is a good man, so rick’s never minded sharing you with him. he knows you’re safe, knows you’re happy, yet all of that means dick the second he sees the evidence of daryl’s mouth on your body

rick grimes who is just a man, at the end of the day.

rick grimes who hefts you up and against the wall, his mouth latched onto your pulse point before you can finish asking him what the fuck he’s doing, his hands batting yours out of his fucking way because you like to fight him, you like to push and squirm and whine like he’s not doing everything you beg him for, because you know it makes him feel like a fucking pervert, but all the fight wheezes out of you like a deflating balloon the second he scoops your wrists into one large palm and thwacks them above your head so you stop fucking trying to push him away

rick grimes who scratches his way down your neck, sucking, biting, licking, the coarse scrape of his beard rubbing you raw, giving you what you fucking asked for, camouflaging the marks daryl oh-so-generously gave you with livid bruises of his own because he’s a bad, possessive, jealous old man who cannot stop himself

rick grimes who grinds himself against your ass while you whimper for him, high and strained in the back of your throat, like a cornered prey animal about to be gnashed between the foaming jaws of a predator, and maybe that’s what he is, maybe he’s a sick fuck because it makes him so fucking hard when you do that

rick grimes who wasn’t going to give you a fucking hickey, but now he’s given you five in places you couldn’t hope to hide without a turtleneck sweater and a thick scarf wrapped up to your ears, and he can’t stop himself, doesn’t want to, and if the way you’re panting and bucking and mewling for him means anything, he’d reckon you don’t want him to stop either

rick grimes who fucks you filthily, right there, against the wall, jeans halfway down his thighs, your skirt rucked up around your tummy, eyes spinning like pinwheels and drool silvering the corner of your ruddy, open mouth as he scuffs his teeth down, down, down, past your collarbones and into the soft give of your tits, because if you want fucking hickeys, he’s going to give you as many as he damn well pleases, wherever he damn well fucking pleases

rick grimes who cums in you, buries himself inside you so deep you choke on every thin sip of air you try to take, and your cunt spasms like it’s trying to push him out as he unloads, and he can feel it overflowing, can feel liquid heat welling around his cock and dribbling obscenely down your pretty thighs before it splatters onto the ground, and that should be enough, but oh, boy, it’s nowhere near

rick grimes who sets you clumsily back on your feet and catches you by the hips before you stumble forward, because he’s sunk to his (creaky, crackly) knees and hitched one of your legs up and over his shoulders so he can get straight to work sucking hickeys into the sinfully soft give of your lush inner thighs, and two of his thick fingers start methodically pushing his cum back into your drooling little hole, because it’s not enough to wear his marks on your skin, suddenly, you need to be wearing it on the fucking core of your being, as well

rick grimes who wrings one, two, three more orgasms out of you that way, who makes you cum until tears have mapped out a path down your red cheeks and pooled in the hollow of your throat, because your delicate pleas for mercy don’t change the fact that he’s decided your orgasms belong to him too

rick grimes, who in fact gives you so many fucking hickeys that daryl has the gall to look scandalized when he sees you next, like he played no part in the whole ordeal, and who’s selfishly, darkly, perversely thrilled about the way you tilt your head back and display your marred throat proudly, like you couldn’t be happier, grinning like the cat who got the cream

just. rick grimes

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thelast0fme · 4 months ago

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Warm Whiskey and Calloused ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Hands

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: This is my first one shot so keep that in mind when reading!

Joel was making sure everything was in order when the doorbell rang. He let out a small sigh, rubbing a hand over his beard before making his way over. Opening the door, he found you standing there—a good-looking woman, no doubt. His friends had called you hot, but that never seemed right. Gorgeous, though? Yeah, that fit better.

"Mr. Miller?" you asked, your voice smooth but polite.

"Just Joel’s fine," he said with a small chuckle. "‘Mr. Miller’ makes me sound older than I care for."

That got a smile out of you, and he caught himself staring a second longer than he should have.

"Alright then, Joel," you grinned.

Stepping aside, he motioned for you to come in. You walked past, and he couldn’t help but notice the easy confidence in your stride. He had to admit, for all the babysitters Sarah had burned through, you were certainly the most put-together.

"Alright, so here’s the deal," Joel started, crossing his arms. "I probably won’t be back ‘til ‘round midnight. You sure you’re good with that? Bein’ your first time watchin’ Sarah and all."

You met his gaze without hesitation, giving him a warm smile. "Yep. Can’t be too bad."

He huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. "Famous last words."

"So, how long you been doin’ this babysittin’ thing?" Joel asked, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. His voice was casual, but there was that usual hint of skepticism, like he was sizing you up.

You tilted your head, thinking. "Since I turned eighteen. So… about six years now?"

He gave a small nod, eyes studying you for a beat. "Huh. Guess that’s long enough to know what you’re doin’."

A smirk tugged at your lips. "You havin’ second thoughts, Miller?"

Joel huffed a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Nah. Just gotta make sure my kid’s in good hands, is all."

"She is, I promise," you said with a warm smile.

Joel studied you for a moment, his gaze steady, unreadable. Then, with a small exhale, he nodded.

"Alright," he muttered. "Guess we’ll see."

"Well, I best get goin’. My brother Tommy’s waitin’ at the site," Joel said, grabbing his keys off the counter.

"Site?" you asked, curiosity piqued. "You do construction or somethin’?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Own a construction business with Tommy."

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. "Didn’t peg you for a business owner."

Joel smirked, tucking his keys into his pocket. "Yeah, well… gotta pay the bills somehow."

You nodded, tucking your hands into your pockets. "Hard work, huh?"

He glanced at you, smirking. "Somethin’ like that."

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—just a quiet moment where Joel seemed to take your measure one last time. Then he nodded, as if settling something in his mind. "Alright. Sarah’s upstairs, probably readin’ or listenin’ to music. She knows the rules, but you might have to remind her bedtime means actual sleep."

You grinned. "I think I can handle that."

"We’ll see," he muttered, amusement flickering behind his eyes. He reached for the door, pausing before pulling it open. "Oh, and uh… she’s got a habit of sneakin’ snacks when she thinks nobody’s watchin’. So if she tries to tell you I let her eat cookies before bed? She’s full of it."

You chuckled, crossing your arms. "Got it. No midnight cookie runs."

Joel gave you a lingering look, something unreadable behind the rough edges of his expression. He didn’t trust easy—years of hard living had seen to that—but there was something about the way you carried yourself that settled some of his usual worry.

"Alright," he finally said, opening the door. "See you at midnight."

And with that, he stepped out into the night, leaving you standing in his home, a warm smirk still tugging at your lips.

A few hours had gone by without you seeing Sarah, so you decided to go upstairs and introduce yourself. You walked up the stairs to her room and knocked.

"Come in!" You heard Sarah shout from the other side.

You turned the doorknob and pushed the door open, stepping inside to find her sprawled on her bed, flipping through the pages of a teen magazine. The glow of a small bedside lamp illuminated the room, posters of musicians and movie stars covering the walls. A pair of headphones rested around her neck, music faintly playing from them.

Sarah glanced up at you, curiosity flashing in her eyes before she set the magazine down. "Hey," she greeted casually, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "You’re the new babysitter, right?"

You nodded with a friendly smile. "Yep, that’s me. Figured I should come up and say hi since we’re stuck with each other for the night."

"So, what’s your deal? You gonna be one of those ‘no fun allowed’ babysitters, or are you cool?"

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "Guess you’ll just have to wait and see."

Sarah grinned, clearly intrigued. "Alright, game on."

-------------------------------------------------------

Joel came home late that night, exhaustion weighing on him like a heavy coat. The house was quiet—Sarah had already gone to bed, leaving only the low murmur of the TV as background noise. As he stepped inside, shutting the door with a quiet click, he glanced over to see you curled up on the couch, bathed in the soft glow of the screen.

You looked over at him, offering a small smile. “Hey, Joel.”

He let out a tired exhale, running a hand through his hair before dropping his keys onto the table with a familiar clatter. “Hey,” he said, his voice rough with fatigue. He took a moment to shrug off his jacket, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to shake off the weight of the day.

For a while, you just talked—small things, casual conversation that filled the silence of the house. He told you about his day, how work had been long, how Tommy had nearly taken a chunk out of his hand with a power tool. You laughed, and he smirked, shaking his head.

Eventually, you stretched, shifting to sit up. “I should probably head out,” you said, glancing at the clock.

Joel looked at you then—really looked at you—before he let out a quiet sigh and rubbed at his beard. His gaze lingered, like he was weighing something in his mind. Then, just as you were about to stand, he spoke.

“You want a drink before you go?” His tone was casual, but there was something else in it, something a little softer, like he wasn’t quite ready for the night to be over just yet.

You hesitated, then met his gaze with a small, knowing smile. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Joel nodded, pushing himself to his feet with a grunt. “Good,” he said simply, heading toward the kitchen. “Hope you ain’t picky.”

Joel set the bottle on the counter with a quiet clink, pouring another round with the easy familiarity of a man who’d done this plenty of times before. You stood next to him, the warmth of the liquor settling in your veins, making the edges of the night a little softer, a little looser.

Somewhere between the first drink and the third, the conversation had shifted from small talk to something else—something that had both of you laughing more than you probably should have been.

“You serious?” Joel asked, shaking his head, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“I swear,” you giggled, taking another sip. “I really thought I could fix the sink myself. Turns out, YouTube tutorials don’t cover everything.”

Joel chuckled, shaking his head. “See, that’s your first mistake. You trust the internet too much.”

You laughed, warmth curling in your chest that had nothing to do with the alcohol. The night felt different now, charged with something unspoken. His eyes lingered on you a little longer, the space between you feeling smaller.

Joel sighed, running a hand over his beard before glancing at the near-empty bottle between you. “Think we might’ve overdone it,” he muttered, amusement flickering in his voice.

You leaned back, stretching your arms over your head with a lazy grin. “You saying you can’t handle your liquor, Mr. Miller?”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m sayin’ if I wake up with a headache, I’m blamin’ you.”

“You’re the one who offered the drink,” you shot back.

A beat of silence hung between you, charged in a way you couldn’t quite explain. You were close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of him, close enough to see the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. His gaze dropped to your lips again, and this time, neither of you pulled away.

Without thinking, you closed the space between you, leaning in as he did the same. The kiss was slow at first, a tentative exploration. Then, the alcohol took hold, and the kiss deepened, a mix of need and desire that neither of you had expected, but both of you had been too caught up in the moment to deny.

As the kiss deepened, Joel's large hands gripped your hips, pulling you tightly against him with a low, guttural groan. The warmth of his body, the solid strength of him, sent electric shivers down your spine. His fingertips dug in just enough to make your breath hitch, igniting a desperate need that curled low in your stomach.

He moved with slow, deliberate intent, guiding you backward until the edge of the kitchen counter pressed into the small of your back. His lips never left yours, devouring every gasp and whimper as his body caged you in. Then, with a teasing slowness, he trailed hot kisses down your jaw, lingering at the pulse point on your neck. His breath, ragged and heated, fanned against your skin as he sucked lightly, his tongue soothing the spot a second later.

"Goddamn," he muttered against your throat, his voice rough with want. One calloused hand slid beneath your shirt, fingertips tracing lazy circles along your spine before splaying wide against the bare skin of your back, pulling you impossibly closer. The friction between you sent a jolt of pleasure through your core, making your fingers tighten in his hair.

"Joel," you breathed, your voice barely more than a whisper. His name was a plea, a surrender, a need you couldn't contain.

His hips pressed insistently against yours, the undeniable evidence of his desire making heat pool low in your belly. But as his hand began to wander lower, the hazy fog of passion was interrupted by a single thought—Sarah.

Your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, tugging slightly as you tried to catch your breath. "Shouldn't we go upstairs?" you murmured, voice shaky but insistent. "Sarah could wake up and come downstairs."

Joel stilled for half a second, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as he exhaled sharply. Then, with a chuckle, low and wrecked, he pressed one last lingering kiss to your lips. "Yeah," he rasped, voice thick with restraint. "You're right."

But as he stepped back, his dark, heated gaze locked onto yours, promising that this was far from over.

"Let's go."

As Joel took your hand, leading you toward the stairs, his grip was firm, his body still radiating heat from the moment you shared. Each step felt heavier, anticipation thrumming between you. The house was quiet except for the occasional creak of the wooden stairs beneath your feet, the air thick with unsaid words and lingering desire.

When you reached his bedroom, Joel pushed the door shut behind you, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse race. He stepped closer, hands finding your waist again, thumbs brushing slow circles against your skin.

But before he could kiss you again, you tilted your head, meeting his gaze with something teasing and sharp. "You sleep with all your babysitters?"

The question made him pause for a beat, then his lips quirked into that signature smirk, half amused, half dangerous. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as his fingers tightened at your waist. "Nah," he said, voice deep and rough. "Just the ones I can't stop thinkin' about."

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, but before you could react, he closed the distance, capturing your mouth in another searing kiss, one that left no room for doubt—this was different. You were different.

And neither of you had any intention of stopping now.

With a possessive hunger, Joel claimed your mouth, his lips demanding, his tongue sweeping inside to tangle with yours in a kiss that left no room for breath. His calloused hands gripped your waist, rough fingertips digging into your skin as he pulled you flush against him. You felt the hard press of him against your stomach, his body heat searing through his jeans. With a low grunt, he slid his hands down to your backside, squeezing firmly before hoisting you up with ease.

Your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you to the bed, your dress riding up your thighs, lace panties on full display. Joel’s gaze darkened, his pupils blown wide as he stared down at you sprawled across his bed. His chest rose and fell heavily, his fingers already pushing the fabric of your dress higher, exposing more of you to his hungry eyes.

“Damn,” he rasped, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “Look at you.”

He climbed onto the bed, bracing himself over you on his forearms. His lips ghosted over your jaw, your throat, his scruff scraping against your skin. You shivered at the feeling, at the deep, gravelly murmur of his voice against your ear.

“You wear this for me?” His fingers trailed over the lace of your panties before dipping lower, teasing at the wetness already pooling between your thighs. “Knew what you were doin’, didn’t you? Dressin’ up all pretty, lettin’ me see just how bad you want it.”

A rough hand gripped your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to look at him. His dark eyes burned into yours, filled with raw hunger. “You want this?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” His lips curled into a smirk before he tugged your dress up and over your head, tossing it aside. His heated gaze roamed over your nearly bare body, lingering on the black lace barely covering you. “Jesus Christ.”

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your thighs at an agonizing pace. When you were fully bared beneath him, Joel let out a low, appreciative growl. He reached down, palming the bulge straining against his jeans.

“Spread those legs for me, baby.”

You obeyed, and he groaned at the sight of you, dragging a hand through his hair like he was barely holding himself back. He made quick work of his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping before shoving his jeans and boxers down just enough to free himself. His cock stood thick and heavy in his hand, and he stroked himself once, twice, eyes fixed on the slick heat between your thighs.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Gonna ruin you.”

He moved in, positioning himself between your legs, rubbing the head of his cock through your wetness before pressing forward, the stretch forcing a gasp from your lips. Joel’s jaw clenched, his fingers gripping your thighs as he sank in inch by inch.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” he gritted out, pausing to let you adjust. “So fuckin’ tight.”

You moaned, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper. That was all the encouragement he needed. He drew back and thrust forward hard, knocking the breath from your lung.

The pace he set was brutal, deep and unrelenting. Every powerful snap of his hips drove him to the hilt, filling you completely. Joel’s hands slid beneath your knees, hiking your legs higher, letting him sink even deeper.

“Fuck—there,” you gasped, your back arching.

Joel smirked, sweat beading along his forehead. “Yeah? That’s the spot?”

His thrusts became merciless, driving into you at just the right angle, over and over until you were trembling beneath him, until you could feel yourself falling apart.

“Look at me,” he commanded, voice rough with effort. “Wanna see that pretty face when you come on my cock.”

Your release slammed into you hard, your body clenching around him as you cried out. Joel groaned, his grip tightening on your thighs as he fucked you through it, chasing his own end. A few more deep, punishing thrusts, and he was right there with you, spilling deep inside with a guttural moan.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was heavy breathing. Joel pressed his forehead against yours, his chest heaving. Slowly, he pulled out, his spend dripping from your wrecked pussy. He groaned at the sight, dragging his fingers through the mess before bringing them to your lips. “Open.”

You obeyed, taking his fingers into your mouth, sucking them clean. Joel cursed under his breath, shaking his head with a breathless chuckle. “You’re somethin’ else, darlin’.”

You exhaled a shaky laugh. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

Joel smirked, brushing a hand down your thigh, tracing the marks he’d left behind. “Think you can walk after that?”

You started to sit up, but your legs felt like jelly. “Might need a minute.”

He chuckled as you stood, your legs unsteady.

You met his gaze. “I should call an Uber—”

“Stay,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm.

Before you could protest, he rose from the bed, pulling you into his embrace. He tucked you beneath his chin, his body still radiating warmth. His hand moved in slow, lazy circles over your back—grounding, soothing.

“Ain’t lettin’ you go just yet,” he whispered.

A quiet sigh escaped your lips as you melted into him. Maybe, just for tonight, you’d stay.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader

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mrsbarnesblog · 1 year ago

Text

˖˚⊹ my girl

➤ summary: even if you knew that you and Rafe were just hooking up, hearing his friend's comments about you, while you were preparing a venue for the event, hurt more than you expected it to

➤ w/c: 2k.

➤ warnings: fwb (or smth like that) to lovers, mentions of sex but nothing explicit, Rafe's friends lol, swearing

➤ a/n: soft Rafe is my weakness, I'm sorry. he's on my mind 24/7 and I literally don't know what to write

masterlist

You were running around the outdoor venue with boxes full of pastry, where in a few hours there was going to be an annual celebration with lots of rich people. For some reason, Ward Cameron, who was paying for everything here, decided that your father’s small bakery was good enough to feed all of the kooks, so from the afternoon on, you were organizing tables to make everything look perfect.

The place itself looked truly magical—decorated with a lot of flower arrangements, lights and expensive furniture. It was located at Figure 8, so you obviously never had the opportunity to visit it before. It was Kook’s territory, and even with your family’s bakery, which was pretty popular on the island, you were not welcome here.

Just a few minutes ago, Ward himself came to the venue with Rafe and his son’s best friends in order to check how everything was going.

As soon as your eyes met Rafe’s, you both stopped for a few seconds, too shocked to see each other in a public place. What happened between you and Kook's prince was something that you had never expected to get into, yet here you were.

You didn’t know what got into you that one night, but out of nowhere, Rafe was talking to you, smiling, looking all sexy and without his usual cockiness, so you couldn’t resist him.

It wasn’t that you even regretted your decision; it just became more weird every single time you met because he wasn’t bad. Rafe Cameron wasn’t an asshole, which everyone made him seem to be. He was affectionate and surprisingly soft, always checking on you while you two were together and never pressuring you to leave. You wholeheartedly had to admit that it became more than just sex after a few weeks, no matter how hard you tried to deny it.

You were definitely not dating, mostly because he had never asked you to, but you two were always texting about random stuff, he would even pick you up to hang out at his secret spot on the beach, or just to simply sit in his truck with lots of food and talk. Part of you hated it, but Rafe made you feel so comfortable and safe around him so you were scared to push it and ask him what was happening between you.

Rafe’s eyes stayed fixated on you as his father, Kelce and Topper stood near him, looking around the venue and chatting. But he could not care less about it because his entire attention was drawn to you and how adorable you looked in your pink tennis skirt and simple white polo with the bakery's logo on it.

He may or may not be responsible for Ward’s choice of bakery to work with, because Rafe made sure to accidentally mention it a few times, knowing that it would be a good profit for your family. Yet, seeing you here slightly took him off guard, as the first thought that appeared in his head was to go up to you, flirt and make you blush, or just simply kiss you. But he couldn’t, right? At least not until he properly talked to you.

“Damn, she’s hot, even for a pogue. No wonder you hit it a few times, bro. I'd do it too.” The moment words left Topper’s mouth, Rafe’s heart dropped into his stomach. Kelce snickered, fistbumping Topper, and Rafe cursed himself for running his mouth. He really considered drowning his friends in the nearest lake.

“Shut your fucking mouth.” Rafe seethed through gritted teeth, elbowing his friend.

“I would appreciate you both watching your language.” Ward sighed, wincing and rubbing a hand on his beard. He looked at Rafe, who completely ignored his questioning gaze while trying to figure out how to fix it.

Even with you standing with your back facing them, Rafe saw that you heard it too. Your hand froze in the air, still holding a cupcake, and your shoulders sagged in disappointment and hurt.

Only a few seconds later, you came back to your senses. Your back straightened, you finished decorating the table and you put empty boxes in the trash can. You turned around, showing the fakest smile Rafe had ever seen on your face. Your nails digged in your palm to control yourself, and you stepped closer to the four of them.

“Mr. Cameron, thank you for working with our bakery. It really means a lot for my family. I did everything and now the event manager should carry on. I, um, should go. I have a lot of stuff to do. Have a great night.” Your eyes were glossy, with tears clearly visible on your waterline. As you awkwardly and in a rush thanked Ward, you didn’t even look at Rafe or either of his friends, knowing damn well that it would break you.

You didn’t even wait for Ward’s response before storming off, trying to get as far away from these people as possible. Your chest felt too heavy, and the lump in your throat was so hard that you could barely speak. But you didn’t even walk a few feet away before a familiar hand wrapped around your wrist and made you turn around.

“What do you want from me?” You snapped at Rafe, trying to yank your hand out of his grip. “Don’t touch me, Rafe.”

“This is not what you think it is.” He said, searching for your eyes. His brows were knit together, and his eyes were big and round, almost in fear.

“Oh no? Isn’t it what I am to you? Just a hit. Just another one on your long list. Why are you bothering to explain anything to me anyway?” You laughed, barely able to hold back your tears. As if it were not enough that you cried in front of Rafe, neither his friends nor his father seemed to mind their own business, obviously listening to your conversation.

“No. You know that it was more for me, Y/N. I’m serious about you, okay? Topper just cannot filter his fucking mouth.”

“Stop doing it, Rafe!” You broke, not bothering to hide anymore. “Stop playing with my feelings when you know damn well that you won’t have anything serious with me. I’m not rich, I’m not a kook and I’m not like the prefect girls you usually hang out with. I get it, okay?” You yanked your hand out of his hold, not missing the way Rafe tried to catch it back. Wiping away hot and angry tears with the back of your hand, you look him right in the eyes. “I just wish you didn't give me hope in the first place, because I feel so fucking stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, Y/N. I don’t care about your money or your status, for that matter. I want you and I mean it. Just let me explain—”

"This is why you would not even speak to me in front of anyone, right? This is why we were always sneaking around. Because you want me, not because you’re too good to be around me.“ You confronted him, not even caring who could hear or see you. From the position where you were standing, you saw a bunch of young waitresses standing not so far away, pretending to work on the table but eyeing you and Rafe every second.

“I’m an asshole. I know it. I know that I didn’t put the label on us and that I fucked up, not doing the right thing.” He stepped closer to you, not breaking eye contact to show that he was sincere. "When Topper and Kelce saw me with you, I panicked and said the only thing that made sense: we were just hooking up. I didn’t want it to be that way, fuck…” Rafe screched the back of his neck in agitation.

“You should go back and stop embarrassing yourself talking with a pogue. I bet your friends found it entertaining. How much did you tell them, hm? Did you share every single detail of what we were doing?” Your voice broke at the end.

“I didn’t tell them anything!”

“Well, I don’t believe you, Rafe!” You sniffed, looking away to distract yourself from the look in Rafe’s eyes. His blue eyes were round, full of concern and it seemed like he was almost panicking. "I understand how guys like you talk about women, but I guess I was stupid enough to believe you would not do that to me. So yeah, you got what you wanted from me and now you can go back to—”

You were rumbling one moment, and the next, two hands pressed on your cheeks, tilting your head up, and Rafe's lips were on yours. You gasped, hands freezing in the air in shock, before slowly moving to Rafe’s shirt to tug on it.

He didn’t rush; he just firmly yet gently held you against him while his tongue slipped into your mouth, savoiring every second. It’s been just two days since you last seen each other, but God, you missed kissing him. Even if you wanted to move away, you couldn’t. Rafe's palms were on your face, guiding you, while his kiss made your head feel empty and light. He smelled and tasted so good and you hated how quickly you got used to the feeling of his touch on your skin.

“Everyone can see us.” You mumbled into his mouth.

“I don’t fucking care, Y/N.” He furrowed, still feeling the wetness on your cheeks from crying. With his thumbs gently rubbing your soft skin, he gave you a few quick kisses before continuing. "I swear, all I said to them was that we just hooked up, because it is what it was at that moment. I wouldn’t have shared anything intimate about you, baby. Please believe me when I say this.” Rafe sighed, resting his forehead on yours. His nose bumped against your—something that he started doing when you were alone in the bed, laying face to face and just looking at each other. "I am sorry I made you feel like you were just sex for me, because you weren't. Spending time with you was the best fucking time of my day, and whatever that was between us, I don’t want it to end.”

“Me neither…” You whispered, feeling warmth rushing through your body when Rafe wrapped his hands around your waist and pulled you even closer into him. He placed a kiss on the top of your head and then you felt him turning around, seemingly studying people around you.

“Since everyone saw us today, do you think I can take you away with me right now?”

“Take me away? But you have an event in a few hours, and I have to work.”

“No, now we have an event and we have to find you a dress. I’ll handle your work and find someone who can deliver your orders.” Your head snapped up, only to see a proud grin on Rafe's face.

“You’re joking, right?” You pulled away, laughing. “I don’t have such clothes nor do I have money to buy them, and I definitely wasn’t invited.”

“That’s why I’m taking you to the store now. And since you are my girl now, you’ll be my plus one.” He just shrugged, probably unaware that he had just filled your stomach with freaking butterflies.

“I’m your girl?”

Rafe silently looked you in the eyes for a few seconds, and it seemed like he was trying to reassure himself about something. His eyes then shifted to your lips, as he dragged you back to his body, lowering himself to mumble against your mouth. “Yeah, you are my girl.”

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe fanfiction #rafe imagine #rafe cameron imagine #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x y/n

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berryispunk · 3 months ago

Text

Everything But Us

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: we suffer first we love later, idiots in love, friends to lovers, dual POV, slow burn (but boy! worth it), once again talking is difficult, the boys have an appearance, best friend! Frankie, soft! Frankie, longing, mutual pining, ANGST, love confessions, tiny mention of past addiction, emotional turmoil, SMUT (🌶️🌶️🌶️), kissing, swearing, wrap it up in real life please, no further physical description of reader apart from wearing a dress and having hair

summary: You danced around your feelings for each other, always toeing the line but never daring to cross it—until one fateful night in October, when hesitation gave way to something undeniable, changing everything forever.

notes: Did I write this in one manic sitting today? Absolutely. Any mistakes you find are mine. Happy Frankie Friday !

word count: 7,3 k

also readable on ao3

How was he supposed to tell you that his whole world revolved around you? That one night back in October had changed everything for him. You were both drunk, out of your minds, laughing afterward.

“Sorry,” you hiccuped, your fingers tracing the one patch on his cheek where his beard never fully grew. You looked at it like it was something special, like it was the most natural thing in the world to be this close to him. Painfully unaware of how even the simplest touch from you set his skin on fire. Your fingers trailed along his jaw, up to his ear, and finally tangled in the tousled locks peeking out from under his cap—the one he was hardly ever without. Your eyes were glazed, unfocused from too many tequila shots. You were absolutely adorable when you were tipsy. Carefree. Relaxed. And, by God, it made him want you even more.

His head fell back against the taxi seat, eyes closing as he prayed to whatever cosmic force was listening that you were too drunk to notice how hard it was for him to hold back. But you were right there, purring next to his ear, your head resting against the seat beside him.

“You’re always so damn sweet, Frankie,” you murmured. “So attentive and kind. Why the hell are you still single?”

The words hit him where it hurt the most— his heart. Up until tonight, he had kept his respectful distance. Admiring you from afar, letting himself be what you allowed him to be: a friend. He even picked you up from all the failed dates, letting you ramble about whatever loser you thought was worthy of your time. He held you when you cried over another broken heart, never once overstepping, even when he wanted to. Even when your head rested on his shoulder, your breathing finally even after a sob-filled night, and he turned his head just slightly—just enough that he could have kissed your forehead. When, in reality, he wanted to kiss your lips. His hand would draw soothing circles up and down your arm, steadying you, grounding you. He stayed longer than necessary, making sure you were okay before he left. Placing water and painkillers on your nightstand because he knew you’d need them in the morning. And you did.

“You’re my lifesaver, Morales🩷”

That was the text you sent the next day, and he had smiled like an idiot at his phone before reality came crashing back. Because even if you meant it, it never meant the same thing to you.

Then came tonight.

The two of you had split off from the rest of your friends, waiting for a taxi on the curb. And out of nowhere, you stepped closer. Wrapped your arms around his neck. Played with the hair at the nape of it like you belonged there.

“You’re so damn cute, you know that?” His cheeks burned instantly.

“You’re drunk and out of your mind, hermosa,” he said, his hands settling at your waist. The warmth of your skin seeped through the thin fabric of your dress—one that you probably shouldn’t have been wearing in the October chill, but you had insisted ‘dress season was all year long’. And, damn, were you right. The way you paired it with tights and Doc Martens was a sight he knew would haunt his dreams. His thumbs traced slow circles over your hips as he held you, watching you carefully, preparing for whatever you’d throw at him next. With you, it could be anything—an insult or the sweetest compliment. There was no in-between when you were like this.

And then something shifted. You looked at him for a fraction too long. Your eyes flickered to his lips before finding his gaze again. You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, and his grip tightened instinctively. You made this so damn hard for him.

“You cold?” he asked, desperate to break the tension simmering between you.

You shook your head, smirking. “I have my own personal heater. I’m fine.”

Then you closed the distance completely, pressing yourself against him. Softness against hardness, in all the right and wrong places, and his head spun. The alcohol in his system didn’t help. He hugged you back, letting your body heat mingle with his. Letting himself close his eyes and pretend—for just a moment—that this was real.

And now, here you were, in the taxi. So close. Too close. Something in him snapped.

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. You leaned into his touch with a small, tired smile, and his stomach twisted painfully. Such a simple gesture, yet so intimate it stole the air from his lungs. He leaned in, just a little, close enough to share the same breath, still giving you space to pull away. But you didn’t. You trusted him. And he would never take advantage of that, so he inhaled sharply, forcing himself to pull back with the last restraint left. But before he could, you reached for him. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, and then your lips crashed onto his. It was electrifying. Addictive.

For a split second, he thought he was dreaming. But then your hand tugged at his hair, and he knew he wasn’t. This was real. And it was better than he had ever imagined. He melted into the kiss, letting you take the lead. Too afraid that if he kissed you the way he wanted to, he might ruin everything. Might scare you off. Your lips were soft but purposeful, tasting like tequila and the faintest trace of strawberry—the lip gloss you had put on before leaving the bar. You tasted like a promise of something he had never dared to dream about.

And then—just as suddenly as it had started—it ended. Your forehead rested against his, your breath slightly shallow. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, something new flickered in your gaze. A depth that wasn’t there before. Then it was gone.

“Are you okay?” he asked cautiously, picking up on the way your expression had shifted. His stomach clenched with dread. Your face paled. Next thing he knew, you were throwing open the window and vomiting onto the street. His eyes widened in horror.

Had he kissed that badly?

Panic surged through him as he scooted closer, rubbing a hand over your back, shouting to the driver to pull over. This was not how he had imagined this moment going. Not at all.

The taxi came to a screeching halt at the curb, and Frankie barely had time to reach into his wallet to pay before he was helping you out of the car. You groaned, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “God, I’m so sorry,” you mumbled, swaying slightly on your feet.

He steadied you with a firm hand on your waist. “Nothing to apologize for, hermosa,” he said softly. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

You nodded, pressing your forehead briefly to his shoulder like you were gathering the strength to move. Then, with a deep breath, you straightened and started walking. Your place wasn’t far, just a few blocks, but it felt longer with the way you stumbled every few steps. Frankie kept his arm wrapped securely around you, guiding you through the quiet streets. The cool night air bit at his skin, but it did little to cool the heat still lingering in his blood from the kiss.

That damn kiss.

He kept replaying it in his head, trying to convince himself it hadn’t meant anything. That it had been nothing more than a drunken mistake. But the way your lips had moved against his, the way your fingers had tangled in his hair—it didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt like everything.

By the time they reached your apartment, you were half-asleep against him. He fished your keys from your purse and guided you inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Alright, let’s get you to bed,” he murmured, leading you down the hallway to your room.

You collapsed onto the mattress with a content sigh, stretching out like a cat before rolling onto your side to look at him. He bent down, pulling your boots off and setting them neatly beside the bed. Then he reached for the blanket, ready to tuck you in and leave before he did something stupid. But then you spoke.

“Frankie?”

His movements stilled. “Yeah?”

Your voice was softer now, almost hesitant. “Did you ever think about sleeping with me?”

His throat went dry. You were looking up at him with half-lidded eyes, your expression unreadable. And suddenly, the air in the room felt suffocating. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to tell the truth. To admit that he had thought about it more times than he could count. That he had dreamed about you, fantasized about what it would be like to have you beneath him, to feel your nails digging into his skin, to hear his name fall from your lips like it was the only thing that mattered. But he couldn’t tell you that. Because you were drunk. And he was supposed to be your friend.

So he forced a chuckle, shaking his head. “No,” he lied, the word tasting like poison on his tongue. “Never crossed my mind.”

Something flickered in your expression—something like disappointment—but it was gone before he could be sure. You hummed softly, rolling onto your back and staring at the ceiling.

“Liar,” you murmured, but there was no bite to it. Just quiet acceptance.

Frankie swallowed hard.

“Get some sleep,” he said, pulling the blanket over you and stepping back before he did something reckless. He turned off the light, lingering in the doorway for just a second longer than he should have. And then he left. Because if he stayed any longer, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep lying.

Winter had come and gone, and with it, any mention of that night in October. You never brought it up. And Frankie never dared to. Not the kiss. Not the question you had asked him in the dim light of your bedroom. Not the way your voice had curled around the word liar like you already knew the truth. So he buried it. Shoved it deep into the same corner of his mind where he kept every other impossible feeling he had for you.

Now, the air smelled like spring—fresh rain on warm pavement, flowers blooming.The chill had faded, replaced with sun-kissed skin and longer days. And with it, you were glowing too. Frankie was trying not to notice, but it was to no avail. You sat across from him at the bar, wedged between two of your friends, laughing as you stirred your drink with a cocktail straw. You were in another one of those damn sundresses, bare legs crossed as you leaned forward excitedly.

“She’s talking about him again,” Benny muttered under his breath, taking a swig of his beer. Frankie clenched his jaw. He knew exactly who him was. Some guy you had met at a coffee shop a few weeks ago. Apparently, he’d bumped into you in line, spilled a bit of his overpriced espresso on your sleeve, and instead of being pissed, you had laughed about it. Frankie hated him instantly.

“He’s just—ugh, I don’t know,” you gushed, shaking your head with a dreamy sigh. “There’s something about him.” Frankie rolled his beer bottle between his palms, staring at the table instead of you. Something about him.

Frankie had been something about you for years.

“I mean, it’s still early, obviously,” you continued, oblivious to the way his grip tightened around his drink. “But I don’t know, it just feels easy. Like we just clicked.” He forced a smirk, lifting his bottle to his lips. “Sounds perfect.” Drowning all the bad feelings bubbling up in alcohol. If you picked up on the flatness in his tone, you didn’t say anything. You just shrugged, swirling the ice in your glass before taking another sip. “It’s nice to be excited about someone, you know?”

Frankie hummed in response, taking another long sip of his beer and glancing down at the nearly empty bottle, as if the answers to all his unasked questions were waiting at the bottom. Excited, right.

Of course, he wanted you to be happy. That’s what he told himself every time you brought up some new guy, every time you smiled at a text that wasn’t from him, every time you looked across the bar for someone else. But tonight, something about the way you were talking about this one was different. Frankie could feel it, tightening in his chest like a warning.

And he knew, deep down, that if he kept lying to himself, if he kept pretending he was fine watching you fall for someone else—

One day, he might actually believe it.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. Frankie had always been the quieter one in your group, measured and steady. A man of few words but with an unwavering presence. But lately, something had shifted. It was in the way he reacted when you talked about the guy you were seeing. The way his usual teasing remarks had dulled, his responses clipped and distant. The way he smiled, but it never quite reached his eyes anymore. You noticed, of course you did. But you didn’t ask. Maybe because you weren't sure if you wanted to know the answer.

Because if you look too closely, you might have to admit what had always been there—what you had spent years trying to ignore. Frankie had never just been a friend to you. Not really. There had been a time, long before that night in October, when you had wondered. Let your mind drift to the thought of what it would be like to be his.

To be the reason behind his softest smiles, the one he reached for without hesitation.

You had wanted that once. Wanted him, but you buried it. Swallowed it down and forced yourself to forget. Because Frankie was good. Too good. The kind of man who stayed. The kind of man who meant what he said and never made promises he couldn’t keep. And you, you were a wreck. A walking contradiction of bad choices and broken hearts. You loved too easily. Trusted too quickly. And time and time again, it left you standing in the ruins of something you should have never believed in to begin with. You couldn’t do that to him.

So you convinced yourself that friendship was enough. That it had to be enough. Because losing him? That was the one thing you knew you wouldn’t survive. But then came the kiss.

And now, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t bury it. Couldn’t forget the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he let you kiss him but didn’t pull you closer, didn’t give in the way you thought he would. Like he had wanted to but also didn’t. Like he had been holding back. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That it was nothing. That it was just the alcohol, just the moment, just a mistake. And for a while, you almost believed it.

Then you met him, Luke. Someone new. Someone who checked every box, said all the right things, wanted you without hesitation. It should have been easy, you should have felt relieved, happy even.

But every time you looked at Frankie, you could feel it—the weight of something unspoken pressing down on you. The way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes anymore. The way he laughed at all the right times but never really looked at you the way he used to. You told yourself you were imagining it,that you were reading into things that weren’t there. But late at night, when you were lying next to Luke, it wasn’t him you thought about.

It was Frankie. And no matter how much you tried to deny it—that changed everything.

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived at Will’s house, your fingers laced with your boyfriend’s as you stepped inside. The air was thick with the smell of beer, grilled food, and whatever cologne Benny, Will’s brother, had drowned himself in. Laughter and music spilled from the open back doors where most of your friends had gathered, voices overlapping, drinks in hand, the kind of effortless camaraderie that had always made you feel at home.

But something felt off tonight. Or maybe it was just you.

Because for the first time in years, Frankie wasn’t there to greet you with that familiar, easy smile. He wasn’t hovering nearby, teasing you about being late or making sure you had a drink in hand. No, Frankie was across the room, deep in conversation with Will and Santi, nursing a beer like it was the only thing anchoring him in place. And he hadn’t looked at you once, even though you were sure he knew you had arrived—if not by seeing you, then by Benny’s over-the-top greeting

You tried not to notice, tried to focus on introducing your boyfriend to everyone, on smiling and laughing in all the right places. But no matter where you were, some part of you was always aware of him, lingering just at the edge of your orbit. How he kept his distance, how he barely spoke to you. How, for the first time since you’d met him, it felt like he was avoiding you. And the worst part? It hurt. You weren’t supposed to care this much. You had a boyfriend now. A good guy. A guy who wanted you, who didn’t hesitate, who didn’t hold back.

Then why did it feel like something was slipping through your fingers? Like you were losing Frankie—losing something you never dared to name, but had always felt, just beneath the surface?

It wasn’t until later, when the party had thinned out and the night had settled into something softer, that you finally found him alone. Outside and smoking, something you always did together. But tonight, he hadn’t waited for you. didn’t even ask. Tonight, it was just him, leaning against the railing of Will’s back porch, staring out at nothing, cigarette glowing between his fingers. And for the first time in weeks, you asked the question that had been gnawing at you since this whole thing started.

“What’s going on with you?”

Frankie didn’t look at you right away. He took another slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling a stream of smoke into the cool night air before finally shifting his gaze toward you. His eyes, usually so warm, were unreadable.

"Nothing," he said, voice low and gruff. You frowned, stepping closer. "Bullshit." That almost got a reaction—almost. The corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to smirk, but it never quite made it there. Instead, he flicked the ash from his cigarette, shaking his head. "You should get back inside," he muttered. "Your boyfriend’s probably looking for you." The words landed like a slap. Of course he was right, but throwing this at you in this moment felt purposefully hurtful. Your arms crossed over your chest, not from the cold but from the sudden, unfamiliar distance between you. "What the hell is your problem?"

Frankie let out a slow breath, shaking his head again, but this time, it wasn’t dismissive. It was like he was trying to hold something back, something threatening to spill over.

"You’ve been acting weird all night," you pressed, stepping even closer. "Hell, for weeks now. And don’t tell me it’s nothing because I know you, Frankie. I know when something’s wrong." His jaw tensed, and for a second, you thought he might actually tell you. That maybe, finally, he’d say whatever had been weighing on him. But then he just chuckled, low and humorless. "Nothing’s wrong, hermosa. I’m fine."

You know he was lying. You could see it, the way his shoulders stayed tight, the way he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes for too long. And suddenly, the space between you felt impossible to conquer.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. "You don’t get to do this."

Frankie quirked an eyebrow. "Do what?"

"Shut me out," you snapped. "Act like I don’t exist all night and then pretend like I’m the one imagining things." His lips pressed into a thin line, his grip tightening around the cigarette between his fingers. "You have a boyfriend now," he said after a beat, voice quieter. "Things are just… different."

The words stung in a way you didn’t expect.

"Different?" You repeated, barely above a whisper. "You made them different, Frankie. Not me." For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the faint music drifting from inside, laughter from the party carrying on without you.

And then, softer, almost hesitant, you asked, "Did I do something?" Your brows furrowed, the hurt evident in your voice, written all over your face. His eyes snapped to yours at that, something unreadable flashing through them. "No," he said quickly—almost too quickly. "You didn’t do anything."

Then why did it feel like you had? Why did it feel like something had changed between you, like a line had been drawn and you hadn’t even realized you crossed it?

Frankie sighed, running a hand over his face before stubbing out his cigarette on the railing. "You should go back inside."

But before you could respond, the door creaked open behind you. A rush of warm air, laughter, and music spilled onto the porch. You turned just in time to see Luke stepping outside, his gaze flickering between you and Frankie. His expression didn’t change much, no obvious anger, no accusation, but something in his eyes told you he’d seen enough. Enough to notice the way you stood too close. Enough to feel the tension crackling between you and Frankie like a live wire.

"Hey," he said, his voice even, unreadable. "Everything okay out here?" You swallowed hard, forcing a nod. "Yeah. Just getting some air."

Frankie had already taken a step back. He nodded once at Luke, then flicked his cigarette into the yard, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I was just heading inside." And just like that, the moment was gone. You watched as Frankie disappeared through the door, slipping seamlessly back into the party, into the noise, into the version of himself that had nothing to hide. But you knew better now. Because whatever this was, whatever had been simmering between you for longer than you wanted to admit, wasn't one-sided. And now, someone else had seen it too.

As you sat in Luke’s car later, the air was thick with something unspoken. The only sound was the hum of the engine, not even music to fill the silence. You felt his eyes flicker toward you more than once, lingering just long enough to make your skin prickle. You pretended not to notice, kept your gaze fixed outside, watching the city lights blur past. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope—beautiful, distorted, and just a little unreal.

Then, finally, he spoke. “Is there something going on with you and Frankie?” Your breath caught. It was the question you had been waiting for, the one you had feared. You turned your head, but he kept his eyes on the road, fingers tightening around the steering wheel until his knuckles went white.

“Luke—”

“Just tell me the truth,” he interrupted, his voice steady, but laced with something raw underneath. “I’m not stupid. I saw the way he looked at you tonight. And the way you looked at him.”

Your stomach twisted. You could lie, smooth it over, tell him he was imagining things, that Frankie was just a friend. But the weight in your chest was suffocating, and you were so damn tired of pretending.

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

Luke exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “You don’t know.”

“I—” Your voice cracked. “I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted to hurt you.”

He finally looked at you then, and it was worse than if he had been angry. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes told you everything—he already knew. He had known for longer than he let on. Maybe he could even feel it, that you were never quite there, even though he treated you the way you had always wanted to be treated. And you hated it. Hated yourself for feeling this way, for not being able to be happy with what was right in front of you.

“So you love him.” Not a question—a statement. It crashed down on you, effortless and undeniable, giving a name to the feeling you had denied yourself for so long before you were even ready to do it yourself. Tears burned in your eyes as you shook your head, grasping for words that wouldn’t make this worse. “I don’t.. I-It’s not that simple.”

“But it is, isn’t it?” His voice was quiet, but the weight of it settled deep in your bones.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I wanted this to work, Luke. I really did.” A heavy silence stretched between you. Neither of you had anything left to say. Slowly, he pulled the car over to the curb in front of your apartment. The click of the gear shift the only sound between you. You didn’t ask why. You already knew. With shaking hands, you unclipped your seatbelt, wiping at your cheeks as you reached for the door handle.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered one last time but Luke didn’t respond.

And as you stepped out into the cold night air, you knew this was the end of this chapter and the beginning of a new one you weren’t quite sure you were ready for.

Frankie was barely holding it together. Every day felt like a fight against something clawing at his chest, something desperate and ugly that whispered you lost her, you fucking lost her. He tried to drown it out by keeping himself busy, working longer hours and spending more nights drinking just to feel something other than the ache. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing was.

And then, one night, the thought crept in—familiar, insidious. Just one line. Just to take the edge off. He hadn’t really thought about it in years, hadn’t let himself even consider it, but tonight, with his hands shaking and his heart racing like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest, it was right there. Too easy. The voice getting louder by the second.

He might’ve done it, too. Might’ve given in if Santi hadn’t knocked on his door like he knew. Like he always knew. Frankie barely got the door open before Santi was pushing inside, eyes sharp, taking one look at him and shaking his head. “Jesus, Fish,” he muttered, slamming the door behind him. “You look like shit.”

Frankie let out a humorless laugh, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, fingers digging into the tense muscles. “Yeah, well. Feels about right.” Santi didn’t push, didn’t pry, just walked to the kitchen, grabbed two beers from the fridge, and tossed one his way. “Sit your ass down,” he ordered, voice softer than his words hit. “And start talking.”

And somehow, for the first time in weeks, Frankie did.

He let out a shaky breath, fingers still rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at the beer in his hand. He hadn’t meant to say anything. Hadn’t meant to let it slip. But once he started talking, it all came out—how he thought he was doing the right thing, how he tried to be happy for you, tried to step back and let you have what you deserved.

How it was fucking killing him.

He told Santi about the party, about the way you looked at him like you knew something had changed but couldn’t figure out what. How he avoided you because being close to you and not having you felt worse than anything he’d ever gone through. Worse than any withdrawal, any loss, any mistake he’d ever made. And then Santi said it. Just threw it out there like it wasn’t about to flip Frankie’s entire world upside down.

“You know she broke up with him, right?”

Frankie’s head snapped up so fast it almost hurt. “What?”

Santi sighed, giving him a look like he couldn’t believe he had to be the one spelling this out. “Luke. She ended it.” He took a sip of his beer, eyes flicking to Frankie’s. “She didn’t tell you?”

Frankie could only shake his head, something tight and desperate clawing its way up his throat. Because suddenly, all those nights of shoving his feelings down, of convincing himself that you were happy, that you were better off didn’t mean anything. Because if it wasn’t Luke anymore, if you chose to leave, then maybe… maybe it wasn’t just him feeling like something between you was never really gone.

But still, he hesitated, because doubt was a stubborn thing. He spent so long convincing himself that he wasn’t what you wanted, what you deserved. “That doesn’t mean—”

“Fish.” Santi’s voice cut through his thoughts, steady and sure. “You love her. She sure as hell loves you. And if you don’t do something about it now, you’re gonna spend the rest of your life regretting it.”

Frankie swallowed hard, the small flicker of hope battling against the fear still weighing heavy on his chest.

Maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t too late.

It happened after weeks of avoiding each other. After Luke, after everything, you pulled away, trying to get space, trying to breathe. But Frankie noticed. Of course, he noticed. He always did.

So when he showed up at your apartment in the middle of the night, you weren’t even surprised. You hesitated before opening the door, but when you did, the sight of him nearly took the air from your lungs. He looked like hell. Dark circles under his eyes, hair a mess, like he had been running his hands through it in frustration for hours. His jacket hung loose off his shoulders, and there was something wrecked about him—something that made your stomach twist.

"You gonna let me in?" His voice was rough, just a quiet rumble in the stillness of the night.

You should have said no. Should have told him this wasn’t a good idea. But instead, you stepped aside.

He walked in like he didn’t even know what to do with himself, pacing a little before finally stopping in the middle of your living room, hands on his hips. The air was thick, suffocating, before he exhaled sharply and turned to face you.

"Are you leaving me too?"

The words hit like a punch to the ribs.

"Frankie–"

"Because I feel like I’m chasing something that doesn’t even want to be caught," he cut in, his voice tight. "Like I’m standing here, waiting for you to just—just fucking look at me, and you won’t." His jaw clenched. "And I don’t know if it’s because you don’t want to, or because you’re too damn scared to."

Your arms wrapped around yourself, like that would somehow hold you together. "I just… I needed time. To think."

Frankie scoffed, dragging a hand down his face. "Right. And did you figure it out?"

You hated the bitterness in his voice. Hated that you put it there.

"I don’t know what I’m doing," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. Frankie took a step closer, and just like that, the air shifted.

"Then tell me what you want." Your throat tightened. "I can’t."

"Why not?" He was closer now, his voice raw, edged with something desperate. "Because if you say it, it becomes real?"

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Frankie exhaled sharply, shaking his head, stepping back like he needed the distance, like if he stayed too close, he’d do something neither of you could take back. "You know, it’s funny," he said, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. "I spent so fucking long convincing myself that I didn’t have a chance. That you’d never see me like that." His jaw tensed. "And then you kissed me. And for one second—for one fucking second—I let myself think I was wrong."

Your breath caught again. "Frankie—"

"But I wasn’t, was I?" His voice was quiet, the hurt in it deafening. "You didn’t want me. You never did."

That broke something in you and you snapped.

"I never let myself want you!" The moment the words were out in the open, you couldn’t take them back.

Frankie froze.

Your hands were shaking, but you pushed forward, because if you stopped now, you’d never say it. "You were safe. You were the one person I could always count on. And I knew if I let myself want more, I’d ruin it, like I ruined everything else. Because that’s just what I’m good at. Being a mess." Your voice cracked, but you didn’t stop. "So I buried it. Every time I looked at you and felt—" You sucked in a breath, blinking back tears. "I convinced myself that friendship was enough. That it had to be enough."

Frankie’s breathing was uneven now, his dark eyes locked onto yours, searching, waiting.

"And now?" he asked, voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Because you didn’t know how to say it. But then Frankie moved. Closed the space between you in two long strides, until he was so close you could feel the warmth of him, smell the faint mix of cologne and a cigarette he probably had before he came here.

"Tell me to leave," he murmured, his voice low and unsteady. "If you don’t want this—if you don’t want me—tell me to leave."

Your heart pounded so hard it was unignorable. You didn’t answer, you didn’t need to. The way he looked at you, his beautiful brown eyes you had grown to admire so much, looked right through you. Into your soul, seeing what you didn’t even have the words for. Because you didn’t want him to leave. Not now. Not ever. In fact, for the first time, you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be—with him. His hand lifted, hesitated—then cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone like he was memorizing the feel of you. In the quiet of your apartment, the energy altered. Heavy. Electric. Inevitable.

His head dipped, and then his lips crashed onto yours with such force it stole the breath from your lungs, made you stumble back a step. Your hands found his face, holding him close as you melted into the kiss. But this time, it was different. He didn’t hold back like he had all those months ago. His fingers dug into your waist as he coaxed your mouth open, his tongue sliding against yours, deep and consuming. He walked you back with purpose, step after step, until your back met the hallway wall with a soft thud. The impact knocked over a few picture frames from the drawer beside you, but neither of you noticed. Because right then, there was only this. Only him.

The moment your back hit the wall, Frankie was on you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, fisting your shirt like he wanted to tear it off but couldn’t decide if he should. His mouth was hot, insistent, his tongue pushing past your lips as he pressed his body against yours, a low groan rumbling from his chest, deep and dangerous in its intensity.

You whimpered into the kiss, fingers threading through his curls, tugging just enough to make him hiss. It only spurred him on. His hands moved lower, gripping your thighs, lifting you off the ground effortlessly. Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist, locking him to you as he carried you down the hallway, lips never leaving yours, knocking into the walls like neither of you could think straight enough to care. But when he reached your bedroom, he paused.

Breathing hard, he set you down gently, hands still gripping your hips as he leaned his forehead against yours. “Are you sure?” His voice was hoarse, uneven. “Tell me now if you’re not, because I swear, I won’t—”

You cut him off, brushing your lips against his, softer this time, your fingers tracing along his jaw. “I’m sure, Frankie.”

His eyes searched yours, like he was still trying to convince himself this was real. Like he didn’t trust that this wasn’t some cruel trick his mind was playing on him.

“I need to hear you say it,” he murmured.

Your heart clenched. You cupped his face, brushing your thumb over the furrow between his brows. “I want this. I want you.”

Something in him unraveled at your words, tension melting from his shoulders. He exhaled sharply, nodding once before his lips crashed onto yours again, this time with more certainty, more purpose. You gasped when he finally dropped you onto your bed, following you down, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His hands pushed beneath your shirt, sliding up your stomach, your ribs, your breasts—palming you, squeezing just enough to make your back arch. He cursed under his breath, yanking the fabric over your head, barely giving you time to breathe before his mouth was on you again, kissing, biting, sucking a path down your throat.

“F-Frankie,” you gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails dragging down his back as he sucked a bruise into your collarbone. His hands made quick work of your clothes, tugging them off as he peppered kisses down your throat, over your collarbone, down your stomach. Every touch, every glance was heavy with something deeper, something unspoken. He took his time, learning every inch of you with his lips, his tongue, his hands, until you were trembling beneath him, breathless and aching.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped against your skin, his breath hot. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Instead, you cupped his face, pulling him back up to you, crashing your lips into his.

You barely registered him kicking off his own jeans before his hands were on your thighs, spreading you open, gently tracing along the soft skin of your thighs despite the deep-seated need that was mirrored in his dark pupils. His fingers finally found your heat, sliding through the wetness pooling there.

“Fuck. You’re soaked, hermosa.”

You whimpered in response, hips bucking into his touch. “Frankie, please—”

That was all it took. He groaned, deep and low, as he pushed into you, sinking in inch by inch, stretching you, filling you completely. It was almost too much and at the same time not enough. His jaw clenched, his grip on your hips tightening like he was holding on for dear life.

“Fuck,” he muttered, breath ragged. “You feel—” He shook his head, like he couldn’t even find the words.

You whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders. “Move, Frankie. Please.”

And then it was desperate. Frankie thrust into you, slow at first, deep and deliberate, watching your face for any sign of hesitation. But when all he saw was pleasure, when all he heard was the way you gasped his name like it was the only thing keeping you tethered, his restraint snapped.

He picked up the pace, fucking you harder now, rougher, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you knew there’d be bruises, but you didn’t care—you wanted them, needed them. A visible reminder of this finally happening.

His name spilled from your lips like a prayer, over and over, breathless, broken. He cupped your face, forcing you to look at him, his own expression wrecked and raw.

“Look at me,” he panted, rocking into you, the friction sending sparks through your veins. “I need—I need to see you when you come.”

It wasn’t a request, it was an order. Your breath caught. The coil in your stomach tightened, tightened, until finally, it snapped. Your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body shaking as you cried out his name.

Frankie groaned, his hips stuttering before he thrust deep one last time, burying himself inside you as he came with a ragged moan, his whole body trembling against yours. You felt it—the warmth of him spilling deep, the way his cock twitched inside you as he pulsed through the aftershocks. A shiver ran down your spine, the intimacy of it all-consuming, overwhelming in the best way.

His breath came hot and uneven against your neck as he pressed soft, lazy kisses to your skin, grounding himself in you, like he never wanted to leave. His hands, still gripping your hips moments ago, softened, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles over your skin. The only sound between you was the heavy rhythm of your breathing, the pounding of your hearts against sweat-dampened skin. Neither of you moved. He didn’t pull away. He just stayed there, forehead resting against yours, hands cradling your face as if you might disappear.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as your fingers trailed gentle patterns up and down his back. After a moment, he brushed a few damp strands of hair from your face, his eyes tired but his smile warm, almost glowing.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle, searching.

You huffed out a quiet laugh, still tracing lazy circles on his back. "You’re asking me that now?"

Frankie grinned, breathless, his nose brushing against yours. "Just making sure you haven’t changed your mind."

Rolling your eyes, you let your fingers glide over his shoulder. "If I had, you’d be the first to know."

His hands drifted down your sides, slow and reverent, as if still memorizing every inch of you. "Good," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw. "Because I’m not going anywhere."

Something tight in your chest loosened, and you swallowed past the lump in your throat. "Yeah?"

Frankie leaned back just enough to meet your gaze, his fingers playing with your hair, his expression softer than you had ever seen. "Yeah," he said, like a promise, like an unshakable truth. "Not now. Not ever."

A shaky breath escaped you, and before you could second-guess yourself, you pulled him down into another kiss—slower this time, deeper. Less desperate, but just as intense. Eventually, he sighed, dropping his forehead against your shoulder, his lips brushing your skin as he spoke.

"So, what now?"

You grinned, threading your fingers through his tousled locks. "Well, I’d say we could clean up the mess we made, but that would require moving, and I’m not sure I’m capable of that yet."

He chuckled, his chest rumbling against yours, warm and solid. "I think I broke a picture frame."

"You did."

"Guess I’ll have to replace it."

Tilting your head, you smirked. "You’re planning on sticking around long enough to redecorate?"

Frankie’s eyes darkened, filled with something you recognized now—something you were no longer afraid to name. His hands tightened around your waist, anchoring you to him. "You gonna let me?" You pretended to consider, but he saw right through you. He always had.

"I guess I can make room for you," you teased, running a fingertip over the patch in his beard, which, from up close almost looked like a heart.

Frankie smirked, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Good. Because I wasn’t asking."

And just like that, the weight of every missed moment, every hesitation, every doubt that had once stood between you disappeared. Because this—him, you, together—was exactly where you were always meant to be.

thanks so much for reading, maybe show some love if you enjoyed it <3

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buckyalpine · 2 years ago

Text

Imagine shy beefy Bucky being the little spoon. He feels like he should be the one cuddling you since he’s so much bigger but he loves when you hold him instead.

However.

There’s this one thing you do that always makes him blush and flustered and he just doesn’t understand it.

You love rubbing his tummy.

You hold him from behind, peeking over his shoulder because you love how peaceful he looks when he sleeps. You know he's not actually asleep because his abs are still tensed, worried over how you'd feel with the beefiness that covers his muscular body.

He’s self conscious when your hand slips under his shirt, rubbing his soft but firm tummy up and down; his skin is so warm and you love how plush he is. He’s still getting used to the fact that he isn’t as trim as before. Not that he’s unfit. Quite the opposite. He’s a thick hunk of muscle mass. You can feel the iron like hardness that runs under his skin whenever you're pressed against him. He's so large and perfect to snuggle up with; your grabby little hands love finding their way to his stomach.

"Doll-" He whispers with pink dusted cheeks, holding your wrist away when you sneak over his waist, stroking your skin, "Doll, I- I'm not-" He struggles to get the words out, embarrassed he's not lean like Steve, "Baby, I-

“Shhh, I love you like this” you coo, kissing his shoulder. He shrugs, still not believing you. You tell him how much you adore him every time but he can't help but think back to the time where he was pure muscle without any pudge.

"Sweetheart, you don't have to pretend, I wish I was-"

You shake your head, pressing your lips to his to stop his spiral.

"But you're my big boy" You pout, shuffling over till your straddling him, forcing him to lay back. You huff, pulling his shirt up exposing him, shimmying your hips down so you can curl up on top of his bare torso like a little kitten. You let out a content sigh, pressing your face into his stomach, peppering kisses all over before peering up at him.

"I love your body so much baby" You say sincerely, kissing just below his belly button again for emphasis. "You're so warm and soft and strong, my perfect bear"

Bucky can't help but melt over the way you melt into him, your smaller form using him as a pillow to your hearts content. If you liked him like this, always kneading away at him or trying to burrow yourself into him, who was he to say no?

Cause imagine how fucking hot he'd be when he finally embraces how good he looks with a lil beef. Imagine he stops trying to cover up with large hoodies and henley's. He works out shirtless more.

You're not the only one who drools over him anymore.

All the other trainees can't help but swoon whenever they see him at the punching back or pumping with weights. You have to claw them off him from trying to climb up his legs, desperate to have Sargent Barnes carry them with one arm with ease.

Even the other Avengers can't help but cat call at him because he looks fine af.

Sometime he lets his hair out or ties it half up along with his scruffy cheeks and Tony's taken to calling him a man slut for walking around like that.

"Tony, I don't think thats what slut mean-

"I know what it means. You're telling me he's flaunting all that around and he doesn't know he's hot while doing it? He doesn't know he's getting all this attention?"

Bucky snickers to himself while you coo over your handsome boyfriend, wrapped around him like a koala while the others watch in amusement, your hands skimming all over his body and scratching his beard.

"See? Told you you're perfect like this, big boy"

Imagine he knows you find comfort in him and he no longer feels conscious over it. Whenever your sad and in need of cuddles, he holds you nice and close, usually sans clothing, all skin to skin contact.

He knows you're a little pervert and he'll give into your puppy like eyes, sometimes letting his towel drop after a shower while you grin, shamelessly watching him.

"You're staring again, you little creep" Bucky snorted while applying lotion, dropping his hands when he felt yours paw at his back to take over.

"Just a creep for you, handsome" You quip before continuing your journey exploring his body, moving your hand to his front, deciding to wrap around his co-

Anyway, I love this beefieee babieeee

3K notes · View notes

pedgito · 1 year ago

Text

𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐘 | Joel Miller x reader

summary | you've got an issue and joel's willing to solve it. after all, what are neighbors for?

author's note | this was a prompt from a meet-weird thing i saw ages ago that was originally supposed to be javi, but jo (@undercoverpena) gave me the beautiful idea of making it joel and it spurred this monster.

content warning | established friendship, caught during sex, does the apocalypse having working appliances? probably not, but for the sake of this fic distend belief i beg. oral (eating out from the back), unprotected piv, subtly cocky!joel miller, he's a good ass neighbor, okay?, unbeta'd.

word count — 5.6k

Joel’s fixed this damn machine seven times, convincing himself every time that it was the last time. Shocker, it wasn’t. This time didn’t even last a month. He’s desperate now.

He would usually haul the load all the way to the communal laundry house closer to the group of joined townhomes that housed most of the younger adults—the spry and bright-faced ones who sprung up at the mention of patrol or work, any prospect of toting a gun around with any sense of leadership. They were eager, he couldn’t say the same for himself.

He was old, weathered—years of routine he had created to get the job done and get the hell home.

And truthfully, as he tapped the wrench against the metal machine, chin tucked into his palm as he scratched at his beard, he almost complied with the idea that he would just have to tough it out. Scrounging for parts was nearly impossible—dumb luck, really. In the past several years they’ve picked this town clean, bone-dry.

He’s elbow deep inside the barrel of the dryer when he hears the knock at his door, bumping his head against the rim of it as he exits and cursing under his breath as he pushes to stand, joints creaking and popping in disapproval.

He can smell you before he sees you, the familiar scent of fresh-baked goods following you everywhere—Joel couldn’t feel guilt for being one of the folks addicted to your cooking.

Grains had been hard to come by since the epidemic hit, everything was tainted on a global level. It took years and years of Jackson growing its own stock of wheat for things like pie or a nice, gooey cinnamon roll to even be plausible anymore. But, they were managing well so far.

“Saved ‘em for you and Ellie,” You tell him, a small plate of still hot brownies covered with parchment paper, dawning that trademark smile that Joel has come to love, tapping his fingers against the door frame as he passes the plate off to a quickly approaching Ellie.

“Girl’s got the nose of a basset hound,” Joel looks on in amused bewilderment as Ellie throws a mouth-stuffed thanks over her shoulder, “sorry ‘bout her.”

You wave her off whole-heartedly, taking in his sweaty appearance and casual attire. You were used to him in jeans and thick flannels, not a graphic tee and pair of sleep pants. He’s almost always dressed like he had to run at a moment's notice, you weren’t even sure he owned anything different until now.

“Everything good?” You question him, a small laugh escaping your throat.

“Damn washer and dryer is out again,” Joel explains, throwing a hand vaguely over his shoulder.

“Both of them this time?” You ask, “Damn.”

“I can fix ‘em, just a matter of finding the right parts,” Joel tells you, “ looks like I’m gonna have to hand wash again.”

Joel was a friend. You helped friends. It seemed like a no-brainer really, opening your mouth without thinking it through, the kindness tumbling out despite yourself.

“Oh, you’re welcome to load yours up at mine,” You offer and Joel looks immediately apprehensive, the southern charm and well-mannered tone gearing to creep up on you.

“Now, I don’t mean to make you feel like you have to—”

“Joel, I wouldn’t offer it if I didn’t feel comfortable with it,” You remind him, “seriously—anytime, just try and bring your own detergent—and for the love of god, empty your pockets before you put ‘em in.”

Joel chuckles tiredly at that, rolling his eyes as he nods in agreement.

“Got it, of course, sweetheart.”

“I leave an extra key under the rug, so if I’m ever not home just come in,” Given that Joel was Tommy’s brother, you knew he wouldn’t be up to any trouble, “sound good?”

“Yep. Anytime—just make myself at home.” Joel confirms and you nod with an even wider smile, waving a pleasant goodbye as you trailed down the stairs and made your way to the house you inhabited next door.

Right, anytime.

Unfortunately, Joel took that a little too literally.

Joel managed to scrounge up the courage a day later, tumbling into his house on tired legs after a lengthy patrol up at the cabin lookout, scooping the basket up in his arms and heading out his front door, taking the short walk to your house.

The lights were off, but that wasn’t unusual. Joel knew you liked to stay late nights in the town’s mess hall, often working on prep for the following morning to make the load a little lighter and sleep in a while longer, so when he fishes under the doormat for the key he thinks nothing of it.

And as the door swings open, it is still fairly quiet. Though, he can hear your own dryer running upstairs. He’s got the layout down too, having shared more than a few nightcaps with you. Friend to friend and nothing more, even if you had always felt a little more strongly toward being affectionate. A hug or a kiss on the cheek from time to time, he never pushed you away. Joel never seemed like the type of man who openly showed affection, even toward a friend. But, he was good, reliable–most of the time.

He reaches the stairs with trepidation as the sounds grow louder and part of him wonders if by some uncanny coincidence your dryer might be growling and rumbling on its own final leg.

The moment his hand reaches that doorknob and turns he realizes he’s made a mistake.

He’s caught you at a…bad time. Head thrown back with your mouth hung wide, whatever noise you’re making was mostly drowned out by the nagging sound of the dryer as it tore through the spin cycle but he hears the tailend of it, a soft moan of pleasure from the man who’s buried inside of you right now, both of you naked from the waist down but your breasts on full display with your shirt tucked under your neck.

“Benny?” Joel asks, slightly amused.

You lift your head at the sound and spot him, your feet nearly slipping out from under you as you scramble to push Benny away, who perks with an even more perplexed, “Joel?”

“Goddamn it, Joel,” You curse behind gritted teeth, furiously readjusting yourself, pulling your sweats back on and over your ass and your shirt down, “What are you doing here?”

Joel looks down at the basket still clinging to his hip before back up at you, wordlessly.

You sigh through your nose with a tight lipped frown, cheeks puffing out as you brushed your fingers through your hair and down—Benny was still scrambling to redress behind you, unable to pull his gaze away from Joel.

“Benny?” Joel mouths at you quietly, eyebrows raised curiously.

You walk toward the now open door slowly as Benny buttons his pants and you shoot Joel daggers with your stern gaze.

Cut it out.

Joel smirks slightly, cheek dimpling with the action as he side-steps Benny, who leans around you and kisses your cheek—it was a kind gesture but given the situation, in horrible taste. You force a polite smile and once Benny is a far enough distance you hit Joel firmly in the arm as he passes by you and into the laundry room.

You walk Benny to the door with a million thoughts racing through your head, offering a distracted goodbye before you’re locking the door and racing back upstairs with determined footsteps and Joel has already loaded his clothes in the washer, turning the knob to set the load size and time.

“Benny?” He echoes his earlier questions, “Really?”

“What? Are you judging me?”

“No—just, that kid’s had quite an obsession with you for some time now. Just…surprised is all.”

Your lips pull together in a disapproving but nonchalant frown, taking his words for the bullshit they are.

“When I said anytime that did not extend to the middle of the night, Joel.”

“You’re usually still at work,” He supplies—and really, he’s not wrong, “M’sorry. I mean that.”

“Well, now I’ve gotta deal with the fact you’ve seen me naked,” You cross your arms over your chest and lean against the doorframe and Joel’s eyes track you for a moment, smiling with amusement at the thought.

“What? You want a fair trade?” Joel teases, “‘Cause, darlin’. I don’t mind—but it was an accident. Besides, ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

He means it in a broader sense, but you can’t help the eye roll it induces.

“No, no,” You chew at your bottom lip, watching Joel place the empty basket on top of the washer, “I can finish that up if you want to get some sleep. I know you had a long patrol today.”

“Oh, did you?”

He’s teasing you.

“Don’t push it, old man,” Joel shakes his head at that jab and chuckles, “Ellie clued me in when she picked up some sandwiches for her and Dina earlier.

He’s not going to pass on the offer, though. He nods, rubbing a hand over his tired face.

“Jesus—just…Benny?” Joel reiterates again, “Didn’t think the kid had it in ‘em.”

“Out,” You say with an over-pronunciation as you drag his slow and progressive steps further out of your laundry room and into the hall, “or you’re off my dessert list for a month, Miller.”

Joel smiles at you knowingly, “You wouldn’t dare,” He retorts, knowing you too well.

You wouldn’t make him suffer like that. Or Ellie, who wouldn’t hesitate to murder Joel if he robbed her of that pleasure. Not literally…but, she would carry a few choice words for him.

“Seriously, though, thank you,” He nods, leaning down to press a kiss into the crown of your head—an often familiar gesture when you parted after a long night of nonsensical talk and a couple glasses of wine or whiskey, depending on how hard the day had been, “I appreciate it, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, yeah—”

“And I do apologize for…not knocking and showin’ up at such a weird time.”

You shrug, “You’re forgiven. Just…don’t give Benny a hard time. He’s a good guy.”

“You’ve got my word, darlin’.”

Joel was determined to be on his best behavior, clearly.

It takes Joel a couple weeks to find the parts he needs and luckily there are no more run-ins on your midnight sex-scapades, still feeling the embarrassment from the first one. Joel doesn’t even seem to remember it after a couple days, thankfully. He was bypassing it for your own benefit, truthfully. And you knew that.

Selfishly, you're glad to have your appliances back to yourself.

They’re good, solid, reliable—until they aren’t.

Your washer shits itself mid-load and you can hear it from downstairs. A loud screeching noise before an even louder pop that has you groaning loudly because you know. You can feel it.

You can’t even bring yourself to go check, peering through the window of your kitchen and catching a fresh pot of coffee in the house across from yours, a man coming into view and his stark white shirt contrasting the black coffee cup in his hands. He catches you out of the corner of his eye and looks at you with a quizzical amusement, smile tugging at his face.

Joel was always up before the sun rose, so with the sun just creeping into the sky you’re sure that’s his third or fourth cup of coffee. He reaches over his sink and fiddles with the latch on his window before heaving it up, watching as you struggled to do that same but eventually managed.

“You run outta coffee again?” He asks, sipping at the bitter, black coffee in his mug.

“No,” You reply quickly, slightly exasperated as you chew at your bottom lip, debating how to pop the question and feeling nervous under Joel’s intense gaze, curiously wondering if he’s still picturing you naked. He’s never explicitly mentioned it since, but you have caught him in the act.

Wandering eyes, gazes catching when your back is turned for half a second as you bend down or move in a way that exposes too much skin.

“My washer broke,” You cut to the chase and Joel chuckles at how comical it is, in hindsight.

Was this karma? It was definitely karma.

You’ve never asked Joel for anything—despite your often bouts of kindness toward him you never expected anything in return, not even a favor.

“Doors open,” Joel nods toward his front door out of view, an invitation like you offered him.

You didn’t even hesitate, pushing the window close and bounding up the stairs.

You’re already loading your things into his washer before he appears around the corner, peeking his head in, coffee cup still in hand as he takes a few more steps and leans against the wall beside the washing machine and your eyes glance at him briefly before you continue moving the clothes, watching him watch you from behind the rim of his mug.

“I can start them and come back,” You tell him, “so I won’t be lingering around here all day.”

“No Benny?”

You stand up as you close the washer, deadpan stare pointed in his direction.

“You can be such a nosy neighbor, you know that?”

Joel shrugs, a smug smile covered behind his sip of coffee.

“It was just a few times. Besides he’s…too much for me.”

You turn the dial to start the load and it rumbles to life with a simple press of a button.

“You wanna talk about it?”

It wasn’t completely unnatural for you two—you knew quite a bit about Joel now: his life before, his work, his daughter…all things that come with trust and time. He’s waited patiently for you and you’ve given him peeks into your life, but nothing like this.

“It’s a long story, Joel.”

“Got time,” He smiles slightly, “I’ll go grab you a cup of coffee—sit down.”

You look around briefly, not a chair in sight. So, you raise yourself up just enough that you can slide your ass over the top of the washer, bare feet dangling off the floor and you wait, the subtle and quiet shake from the beginning of the load process keeping the awkward silence at bay.

Joel turns the corner a few minutes later with your cup, made up just to your liking and you nod with a gentle smile, taking the cup from his hand and allowing yourself a few generous sips.

“So—that night, you caught us,” You can laugh at the instances now, so you do in a soft, clipped manner, “it wasn’t the first—it had been a month by that point and he just caught me by surprise, showed up that night and things just got a little out of hand.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise in interest but he urges you to continue, leaning against the wall in front of you now, resting his mug on the shelf just above his head as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“He’s a good guy, don’t get me wrong—but I don’t do serious…I can’t, now with how things are. And I know a lot of people think the opposite, seize the moment and all that shit,” You sigh, a deep and heavy sound that expands and releases from your chest, “he was already talking about moving in, the idea of us having kids—so that night I just tried to distract him.”

“With sex? Seems a little…counter-productive, don’t you think?”

“Don’t judge me, Joel,” You warn him but it’s edged with a playfulness that Joel recognizes. You didn’t have a mean, deceptive bone in your body and Joel knew that from the first conversation he had with you.

“I needed him to shut up,” You groan at the thought of the conversation as it replays in your mind, “I’m trying to wash my clothes, he’s talking to me about babies. I do not want kids, Joel. Ever. At least none that are biologically mine. Who would want to bring a kid into this world?”

Well…Tommy. The thought comes to you after the words have already left your mouth and your heart sinks into your stomach, looking at Joel apologetically.

“Sweetheart, don’t even try to apologize. Ain’t nothing wrong with it.”

“It makes me sound horrible, I know but—”

“I’ve done my time—it’s none of my business how others choose to live. Besides, I’m pushing sixty, I don’t have to worry about all that…sorry, I’m not trying to be crude here.”

You nod knowingly with a smirk tugging at your lips, taking another sip of coffee before handing the mug off for him to place it next to his own, ready to slide off of the washer before Joel interjects with another question that catches you off guard.

“He treat you right, at least?”

You tilt your head with that same knowing smirk, pushing Joel away at his hip with your foot as he leans up from his position against the wall—Joel’s never flirted, always promptly skirted around the issue and went about it more gentlemanly. He’s not abrasive and straightforward like most of the men in Jackson, but damn did he know how to make you feel special.

Undivided attention, constant subtle compliments, giving up some much-needed sleep for a simple late night drink with you—part of you was too terrified to make your own move and make it clear just how badly you wanted just a small taste of him.

You’ve heard whispering, minimal talk from a few of the women in town. Joel didn’t often make his rounds but when he did, he left an impression. And you had every right to be jealous, because with him standing in front of you now—you knew it would be easy to say no and he would fix you right up, finally crossing that line that he’s been carefully dancing around for a few years.

“He’s a bit…timid,” You shrug, “and he doesn’t really…”

The air lingers and the side of Joel’s mouth pulls up—you don’t have to say it.

“Joel, don’t do that,” You shove at his shoulder as he approaches you, his hands pressing into the contraption you’re on, curled around the metal, “—he’s just…eager, but not in a good way.”

There’s a glint in Joel’s eye that leads you to believe he’s not thinking about Benny’s less than experienced sex life, feeling the sudden jitteriness from the coffee as your chest rises with a deep, shaky breath and Joel eyes the time over your shoulder.

Forty-five minutes and some change, plus the time to dry because Joel already knows you aren’t going to trouble yourself with walking the damp laundry through this cold, muggy weather.

“So, no then?” Joel asks.

He could have treated you better, sure. But, he wasn’t the worst.

But, the way Joel is staring at you knows makes everything and everyone dull in comparison.

You shake your head in agreement, chewing at the inside of your bottom lip as your hands fall to your lap, his hands ncreasingly closer to the tights covering your legs, suddenly feeling his thumb graze your hip. You both glance down at the action and your breathing halts, watching as his right hand slowly engulfs your thigh, fingers digging into the soft material and dimpling your skin underneath, his thumb only a few centimeters from dipping into the inside of your thigh.

They part on their own, welcoming Joel in wordlessly and his left hand echoes the other. His face is level with your own, staring down at your lips briefly before meeting your eyes and you’ve seen that look before—the adoration when he thought you weren’t watching, secretly you had become good at catching those glances, but Joel wasn’t trying to hide it now.

And it quickly dawns on you in the moment—he was jealous. Of Benny. Or really, any man that had come before him. But, he was using him as the scapegoat.

Honestly, you couldn’t even care.

“You want someone to treat you right?” He speaks softly and if you weren’t so close you wouldn’t have heard him, “I got you, sweetheart. I swear.”

He’s not looking at you anymore, eyes dragging down the bridge of your nose to your lips again. But, you are looking at him, flooded with that tricky feeling that creeps up on you when you want things you know you shouldn’t.

“Joel, I told you—I don’t do serious,” And you hold your breath for the response, wondering if that would send this moment crumbling to dust, but Joel doesn’t miss a step.

“Good for you,” Joel dotes, “neither do I.”

Then he’s on you, the press of his lips in a heated kiss sends you tumbling back, caught by the warm slide of his palm over your back to pull you in, throwing your arms over his shoulders as he pulls back briefly, just enough for you to open your mouth to speak, but his tongue finds its way inside and the words fade away.

Just friendly, my ass—you think.

If you had known he kissed like this—you would’ve jumped at the opportunity months ago; a night spent drinking too many glasses of wine and laughing over some movie far before your time, but not his.

He was so entranced, giving you all the details, but you couldn’t help giggling over it, too touchy to be considered friendly.

You’d both cut it short quickly when Ellie popped in halfway through the movie, and beyond that, it never grew.

Until now.

“Sweet,” Joel notes with a subtle smile, his hand dwarfing the size of your neck as his fingers wrapped around the column of your throat, holding you firmly in place as he maneuvered you toward and away from the kiss as he pleased, swallowing every tiny moan that escaped your lips when his other hand squeezed at your thigh just a little too hard.

“All that sugar,” In your coffee, the taste lingering on your lips and he licks around them teasingly, pulling away briefly to look at you, your eyebrows raising in question as the gears turn in his head, “—you still with me?”

“I’m just wonderin’ if you’re okay with this,” Joel speaks candidly, his eyes trained on his thumb as it rubs against the middle of your throat, traveling up under your chin and tipping your head up slightly, watching as you swallowed, “before I take this further, jus’ need to know.”

You nod jerkily, not even a second of hesitation.

“You would have known the moment you kissed me, Joel.”

In turn, Joel nods slowly before he speaks, stealing the air from your chest.

“Alright then, pull these down for me,” He tugs gently at the material clinging to your thighs before both of his hands find the spot behind your knees and tug until your feet hit the floor, “and push that pretty little ass out for me.”

The absurdity of this language on his tongue makes you giggle but abide in an instant, struggling slightly as the material bunches at your ankles and Joel helps you the rest of the way, tossing your pants aside before he’s kneeling despite how his body protests, too eager to give you a taste of the pleasure you deserve and he’s grabbing the cheeks of your ass and squeezing them between his hands before he’s leaning up to bite playful at the soft flesh.

He groans quietly against your skin, the press of his aquiline nose against your ass as his fingers fold around the string of your underwear and pull, dropping them down to your ankles and off and then his tongue is flat against the seam of your cunt, gasping as you fall forward and your own fingers clawing against nothing.

“Joel!” You squeak out as his fingers dig hard into your ass, forcing you up on your tiptoes as devours, licking into your cunt as it quivers around his tongue.

Your hand pressed against the wall in front of you to keep your chest from hitting the washer, feeling your pussy tighten around the finger that enters alongside his expert tongue, a soft groan erupting out of him from behind you. That smug motherfucker was attempting a teasing huh under his breath as he busied himself with the task of eating you out from the back and you couldn’t even think straight.

‘C’mon, baby,” He coos between his alternating licks and slurps of the heady slick that dripped from your cunt, “come all over my mouth, let me taste that sugar.”

It’s absurd, the way he’s speaking to you now. Your eyes squeeze shut as his thumb finds your clit amongst the chaos of his tongue and fingers, face heating up at how noisy your cunt sounded over the dull shake of the washer and Joel’s satisfied moans, occasionally massaging at the back of your thigh when your legs shake with the creeping feeling of your impending orgasm.

“Oh,” You squeal, reaching behind you to dig your fingers into his hair, panting out in desperation, “—fuck, don’t stop! Joel, right—right there,” and then glance you take back at him, his eyes peeking open from his position below, on his knees and dutiful to you and you alone, well…

It sends you tumbling over the edge as his thumb rubs over your clit quickly, soothing you through the aftermath as he laps up the mess you’ve made all over yourself, dragging his tongue along the inside of your thigh because if you knew anything about Joel, he didn’t waste a meal.

And you were just about the finest he’s tasted.

You clear your throat as you rest your feet flat on the floor, feeling the faint quake in your legs as Joel rises slowly, forcing you to swallow down a giggle as he winces and he can see it on your face.

“Worth it,” He excuses himself, “don’t look at me like that.”

“No old man jokes?” You sound sad and Joel can’t believe it.

He shakes his head.

But, the smile that breaks out on your face quickly diminishes any comeback he has.

You begin to push him away with a hand gripped in his shirt, carefully avoiding the obvious bulge in his sweats as you reach for your tights, ready to redress and drop to your own knees as a favor but his fingers are wrapping around your wrist, pulling your attention back to him.

“I meant it,” Joel tells you, tilting his head to catch your gaze.

You smile wide and tilt your head to mirror him, “I think you proved your point—Benny is a pathetic man who doesn’t know how to make me come, blah blah…”

“My job ain’t done if you’re still thinkin’ about him, darlin’.”

His eyebrows raise in challenge.

Okay, you’re game.

Wordlessly you allow the hands at your hip that guide you toward the front of the joined appliances, his fingers sliding under your top until you get the hint to pull it off, your breasts bouncing free from the shirt—the few bras you had were already in the wash, big deal.

Joel chuckles and stops for a moment, admiring the sight of your breasts for the second time that month, albeit more openly this time. He reaches forward and rubs his thumb along your nipple, watching the nub harden under his touch and you bite at your bottom lip, eye fluttering closed at how sensitive they were to touch, something other men never took the time to notice.

“You like that?” Joel asks with a creeping grin.

You nod, watching as he squeezed your tits in his hands, showing your nipples ample attention as he circled them with his thumb before leaning down slightly and swiping his tongue over the hardened nubs, sucking your breast into his mouth and his eyes peer up, gauging your reaction which quickly developed from a soft giggle to a loud moan.

“Clothes,” You breath out, “off—if you still have a point to prove.”

A point that you wanted proven. Hard.

Joel pulls away and yanks his shirt over his head, allowing you an unobscured view of the mix of muscled shoulders and his softened stomach, running your hand over the patch of hair at the center of his chest and down, right along his hips until his own fingers hook around the fabric and pull his sweats and boxers down in one motion, his cock catching against the edge of his waistband before it bobs back up toward his stomach.

You find yourself smiling despite yourself, forgetting for a moment that Joel was standing there and watching you, feeling your mouth water at the sight of him hard and leaking at how just getting a small taste of you had turned him on that much, precum leaking slowly from the tip and he wraps his hand around himself, other hand tapping at your chin to drag your attention back up to his face, reminding you he was still there.

“Got somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart?”

You shake your head furiously, “No, no—no, nothing. Just, uh—”

“I’ll start slow,” He tells you and with the size of him, thick and girthy in ways you’ve only imagined or pictured in your head, it’s daunting, “are you still alright with all of this?”

Your face softens and you nod, appreciating the repeated check-ins, the need for confirmation, but it pulls at your heart as you wonder why he feels the need to ask so much. As if he was fearful you would change your mind on a dime—Joel was fine with that, but he was more worried about the change in dynamic. Thankfully, you were determined for that not to be the case.

“I’m pretty tough,” You shrug, a playful smile gracing your face.

Joel nods absently as his fingers drag along your waist before catching behind your knee and pulling it up over his hip, both of your eyes dragging down to his cock as he tugged at himself a few times, his brow furrowed as he spread your lips apart with the head, dipping his hips down slightly to catch against your hole before he pushes in slow, one solid stroke that steals the sound from your throat and transfers to his own. Joel groans out softly as he pushes into you, his hands gravitating toward your face and wrapping around the sides of your neck, tilting your head back to mouth at your skin, his tongue dragging along your collarbone before sucking and nipping gently at your skin.

“Don’t I know it,” Joel responds after a while, “find something to hold onto.”

Your soft giggle of excitement shoots down to your core and your fingers wrap around the edges of the washer and Joel pulls back swiftly before he’s snapping his hips back into you before repeating the process several times, the jolt of the machine hitting the concrete wall behind you drowned out by your loud moans, quickly swallowed up by Joel’s lips as he pulls your mouth to his, breathing into it with every sharp snap of his hips.

“Harder,” You beg, biting at his bottom lip as he groans, using his fingers intertwined into the hair at the nape of your neck now to pull your head back and he pulls his hips back quick, bottoming himself out inside of you so forcefully you feel like your legs might give out, his cock rubbing against your already too sensitive g-spot and continuously finding a way to bring you closer and closer to the edge, “fuck—yes, yes. Joel, oh my god—”

“Yeah,” Joel goads you, his eyes drawn closed as he tries to keep his own orgasm at bay, “give it to me, baby—wanna watch you make a mess on my cock, alright?”

Easy, you laugh airily and feel the instinctive squeeze of your walls around Joel’s cock as he pulls your face to his, foreheads pressed against each other as he angles his hips back and slams into you one last time before you come undone, head falling back in a similar position to how he caught you a few weeks ago, this time for him.

Your grab for his shoulders suddenly, blunt fingernails digging into his skin and he takes a few harsh breaths through his nose before he’s pulling out, hand grasping his cock as he jerked himself a few seconds before he comes in thick, short spurts against your stomach, squeezing at the head of his cock as he drags it through the mess he’s made.

His expression is nothing short of mesmerizing, mouth hung open just enough that his tongue can drag over his bottom lip before his teeth are taking its place, eyes drawn to your skin.

Wordlessly, he pulls away on his own pair of shaky legs as he reaches for his wrinkled, worn shirt and brings it to your stomach, cleaning up the mess with a faint smile on his face.

“You know, I think it might take me a bit to fix my washer,” You tease, “so—I might be over here bothering you for a while.”

Joel peers up at you, his head still tucked down as he wiped at your stomach.

“Fine with me.”

Then he’s peering over your shoulder, watching as the washer time inched toward zero, dinging behind you. You turn around, letting your leg fall from his hip finally, ass brush against him in the process and Joel can’t help the way his eyes refuse to leave the sight of it.

Only feeling slightly guilty when you catch him this time, not giving him the pass you usually do.

“We’ve still got about an hour left if I dry them here,” You tell him, “anything else you wanna prove?”

Joel’s tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek, eyes dragging up toward the upper level of his house before flicking back toward you, a smile plastered on your face.

“I can think of a few things.”

divider creds: @/cafekitsune

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