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joelscurls · 11 months

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I wanna show you off

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 4.1k

summary: The women who live in your building aren't subtle in their hatred for you — or their affection for your boyfriend, Joel. You decide to set them straight.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, porn with plot, no outbreak, established relationship, implied age gap, horrible neighbors, general cattiness, all the ladies want Joel, alcohol consumption, fluff, explicit smut, possessive!reader, exhibitionism, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), facefucking, unprotected piv, creampie, one (1) spank, use of pet names (baby, angel, darlin', etc.), I think that's all? lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: idk what happened. I saw one too many tiktok edits set to the song agora hills by doja cat and blacked out. anyway, enjoy!

If it weren’t for your rent-controlled apartment with a perfect view of the downtown skyline, you would’ve moved out of your building by now.

Your neighbors don’t like you. You’re certain of it. You can tell by the way the ladies stick their noses up at you in the elevator and whisper to each other the second they think you’re out of earshot.

It had started, you suspect, because of your age. You’re a lot younger than all of the other residents here, your apartment left to you by your grandmother after she passed away.

The building is prime real estate, situated in the heart of one of the city’s most desirable neighborhoods. Most of the people who live here have done so for ten, twenty, even thirty years. And it seems that time has festered a sort of social hierarchy: one which places you at the very bottom.

You shouldn’t care. And you hadn’t, for a while. But their eyes have started to feel like daggers, pointed directly at you at all times, and you feel as if you can’t even enter the building without judgment.

You’re not a bad neighbor. You’re not. You’d learned through living in a dormitory in college how thin shared walls can be, and, as a result, the proper volume at which to keep your music; how you should always be cautious to not let your door slam closed on the way in; that you should never vacuum after eight pm or before eight am.

You never leave trash in the hallway, and you park your car only in your allotted spot, despite the fact that it’s the farthest away from the building.

Even so, the lack of weathering in your face makes them look at you like you’re less, like you’re a greedy little thing who has taken something she isn’t worthy of.

It’s the same way they look at you when they see you with your boyfriend, Joel, for the first time.

They leer when you walk into the foyer, hand-in-hand with an older man. He’s handsome, rugged, something out of Nicholas Sparks novel. And you’re you.

Joel thinks you’re being paranoid at first, says they couldn’t possibly hate such a sweet, friendly girl. The girl he loves so damn much. But it doesn’t take long for him to notice it too: the glares, the scoffs, the misplaced judgment — never set in his direction, only ever yours.

One Sunday afternoon, as he sits on your couch watching the Cowboys game with a sweating bottle of beer in his hand, you step out to grab your mail. You’re close to tears when you return, flinging the door open, envelopes slipping from your trembling fingers.

He leaps up as soon as he catches sight of your face. Your expression is stuck somewhere between sadness and rage, bottom lip tucked between your teeth so firmly he worries you’ll draw blood.

“I hate them,” you sob as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his broad chest. You’re wetting his shirt, the one he just bought the other day. But he won’t let you lift your head. If anything, he holds you tighter.

“Wanna tell me what happened, darlin?” he asks, leading you toward the couch. You sit down together, your body still wrapped in his, and you groan.

“It’s stupid.” Your voice is muffled by cotton. He loosens his grip on you only enough to let you turn your face. “I was getting my mail, and they were down in the lobby,” you sniff. “The woman who lives right next door – the one with the outdated perm, and the one across the hall with the yippy little dog.”

“Mhm,” Joel soothes, running his thumb gently along the tense line of your jaw. “Did they say somethin’ to you?”

You huff. “No, not to me. They didn’t see me there.”

Their hushed voices still ring in your head like a fire alarm in need of new batteries: relentless, infuriating.

Don’t know what in the world a handsome gentleman like that is doing with a little girl like her. You’re tellin’ me. What a shame. Such a young thing – she can’t possibly know how to handle a man like that. He needs a woman his own age!

“They said I’m not good for you,” you weep. “That I’m too young. That I — I c-can’t be what you need.”

“Darlin,” Joel drawls. He fishes the tv remote off of the coffee table and flicks the screen off. Drops it somewhere next to him on the cushion. The apartment is noticeably quiet now, apart from your shaky breaths and the dull drone of an idling truck engine from the street below.

“You know I love you, right?”

You sniff again. Nod.

“I don’t give a shit if people think you’re too young for me,” he huffs. “You’re a grown woman. You give me everything I could possibly need and then some.”

“Yeah?” you squeak. You know deep down that Joel wouldn’t stay with you if he had any reservations about any aspect of your relationship. But after months of no reprieve from stinging glares and brash insults, you feel as if you’ve been broken down, reduced to an anxious, overwrought version of yourself.

Joel repositions himself, sprawling back on the couch and pulling you with him so that you’re laying against him. “Yeah,” he repeats, stroking your hair. He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, away from your glassy eyes. “Those ladies can get their asses in line.”

You laugh, then — a real, genuine laugh — the kind that Joel can somehow always pull out of you, even in the most inopportune of times.

You’re so grateful for him, for his innate ability to calm you down when it feels like the world is crumbling below your feet. Grateful that he’s yours.

You lift your head. Prop yourself up by the elbow on Joel’s thigh. Wipe away the lingering wet on your cheeks with a deep, settling breath.

“Does it stroke your ego, having a fan club of women who wanna fuck you?”

He smirks. Pulls you closer to him with a hand cradling your face.

“Maybe a little,” he whispers, his lips ghosting yours. “Does it stroke your ego, bein’ the only one who gets to fuck me?”

And in truth, it does. You’re the only one who knows where he likes to be kissed, how he likes his cock stroked, how to make him cum embarrassingly quick with just your mouth.

You’ve learned him intimately, every inch of him. Ruined him for any other woman.

So in a fucked up kind of way — it does.

“Yeah,” you admit. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth, silently reveling in the way he immediately moans, the way he bends to you.

“These all mine?” You bring a finger to his lips, sputter on a shaky exhale when he unexpectedly parts them and sucks the digit into his mouth.

“Mhm,” he hums around you, takes your free hand in his and guides it down his body, across the expanse of his torso, the plush of his belly, pausing when you reach his crotch.

Your pulse quickens, then, a dull throb forming at the base of your neck. You extricate your finger from his mouth with a gentle pop.

“This too,” he whispers, canting his hips up toward the flat of your palm.

He’s half-hard, his clothed bulge pleading for attention. But he pulls your hand away quickly, not letting himself get carried away at the feeling of your fingers grazing him through denim.

Instead, he re-situates it against his chest so that you can feel his heartbeat where it hammers under skin, against flesh and bone. “This is all yours too,” he says, voice so low it reverberates in your skull.

“All of it — all of me. Don’t gotta worry your pretty little head with anythin’ anyone else has to say about the matter. Got it?”

His words are spoken with so much conviction that you have no choice but to believe them, to let them stick in your brain like anchors in sand: deep and immovable.

Yours, yours, yours.

And nobody else’s.

“Yeah,” you smile into the column of his neck, inhaling his scent: mostly him, but with notes of you.

“Got it.”

It’s two weeks later when she makes a move on him: the woman with the perm. Joel is taken aback by her boldness, with you just a few feet away, digging your key into the lock of your mailbox.

“You must work with your hands,” she purrs, grabbing one of his wrists and examining his calloused fingers with such little integrity, his mouth actually slips open at the unabashedness of it all.

“Uh-”

“I’m Sheila,” she hums, raking her fingers through tight, blonde curls. “And you are?”

“Joel,” he grunts noncommittally. Wrenches his arm back. He doesn’t miss the way her eyebrows twitch in offense.

But she’s insatiable, this woman. She bounces back like a rubber band, not-so-subtly pushing her breasts together, the zip of her sweatshirt slipping down an inch and her mouth curving into a salacious grin.

You just about stop dead in your tracks when you round the corner to the lobby, junk mail in hand, and see her, her body turned towards Joel’s, chest pushed out and hip popped. She has a bedazzled tote bag full of groceries slung over her shoulder, a head of leafy greens poking out the top.

“Hi neighbor!” she smiles mockingly at you, all lipstick-stained teeth, when you sidle up to Joel. “I was just telling your friend here what nice, strong arms he has.” She’s not looking at you, eyes locked firmly on Joel’s biceps, nearly drooling at the sight of him.

Heat spools behind your ears, red-hot.

“Not her friend,” Joel corrects before you can. “‘M her boyfriend.”

“Oh,” she says. “Boyfriend.” Her lips wrap loosely around the word, like it’s some fanciful thing. “You’re too old to be someone’s boyfriend.”

Joel takes a step away from her, closer to you, and splays a steadying hand across your back. “Man-friend, then.”

You laugh, not because it’s funny, but because this entire conversation is fucking awkward.

Sheila pays you no attention.

“Well,” she sighs, overtly staring at the exposed skin of Joel’s chest, where the top two buttons of his flannel are undone, “Joel, if you’re ever lookin’ for a good meal, I’m just next door.” She flits her eyes up to his and smirks. “Know a big man like you has gotta eat.”

Your vision blurs scarlet.

Joel is equally as infuriated. The disrespect of this woman, to so openly flirt with him in front of you. His fists ball tightly at his sides.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” he gruffs. “Anyway, nice to meet ya ma’am-“

“Sheila,” she reminds him.

“Sheila,” he repeats, only to appease her. He turns to you, squeezing your waist affectionately. “We should probably get goin’, right sweetheart?”

You’re still fuming, barely able to register Joel’s voice next to you through the thick haze of pure fury clouding your mind, but you manage to nod, spit out a hurried yeah.

And with that, Joel is turning on his heels, pulling you with him toward the elevators. You don’t dare look back at her, but you can feel her eyes boring a hole in the back of your head.

Her footfall fades into the mailroom and you breathe a minuscule sigh of relief. At least she’s out of your sight.

“Please just move in with me,” Joel begs when you’re finally behind closed metal doors, the inspection plaque situated above the buttons suddenly extremely interesting as you try to focus on not thinking about setting this woman’s apartment on fire.

You’ve talked about living together a few times. It’s just — you’ve never considered it so seriously until right now.

“I can’t let them win,” you mutter, agitated.

You hate how they’ve made you feel, like you’re some helpless animal tucked in the corner, hiding from them. Just waiting for the next ambush.

With the passing of each floor, your anger simmers, bubbles into a silent rage in your stomach, one which threatens to boil over at the next underestimation of Joel’s devotion to you. You need to make it known, once and for all, that he’s yours.

Words from your grandmother play on a loop in your head, ones she repeated to you often when you were a child: if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

And then you have a thought — a devious thought — maybe you don’t have to say anything to get your point across. Not to them, anyway.

Your mouth is on Joel the second you’re back inside the four walls of your own apartment, slotting against his pulse point and sucking a desperate bruise there.

He’s not expecting it — why would he be? You’ve just been seething the entire elevator ride up to your floor, the entire walk down the long, winding hallway to your unit. He’d practically been able to see the steam billowing from your ears.

So the switch-up is more than a bit dizzying, to say the least.

“Whoa, darlin’,” he pants, his large hands draping over your shoulders. “What are you-”

“Joel.” Your voice is stern; it demands his attention. “Do you trust me?”

Your hand trails down his body languidly, in a straight line to the waistband of his jeans. And fuck, of course he trusts you — more than anyone. But this is wrong, fucked up, for you to make him feel good when you’ve been made to feel so small these past few minutes.

Still, his cock doesn’t get the memo, twitching in his jeans as you place another open-mouthed kiss on the underside of his jaw, your fingers beginning to fiddle with his belt buckle.

You give him no choice with the way you’re touching him, the way you’re looking at him when you pull back, all pleading eyes and parted mouth, but to resign all protest. He’ll give you the world, and if right now you want to use his body to blow off some steam, who is he to complain about it?

“Yeah baby, of course,” he breathes. “What do you need?”

You smirk at him audaciously, tongue smoothing over your teeth. “Need you to be loud,” you purr. Your voice is so innocent in juxtaposition to the words you spew. It sends a chill down the column of his spine. “Let them know who makes you feel good.”

He nearly cums in his pants untouched, grasps at the fabric of your shirt with clumsy hands and nods. “Fuck, okay.”

His belt falls to the floor with a clang.

He lets you take control, then. Lets you mark him with your tongue and your teeth, lets you back him to the door with deft fingers working his shirt buttons open before sinking to your knees in front of him, freeing his hardening cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers.

It’s already weeping for you when you pull it out, precum beading at the tip. He’s so big, growing heavier in your hand with each passing second, and you lose yourself for a moment, hypnotized by him.

“Always so eager to please me, aren’t you, pretty girl?” Joel’s voice pulls you back to earth, soft and adoring.

“Louder,” you remind him. Plant a kiss right over top of his leaking slit.

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth. One of his hands flies to the crown of your head, anchoring himself with fingers in your hair. “Dirty fucking girl.”

His voice fills the entranceway, confident and filthy.

“Mmm,” you hum approvingly.

“Yeah? You want me to tell ‘em? Tell ‘em you’re making my cock drool for you? That nobody — shit-” You enclose your lips around his tip, suckling on it as your fingers wrap around the base of his length and you begin to stroke him lazily. “-that nobody has ever made me feel this good?”

Footsteps echo down the hallway and the sound makes you reflexively pause, your hand stiling on Joel’s cock. It’s followed by the jingling of metal, the click of a key in a lock, the opening and closing of a door — all close enough that you can pinpoint the source, can tell where exactly it’s coming from.

Sheila is home.

Perfect.

It’s probably worrying how excited it makes you, the prospect of her hearing, of her sitting alone in her apartment, at her empty dining table, and listening to Joel fall apart at your hands. Maybe they’ve driven you to and over the edge of sanity with their words, her most of all. Regardless, you can’t help the way it makes your cunt flutter around nothing.

You lick a slow stripe up the underside of Joel’s cock, starting just above his balls and dragging the flat of your tongue up, up, up to his tip. His breath shudders, his grip on your hair tightening, and the subtle sting at the center of your scalp gives you another idea.

“Do you wanna fuck my face, Joel?”

“Do I wanna — fuck — you’re gonna kill me, angel.”

“Go ahead,” you encourage, unhinging your jaw as wide as it can go, letting your tongue droop over your bottom lip.

Saliva pools in your waiting mouth and Joel groans at the sight of you, so malleable for him, begging to be used.

“You sure?”

It’s not that he doesn’t think you can handle it. He knows you can. You’ve taken him down your throat more times than he can count. Always so fucking eager to please him, you are — just one of the many reasons he feels so goddamn lucky, so infuriated that anyone would think otherwise.

But still, he can’t help but worry that he’ll hurt you.

You nod, eyes locked on him, confirming beyond a shadow of a doubt that you want this. He nods back, beginning to feed his cock into your mouth, easing it in slowly and halting when his head hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag.

You don’t pull away, don’t show any indication of displeasure. In fact, you dig your fingers into the meat of his thighs, bearing down on him as you push forward. Mascara tears stain your cheeks as you choke on him, laser-focused on relaxing your throat so that you can accommodate more of his length.

Joel pulls back, retreating entirely before pushing in again. He slowly increases his pace, your eyes hooded, so doelike and innocent, as his cockhead bruises your larynx.

The sounds he’s pulling from your mouth are absurdly lewd: muffled gags and frantic inhales of breath. And then there’s him, moaning wildly, not sure if he’d be able to shut up even if he needed to be quiet. Your mouth is good, too fucking good and he’s going to — fuck, he’s going to cum if you don’t stop.

He pulls out abruptly, a string of drool and precum tethering the tip of his cock to your swollen bottom lip. You’re panting, coughing, still bracing yourself against his legs when you fucking smile up at him.

“Christ,” he says. “Fuckin’ angel, you are. Mouth feels like goddamn heaven.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But I need to cum in that perfect little cunt,” he breathes, pulling a strangled moan from the back of your rawed throat.

He helps you up, spins you around to face the door. You brace both hands on the wood, humming as he pulls your pants down to your knees. His breath is on the back of your neck, trailing up to the shell of your ear with one whisper just for you, because he can’t help it.

“So fuckin’ beautiful, you know that?”

You shiver, responding with a tilt of your head, inviting him in with a needy little mewl. He cradles your face in one of his large hands, the other rubbing over the curve of your ass as he kisses you passionately, tasting himself on your tongue.

The hand on your ass trails lower as he deepens the kiss, two fingers pressing against your clothed seam. You’ve all but soaked through the fabric, wet cotton molding to his knuckles as he caresses them along your pussy before pulling your panties down in one swift motion.

You whine into the kiss, desperate and dripping for him. “Please,” you breathe against his lips. “I’ll make you feel so good, I promise.”

“Know you will,” he coos, mouth parting from yours as he straightens out and lines himself up with your entrance. You arch your back, rocking onto the balls of your feet as he teases you with the tip.

His cock is so thick when it finally notches into you. It’s always so devastatingly thick, no matter how wet you are for him. The stretch stings, a jolt of warm pain coursing through your walls as he stills halfway in.

“You okay?” he asks, one hand resting at the small of your back, the other on your hip, fingers gripping to you only tight enough to hold you in place.

“Yes, fuck — yes,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me, Joel.”

“I’m goin’ to baby, don’t worry,” 'he promises, pushing in another splitting inch. “Pussy’s so goddamn tight, ‘ts suckin’ me right in.”

It feels like hours pass with Joel’s cock motionless inside your aching cunt, his warm breath fanning across your back as he focuses on not cumming. You’re whimpering, begging under the weight of his body, to please just fucking move.

When he finally obliges you, pulling all the way out and then bottoming out in one deep thrust, it nearly punches the air out of your chest. You scrabble for purchase on the door, fingernails scraping against chipped paint. “F-uucckk,” you moan, eyes rolling back in your head as he sets a dizzying pace.

The sound of his balls slapping against the back of your thighs is enough to attract attention on its own, the loud smacksmacksmack going straight to your cunt. Joel growls behind you, driving into you even harder, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot.

“Oh, shit,” you cry. Your pussy inadvertently squeezes him and he curses at your back, low and deep.

“Not going to last if you keep doin’ that,” he warns. “Cunt is too fuckin’ good. Best I’ve ever — uuuhh — had.”

He’s not just saying it for show. It’s true. You know it is, too. He’s told you before, both under the influence of your pussy and not. Waited too many goddamn years to feel like this, he’d said once.

“It’s — fuck, it’s fine Joel,” you mutter. “I’m close too, just keep going, right there.”

A door across the hall creaks open. A pair of footsteps patter across tile.

Do you hear that? Yeah; what is that noise?

Joel laughs darkly behind you, snaps his hips up, forcing a guttural moan out of you.

“Think they caught us, darlin’,” he says. “Caught you takin’ my cock like you’re fuckin’ made to.”

Oh my word!

Joel is unrelenting, pounding into you despite the voices right outside your apartment, and you fear for a moment that you’ve created a monster. One of his hands leaves its place on your waist, cracks down on the center of your asscheek with a slap, the flesh recoiling under his palm and you gasp.

The feeling travels between your legs, straight to your neglected clit. It pulsates under the hood with every pass of Joel’s cock over your g-spot, and you feel yourself hurtling toward the edge dangerously fast.

If these people don’t leave, they’re going to hear you cum. Do you want them to hear you cum? Yeah, you think, clit jumping again at the thought, I think I fucking do.

“Joel, fuck-”

“You gonna cum?” he goads. “Yeah, can feel you squeezin’ me — you’re gonna cum, aren’t ya?”

This is vulgar! We should file a noise complaint. C’mon.

His hand snakes around your front then, finds your throbbing bud, and with a few passes of his calloused fingertips, you’re gone, vision whiting out and all noise around you muted.

Joel keeps you upright between him and the door, his grip on you tightening as your muscles slacken. He follows closely behind, cumming inside you with a carnal noise from the back of his throat, rope after rope of his spend filling your cunt.

He pulls out with a grunt, immediately collapsing on the floor. Without his support, you topple over too, falling onto his lap with a satiated giggle.

A banging comes from the other side of the wall then, shaking your kitchen cabinets a few feet away, the clanging of glassware jolting you.

Keep it down next time! I don’t need to hear that!

And then you’re laughing like teenagers, Joel pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, all tongues and teeth.

“Think they’re really gonna make a noise complaint?” Joel asks when you finally come up for air.

“I dunno,” you smile. “Does your offer still stand — for me to move in with you?”

“Always,” he vows, forehead resting against yours.

end notes: ty for reading! pls consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed <3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal as joel miller #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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screams-of-the-damned84 · 28 days

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(flops on stage) i now present to you my very silly swap au,,,

essentially jasper is now the co-leader of the society who was bitten by a werewolf and is trying to hide it, jekyll is the uni student who got kicked out due to his experiments and then picked up off the streets, etc. jasper and rachel can’t communicate and jekyll and lanyon are living the world’s weirdest horror romcom you’ve ever seen. more info under cut hehe (feat. bad explanations and doodles)

in simpler terms, jekyll and lanyon swap narrative positions (?? is that the right term) with jasper and rachel respectively. (lanyons and rachels swap doesn’t technically work as well as Jekyll’s and jaspers does but shhhhh). Frankenstein becomes the mad scientist that attacks the society and moreau becomes jaspers idol.

longer explanation but WARNING!! it is 3am when i am typing this and i am terrible at explaining. it may be slightly incomprehensible.

so like jasper and rachel founded the society after jasper publishes his research and gets semi famous. two years before current events jasper is out on a research venture and gets bitten by a werewolf. he doesn’t want to scare rachel or the lodgers so he keeps it a secret (to his own detriment). flash forward to now and jasper gets a call to investigate a “creature” terrorizing the streets of london only to find hyde.

before jasper can process the dumpster man he is looking at hyde transforms back into jekyll. jekyll explains that while trying to prove his theory of spiritual alchemy at his university he may or may not have split his own soul. and got kicked out. and is now living on the streets.

jasper, not really knowing what else to do and kinda relating to the poor guy, takes him back to the society. he introduces his co-leader rachel, who pretty much keeps this entire thing up and running. (rachel and jekyll still become friends but she especially takes to hyde. that little brother shaped hole in her heart is still very much present!) then theres the lodgers (idk how they all swap) and then there’s lanyon, a university student at the society because it was mandatory for one of his courses. he is not enjoying it and would very much rather be breaking boy’s hearts back at school. lucky for him tho, there’s jekyll!

this goes about as well as you would expect. lanyon then spends the rest of his stay at the society trying to understand (and woo) the conundrum that is jekyll and hyde. it’s very fluffy and they learn to communicate like jasper and rachel in canon (yippee!)

unfortunately for jasper and rachel, they have been playing the “just friends” game for the last decade. im having a bit of trouble trying to flesh out swap rachel so i don’t really know if she’s in a lavender marriage like canon lanyon is or is estranged/divorced or just single but whatever the case is she likes jasper but thinks he just sees her as a friend while jasper is madly in love with her and is too scared to tell her. this problem has only worsened since jasper got bitten. everyone else tho is aware of how they feel about each other and are stuck witnessing their tortuously long slow burn.

(hyde and lanyon at some point probably come up with a scheme to try and get them to confess. it goes horribly wrong.)

so yeah. this au has been floating around in my head ever since i read the comic for the first time. it mainly came to be because of how well jasper and jekyll parallel each other and because i wanted to draw stupid fluff and older jasper lol.

if anyone has any ideas/questions/etc TELL ME!!!!! this is just a rough idea if you have a better concept go for it awhdvgevd

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bbybaku · 5 months

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BOY NEXT DOOR SHIG

i actually really like this one. like might be my fav thing I've ever posted lol. slow burn i fear. ends w smut. as always

follows the American academic calendar sorry its all i know and it'll make sense why at the end

5k ish words (sorry idk how this one got so long)

warnings: uhh slow burn, smut, multiple positions, make out, dirty talk, choking, dom shig, slight voyeurism, slight exhibitionism

you went to college a little over an hour away from where your parents lived.

which meant you only really went home and stayed with them on school breaks. Summer, Thanksgiving, Christmas break.

You didnt think or wish to be back at your parent's house, your whole life was at college. Your friends, your stuff, your job.

That was until your parents got a new neighbor over the summer.

He was tall and kind of lanky. He had long fluffy blueish-white hair that was a little past his shoulders and always slightly in his face.

You saw him and what looked like his dad moving in.

Their new house was the one right next to your bedroom window.

Your parents went next door to introduce themselves. They came back and told you that the boy was only a year older than you and he was also in college.

You asked more questions, what school? What is his name? Does he live at home? is he on social media?

but they said they didnt know. They told you to go over and introduce yourself but you had a better idea.

You knew better then to open your bedroom window. For all you knew the new boys dad could be in the room directly next to yours.

But you did it anyway. You took down the curtains, opened the blinds and opened your window.

It was summer after all.

You never got the opportunity to talk to the boy over the summer.

You saw him in passing.

He was akward. When you saw him in the neighborhood he would give you one of those closed-mouth smiles and lift his hand in a wave. he was so hot in one of those loser-man type of ways.

You also saw him doing yard work. He never took his shirt off but he had more muscle on on than you initially thought.

Luckily, the neighbor boy also took the bedroom across from yours and he seemed to notice your open window.

Sometimes in the evenings he would open his too.

there was a little bit of distance between the houses but you could still occasionally hear the music he was listening to, you could hear him talking while he was gaming, and sometimes you would wait until he was in his bedroom with his window open to change clothes.

you hoped he would notice. maybe even take interest.

but as the summer ended and you packed up for school you knew you had to accept that it was too soon. you knew it needed time.

as the semester progressed you tried to forget the neighbor boy. you went out with you friends, you went to class, and you lived your life but he was always there in the back of your mind.

no matter where you were or what you were doing you couldn’t help but think of him. what he was doing, where he was, his long slender hands, the veins on his forearms. when you would listen to him talk to his friends. if he had a girlfriend.

obsession is a big word but you were swiftly approaching it with how often you thought about him.

when you went home for thanksgiving in mid-november you were actually ecstatic, unlike your usual sadness to have to leave your life behind. not this time, you were going to get to see him.

even if if was in passing or if it was just listing to him play video games through his window.

something was anything.

and anything was something.

just like he did over the summer he opened his window in the evening.

you tried not to stare into his house but it was much more decorated and lived in than it had been over the summer.

he had posters on his walls, better lighting, furniture arranged to be more fung shiu, and dirty clothes on the ground.

what you would do to get a hold of his dirty laundry.

he still played video games at night and listened to music.

you still changed infront off the window.

you two saw each other in passing and he did the same thing he did over the summer.

a closed mouth smile and his hand would lift up as a wave.

but now your parents and his dad were friends so they had more to tell you about him.

you had to play it cool they couldn't know that you were obsessed, no you were asking out of morbid curiosity.

your parents told you his name was tomura shigaraki. his dad adopted him, it was just the two of them, he was a year older than you and he was in computer science.

and no it did not seem like he had a girlfriend.

you had to hide your excitement.

how much did he know about you? was he even interested?

as your excitement began to dwindle and you got ready to leave home and go back to school for the last few weeks of the semester you herd someone call out your name.

you looked up and sure enough getting out of his car was the neighbor boy, tomura.

“hey! you’re (y/n) right?”

you tried to control yourself. you knew your face had to be beet red.

“oh yeah hey”

“well i just wanted to say hello" a pause. he looked around a little awkwardly, then finished his train of thought "im tomura.”

you gave a small smile “it was nice to meet you tomura, i guess ill see you around”

he did his little wave and went inside.

you could feel the butterflies in your stomach.

you couldn’t get his devious little grin out of your head.

he had to be interested. you two were the same age and the same demographic. he was a loser and you were beautiful.

if you weren’t obsessed before, now there was no denying it.

the last three weeks of the semester went by agonizingly slow. even your friends noticed your distracted demeanor.

you chose not to tell them. you didn’t want to ruin the magic. and you didn’t want to sound delusional about the neighbor you’ve been stalking and only spoken to once.

when the semester finally ended you were practically already packed and ready to head home.

you spent the entire drive trying to calm yourself down. knowing you had to play it cool around the neighbor boy. around tomura.

you got home and pulled into the driveway, you noted that his car was in his driveway.

you walked in the front door and were met with not only your parents, but also tomura and his dad.

your eyes instantly met.

you dropped the bag you were carrying.

“oh hey” you said not breaking eye contact.

“uhh what’s up” he said sounding nervous but there was no denying that he was happy to see you.

your parents introduced the two of you. he awkwardly shook your hand. you could feel how clammy they were.

your mom announced that tomura and his father would be coming to their yearly holiday party that they throw every year.

you had to rein in your excitement.

“oh, I'm excited to see you guys there”

they left and you immediately went upstairs to scream into your pillow, with your window closed of course.

the holiday party's theme was to wear holiday-esc clothes, you knew who would be there so of course you wore a little black dress and a santa hat.

you saw tomura walk in but you didn't approach him, not yet.

he was wearing a collared shirt under an oversized dark green sweater with Christmas symbols on it that looked thrifted.

you helped yourself to the access of alcohol that both your parents and their guests provided.

you had left your window closed the last few days in anticipation of seeing him tonight.

you noticed he was drinking a beer. your eyes met from across the room. he was standing next to his dad, talking to a group of neighbors.

you were talking to a different neighbor, an old lady who was telling you to dress more modestly.

you risked a glance. he was checking you out. how little you left to the imagination in your little dress.

he caught your eyes and blushed, looking away instantly. he was back into the conversation as soon as he looked away and you looked back.

you excused your self for more alcohol.

you talked to your mom

felt the warm effects of the alcohol.

made eyecontact with tomura.

talked to some more of the party guests

more prolonged eye contact.

You were laying it on thick with your "fuck me eyes"

after what felt like an eternity of dancing around each other finally, your parents were talking to him and his dad.

you joined the circle, only a little motivated by the alcohol you had been drinking all night.

the alcohol that mad the blood rush between your legs a little more than usual.

your parents were asking him about college. he answered their question but was staring at you.

"- yeah I dont really have plans after graduation I'll probably just go wherever the wind takes me kind of thing"

he didnt take his eyes off you. even after he finished talking. he was a good head taller than you. his hair had gotten longer but it still looked good on him. you noticed the contrast of his light hair against his dark eyebrows. he was well-groomed. clean shaven. you wondered what he would look like first thing in the morning with stubble and no shirt on-

"Y/n?"

"Sorry?"

"they were asking about your plans after college"

"Oh um- Im also not sure yet, Ive been looking into grad school but I'm still on the fence,"

your eyes flicked to tomura, an invitation.

"Now, if you'll excuse me I'm gonna go get some water."

he took the bait, "I think im gonna get some water too"

he followed you to the makeshift bar on the kitchen island.

you poured yourself another drink.

he cracked open another beer

“so what are you drinking?”

he shrugged and took a sip

“doesn’t taste very good”

you simply nodded. you could feel the heat on your cheeks. all these months of thinking about him and now you have absolutely nothing to say.

“so you study-“

“can we quit it with the small talk?”

he stepped closer to you and wrapped his free a hand around your waist, he leaned down so that his mouth was right next to your ear.

he said it just quietly enough that only you could hear, “i don’t want to act like i haven’t been jerking off to you changing in front of your open window and you can’t act like you’re not the little slut who opens her window and gets naked for me.”

you flushed. your blood should be cold from the embarrassment but it wasn't.

it was the opposite.

you felt like you were on fire.

it felt like your excitement was pooling in your underwear.

you realized he was still holding on to you, he hadn't moved.

it was like you and tomura were the last two people on earth. your surroundings a blur,

"wanna get out of here"

"yes. yes please" you whispered.

"thats what i like to hear"

he took your hand and walked you to the back hallway of the party since so many people were blocking the front door and the stairs.

he stopped you in front of one of the doors.

you wanted him so bad that a drunk makeout next to the guest bedroom was enough.

your back was against the wall and one of his hands was leaning against the wall next to your head.

"do you ever think about me when you're away?" he whispers.

you run a hand down his chest. stomach. brush your fingers against something else.

something hard.

"all the fucking time" you whisper back.

he doesn't say anything.

he pins your back to the wall with his body. his hand runs through your hair.

his hand does it again.

youre looking down.

his hand grabs your jaw and forces you to look up him.

he inspects your face, eyes lingering on your lips,

and then he kisses you.

not a little gentle kiss.

your mouth is met by his wet open mouth.

your hands locked around his neck, one of his hands found your waist and the other was in your scalp.

you could feel his hard on.

you rubbed your sex on him and he sucked in a breath while kissing you.

his tongue was exploring your mouth, he wanted in while simultaneously sucking on your bottom lip and biting your tongue.

tomura was warm, he smelled like ocean and spice and laundry detergent. he was all you wanted and more.

he pulled away from the kiss and took a step away from you. he wiped your mouth with his sleeve and then wiped his.

an old man you recognized as one of your moms coworkers wandered back into the hallway.

you quickly understood why tomura just pulled away.

“this isn’t the bathroom” he said looking between the two of you.

you and tomura look at each other and fake a laugh.

his face was flushed, his hair a mess, and your there was a tint the color of your lipstick around his mouth.

"oh yeah we were just talking about college. the bathroom is that way." you pointed to where the party was happening

the man smiled and walked away.

once he was gone you and tomura went right back to what you were doing.

this one wasn’t like the first one though.

it was rougher. it was something more

tomura grabbed your jaw with one hand and squeezed your ass with the other, saying between passionate kisses,

“you have no idea how badly i’ve wanted this”

he pulled on your hair, forcing your head to angle up towards his face.

you can’t ignore his big strong hands, the length of his fingers, the veins on his arms just peeking out from under his rolled up sweater sleeves.

your santa hat must have fallen off a while ago.

his other hand on your ass kneaded it like it was bread dough.

he grabbed at your ass by the handful, pulling on the skin and fat and muscle before letting it go, occasionally feeling your waist, the swell of your hips, and then going right back in for your ass and repeating the process.

his tongue explored the inside of your mouth like it belonged to him. he sucked on your bottom lip, shoved his tongue in, sucked on your mouth with his entire mouth all in no particular order.

you pressed your hips into him and liked what you found.

with one arm wrapped around his neck, you other massaging his scalp and occasionally pulling his hair, a signal to him to come closer to you.

you moved back and into him again. grinding against him. he was hot and hard.

you removed your hand from his scalp and palmed his member.

he pulled off your mouth but not your body and let out a shaky breath.

“if we start with that i won’t be able to stop” he whispered into your hair.

“who said that’s a bad thing” you whipered back.

you could feel his smile against you even though you couldn’t see his face, “i never said it was bad but maybe we should find somewhere more private”

“can we sneak out to your place?”

this was when he pulled his body off of yours and you could see his smirk, “i think that’s a great idea.”

the two of you tried to tidy each other up as best as you could but there was no denying the fact the the two of you just did something. both of your cheeks were flushed, hair was ruffled, and clothes disheveled.

there was also no denying his excitement. you pulled his sweater down to help him attempt the hide the tent in his pants.

he mumbled out a "thanks" and looked away blushing.

he walked out into the party first, raising his eyebrows at you as he said to meet him outside in ten minutes.

you counted to 100 before entering the party so as not to look suspicious.

you didn’t want your parents old and nosy friends know yours and tomura’s business.

you found your parents and stood in on their conversation. casually looking around every chance you got to find him. you spotted him in the kitchen standing next to his dad talking to a woman.

he was standing with his hands in his pockets, slouching, his cheeks still pink, his lips a little swollen, and his his looked like someone had just ran their hands through it.

you noticed you were staring. then you noticed he was staring at you too. he gave you a small smile and he pointed his head toward the front door.

you gave him a small nod in agreement.

you whispered to your mom that you were going to go sit outside and to not worry about you.

she had a few drinks in her system and was more concerned about her holiday party than whatever nonsense her daughter was up to, so it was easy to slip away.

you instantly started walking towards the front door when you felt a hand grab yours. you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

the next five minutes were a blur.

your hand in his.

running over to his house.

his frantic effort to unlock the front door.

instantly making out against the front door once inside.

running up the stairs with him right behind you.

hands intertwined.

barely making it to his room before, once again, aggressively making out against his closed bedroom door.

tomura peeled your desss off in one fluid motion and picked you up throwing, you on his bed.

he whipped his sweater off, and climbed on top of you.

you began to undo the buttons on his white button down but he stopped you,

"ah ah, not yet. its my turn"

he pulled one of your breasts out of your bra, nipple already hard, and put his mouth around your nipple.

his right hand finds yours, interlocking fingers and pressing you to the bed.

his left hand finds your other breast and kneads on it. pulling on your nipple, grabbing the flesh with his palm and fingers.

all while milking your other.

his mouth sucking and teeth bruising there was nothing you could do to conceal the unholy wimpers he coaxed out of you.

his eyes find yours.

“look at me” he says then resumes what he was doing.

your mind couldn't form coherent thoughts.

the only thing you could focus on was the pleasure you were experiencing at his hands.

and mouth.

your hips find his.

you could feel his rock-hard member in his pants.

your free hand finds his member between the two of you and you rub your hand up and down him over his pants.

he inhales shakily.

"mmm not yet" he whispered into your breast.

he maneuvers to switch sides, his mouth now on the opposite breast and his hand cupping the breast his mouth was just on.

your back arches and you moan as his mouth makes contact.

you couldn't stop yourself from grinding your hips against his again.

he bit your nipple in response, getting a yelp out of you.

you knew for sure by now that you were soaked through your panties.

since Tomura had taken your dress off your arousal was evident but his attention was still on your breasts.

he was holding one of your hands and the other was in his hair, nails scratching circles on his scalp and occasionally pulling on his hair.

your hips still moving against his you gave a tug on his hair for his attention.

he kept his mouth where it was but stopped what he was doing, lazily looking up.

you pet his hair and whispered "can we please?" pushing your hips into his for emphasis.

he raised his eyebrows slowly.

he removed his mouth from your nipple dramatically with a loud sucking noise.

he sat up and switched the position he was in to now hold down both of your wrists with one of his hands and to hold your hips down with the other,

"I said not yet,"

and he turned his attention to the nipple he had previously been working on.

you thought you couldn't have been more aroused but with his new found control over you? you could have come just from the sight of him.

your hips struggled against his arm, seeking any form of release as you whimpered in pleasure from the love he gave to your nipple.

you came out of your trance and realized he was still fully clothed and you were still wearing your bra and underwear.

he removed himself from you slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and pushing his mane of hair out of his face.

you were breathing heavily and slightly disoriented from what he had just done.

"lets get rid of these, shall we?"

he started to pull off your underwear. and you went ahead and removed your bra.

"it cant be fair that im the only one who's naked?"

you motioned to him still being almost fully dressed save for the sweater he had been wearing over his now half unbuttoned button-down shirt.

shigaraki sighed and began unbuttoning his shirt

"I thought you preferred to be naked?" he looked up at you and smirked "or are you just a show off?"

you didnt really have a good response to his call out so all you could do was stare at him.

you watched him undress making sure to emphasize one of your signature looks, the fuck me eyes.

he definitely noticed your gaze.

he smirked back at you as he stood up and shucked off his pants.

Leaving him in nothing but a pair of blue plaid boxers.

your favorite.

he crawled back onto the bed and sat on his knees in between your legs, where you lay on your back. head propped up with pillows and still panting from what his magic mouth and fingers just did with your nipples.

he locked eyes with you, hooked his hands underneath your knees, and pulled your bottom half up to him.

he pushed your legs up, essentially folding you in half as he brought his mouth down to yours.

He kissed you sweetly and deeply. with care but also disrespect like he would stop if you asked you him to but you were pulling him closer, scratching his back, and grinding against his member.

so he squeezed your thigh, groped your boob a little tighter, and explored the cavern of your mouth a bit deeper with his tongue.

his hand previously on your tit found your throat. he choked you as his mouth pulled from yours.

the pressure of his hand caused your mouth to open, searching for air and only getting a little bit of it.

he squeezed tighter as he licked down the column of your neck and back up.

kissing your mouth lightly one last time as he released your throat and started kissing down your body.

kissing down to your soaking wet sex.

his hand stroked your face at first. he kissed your jaw, your neck, your chest, booth boobs, your navel, then he found the space between your legs. he lifted your legs over his shoulders and started kissing you there too.

he kissed your clit similarly to how he kissed your mouth at first. softly. respectfully. passionately. like he was waiting for permission.

you gave it to him by grabbing a handful of hair and rubbing yourself against his face. you could feel his nose and his smirk on your sweet spot.

he took your invitation, and you could hear him inhale through his nose he grabbed two handfuls of your ass and went to work.

with his mouth on your clit you could feel him sucking on it, lapping his tongue against it, and eventually sticking two fingers into your sopping entrance.

you couldn't hold your moans in. especially once his veiny, long-fingered hand was pumping in and out.

your first orgasm didnt even build it just ripped through you, without anything you could have done to stop it.

shigaraki, satisfied enough with his handy work sat up and whipped your wet from his mouth with the back of his hand.

you could have orgasmed again from the sight of his flushed cheeks and messy hair in the ambient lighting of his bedroom.

"your so fucking hot" you couldn't stop yourself from saying.

his hazy eyes found yours "You should see yourself right now" he gave you that smirk after he said it.

there was no hiding his arousal. he pulled his boxers down and his member sprang free.

he was hung.

8 inches long and thick.

all you could do was stare your mouth slightly open and your blood pumping between your legs.

"you like what you see i take it," he says that fucking smirk on his face.

all you could do was nod your head.

he spits on the tip and starts pumping himself as he moves forward toward you.

he hooks his arm under your right leg and maneuvers himself between your legs.

"you ready?"

you hum in response

"mmm i need a yes"

"yes, I am ready"

"good girl, thats what i like to hear,"

he inserts himself slowly, you feel the familiar sting of being stretched out

tomura pauses, looking at you as if asking permission to continue.

your hand is covering your mouth but you nod for him to continue.

he does.

you look down to see that he is not even halfway in.

"oh my god" you whisper "its so fucking big"

he just smiles, not losing his focus on what he is doing.

once hes almost all the way in he pauses again, looking at you for permission to continue.

"can you start moving slowly?"

he doesn't acknowledge your words other than thrusting in and out as slowly as he can,

with each thrust in you couldnt with hold your whimpers.

tomura was slowly increasing speed and how deep he was going,

"is this okay" he asked his breath slightly shaking

"oh my god yea" you struggle to get out

he pushes the leg hooked. under his arm up higher and finally bottoms out in you,

you both moan.

"fuck, youre so tight,"

"you youre so big"

his hand hound your face and stroked your cheek before he took your jaw in his hand,

"youre so fucking beautiful"

you could feel your heart flutter in your chest as he pounded in and out of you and an unholy speed.

"lets switch positions"

you hum in response, so fucked out that you couldn't form coherent words.

he grabs a pillow and flips you over, shoving the pillow underneath your hips.

he taps the small of your back, you spread your knees and arch your back for him, grabbing one of the other pillows to hold in your arms.

tomura grabs hold of your hips and inserts himself, going in smoother this time.

just because the entry was easier did not mean the new angle was any mind boggling.

and tomura was not holding himself back in the slightest, he moaned once he was all the way in and wasted no time in absolutely fucking the shit out of you.

you didnt know it was possible for a human being to experience pleasure like this. your second orgasm of the night rips through you with an inhuman moan.

tomura gathers up your hair and pulls you toward him,

"came again so soon? thats my girl"

he wraps one hand around your throat the other finds your shoulder to use as leverage as he continues to fuck you from behind.

his thrusts begin to stutter losing speed and consistency,

"im close i wanna see your face"

"okay" you say through breaths

he once again flips you over, pumping himself as you readjust the pillows under your head and hips,

tomura heaves your legs up and enters you one last time.

your hands find the back of his head and you pull his face up to yours as he resumes his no longer consistent pace.

his hand finds your throat and your other hand finds his bicep, squeezing at the cords of muscle,

you look up at him slowly, from the sight of his cock entering in and out of you, his muscular upper body, to his big red eyes staring down at you. watching you watch him.

one last orgasm rips through you, starting in your stomach and then spreading to your core and to the rest of your body.

tomura finishes at the same time as you, pulling out and coming all over your stomach and boobs.

the two of you just sit there for a moment. both of you breathing heavy. both of you fucked out of your minds.

tomura is the first to break the silence.

he swallows and rubs his jaw,

"do you think we should go back to the party because I kind of want to do that again?"

m.list

#shigaraki smut #lov smut #mha fanfiction #mha smut #shigaraki x you #yandere shigaraki #mha headcanons #shigaraki tomura #bnha shigaraki #shigaraki x reader #mha shigaraki

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monst · 2 months

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Nightwing Hc's

Soft launch Dick Grayson Hcs I guess 🧍🏽

Can't cook well but is amazing at frying foods (Churros, Donuts, Funnel cakes, Chicken, Fries and corndogs), Grill master and all types of shakes anything else and the taste is kinda bland or ‘gets too in his head thinking about how he uses to ‘cook’ with his parents and burns it…

Collects action figures 🤔 Started by collecting the toys from cereal boxes and will complain to anyone about how the quality of them has gone down. “We used to get stuff at least this big” Has really old batman figures that look like melted plastic.

Never wears matching socks 🧦 And every other pair has a hole in it. He’s also one of those guys to have a specific wife beater that looks like it’s been through the great depression but he’ll never bin it.

Is one of those people who still carries cash.

Hyper competitive while playing board games/card games will definitely cheat to win. He will not try to throw any games for anyone's feelings. Only if you or the person he’s playing with is on the verge of tears..not. Is definitely the type to try to extract favors if he wins. Is a sore loser and refuses to play with Tim.

Will respond to any call, text or even email as soon as he can. Like his phone is never on DND. (100% because of what happened with Jason.) While it’s a nice sentiment it can quickly become annoying to see him constantly looking at his phone when it so much as lights up.

Probably plays Monopoly Go and is a high level lmao Idk He’s giving strong older millennial and my older brother is obsessed so, so it Dick.

Imposter syndrome is strong with this one.

This one’s a bit controversial but I think he might not want kids, most if not all the bats have probably gotten a vasectomy/gotten their tubes tied, after finding out about Damian.

Contrary to popular belief he falls in love really slowly and it’s usually friends to lovers with him. This could be as neighbors, coworkers, doesn’t matter. If he sees you enough to be friends for a while he’ll probably catch feelings.

I don't know who lied to you and told you that this man would confess immediately but no he's def pinning until he sees a sign or slips up and has to come clean (Maybe while drunk or hanging up a call with I love you, accidentally using a term of endearment if your hurt). Will probably keep them to himself if he thinks he’ll hinder you or put you in danger.

It’s obvious to his close friends and family when he’s into someone. I think he glows when he's in love like he's normally gorgeous but he's stunning when he's in love, eyes brighter, smile wider, something about him more relaxed.

I think his favorite thing about his partner would be their face. Catching all the small micro expressions is something he loves.

#Might do proper dating hc's but he's def not getting them before Tim that's for sure #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson headcanon #Nothing too wild for the first post back :p #Shit I'm missing a tag for my writing oops #Uh random bullshit go!#Yeah that's what we're using bye!#dick grayson x you

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pedgito · 3 months

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𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 | Francisco Morales x reader

summary | working your summer job you find yourself fawning over a boy you barely know, realizing by the end of the summer that letting go of him may not be the best idea.

content warning | young!frankie morales, reader is working in bar (if there’s some things wrong, just know i tried fjsjsj), background tf boys, phone texts, inebriated hook ups (frankie is a lil drunk but he’s okay i swear) smut out the wazoo, oral (m/f receiving, protecting p in v, hints of voyeurism, idk let me live in this dream pls

word count — 7.5k

The bar was supposed to be easy cash, a second job you picked up during the summer, between the interim of your final year of college and the beginning of your life—just some extra money to keep you afloat amongst the drowning seas of tuition debt. But, the job came with unexpected challenges—rude customers, drunk customers, (given that you worked in a bar you really couldn’t fault them) but it was the rowdy ones that really got under your skin. And you quickly learned the unspoken schedule of customers as they made their weekly round for a few drinks, some over-fried bar food, and a game of darts or pool.

Monday through Wednesday were some of your more favorite days, friendlier people who liked to visit earlier in the day before the bar got packed after sunset, some relaxed chit chat and a beer or two. They tipped very nicely, too.

Thursday was the slowest of the week, co-workers sliding in to catch a game of pool or watch some sports game on the old, ratty television tucked in the corner area of the bar, even with you squinting your eyes it was still barely visible and they almost always left the biggest messes at their table—but again, you couldn’t complain when it was only a few tables you had to scrub down.

Friday was always busy, the weekends just as bad—from open to close you were shuffling around behind the bar, in tune with your co-workers as you moved around each other. You knew some people by name and some would politely remind you—you saw about a hundred different faces every week, some were bound to slip through the cracks.

But, within your first week there, you found a particular group of boys would show up every Friday without fail—a few rounds of beers, a mountain of wings and fries and whatever else they could get their hands on, and a game or two of darts and a pool table they had just to themselves.

The charmer, Santiago, was the first to introduce himself.

A crisp hundred dollar bill slipped over in advance with a softer tone, “I’m apologizing in advance, they tend to get a little, uh, loud.” It wasn't the right word, but you smiled nonetheless, still checking the money behind the counter in case he tried to slide you a fake and mask it with a simple courtesy that wasn't shown often. Kindness.

You start their tab, grab their orders, and within twenty minutes their voices are already booming over the rest and arguing about a stupid game of darts, three other boys crowded around Santiago as their faces are within an inch of the board, fingers pointing all over.

There is a straggler, though—a man who’s similar in age to most of the boys, late twenties maybe? He had to be close to your age or just a little older but the sodden expression on his face made him feel much older, sipping at the round of beers you had brought by as soon as Santiago headed back for the table.

They call him Catfish, whatever that means—and it seems like they all have nicknames for each other and you wanted to ask, but it didn’t seem worth it. Your Rolodex of names in your head was already bursting at its seams and Santiago was the only one you could bother to remember, especially when he’s sliding over a chunk of cash in advance rather than blowing up his tab and then scrambling to pay.

For a few weeks it’s just that. They come in, Santiago pays, and then they spend a few hours in the back of the bar arguing like boys, rather than men. But, they always leave you a hefty tip when they don’t fill out their tab or when they go over and pay it out and then some.

And naturally, you’re curious. About them. About him.

So, when Catfish comes in on a Saturday night completely alone, that curiosity does get the better of you.

He doesn’t make much of a scene, sliding into the bar stool instead of taking up a table, and seeing how busy it is, he waits—quietly and with a faint smile on his face that you catch a few times in passing, refilling cups with ice and offering a polite smile back.

When you finally get to him you're slightly breathless, wiping your hands on the towel tucked into your back pocket, “Hey, sorry about—what can I get you?”

“Just a beer,” He says with a shrug, promptly sliding over a twenty as you pour and hand off the glass.

“Where’s the others?” You ask curiously, an attempt at casual conversation despite selfishly wanting to know.

“A party,” Fish explains, “Benny won his tournament so they’re celebrating that.”

The name sounds familiar but you can’t quite place it.

“The younger one,” He adds with a subtle smirk, seeing the furrow in your brow of you thinking too hard.

“So Benny, Santiago—but you get stuck with Catfish?”

It can’t be his actual name, but they never use anything else.

“Francisco,” He takes a generous sip of his beer before setting it down, tapping his fingers idly against the surface of the bar, “—but, just Frankie. If that’s easier.”

You tilt your head with a genuine smile, putting a name to a face and it feels fitting, the hat suffocating his mop of hair, curls peeking around the edge of his hat and the dark colored tees he always wore, some sort of dismay always written on his face. You can’t explain it, but it works for him.

Frankie. Francisco. Catfish.

“Well, Frankie—if you need anything just yell. That’s probably the only way I’ll hear you,” You tell him with a laugh before attempting to depart—the bar isn’t too bad at the moment, all customers dealt with but the roar of the bar is loud.

“Well—wait,” Frankie half shouts, grabbing your attention, “what’s your name? I gave you mine, seems fair to ask.”

You tell him with a shrug, “But, I only ever hear honey or sweetheart all night, so really, I’m whatever you want me to be.”

Frankie chuckles at that, looking away briefly as if to busy his mind with something else and you slip away then.

You don’t ask why he came alone—why he would skip out on a party with the men he came here every Friday night with—maybe he needed a break. Alone time. It wasn’t your business.

But, one Saturday becomes another. And two months later he’s come by every Saturday. Alone. And giving you his undivided attention. It’s sweet, you’ll admit that.

He isn’t as closed off on Friday’s when he arrives with the other boys but isn’t as outwardly friendly as say, Santiago would be during that time. But, Saturdays—he’s a whole different person. Lighter. Happier.

He only ever orders one beer, makes small talk, and lately—he’s been walking you to your car. So, not only is he nursing that beer over the four hours left in your shift by the time he gets there, he’s waiting for you. To clock out, that is.

Really, it’s against your better judgment. Allowing a total stranger to know what you drive, where you park, what time your shift ends, but Frankie is a… friend.

He isn’t like most of the customers, terrible at small talk and flirting and only making half-assed, nasty comments toward you when they get a few rounds in.

He’s seen it a few times. He never berates the guys, but he does pull your attention away, occupies your mind, and always manages to slip in a few words that make your legs go weak and encourage the dull throb between your thighs—even if it’s just a smile and an apology on their behalf.

Frankie always shows interests, ask about you and your life in the politest way he can without seeming like a complete creep—you can tell he doesn’t flirt often, by the way he’s quiet around his friends when you stop by their table or how he never asks for your number despite twirling his phone in his hands idly most of the night, trying to seem occupied but mostly staring at a blank screen until he finally gains the courage to ask you another question.

The first night he walks you to your car it’s quick—he stays until you close up for the night and walks around back, a careful and watchful eye on your surroundings as he nods and wishes you goodnight with a half-hearted smile, kicking himself in the ass for not just asking for your number.

And it continues like that for weeks, within those couple months, and gradually Frankie bursts out of his shell little by little until you both are giggling one night over a particularly rowdy customer, having gotten himself arrested for indecent exposure and broken a table.

His hand grazes your lower back as you walk out, a genuine mistake but you turn your head toward him quickly, soothing his worries with a smile as you stick the key into the lock.

“Don’t worry about it,” You tell him with a comforting tone, “I’m used to men being a little more handsy than that, so, if anything, you’re a gentleman.”

“Those aren’t men.” Frankie argues lightheartedly.

“Eh, men who act like boys,” You say, “they’re assholes either way you put it.”

Frankie nods, readjusting his cap on his head as he pushes his fingers through his hair.

You twist the keys in your hand and start the walk toward your car.

“Do you ever take that thing off?”

Frankie’s eyes dart up toward the hat and he chuckles, hidden under the scruff and grown out facial hair, “No. No, not really.”

“Would you do it if I asked you to?”

He contemplates but never gives you a straight answer, forcing you to prod him gently with the end of your key, “Don’t worry—I won’t. Not yet.”

Frankie’s fingers curl around the edge of your door as he holds it open and watches you climb in, mind swimming with a million ways to ask what he wants, but it never comes.

But, you see it on his face immediately, the caution behind his eyes in being so forward with you.

“Ask for it,” You tell him, turning on the ignition to your car, still looking at him as he looms between you and the car door, “—unless you want to make me ask.”

Frankie looks away briefly and you laugh softly at his sudden unabashed expression as he smiles and turns back to you, “Can I have your number?”

You hold your hand out in wait, thumbing in your number the moment the phone finds your palm. You send yourself a short text with a smiley face to make sure it goes through and hand it back over, feeling a sudden flutter of anxiety in your chest.

Not good, not bad—but it is something.

“Put it to good use,” You warn him, “don’t make me regret that.”

Frankie smiles wider that time, his teeth peeking out behind full lips.

“Right,” He agrees, “absolutely. I promise.”

He adds a soft goodnight and you depart, feeling your phone buzz again before you even pull out of the parking lot.

[Unknown Number]: Goodnight

You snort a quiet laugh to yourself.

An hour later, a toothbrush tucked into your cheek as you stare down at your phone when it vibrates. You had half the mind to save his number despite your exhaustion from the shift you worked.

[Frankie]: Home safe?

[You]: Yep. :) Thank you for checking on me

[Frankie]: :) Goodnight.

[Frankie]: Again lol.

It’s stupid—it shouldn’t make you smile. But, it does.

You quickly find every day occupied by Frankie in some form, through text or just the thought of him. He’s everywhere and you can’t seem to care—and you give up sleep in the middle of the night for text conversations that come from just wanting to hear from him, as nervous as you are to just call—you could, you knew he wouldn’t care. But, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

You try to learn as much as you can about him.

[You]: Why Catfish?

It’s a random Tuesday when the text comes through his phone. He’s busy in class, cramming himself in as many hours as possible before he tests for his pilot license.

[Frankie]: Long story. Obnoxiously long. Why?

[You]: Just curious. It’s a strange nickname

[Frankie]: So what does that make me?

Frankie doesn’t get a response for a while and he knows you’re probably working, but he finds his fingers reaching for his pocket any time his phone vibrates in the hopes that it’s you.

[You]: Sorry. There was a mess at work.

[You]: It makes you strange btw

[You]: I’m kidding. But, it’s still a weird nickname.

Frankie can tell it’s you from the constant buzzing and he takes a peek at his phone.

[Frankie]: Oh shit. How bad of a mess?

[Frankie]: I know. Maybe I can explain it another time.

You’re busy wiping the beer off your face as you look at his text, the security dragging out the guy who had splashed the glass of liquid back at your face.

[You]: Some asshole threw a beer at me. Nothing new. Clothes are soaked.

[You]: Don’t try to make a joke about that or I’m double charging you this Friday.

Frankie frowns at the implication that you think he’s first instinct is to make a joke at your expense, but you can’t help to protect yourself from the behavior you’re used to from most men.

[Frankie]: Do you need me to bring you something? I can stop by on my way home?

[You]: I’ll survive. Thank you, though. My shift is almost over.

A couple days later you end up going down a fireshot line of questioning to get to know him, much to his surprise.

[You]: Okay. Birthday?

[Frankie]: April 2nd.

He returns the question to which you answer but add on another text with a joke at his expense.

[You]: Damn, a day short and that would be perfect for you. So, you’re an Aries.

[Frankie]: Yeah, whatever that means.

You laugh to yourself, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth as you walk through your local grocery store to pick up items for dinner that night.

[You]: It fits you. Oh! What do you do for work?

[You]: Fair game since you know what I do.

[Frankie]: We’re all in the army. I work on aircraft.

Oh, that’s…not what you were expecting.

[Frankie]: It’s new. I’m trying to get my pilot's license right now. I’ve got a big test coming up for it.

[You]: That’s so cool! Take me for a ride sometime?

You smirk to yourself as you press send.

[Frankie]: Yes.

You look ridiculous smiling at your phone in the middle of the aisle but you can’t help it.

In the army. A pilot. And a gentleman? Or, at least he’s provided himself to be nice enough. You were both young, so it didn’t surprise you that you were both unluckily single. But, Frankie seemed like such a catch—and it terrified you how badly you wanted him. Even in the simplest form.

A friend, a best friend, even. Or more, definitely more. But, you didn’t mind either way.

He’s due to take the test for his pilot license the Monday after your last shift, showing up with the boys on that Friday before—typical routine and behavior, but he does seem a bit more handsy. Santiago has always been friendly, but he does hug you this time he sees you, catching you on the way back to the bar and he plants a kiss on your cheek that you welcome with a soft, playful shove of your hand at his face and if it strikes Frankie with jealousy, you don’t notice.

But, he does shock you when he wraps an arm around your front and hugs you lazily, haphazardly slumping his other arm over your shoulder as he plants a kiss in your the hair at the crown on your head and rubs your hip with his thumb, leaving you dumbstruck and wanton the rest of your shift, frazzled every time you glance his way.

Santiago orders a round of shots toward the end of the night and thanks you with a wink, departing for the table and interrupting the idle conversation the men were entranced in.

You’re not sure what was going on, wiping down the counter as the night slowed down and casually flicking your eyes up to check on them, hearing them laugh occasionally, glancing your way briefly and suddenly Frankie was headed your way, fiddling around with the brim of his hat as he pressed a forearm against the countertop you had just wiped down.

You snap him gently with the towel and give him a look, he backs away slightly, hovering over the edge of the counter.

“What’s up?”

“They’re a bunch of dicks, I’m sorry.” Frankie deflected, glancing back at the boys who were staring on with sated smirks, clearly enjoying the sight of him fumbling and dropping the ball as he spoke to you. His eyes flick up wearily, soft and so distinct to him that it makes your heart ache. “Pope—Santiago, he dared me to come over and kiss you. And it’s stupid but if I didn’t at least try I would never hear the end–”

You pull him in by the collar of his shirt, the brim of his hat being pushed askew by the force as you press your lips to his in a simple, but unmistakable kiss. Tilting your head slightly as you pull away briefly to kiss him once more, dropping your towel to push your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck and it seems like his brain catches up too late, his fingers barely grazing your neck as you pull away.

You pointedly look around Frankie to flip the other three off with both hands.

“Get out of here,” You warn playfully, “before I murder one of them.”

Frankie huffs a soft laugh through his nose before he turns away, speechless.

They were out of there within a few minutes, but an hour later your lips were still tingling.

Frankie is different that Saturday—more energetic, seeming lighter and more playful.

He drinks one beer, then two, surprisingly a couple shots of tequila—and before you know it, you’re seeing a much different side of Frankie than you're used to and it is quite the sight.

“Am I cutting you off?” You ask curiously, “I don’t want you nursing a hangover tomorrow when you have your test on Monday.”

“One more,” Frankie promises, “but—surprise me?”

You shrug, not finding a problem with it.

“Sweet or savory?” You ask him.

You feel your breath catch slightly as he pauses, his eyes doing a subtle drag over your body as you take a couple steps back, reaching for an empty glass.

“Sweet.”

It has an underlying tension to it neither of you address.

You make something up on the fly—fruity and sweet with the slightest bit of tang, nothing that screams Frankie but when you set it down in front of him and he drinks, his eyes widen slightly.

And for half a second you think he might spit it out, but then he’s chugging the rest down—and maybe it’s alcohol dulling his taste buds but he makes a quick show of assuring you he liked it, even if it’s mostly for your own benefit.

Shaking his head as he licks at his lips with his tongue in a way that feels so unnecessary that you can’t help but giggle, snatching the empty glass away from him as he smiles, his eyes half-lidded from the faint buzz he has going on, but otherwise he still seems fine.

You couldn’t let him get that drunk, not when he had so much riding on that test.

By the end of the night, your side hurts from laughing so much, forceably having to shove your hand in Frankie’s face to get him to shut up for half a second, his fingers circling around your wrist as he pulls you forward and you giggle into his shoulder.

“Stay. Let me close up and we can walk through the back.” You tell him and he nods quietly, though his grin never fades, his thumb brushing over his bottom lip idly while he watches you work around the clutter and reorganize, cleaning everything down before you’re flicking off the lights and nodding at him to follow.

If it were anyone else, you’d have given them a stiff kick to the balls and sent them on their way, but the moment Frankie noses at your neck your hard resolve melts and you shrug him away at how much it tickles your skin, feeling his hand wrap around the bicep on your left arm. He’s never been so touchy but you can’t say you don’t enjoy it. In fact, you’re eating it up at this point.

“Frankie,” You warn him playfully, working and failing to lock the door as uses his other hand to squeeze at your side, “come on—I can’t lock up with you doing that.”

“Try,” He teases, challenges, and you can’t help but like the bolder, less restrained side of himself he’s offering up to you.

The gentle nuzzling quickly turns to kisses, wet and open mouthed as he practically drapes himself over you, one hand pressed into the brick wall beside the backdoor and you sigh softly, leaning into his chest as you finally get the door locked and shrug him away.

“Am I going to see you next week?” He asks hopefully, knowing that with August looming in the distance that your job at the bar was close to being nullified.

You shake your head with a bittersweet smile, “Tomorrow is my last day, actually. For now, anyway.”

Frankie’s brow furrows at that and he shakes his head slightly before he’s invading your space, hands cupping your face as he lifts your chin up to meet your lips and kisses you gently, your fingers coming up to curls around his forearms and you feel his lips part just as you pull away.

“What—what are you doing?” You ask him, feeling like an echo as he comes back to the surface with a delayed response, trying to kiss you again but you're pressing your fingertips over his lips until he realizes that you actually want an answer.

“I’ve wanted you all summer,” He admits and it makes your blood run hot, that distinct tingle of pleasure shooting down your spine and it is nothing you were expecting him to say, but tonight was full of surprises apparently, “do I need to prove it to you?”

He presses his forehead against your own and you shake your head in response. You believed him, you didn’t doubt him for a second—but it feels surreal. Those quick, fleeting summer flings you only hear about in passing, never expecting to experience it yourself.

You may never see him again, you had to strike the match while it was still in reach.

“Are there cameras back here?” Frankie asks hastily.

You snort, “No—we’re five minutes away from college dorms in the poorest part of town. People come here for cheap booze, not security.”

Frankie nods at that, “You’re right,” He responds but the end is muffled as he kisses you again, with less care and a lot more tongue as you open your mouth to him and find the words on your tongue are muffled by his.

And thank god the street lights were shit in the back alley, barely working amongst the occasional flicker, you eventually find your way in the darkened corner of the back alley with Frankie’s hand working at the button on your jeans, almost tripping over an overturned crate on the way there that causes you both to burst into a fit of giggles, laughing through the sloppy kisses Frankie can’t help but smother you with, sighing when his fingers dip past the denim and thin fabric underwear to cup your pussy with his entire hand, the warmth of his palm like an answered prayer.

His hat is frustrating though, constantly bumping and prodding at your head before you finally get fed up, plucking it off his head and tossing it to the ground with an annoyed sigh that forces a choked laugh from Frankie’s throat, dipping a finger down the center of your core before pressing inside of you, gasping at the sudden but welcomed intrusion. You release a shaky sigh and open your eyes to look at him, finding he’s plenty amused but still buzzed in his own way.

Half beer, half pleasure—but he looks like he wants to devour you.

Lucky for you, he was starving.

Your mouth hangs open slightly, breathing picking up as he angles his fingers and slips another inside, curling them toward you from within and you pull at the curls at the nape of his neck.

He smirks in amusement, “Wish you could see how needy you look,” Frankie comments, “all it took was a couple fingers, huh?”

You roll your eyes playfully, “Too bad it took you all summer,” You pester him as he picks up the intensity, using his other hand to push your jeans lower down your hips, “and some stupid fuckin’ drink to make you finally want to have sex with.”

“Sex?” Frankie jokes through a throaty chuckle, “Who said anything about—”

Your hand cups the front of his jeans firmly, a little harsher than necessary but you can tell he doesn’t mind, almost challenging you to tease him a little more but the moment you both hit a solid wall you’re tripping over each other’s feet and it pulls you back to the surface and despite your clothes being half-stripped away and Frankie’s hand still shoved down the front of your jeans, it brings back a surprising amount levity to assess the situation at hand.

“I mean, do you want to?” You ask him curiously, tucking a curl behind his ear as he blinks, considering how this would affect his relationship with you, as brief and fleeting as it was.

“You’re really asking me that?” He responds, “Of course.”

“Well, I mean you did just say—”

Frankie places his palm over your mouth, muffling the end of your sentence.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He deflects, hoping you’ll play along.

You work at his belt without hesitation, far over the small talk and tired of wasting time. Frankie pulls his hand away much to your disappoint, pouting slightly as he drag his hand up your stomach, under your shirt until he’s got it tucked under your chin and mouthing of your bra greedily, the fingers of his other hand peeking around the fabric to pull it down, taking the soft, pebbled nipple into his mouth and sucking with a satisfied groan as you dip your hand beyond his waistband and over his boxers, pulled tight against his thighs and groin. You could picture the sight of him in your mind for hours if you wanted, but you had him here, right here.

Why not give yourself a peek at the real thing?

Frankie is lost, deep within the exploration of your body that he doesn’t even hear your voice when you plead with him, his voice grazing over the delicate skin of your breasts as he pulls away, already ready to descend and yank your jeans the rest of the way down, press his face between your legs and feast on you like it was the best thing he’s tried all night.

But, there’s the pout again—so subtle he would miss it had he not finally given you his full, undivided attention and he was right. You are needy.

His thumb rubs at the small sliver of your lip that’s poking out, rocking his hips gently into the hand still tucked away into his jeans—there was such a distinct charm to him, melting under his gaze the second his eyes made contact with your own. Every time.

“I don’t wanna keep you,” You whine emphatically and Frankie almost immediately begins to shake his head—

No. No, of course not. You wouldn’t be keeping him at all. Not a chance, not a fuckin—his inner monologue is going wild but he finds you perking up at the slowly growing panic on his face.

“But,” You breath, the thumb that was resting at your bottom lip trailing down the valley of your breasts before he cups one gently in his hand, “I couldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t give you at least something to remember this.”

“Couldn’t forget about you if I tried, actually,” He begins, but you shake your head, shushing him and pushing his hand away before you sink to your knees despite the immediate protest in your knees at the hard gravel—but god was it fucking worth it when you look up, half-lidded eyes staring back as you shake his jeans down his hips, just far enough that you can watch as he does the work with his boxers, cock bobbing free as he settles the band underneath his balls and if has to look away by that point, overwhelmed in the way your eyes roam but you don’t speak, clearly admiring and seering this to memory as you smile cheekily, taking his cock in your hand and jerk him slowly, thumb running along the vein that follows to the head of his cock.

“Get off the floor,” He begs pathetically, “gonna tear your knees up doing that.”

You laugh quietly to yourself and slide your tongue along the head of his cock, dipping down the slit of his head and to his shaft, pulling back at the skin and taking him into your mouth fully. He’s uncircumcised, thick and perfect—he fills your mouth out so beautifully in all his girth that you wonder just how much better it can feel between your legs, filling you out in the best way.

“Oh, jesus—baby, that’s,” You hum, bobbing your head in constant rhythm as your work your free hand around his balls, cupping them and allowing your other hand to cover the rest of what your mouth couldn’t take of his length and Frankie looks like he might actually pass out, looking around desperately for something, anything to lean on before he just settles for the wall behind you, resting both of his palms against the brick as he towers over you.

Frankie sighs shakily, dropping a hand to tuck against the back of your head, and your stomach swirls with anticipation as he allows himself to break his restrain a little, guiding his cock into your mouth with little aide given how eager you were as you took him as far as you could go, brush your nose against the trimmed patch of hair at the base and feel his hand flex in your hair, gripping it tight and attempting to pull you off to no avail, repeating the process until he’s begging for you to slow down, give him just a few seconds to breathe, ultimately finding that you don’t stop until he finally finds his voice again, stuttering out a desperate, “Stop, stop, stop–”

You pull away suddenly, worrying crossing your face but quickly dissipating as Frankie laughs, pulling you to your feet without much fight on your part and he does notice the few scraps on your knees, collecting with blood and he really wishes you would have listened but you brush him off, his body pressing you up against the brick wall behind you, pants still hanging at his thighs and his dick pressed against your stomach, shirt still sloppily bunched up over your tits.

“Can I fuck you?” He asks, so vulgar it makes you pulse around absolutely nothing, his eyes roving over your face curiously, his thumb tracing over your lips, with a soft mumble, “God, I need you so bad.”

“My car,” You respond, tongue pressing against the pad of his fingertip as you nod behind him, “Condoms, they’re—in the car.”

Frankie makes a face, sort of amused but a little confused.

“Shut up,” You null his question before it slips out—”It’s precaution, okay? Guys love to pull the whole—”

“No, I—I get it,” Frankie answers, a small laugh rounding out his tone, “I just figured, you know—we’d…go back to your place? Or mine?”

Your hand fists into his shirt slowly, pulling him impossibly closer like he wasn’t already pressed against every surface of your body.

“What if I can’t wait?” Your eyes soften, looking up at him and catching the swipe of his tongue over his bottom lip, wanting to taste that tinge of sugar that lingers with him, “Would you fuck me right now?”

Frankie nods eagerly and you don’t hesitate, grabbing for his hat, placing it against his chest and gripping his hand in your own before you shove him away gently and lead him to your car, mostly covered in darkness aside from the obnoxiously orange streetlight that glowed overhead. Your clothes haphazardly pulled back up as you clamber into the driver's seat to reach over the console and into the glovebox, aware of the hand that slides between your leg as you search in the poor lighting, squealing when he squeezes at the flesh under his grip and shoving the foil wrapper into Frankie’s chest when you finally get your hand on the box.

“Off,” He tells you, pulling at the zipper of your jeans, “all the way.”

There was so much going on in your mind, nothing you could pluck out and focus on but it buzzed with excitement, anticipation, the kind of adrenaline that only comes in situations when your judgment is hasty and not fully-thought out. You’re barely kicking your shoes off and pulling your jeans past your ankle before Frankie is manhandling you into the backseat, and pressing his face between your thighs as he licks into you, a surprised gasp tearing from your throat as you grip the seats wherever you can.

Your pussy throbs under the care of his tongue, and he carries on obnoxiously, making a mess between your legs as his fingertips grip at the flesh of your ass and force you to open yourself wider to him, “Frankie—” You interject weakly, but he silences you with his mouth, sucking at your clit like it was his new obsession and you whine so pathetically that you find you covering your mouth in shame, biting gently at your bicep to muffle the flurry of sounds that came out after.

He pulls away some time later—minutes, hours, days, you can’t even place it. But, you hear him shift, the rip of the wrapper and the jingling of his belt as he shifts his jeans further down and slides into the backseat more comfortably, hovering over you. His hands squeezing at your hips, a comforting gesture as he speaks from behind you.

“Are you sure?”

It’s sweet, you can admit that. But, you don’t need that.

“Frankie.”

He wasn’t budging. Because, if by some sudden change of heart you didn’t want this, he wanted to know.

“Yes. Yes,” You say, turning slightly to look over your shoulder, his face only an inch or so away as you tuck your arm back and push your fingers into his hair, pulling his face next to yours as he pushes inside of you slowly, yanking gently at the strands between your fingers as he settles, a soft sigh falling from your lips.

“Let me hear you,” He begs, “It’s just us.”

He hears you all the time, voice carrying across the bar but never like this—for him, only for him.

He pulls back gently, snapping his hips firmly and you hum softly, slightly giddy over the entire situation. He continues that way, so gentle and cautious that it makes you wonder why you both avoided this for so long, “More?” Frankie asks. You nod and his pace quickens slightly, a little harsher, and your hand grips onto the passenger seat beside your head for leverage as he chest rumbles with a deep sigh, “Fuck this is—baby, you have no idea.”

“Tell me,” You plead, the quiet creak of the car drowned out by your loud, pathetic moans as Frankie’s fingers curl around your throat and hold, no pressing or squeezing, just another place for them to find a home.

“Thought about this—so many times,” He admits, “came here for months—fuck, months. And then you show up and I was nervous—couldn’t, couldn’t even think of what to say to you. I knew I’d embarrass myself in front of them.” He squeezes then, a gentle pressure on your throat that has your eyes rolling back in your head.

“I had to see you alone,” His throat is tight, his breath a little quicker as he speaks, his hips snapping into you at a steady pace that clouds your mind effortlessly, “wanted you for myself—and, I would’ve fucked you that first night if you’d let me.”

You cunt squeezes him tight at his words and he curses, “So greedy, baby. She’s drooling all over me—such a fucking mess,” And you need to see him, face the man who’s finally found just the right amount of confidence to make you speechless. You lean up suddenly and force a hand into his chest and he only looks slightly confused before you’re pulling him inside and forcing him to sit into the cramped back seat, uncaring of the open car door as the car rocks with the weight of your bodies and you seat yourself on his lap, gripping his dick in your hand and sinking back down onto him without a word, curling yourself over him as you push away the hair clinging to his forehead, damp from sweat and his eyes are blown wide, staring up at you like he was under hypnosis, gaze locked on your own.

“Tell me now,” You challenge him—nowhere to hide behind his words.

“Would you—have let me fuck you that one night I walked you to your car?” He asks.

You smile guiltily, remembering the heat of his hand on your back, never really an accident.

“I’d have let you fuck me over the pool table if you asked, Frankie.” You admit, “In front of your friends too, if that’s what you really wanted.”

Frankie laughs weakly, giving you the lead as you lift your hips with a sudden eagerness.

“Is that what you want?” You tease him, “You guys are all about claim, right? Army boys love to show off—I mean, they’d probably be into it. Santi, for sure—”

Frankie covers your mouth with his hand and you giggle, biting playfully at the flesh of his palm.

He squeezes at your hip with his free hand, forcing you into a hurried pace as he begins to move his hips to meet your own, lifting off the seat slightly with every snap of his hips. Your cry is muffled by his hand but Frankie sees it in your eyes, the flutter of your eyelashes that tells him.

“Touch yourself, babygirl,” He tells you, “Let’s see how bad you want it.”

You lean back between the open space of the driver and passenger seat, one hand gripping the upholstery of the seat while the other works between your legs, fingers drifting over your clit and into the mess of yourself that was leaking over Frankie’s cock from where it was buried inside of you and he wasn’t lying—you’ve never been so turned on in your life. Half-assed hook-ups and guys that didn’t give a shit about your own pleasure, Frankie was a goddamn dream and a hell of a good fuck.

You know your body well enough that it doesn’t take long, but the show is for Frankie’s benefit alone, head thrown back over your shoulders as your middle and ring finger circle your clit, occasionally wrapping your hand around what of his shaft was available as you tried weakly to move your hips, squeezing to pull a soft little gasp from his chest. It was such a damn shame you didn’t have him fully naked, splayed out on the mattress in your shitty apartment. You wanted to dig your nails into his skin, leave half crescent marks and a reminder of you for days, weeks even.

“Fuck, I’m right there, baby—” He warns, unexpectedly joining your own fingers and forcing you over the edge just before he pulls you in, a brutal snap of his hips before he’s muffling the deep groans of his orgasm into your skin, teeth sinking gently into your shoulder.

The next few minutes is spent in a blissful silence, moving off of him carefully as he discards the condom but never letting you drift to far, still curled up and half naked on his lap as he pushes a strand of hair away from your face, pulling you in for a kiss that takes your breath away, literally pulls from your chest and makes your heart stop.

Oh…this was not good.

You breathe shakily and pull away with a smile that masks that sudden ache in your chest and kiss again at the inside of his palm. He leans his head against the backseat, eyes closed as he catches his breath and groans slightly when you move off of him, oblivious and exhausted as you redress hastily beside him, pulling your jeans back up your legs and over your hips, slipping your shoes on and readjusting your shirt, shaking him gently when you fear he might have passed out right there in the back of your car.

“Frankie,” You call out, saying his name a few more times before you call out, one last time, “Francisco, hey.”

His eyebrows raise in question, a subtle smile on his lips as he peeks an eye open to look at you.

“I really need to get home,” You tell him, laughing half-heartedly at his drunken stupor, “you’ve gotta go.”

Frankie seems to realize then that he can’t drag this out any longer, redressing himself slowly as he climbs out of the car, watching you fiddle with your shirt and your appearance, trying to not look like you just got fucked in the backseat of your car.

He seems to notice the slight dismay on your face, knowing that your lives were diverting down different paths, but this was still the present. Now. And he was still here.

He presses you into the driver’s side door and kisses you then, hands crawling up the side of your neck and caressing the curve of it, dipping his tongue past your lips and really stealing your breath away, moaning into your mouth like you were the greatest thing he’s ever tasted.

You pull away regrettably when you feel him start to ramp up again, “Good luck on your test, by the way.” You tell him honestly, “You can text me the good news when you pass.”

Frankie chuckles, “I will.” There’s a long pause and then he’s speaking again, the few words you weren’t sure you wanted to hear, “Can I see you again?”

The hesitance is obvious on your face and it kicks Frankie down a peg, but he gets it. He wasn’t a boyfriend, barely even a friend. But, he was still hopeful.

“Maybe.” You offer, “I mean—you still have my number. I’m just a text or call away, you know.”

Frankie couldn’t admit that you were the only thing getting him through this summer without relapsing or making another misstep, that wasn’t your burden. But, the weight on his heart is heavy and his own to bear, welcoming the hug you offer him immediately and squeezing you so tight you might break, but of course, you don’t.

And he thinks that if he showed up broken, in pieces, that you would know exactly how to piece him back together, but he hoped that never happened. That maybe you might manage to escape him and he wouldn’t drag you down with him.

“Goodbye, Frankie.”

He smiles and nods, settling his hat back on his head as he steps away.

You leave soon after, not sure why this sudden dark cloud is looming over you.

Frankie never texts you about his test and the texts you send in the aftermath are never responded to—and eventually you give up, feeling like an idiot for being hopeful in the first place.

↝ beta: @chaotic-mystery

↝ divider credit: yours truly.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x y/n #francisco morales smut #frankie morales smut #francisco morales #frankie morales fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #triple froniter #my writing

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certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 2 months

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Could we get a jealous Spider-Man Ethan Landry 👀? Maybe with like Harry Osborn in there 🤭🤭

i changed it to mindy instead (cause her actress was in the miles morales game and also idk what it is about taking actual marvel characters into an au, it feels wrong to me. idk idk 🤷🏼‍♀️) fem!reader

“you must be the stunning girlfriend of our loser friend.” you looked up from your textbook to see a dark skinned, slim girl peering down at you. her piercing gaze and slight smirk caused you to shuffle in your seat.

“who’s- who’s your friend?” not recognizing her off the bat, though you’ve only met ethan’s roommate.

the girl pulled up a chair across from you, “mindy. you’ve probably met my brother, chad already.” you perked up with a shocked smile, “oh! he did mention a twin sister. and i think most of the photos in his dorm are older cause i think you had longer hair.”

she smiled, “yeah. wanted a new look for college, less maintenance too.” rubbing a palm over her tight curls. “suits you,” giving a quick compliment.

her eyes dragged over your face, “so how long have you and landry been dating?” you blinked at the sudden topic change, “uh two, almost three months.”

“wow, and we haven’t seen you yet? i get why though, totally out of his league.” her nails tapped atop the desk in a smooth rhythm.

you didn’t know how to respond to the compliment. “mindy?” luckily your boyfriend came to save the day. ethan pecked a kiss to your cheek before retaking his seat beside you.

mindy cocked her head, “hey landry, just meeting this mysterious girl of yours. why the secret?”

ethan shrugged, “we’re all kinda busy. wanted to have her to myself before finals rolled in.” his fingers rubbed a circle on your knee.

“uh huh. sounds like chad’s the only one to know of this pretty one’s existence. not fair.” an exaggerated pout as she crossed her arms.

you felt ethan grab the leg of your seat and tugged you closer, chairs pressed together with your thigh basically thrown over his. you saw him narrow his eyes, “we hang out a lot in my room, it’s normal for them to see each other.”

“and i thought it was normal to introduce people?”

“we- we both agreed to wait before doing intro- introductions.” defending ethan from mindy’s… something attitude towards him.

she hummed and stood from the desk, her eyes honed on you. “hope to get to see you again soon, beautiful.” and she walked off.

ethan took a deep sigh, “and that’s why i wanted to stay away from her specifically.”

#a 1.5k movie night🎞️#erin writes ethan #ethan landry fanfiction #ethan landry scream 6 #ethan landry fic #ethan landry x fem!reader #ethan landry oneshot #ethan landry fluff #ethan landry scream #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry x reader #spider man!ethan landry

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 3 months

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AITA for playing video games?

(Tw for possible ableism?? Idk)

I (31M) have loved video games ever since I was little. They're comforting to me and have gotten me through a lot of hard times. I'm also autistic, and half of my hyperfixations have been on video games.

My girlfriend (27F) and I have been dating for 4 years, and overall have had a very good relationship. I've never liked a girl this much. But a recent disagreement has made me reconsider things.

She recently confessed to me that she doesn't like that I play video games, and that she especially doesn't like how obsessed I get over them. She says that it's childish and embarrassing, and that I should be focused more on my adult life.

I was pretty upset. I am admittedly quite immature for my age and do have some hangups on my age, and I've always worried that people would judge me for having these kinds of interests as I get older. I understand there's a stereotype of adult men spending all their time on video games and being irresponsible, but that's not me. I spend plenty of time with my girlfriend and although my job isn't great, that's down to my mental health issues (which I'm working on) more than anything else.

I pointed these things out to her, and also argued that she used to love video games, to which she had responded that she had naturally grown out of that as she'd gotten older and had expected me to do the same. I also explained that I was autistic and that a lot of my hyperfixations were on video games, and she said that while she understood that, surely there was a way I could find something more 'mature' to be hyperfixated on. She also scoffed a bit when I said I was autistic - I've always worried that she doesn't believe me because I'm self diagnosed, but I'm certain that I am (it's outright dangerous to be diagnosed as autistic in this country unfortunately).

We agreed to disagree, but her final word was that it would make her really happy if I could move on from video games and be an adult. I'm pretty upset.

I'd also like to add that this isn't a case of me neglecting the progression of our relationship. We don't want to get married, we've already moved in together, we've met eachothers' families, and while we do want kids, we want to wait until we're a bit more financially stable. This is solely her feeling that as a 31 year old man, I'm too old to play video games.

I don't think there's anything wrong with my hobbies - they make me happy and I'm not a 'toxic' gamer (most of the games I play are story based and I'm very respectful to other players in the ones that aren't). I don't think hobbies should have age limits, honestly. But it really bothers me that she's hurt by this - I love my girlfriend so much, and the fact that I don't think I can give up video games for her makes me feel really guilty. Honestly, I was really happy when we started dating that she also liked video games, I thought we could play together!

But I'm just scared that I've unintentionally been a shitty boyfriend, which is why I'm asking,

AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole

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yeahihyperfixtate · 10 days

Text

♡ — luke and kieran x assassin!reader

content : fluff, suggestive (like you have to squint), nonmc!reader, reader contexted to have killed ppl, idk luke and kieran being adorable, more or less the twins x reader

authors note : i havent written stuff in a year hope we're somewhat back in the game. idk I love luke and kieran and this idea has been buzzing about since I met them in game, and ik it says assassin but assistant felt too icky to call reader so yeah, enjoy pls <3

♡ — assassin!reader who, in her vulnerable youth, was taken under the wing of onychinus's mysterious leader, revealing a hidden purpose and destiny within her.

♡ — assassin!reader who quickly fell in line when an opportunity arose, casting aside her former recklessness as a besieged street rat, employing such developed cunning senses to eliminate anyone who dared interfere with the hailed leader of onychinus.

♡ — assassin!reader who was treated no differently than the others, used as a strategic asset in those dull meetings the sylus ordered her to attend, some remarking on the irony that no one in that overly cologned room took a woman seriously, even if she stood beside onychinus's revered leader.

♡ — assassin!readerwho only sighed at the memory of the last meeting as her boss spoke humorously. those who dared to push their limits with him, feeling a boost of superiority against one man in his lonesome and some unseen woman, lay with their throats slit as she returned to stand beside her seated superior, her actions displayed as a brief warning to those who tried to think the same.

♡ — assassin!reader who had to refrain her walls of stoicism from falling when she was handed her very own crow mask, briefed that she would be under his direct commands, no other.

♡ — assassin!reader who after a few months of securing a spot directly under sylus’s hand, was introduced to her previously unknown, equally skilled comrades, luke and kieran—the infamous twins of onychinus—immediately affirming such with her new uniform, smaller but just as tactile copy of theirs.

♡ — assassin!reader who quickly learned the personalities she was forced to interact and work with daily, distinguishing between the vigorous, unpredictable nature of the older brother, Luke, and the calmer, more soothing demeanour of Kieran.

♡ — assassin!reader who while navigating these complex dynamics, found herself constantly adjusting herself, carefully tailoring her walls to stay upright as she interacted with the pair careful to not stitch herself into their lives, wanting no more than to rely only on herself, all while maintaining her unwavering loyalty to sylus.

♡ — assassin!reader who finds it increasingly hard to hold up these walls as she works with the pair, finding herself alongside the two during their free time, relaxing in one of sylus’s penthouses, awaiting his next command to fill the boredom that overshadows the three.

♡ — assassin!reader who isn’t respected by a selection of lower-ranked members due to her status of being a highly-ranked woman in onychinus, her name slandered continuously among the workplace.

♡ — assassin!reader who finds herself watching the twins with a mix of admiration and surprise as the two yank a man out of his chair, their aura cold and menacing. their victim, refusing to acknowledge her high rank, accompanied by a moment of foolishness calling her a bitch during a meeting the three were conducting. all triggered by her blunt criticism of his team’s failure to deliver the required number of protocores on time, fuelling the brothers' anger, actively threatening his life with a gun to his head unless he supplied an apology on his knees within the next five seconds.

♡ — assassin!reader who gradually comes to the profound realization of the deep significance the twins hold in her life, a startling epiphany triggered by a harrowing near-death experience on what should have been an ordinary mission gone south.

♡ — assassin!reader who often perches on a high-rise rooftop after successful missions, gazing over the mist-shrouded N109 zone. only recently finding herself joined by the twins, a result of their collaboration over the past few weeks.

♡ — assassin!reader who suddenly finds herself looking for the pair during her scarce free time, looking for the mix of comforting personalities to fill her boredom.

♡ — assassin!reader who finds herself swept up in their mischievous antics, reluctantly pressed against a wall corner alongside them, watching as an unsuspecting newcomer to onychinus gets a face full of pie upon opening the shared base fridge.

♡ — assassin!reader who finds her cheeks reddening as her two companions casually speculate about her appearance, pulling guesses on the colour and texture of her hair, her supposed eye colour and its shape, all while she attempts to avoid their curious eyes on her.

♡ — assassin!reader who silently prayed to whatever deity was watching, begging for an open grave to swallow her whole as luke reached out to hold her, thankfully, masked face, forcing it still in an attempt to peer past the red slits that lay over her eyes.

♡ — assassin!reader horrifyingly wishes she could jump off this very rooftop they resided on as kirean casually chimes into the conversation some more, audibly wondering about her form in outfits that weren't the current uniforms displayed. he shrugs it off, only adding fuel to the fire as he stretches on how he knows that 'you’re a beauty either way behind that mask', luke places the foreseen cherry on top as he agrees with his younger brother so casually, finally letting go of her burning face.

♡ — assassin!reader can only stare at the back of their heads as they both turn away from her, looking down at the streets below as if this was the most normal thing in the world

#lads x reader #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace luke #love and deepspace luke x reader #love and deepspace kirean #love and deepspace kirean x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace fluff

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gogobootz1 · 3 months

Text

The Mentor Pt. 9

Finnick Odair x Reader

Summary: The tributes of the 75th Hunger Games take one punch after the next, leaving you to wonder how long they can stay standing.

Warnings: literally the hunger games idk what to tell you

Part 8

You gnawed at your lip as you watched tributes sail through the water and up toward the cornucopia. Only, your tribute splashed more than sailed. In fact, it was a miracle she was even floating. Darla was never a strong swimmer, and when she dragged herself up onto the rocks, it was her bad luck to find Enobaria a few paces in front of her. Thoroughly unprepared for that fight, Darla turned tail and booked it for the beach.

Your eyes quickly flicked to another video feed. Just in time to see Katniss aim at Finnick. Your breathing stopped.

"Good thing we're allies, right?" He asked pointedly, smirking at her after a second. He flashed the gold bangle Haymitch had passed off to him the night before.

"Where did you get that?" Katniss eyed him skeptically, her arrow still locked on its target.

Finnick's face dropped when he saw movement from over her shoulder, "Where do you think? Duck!" With one swift move of the arm, he launched his trident. The man behind Katniss fell, his knife clattering to the rocks of the island.

From the ground, Katniss gaped at the corpse with wide eyes. Finnick tugged his trident free of the man's chest, "Don't trust One and Two. I'll take this side- you hold them off. I'll go find Peeta!"

For a moment, she only stared after him, stunned at how quickly he killed and how easily he walked away from it.

"Haymitch," the look on her face made you nervous, but you couldn't tear your gaze from the screen.

"It's fine," he assured you, gruffly. Sure enough, the girl was up the next minute and firing at Enobaria. You silently cursed when she missed.

"Katniss," Finnick drew her attention, "Mags found him, he's over here." The two ran towards the old woman, who desperately pointed toward a podium where Peeta grappled with someone in the water.

In under a second, Finnick was in after them. He cut through the water like he was born swimming, showing off his agility for the second time in five minutes. He had been first to the cornucopia, no surprise. But by the time he'd reached where Peeta and the other tribute had gone under, the District 12 boy had already resurfaced.

From the corner of your eye, you saw the tension melt from Haymitch's shoulders.

The two made it back to dry land and started off toward the woods with Katniss and Mags. Only then did you feel any relief. But your most pragmatic self told you the worst was yet to come.

You scanned the various feeds playing simultaneously and honed in on Darla. She was hurtling through the thick brush when her foot got snagged on a rock. She stopped only to prevent herself from falling.

"Fuck," she heaved, curling forward to rest her hands on her knees.

Darla dropped her butt to the grassy floor, catching her breath, "All alone in the jungle." She took a look around, "Great!"

After a few more breaths, she let her head fall on her knees, "I fucking hate the jungle." Her bereaved whisper made you laugh.

You plopped down on the side of the couch opposite Haymitch, grabbing your tablet.

"I was worried you'd never sit down," the older man snarked, "Thought you might crawl through the screen to go help." You felt it better not to dignify him with a response, opting instead to throw a cashew at him from the bowl on the table.

He flinched when it made contact with his forehead. You quickly averted your gaze to the tablet and blinked at the number that stared back at you. It was an insanely large amount that was only increasing. Apparently, the Capitol had liked Darla's snarky comment, too. You shouldn't have been surprised, though, her wit and relatability made her a fan favorite last time. In fact, it had practically won her the games with the amount of help you sent her way.

As you customized her first gift, you prayed this time would be no different.

Darla lifted her gaze from the ground below when she heard a chime. The sight of a silver parachute brought a smile to her face, and she jumped up to snatch it from the air. Cracking the canister open, she first took the time to read the note you'd attached.

pleasure to serve you, Queen of the Jungle

Her nostrils flared as she huffed a laugh at your teasing. Darla tossed the scrap of paper aside to free her prize from its prison.

She unraveled the brand-new whip with ease, not even bothering to admire it before giving it a try.

An incredible crack filled the air, scaring birds from their trees. It turned some heads, too, not that Darla would know it from where she stood. Various video feeds showed some tributes momentarily puzzling at the noise. They all dismissed it, much to your relief. It seemed she'd been too far to distract Katniss and Co. from whatever spat they were having. You scowled at their distance, having hoped it wouldn't take Darla long to find her allies.

Darla grinned at her new toy and was even happier to spot something else in the canister. She eagerly tugged the flask out and unscrewed it, tilting her head back to take a long drink. She seemed surprised at the taste but happily took a second sip.

"You think booze will help with dehydration?" Haymitch asked skeptically from his side of the couch.

You glared at him, "It's lemonade." He scrunched his nose once proven wrong.

"Not very practical, is it?" He couldn't help himself.

"If you don't like my gifts, then send your own," you snarked.

"Fine," he bit back. "Let's see... what should I send my dear children?" He scrolled aimlessly on his tablet while the game makers highlighted the footage of the Four/Twelve alliance.

"Haymitch," you tried to grab his attention, to no avail. "Haymitch!" You leaned over to hit his arm just as Peeta was launched away from the forcefield. The District Twelve mentor sprang up, stepping toward the screen. You barely caught a glimpse of Finnick starting CPR before Haymitch eclipsed your view entirely.

Meeting Haymitch where he stood, you did your best to pull him away. "You can't crawl in there and save him yourself," you spoke quietly, lightly leading him back by his elbow. Once he was back on the couch, you tried to reassure him. "He can do it," Finnick had saved people from drowning before, why would this be any different? You sincerely hoped it wouldn't be, or this whole operation could go down the gutter.

Finally, a meek voice came through, "Careful. There's a force field up ahead." Relieved laughter came happily from Haymitch, and you cracked a smile. Katniss was especially grateful, kissing Peeta firmly before fawning over him as she brought him to stand.

Your gaze went to Finnick, as always, and you caught him blink at the hug the two shared. Katniss' hands shook as she held her 'husband' tight. You couldn't help but think the two of you would look similar when reuniting.

________________________

As the sun set, you were happy to see Darla settled in for the night. She had climbed a tree, using the gifted whip to secure herself to the trunk. You were also glad to see Johanna and Blight working with the District Three tributes. From what you'd gathered, they'd play a crucial role later on.

The other group you kept an eye on wasn't so peaceful.

You sighed when you saw Katniss and Finnick were at each other's throats yet again.

"If I'd wanted to kill either of you, I would have done it by now," he seethed, thoroughly frustrated. He'd saved Peeta's life and was still getting glares from the girl. You could tell he was at his wit's end. Covered in sweat from lugging an extra ninety pounds of Mags through the jungle. Not to mention extremely dehydrated.

It was true, too. Finnick would've had Katniss when her back was turned at the cornucopia. He could've killed her as easily as the man who came up behind her. And while the tribute Peeta had killed struggled against him in the water, Finnick would have had no such difficulties. If he was playing to win, it would've been a different game.

When the anthem came on, you turned to Haymitch, "How about some water?"

He nodded, focused on the slideshow of fallen tributes, "Yeah, I'll take a glass."

"For them," you spat, and he snapped out of his stupor.

"Right," he tapped a few things on his tablet before setting it aside. You only half-watched the slideshow, having taken careful notes on the deaths all day, but perked up when you heard a chime.

"Hey," Katniss noticed the parachute first, sliding downhill a bit to collect it. Finnick was quick to follow. "Drink up?" She read the note, confused.

"What is it?" Finnick's voice sounded from over her shoulder.

"It's from Haymitch," she shook her head, turning the metal device over in her hand. "I think it's a spile," she said, standing from her crouch.

"A what?" Finnick asked, turning his head to track her fast footsteps. When she started hammering it into a tree, he came to her side, as did Peeta.

There were smiles all around when water came pouring out.

"You're kidding me," Finnick laughed, "you're kidding me!" His big grin inspired one of your own. He encouraged Peeta to have some water before he greedily lapped up his own. He wiped his face, too, before attempting to fetch some water for Mags.

"Nice work," you praised Haymitch, "that's a consistent source."

"You might even call it... practical," he said jokingly. Your smile dropped.

"Last time I compliment you, old man," you sneered.

________________________

Haymitch retired back to his suite on the earlier side. You promised him you'd keep an eye on things, and that's exactly what you'd been doing. Along with Finnick and Katniss, you noted the twelve chimes when they went off and the lightning that followed. Darla slept right through both.

You cursed when blood started smothering Johanna's crew. Poor Blight died the same way Peeta would've gone. Clearly distraught and still half-blind, Johanna had managed to lead the District Three tributes out of the ghastly downpour.

Your stress only multiplied when the game makers chose to highlight Katniss's feed again. They only did that when they were sure something interesting was about to happen, as they had earlier when Peeta was heading straight for the forcefield.

Katniss perked up when the constant hum of the jungle was snuffed out. She looked up to find white, billowy fog moving in. Reaching out to the tendril that reached for her, she howled in pain when it made contact, snatching her hand back to find boils plaguing her skin.

"RUN! Run! The fog is poison!" She managed to warn her allies and took off away from the danger.

You leaned forward, eyes nervously darting across the screen as Finnick rushed Mags onto his back. The four raced away from the fog, coming up ever quicker at their heels. Your eyes grew glassy as you watched them fall and cry out from the pain. It swarmed them from all directions, and you stood when Finnick stumbled, screaming. You watched with bated breath as he managed to recover, taking Mags to reconvene with Katniss and Peeta.

"I can't carry him," Katniss cried, looking hopelessly at Finnick. His face dropped, and a pit formed in your stomach. When Mags grabbed his shoulder, you clapped a hand over your mouth. You knew they'd all promised to give their lives for Katniss and Peeta if it came down to it, but you also knew Finnick was determined they'd never get to that point. But Mags had made the decision for him, giving him a kiss and running headfirst into the fog.

You flinched when the cannon went off and felt hot tears spill down your cheeks as Finnick cried out for his mentor. Katniss stopped him from running after her, and together, they managed to drag Peeta away.

Gasping as they fell down a steep hill, you could only hope the fog would pass over. It proved not to be an issue when it met an invisible wall and rolled up that instead of onto your tributes. You could only sigh in relief when Katniss found that water sapped the gas trapped in her boils. Though you nearly cried again hearing Finnick's screams of agony when they dragged him into the pond.

It wasn't long before they faced yet another obstacle from the game makers. Pairs of glowing yellow eyes surrounded their position in the water. Finnick noticed first, nudging Katniss by the arm and nodding toward them. His eyes scanned around, assessing just how many they'd have to face. He didn't hesitate to grab his weapon as they continued to move in.

The first of the monkeys attacked when Peeta joined them, and the three made an impressive show of putting down one after the next. You were glad when they started moving, sure that the game makers had an endless supply of replacements at the ready.

As they ran, however, a monkey managed to pin Peeta. He only escaped when one of the District Six tributes tackled it off him, earning herself some nasty wounds in the process.

"Who is that?" Katniss asked him.

"A Morphling," he rushed out, "help me get her!" The two dragged the woman's body toward the beach, leaving Finnick to swat and stab at monkeys alone.

He took the chance to run after them when he managed to swing one monkey right into its companion. They were right at his heels, though, and one managed to scratch along his Achilles tendon as he leaped for the beach. Finnick quickly rolled over and stabbed his trident at the creatures who seemed unable to pass the tree line. As they retreated back into the brush, he tilted his head in confusion and adjusted his grip on his weapon.

You cringed when you noticed the blood leaking from his leg and staining the white sand. Clearly, the adrenaline prevented him from feeling the extent of the wound. He only looked away from the tree line when the canon from the tribute Peeta was cradling went off. Both Twelve tributes returned to the sand before the plane came to pick up the body.

After it departed, Finnick stood to head toward the water. He only then seemed to realize he was hurt. With one step, he was hissing in pain, glancing down to discover the wound. Grimacing, he dropped back to the sand.

You gnawed on the inside of your cheek. Obviously, some of the other Four victors could send him something. Sponsors would be lining up to help him out. And yet, you eyed the tablet Haymitch had abandoned when he turned in. A District Ten gift to tributes from Four and Twelve would seem suspicious. But a District Twelve gift to be shared with their ally.

Casting a swift glance over your shoulder, you lunged for the other tablet. Opening it up, it was clear Katniss and Peeta weren't hurting for sponsors. Money was currently coming into their account too- people were impressed at their performance. Certainly, Haymitch wouldn't miss some that he'd never realized he had.

You selected a large jar of salve, applicable to cuts and to soothe any leftover chemical burns from the acid fog. Along with some bandages, it'd make a fine gift. With the advancements in Capitol medicine, they'd all be good as new within a few hours.

The chime drew the three tributes' attention. Katniss stood from the sand to catch it as it sailed down. She cracked it open, briefly glancing at the medical supplies before picking up the note.

"Sharing is caring," she read aloud.

Peeta laughed a bit, "Look at Haymitch getting sentimental." Katniss didn't seem to find the same humor he did.

"Right," she said flatly, barely quirking a brow. Why didn't Haymitch sign this one?

Tension melted from your shoulders as you watched them pass around the salve. They let Finnick go first and use the gauze and bandages to wrap his lower leg. You were happy to see the three of them on the mend.

________________________

The sun was rising when Darla awoke, though she felt like it’d been beating down on her. With the amount of sweat dripping off of her, she was surprised it hadn’t been daylight for hours. The heat was so stifling, in fact, that she was actually finding it hard to get air.

Darla quickly untied herself from the tree, clambering down it with just her whip and flask in hand.

The many supplies that she and the rest of the tributes lacked struck you. You couldn’t imagine why Snow and Plutarch wouldn’t want to keep their stars shining, a nice long and entertaining games with all of their favorite players would surely make the Capitol happy. Or maybe Snow just wanted Katniss in the ground as fast as possible. Either way, supplies only would’ve slowed Darla down in her climb.

You shifted uncomfortably when she didn’t seem to find any relief on the ground either. Having just seen Finnick flee poison fog and fend off monkeys, you were almost certain this was the start of another challenge from the game makers. Although, that struck you, too. Why go through all this trouble when bloody hand-to-hand combat would bring in better ratings? Who would want to see Darla sweat to death? Her fans would certainly rather see her die on her feet, fighting valiantly until her fight was done, though the thought sent shivers down your spine.

The same went for Finnick. Why force him to stab monkeys when they just as easily could’ve nudged his alliance toward potential adversaries?

Perhaps Plutarch thought confrontations would accidentally clue Katniss into the plan happening around her, without her. Seeing allies die for her would eventually arouse suspicion. That made sense, at least, but, unfortunately for him, it was already happening. Mags first, your throat clenched at the thought, and the District Six woman that jumped out of hiding for Peeta. It was a miracle they had yet to catch on, especially considering Finnick had saved Peeta's life twice.

Darla still didn’t seem to be doing great out in the jungle. She was sweating bullets, but it was only accumulating. No doubt the humidity in the dome was something fierce. She seemed to be heading for the beach but soon started swaying. Close after, she stumbled into a tree and propped herself up on it with an arm. She was still nowhere near the water of the beach.

You nervously bit at your cuticle as you watched her slide down that same tree a minute later. She was looking worse and worse, thoroughly exhausted. Darla managed to uncap her flask and finish off the lemonade, holding the bottle to her forehead to try to cool down. She set it on the ground after a moment, and her eyelids began fluttering only a moment later.

Now you were really concerned. If another tribute stumbled onto her in this state it’d be bad news. She was clearly suffering from heat exhaustion, and, despite having the rest of the lemonade, she would be deeply dehydrated. While the rest of the tributes seemed hot, she was the only one suffering like this.

Eventually, Darla shifted in her heat-induced slumber, and her hand grazed the metal container. She bolted straight up with a hiss, rubbing at her palm. Nervously, she poked at the flask quickly. The thing was red-hot, warmed from its contact with the ground. She made a face, finding it suspicious, but not surprising.

You were glad to see her awake again, seeming a bit sharper. And you were even happier to watch her hear water rushing, then discover a small brook. Darla gulped some up, then sunk into it like a bird in a fountain. It clearly brought her hot skin some relief.

Her peaceful moment was not meant to last long, however, and she looked up to find the source of a noise. You grimaced when the game makers chose that moment to highlight her video feed. The angle they chose came from behind Darla, her shoulder framing the entrance to a shadowy cave.

She tilted her head when she noticed it- the cave in the jungle. That noise she’d heard surely had to come from it. The low growl could’ve been whatever power the Capitol was using to run this place, but she knew better. Keeping her eyes locked on the cave, Darla felt around for her weapon. It didn’t take long to unravel the whip and perch on a rock along the stream. The fast move gave her a bit of a head rush. She determinedly blinked it off, and braced herself for whatever she was about to face.

The great hulking bear didn’t waste any time, it came hurtling from the dark opening at a sprint. Darla didn’t hesitate to crack the whip against the ground in front of it. The noise startled the creature enough to buy her a few seconds, but her own heat exhaustion ate them right back up. Her vision blurred as she stood, and she misstepped poorly enough to go stumbling downhill. She stopped rolling when she smacked back-first into a large rock.

You flinched at the impact, sure that if she hadn’t broken some ribs, she’d bruised them. Worse yet, her whip was sent flying from her hand. It landed against another rock further downhill.

While gravity worked fast, so did the beast. Its abnormally long legs and lengthened snout set it apart from the average bear. No doubt, the game makers had taken great pains crafting it. The thing caught up to her quickly.

Darla rolled onto her hands and knees before it could disembowel her. But she wasn’t fast enough to escape the attack entirely. One paw, practically the size of her back, pinned her to the jungle floor.

She cried out as her nose cracked against the ground, making her skull throb even worse. Head forced to one side, grass scratched lightly at her face as blood poured from her nostrils. All those issues faded away when the creature’s muzzle came into view. It sniffed right at her face, clearly interested in the blood, and she came to realize her window was closing. When it got just a centimeter closer, she stabbed her thumb into its eyes as hard as she could.

You couldn’t tell if it was black blood or motor oil that dripped from the knuckle of Darla’s thumb all the way down her forearm, but the squelch that came from her freeing her hand made you gag.

In an instant, the bear stumbled back, freeing her from its clutches. Darla practically dove down the hill, desperately trying to reach her whip. Jagged rocks scraped her legs and torso on the way.

Though disoriented, the scent of more of her blood was enough to have the beast righting itself. It ambled towards her, only too late. With a thundering crack, Darla landed a hit on its back. The beast tossed its head and howled out in pain. She refused to let up, sending the thing stumbling with a tug at its leg. And with a strong final throw, the whip wound itself around the abomination’s neck. Throwing the switch she’d found on the handle the night before, Darla could only pray that whatever surprise was in store would be enough to incapacitate it.

She smirked when it lit up a burning white, melting straight through the not-bear’s flesh. The smell of singed fur permeated the air as the thing’s head rolled to her feet. She looked down smugly and powered down her weapon.

“Fuck yeah!” You shouted at the screen and startled when you heard clapping behind you.

“I take it I didn’t miss much?” Haymitch asked sarcastically, seemingly stunned in the doorway.

________________________

You were a little concerned for Darla’s mental state when she chose to travel with the bear head. Haymitch assured you that you only had to intervene if she started talking to it.

When she stumbled onto the beach, Darla reared her arm back and chucked the head as hard as she could into the saltwater. It made a large splash out by an abandoned podium, and quickly sunk.

“Darla?” Came Finnick’s shocked voice.

“WHAT?!” She screamed back, causing you and Haymitch to wince. It took her a minute to realize who had spoken, and by then Finnick had already made his way over. She spun suddenly towards him and stumbled, dazed from the last hour and change she’d lived through. He was quick to steady her.

“Are you alright?” She glared back at him, feeling the answer was obvious. Mockingly, she shook her head, which only caused further aching.

Finnick winced and crouched down to give her a hug. Lightly, Darla hugged him back, accidentally wiping some of the black liquid onto his wetsuit. She shoved him away when he tried to soothingly pat her back.

“Watch it! A bear just stepped on me,” she scolded him.

“What?!”

Darla heaved a sigh, “Just- take me to your camp and get me water.”

Finnick blinked but chose not to argue. He guided her by the elbow back to where Katniss and Peeta sat, both on high alert.

"I guess we're at four again," Peeta whispered to Katniss as the two came closer.

Moving Darla by the shoulders, Finnick guided her to take a seat on the log he'd moved earlier. He snatched the spile from the sand along with the small basket he'd been weaving and made for a tree.

Darla silently addressed the District Twelve tributes sitting across from her. "Mags?" She asked them quietly, hoping Finnick was still out of earshot. They shook their heads in unison, and she nodded sadly. "What have you been facing?"

"Fog," Katniss supplied shortly, "monkeys." Darla seemed entirely unfazed by her attitude.

Peeta half-grimaced at her tone and tried to be more cordial, "How about you?"

"Well, I feel like I've been through hell and back," She snarked, scratching at her chin. Flecks of dried blood fell off as she did.

"Looks like it," Katniss mumbled, but not quietly enough. A wide smile split Darla's face at the comment, displaying the blood that had even coated her teeth.

"Aren't we a jolly crew?" She mocked. Peeta heaved a sigh, foreseeing Katniss bickering with yet another ally. Maybe Darla's presence would bring her around on Finnick. " 'Can't blame you," she shrugged, "I'd be mad too if I was in here and knocked up. You just can't win."

Katniss's jaw fell to the floor, and Darla turned smugly to Peeta. "But to answer your question," she started, "I was oven-baked to make a better snack for the giant mutant demon bear." She smiled again, expression lacking all joy. You couldn't blame Peeta for seeming a little scared.

Finnick chose that moment to return, "Sounds like they've put you through the wringer, too." He handed her the small basket filled with water and sat next to her on the log as she gulped its entire contents.

"Got any food?" Darla asked when she came up for air. Finnick's shoulders dropped.

"You just missed the fish," Peeta smiled sympathetically.

Darla turned instantly to the District Four tribute, "Catch me another?" It was more demand than question, and Finnick glared at her. "Come on," she sing-songed, "she wouldn't want me going hungry." Displeased but convinced, Finnick stood with a huff. He dramatically grabbed his trident from Darla when she held it out for him.

Watching him slowly limp toward the water, you shook your head at her. "Of all the lowdown ways..." Haymitch chuckled from beside you. Grabbing your tablet, you navigated to the food selection. After she took down that bear, you could have sent them a whole feast. You got pretty close, too.

Finnick heard the chime just as he began scanning the water. He smiled a bit and turned back toward camp, "Looks like she really didn't want you going hungry!"

He grabbed the gift where it landed in the sand, and happily lugged it back to their circle of logs. It was heavier than he'd expected, but that was a welcome surprise. Finnick placed it in the sand at Darla's feet and gestured for her to open it. He plopped down, eager to see what you'd sent.

The smell of breakfast hit his nose, and he just about groaned. A grin cracked Darla's face as she took a deep whiff, and she picked up the message that accompanied it.

bear-y impressive

Her grin dropped, and you snickered. She turned to Finnick, holding up the slip of paper, "I'll kill her." The snarl only made him grin, and he stole the message from her hands. It earned a strong chuckle at her expense, and she snatched it back. "You're insufferable, the both of you."

"You couldn't live without us," he grinned back cheekily, and Darla only glared.

She portioned out plates (you'd sent those too) for everyone, including eggs, potatoes, biscuits, sausage, and bacon. The plate she held out to Katniss was piled high, a helping larger than the boys got.

At her confused glance, Darla only shrugged, "You're eating for two." Finnick nearly choked on the eggs he'd been wolfing down. Katniss took the plate with a wry smile. "I only ask that you take the name of a great woman who once shared her breakfast into consideration."

"We will," Peeta nodded, smiling. Finnick practically shoved an entire biscuit in his mouth to muffle his laughter.

"A very humble woman, too," Katniss mumbled, taking a bite.

When the four finished eating, they packed up the leftovers. A semi-awkward silence took over for a while until they heard a cannon. A giant wave accompanied it, crashing in toward the cornucopia from across the arena. All of them stood as they watched the plane pick up another dead tribute.

Katniss's gaze slipped across the beach, "Someone's here." She was quick to draw an arrow and crouch out of sight. Peeta followed her lead, and Darla took a step back into the tree cover.

Finnick, the closest of them all, peaked around the leaves. "Johanna," he breathed, relieved to have found yet another of his friends. "Johanna!" He started jogging toward her. Darla wasn't far behind him.

"Finnick!" The woman cast her arms out wide and let out a great, relieved laugh. She hugged him happily, and pulled away to find her ex-girlfriend not far behind.

"Jo," Darla gave her a nod, with a small smile. You could tell she was happy to see the axe-wielding woman.

"Dee," Johanna greeted in turn, giving her a once over. "What the hell happened to you?" The blood from her nose had dripped off of her chin and onto her wetsuit earlier, leaving a nice stain behind on the grey part of the fabric.

"I could ask you the same," she narrowed her eyes.

Johanna didn't need to be asked twice, "Well," she heaved, "I got them out. We were all the way deep into the jungle, where I thought it was gonna be safe." Finnick winced at her tone, but it only got worse, "That's when the rain started. I thought it was water- it turned out to be blood. Hot. Thick. Blood. That was coming down," she pushed Wiress off of her and barreled on, "it was choking us."

You winced at the laugh of disbelief Johanna let out. It certainly hadn't been a pretty sight, and you could hardly imagine the feeling of living through it.

"We were stumbling around gagging on it blind," Johanna seethed. "That's when Blight hit the force field," she closed her eyes and tilted her head back. Taking in a breath, she centered herself, "He wasn't much, but he was from home." The whole time she had been ranting, Wiress had been chanting. It was getting hard to ignore.

"What's wrong with her?" Katniss asked, and Beetee responded as Finnick helped him stand from the sand.

"She's in shock," he replied, "dehydration isn't helping." The older man took his glasses off, "Do you have fresh water?"

Wiress seemed more determined than ever, taking Johanna by the shoulders and getting in her face, "Tick tock! Tick tock!"

"Listen!" Johanna was fed up, "Stop it!" She spun the older woman, attempting to free herself from her grasp.

"HEY! Lay off her," Katniss approached, furious, as Wiress stumbled to the sand. She shoved Johanna back at her neck, and in less than a second, Darla was yanking Katniss away by the arm.

"Don't fucking touch her," she snapped. Finnick could only put out one fire at a time, trying to prevent Johanna from getting a hit back on Katniss.

"What's your problem?" Johanna called at her, ignoring Finnick's attempts to shush her. "I got them out for you!"

Both you and Haymitch hissed at that. Johanna had always been straightforward, and that was the most overt indication of the plan that Katniss would probably get. Katniss freed herself from Darla's grip.

"Hey, hey, hey," Finnick seemed more keen than ever to drag Johanna off, "it's okay, it's okay."

"Let me go!" Johanna tried tugging out of his grasp.

"For me?" Katniss asked, confused, "What does that mean?"

"Maybe it means you shouldn't be so hostile to your allies," Darla spat from behind her, stalking off to join her friends.

"You did want Three as allies," Peeta offered, coming up beside Katniss. Katniss only shook her head and approached Wiress.

"Let's get you cleaned up," she offered, escorting the older woman into the water.

Katniss worked on scrubbing the blood from Wiress's hair as Johanna cleaned her axe. The two discussed Beetee and his wire, before Johanna got fed up with Wiress's mumblings again.

"Have fun with Nuts!" She called to Katniss as she trudged from the water.

Katniss ignored her but dipped her own head in the water as Wiress kept mumbling, "Tick tock!"

At the same time, lightning struck the tree again.

You blinked, "Holy shit."

"What?" Haymitch asked, confused. His eyes followed as you rose to your feet and walked at the screen.

"Tick tock," Wiress kept saying, and you pointed at her face.

"They're in a clock," he only squinted at your realization. "The wedges in the water, the many challenges they've faced," you shrugged, "Haven't you been wondering why the action has come from the arena and not from tribute conflict?"

"Now that you mention it-"

"They don't care that no one has killed each other since the bloodbath because it's not part of their theme," you posited. "This is great! We have to tell them," you lifted your tablet, ready to send something random just to get a message across.

"You really think that'll fly?" Haymitch's tone was judgmental, and it stopped you in your tracks. He was right, of course, the game makers wouldn't just let a gift message spoil their fun.

"So what then?" You huffed, falling back onto the couch. "We just sit on this?"

He nodded silently.

"What if I'm subtle?" You tried again.

Haymitch rolled his eyes, "You can try." You grabbed your tablet before he changed his mind and tried to stop you. Sending a bottle of pain pills, you could only hope they'd put two and two together.

________________________

Darla reached up to grab the parachute as it fell, tugging it into her lap. You'd really been going ham with your gifts- not that she was complaining.

Opening the gift drew Johanna's attention, and she raised a questioning brow.

Darla held up the pill bottle, "Painkillers."

"Nice," Johanna nodded, going back to drawing in the sand with a twig. "I might need one if she keeps at it." Johanna had gone as far from Wiress as possible, and yet the woman's mad ramblings were still annoying her

Darla set the jar aside and reached for the note.

LISTEN!

"'The hell is that supposed to mean?" Her face scrunched as she read the message. Pausing a moment, she then held the pills up to her ear and shook them

You clutched your brow, "Goddamnit, Darla."

Johanna seemed amused at her confusion, "What'd she say?"

Darla opened her mouth to reply, but Wiress took that moment to increase in volume.

Whipping around to glare at the older woman, Johanna shouted, "Would you SHUT IT?!"

Darla made a face and looked back at the note you'd sent her. "Wait," she murmured, standing from the log. She walked determinedly toward Wiress, Johanna hot on her heels.

"Wiress?" At the sound of her name, the woman looked up at the two younger tributes. She grabbed a handful of sand and let it pass through her fingers. "Can you repeat that?"

"Tick tock," Wiress smiled up at them, glad someone was finally taking an interest.

"Tick-tock," Darla nodded at her, still not getting it. She was sure, however, that this is what you'd meant. If you wanted her to relax and listen to the waves lapping at the shore, you would've just said so. She turned to Johanna, whispering, "What does tick-tock mean?"

Johanna only blinked at her, clearly angry to be entertaining the woman at all.

"Please?" Darla pleaded with her. The District Seven tribute rolled her eyes, but was unwilling to deny the request.

"We're... running out of time?" She tried. Her mood quickly soured when she felt it wasn't going anywhere, "It doesn't take a genius to see that. This is a death trap."

Darla huffed, losing hope, too. She perked up when she heard Wiress start humming. An old nursery rhyme she couldn't quite remember. Johanna had already started to walk away, but she caught her by the arm. "Do you recognize that?" Darla asked hurriedly.

"Hickory Dickory Dock?" Johanna asked failing to see the relevance.

"The mouse," Darla muttered the words to herself, and Johanna nodded along, "ran up," both of their heads snapped up, "the clock!"

"Yes!" You cheered from the edge of the sofa.

"Oh my God!" Johanna shouted, eyes wide.

"Don't tell me you're fighting already!" Finnick called at them from up the beach.

Darla pulled Wiress up and dragged her toward him and the rest of their camp, "You'll want to hear this!"

Haymitch let out an impressed sigh, "I really wasn't expecting that to work."

"You should know by now not to underestimate me," you shrugged smugly.

________________________________________________

Was it a fever dream to think I could fit the whole games in this chapter? Yes. So I didn't <3

(sorry for any editing mistakes im dead tired)

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