#iamasaddie writing challenge 2.0

[nerdieforpedro]

Her smile was worth it

Pero Tovar (modern AU) x plus size female reader (La jefa)

Word Count: 1882

Warnings: DARK FIC, mobs and their enforcers, mentions of general violence and graphic violence, mentions and descriptions of torture, descriptions of injuries, solving problems Tovar style, comfort food and tea

Summary: Pero Tovar only has a few people he chooses to interact with willingly. The bookstore owner is one of them. Someone made a very stupid mistake, Tovar will handle it and still have his tea.

Notes: This was written for @iamasaddie ‘s writing challenge 2.0. My color was Mob Enforcer and the prompt was “Hurt/Comfort” and “Who did this to you?” We're longer than a Drabble again, we dribbled quite a bit. Such is Nerdie.

I may have leaned too hard into the ‘hurt portion’ but we’ll see. 👀

Main Masterlist/ Pero Tovar Masterlist/ Writing Challenges

The only good thing about doing collections, was that most of the time, Pero wasn’t using violence. Just intimidation. The shopkeepers knew why he was here and knew the amount they needed to pay to The Family. It’s been the same amount for the past six months, in was raised temporarily for some needed repairs on the club the Valentino family owned. The actual story was that a few of the younger members had been ordered to torture a few members of a rival family and went overboard. The walls, floors and everything needed to be scrubbed. 

Tovar’s been with the Valentino family for fifteen years and as one of their premier enforcers for the last seven working his way up from errand boy. His height and broad frame discourage crossing him, and even if someone is dumb enough to do so, they find themselves bloodied, battered and with at least one thing broken. 

Today’s last stop for collections was planned and one that Pero normally did by himself. The bookstore owner also functions as the town’s librarian since the town doesn’t have one. It’s a smaller town and to get to a library you must drive two towns over. She normally offers him tea and some type of baked goodies. He wouldn’t admit it, but he’s grown to have a slight sweet tooth. Maybe. Really, he could care less about the sweets, he usually chats up the owner and barrows books. Considering he is collecting money from her, he felt he should pay but she always said no. He got the sense it wasn’t out of fear, she liked knowing his thoughts on different books. At first, he didn’t like the idea of discussing them. The enforcer wasn’t sure if he could really talk about different themes, symbols, characters and the like he often heard people talk about when discussing these books. 

La jefa (the boss) as he often greeted her didn’t judge him on his answers or lack of them. He’d talk the best he could about what he read, even if he didn’t understand it all. She listens and sips her tea, then asks him questions to draw more answers out of him. It fustrated him at first. But he grew to enjoy the bi-weekly sit downs with her. 

The chime of the bell goes off as he opens the door. The sun is at Pero’s back as he enters the bookstore. He comes early in the afternoon around two. She’s not at the counter, though the shop is listed as open. Calling out for her, she doesn’t answer, and he sucks his teeth. It isn’t like her at all. There’s no tea out either. There are no books that appear out of place and making his way behind the counter, nothing appears to be wrong with the register.

The enforcer goes into the back of the shop, he only knew where the bathroom was back here. He was looking for anything that resembled an office, as he walked down the hallway, there was a sniffle. As he kept going, they got louder. Taking a breath while he stood in front of a door that was slightly ajar, he tried to prepare himself. Maybe it was a bad day, maybe she got a papercut or was reading a sad book or something. Tovar instantly knew none of those were the case when he opened the door. 

Sitting behind the desk, her shoulders were slumped, and her hands were covering her face. He saw the scabs on the back of her hands, defensive marks. “Jefa dejame ver. (Boss, let me have a look).” Her sniffles stop for a moment as she shakes her head, turning her body away from him in the swivel chair. His eyes widen at the mark on her neck he spies it when she turns, it looks like it could be from a palm. Moving to her side, Pero places a hand on her shoulder, “I need to see cariño (sweetheart) or just give me a name. Who did this to you?” She finally drops her hands, but she turns her face away.

“I don’t want you to see. The envelope is on the desk Pero. Please.”  It is on the table, and he’ll put it in his jacket shortly - it is why he came here in the first place, but he can’t just leave like this. On top of her being one of a small number of people who he wants to be around, it could get around that the protection money the shops pay isn’t worth a damn because you could get beat in your own shop, and nothing will happen to whoever did it.

“Then tell me a name.” It’s sterner this time, but he’s released her shoulder and instead picked up her hand, his thumb tracing the scabs on her knuckles. She’d tried to fight back at least. She’s biting her lips when she finally looks at him, most of the discoloration is on the left side of her face though there’s a cut on her chin and one on her bottom lip. A large bruise is on her chest across her right clavicle, partly covered by her shirt. Pero’s able to keep his face motionless. “Por favor cariño (please sweetheart).” He doesn’t recognize the name she says, but he kisses her forehead and wraps an arm around her. “Gracias (thank you). I’ll be back princesa (princess).” 

Pero puts the envelope in his jacket pocket and heads out of the office. “Close the shop now and have the tea ready when I come back. Between eight and nine tonight.” He’s going to be quick about dropping the money off and he’s texted one of his associates with the name she gave. Within fifteen minutes, Pero has a picture to go with the name and a location. Marcello talks way too much, but he’s the best Tovar knows at tracking people.

Pero finds this man himself and tells Marcello to tell the higher ups that he needs to demonstrate a lesson in messaging with the family. He’ll need the basement and he’ll keep the clean up to a minimum. It’s not that there wouldn’t be blood. There might be too much blood so the powers at be approve the basement use but ask that Marcello and a second enforcer be there so that the man isn’t killed. There’s only murder when necessary and it wasn’t they viewed in this case. Pero sucked his teeth for the second time today but would make sure the man in question lives. Just not with all functioning limbs. 

After the submission of the money and subsequent torture was complete, the man’s body was bandaged by one of their doctors on the payroll and dropped off at his home, during a time they knew his family would be home with the message, “The Valentino family suffers no fools.” Pero carved it into his back to emphasize the point. He was still alive but would not be the same. Not after, as Tovar saw it, he’s violated one of his favorite places. 

La jefa has long closed her shop and made herself dinner. Now that she thought about it, she’s never made Pero any of her food, just cookies, brownies and the like. Since he said he was coming back, she would make extra. The worst that would happen would be that he would say he didn't want any.  It also dawned on her that she has not made a book recommendation today. She should pick one out before he comes, straightening out her mint green dress. Turning off the stove, she went downstairs to look for a book and saw Pero standing at the door ready to knock. It was a quarter after eight, he was glad he’d taken the extra time to shower. He didn’t want to be late, but he didn’t want to be dirty either. 

“Ah! Mi princesa del librios es bonita (My Princess of books is pretty). You have our tea ready tonight?” His question follows the chime of the bell above the door as she unlocks it and lets him in. She then locks it again and nods.

“I have tea and I made some extra for dinner. I didn’t pick out a book for you yet.” She seems a bit brighter than this afternoon but still trying to make sure she was facing him with her right side. Pero takes her left hand and tugs it a little, not hard, just enough so she faces him fully.

“Hermosa (gorgeous) you don’t have a bad side. Don’t worry about the book. I haven’t finished with the other one yet. I want my tea and I want to see what you made for dinner.” The corners of her mouth curve and finally she smiles, squeezing his hand and leading him up the stairs. Pero watches her walk up and into her living area. It’s cozy as it has books scattered about as well. 

“I don’t know if you like stew, but I made that and heated up some rolls. There’s butter too. I have water, apple juice, coke, and some rum.” The last option surprised him as he didn’t picture her drinking at all. Maybe she had a glass or two when she sat up here before bed. She poured herself a glass of water as Pero pointed to her glass and held up an empty bowel on the table. She filled both and they sat down across from each other. “I hope you enjoy Pero.”

“I don’t doubt that I will cariño.” The food went quickly as they ate, and she asked what other kind of foods he liked. Pero felt he might be getting greedy. Perhaps he’s been gluttonous of her attention each time he comes here. She gives it so willingly. 

Tonight’s tea is mint like her dress which makes Tovar chuckle as he takes up half of her loveseat sitting down. She takes up the other and they sip tea, speaking of past books they’ve read and things he may want to read. 

Even if he got an urgent call, he’ll ignore it because he’s having his tea. Pero Tovar doesn’t feel like an enforcer or a conduit for violence. He just has an arm around one of his favorite people as she places her head on his shoulder. The tough pads of his fingers touch the injured side of her face while he tells her that it’s been taken care of. He won’t tell her details. Tovar figures she can put it together. If he can just have moments like these where he’s just a man with someone he cares for, Pero can use that to sleep. He prays she can rest without crying or being scared. 

The loveseat has his feet hanging off outside of the blanket he found on the back of it. So far, he hasn’t heard her sniffle again. Pero carried her to bed after she fell asleep in his arms. The faint scent of mint mingling with the earthy smell of the books lulls him to sleep. He had blood on his hands again today, but it was fine. It was for her sake, and she hasn’t cried again.

It was worth it.

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pero tovar #iamasaddie game #iamasaddie writing challenge 2.0 #hurt/comfort #dark fic #trigger warning for violence #pero tovar x reader #mob enforcer #modern pero tovar #writing challenge 2.0

[noxturnalpascal]

Happy Ending [masterlist]

Francisco Morales x F!Reader

Summary: Frankie’s spent the last twenty years with you on his mind. He’s watched a video you put in his pocket the last time he saw you more times than he can count. Have you been thinking of him too?

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, SLOW BURN, time skip (~20 years), friends-to-lovers, this is 100% from Frankie’s POV - refers to main female character/reader as “you”, she is physically described in some ways (shoulder-length hair, hair long enough to pull back, wearing glasses, having freckles and scars, wearing form-fitting clothing, being shorter than Frankie, Frankie is able to pick her up, reader’s pubic hair is described), reader has a definitive age - there is a 2.5 year age gap between her and Frankie, reader engages in different forms of sex work, talk of drugs and addiction, mention of the reader having children, talk of breakups and divorce, addiction issues causing estrangement from children, talk of death and grief, mention of TF canon death, general warning for any/all sex acts, a little bit of spanking🧀

Part I (5608)

Part II (4184)

Part III (3792)

Part IV (4028)

Part V (4292)

.

AO3 Link

.

Thank you to @iamasaddie for their prompt: "It's Always Been You" when I chose "slutty little knee" in their writing challenge 2.0 - I am SO sorry this is VERY late, but I took on a monster of a project (my own fault.) Thank you for your help over the last week, I could NOT have finished this without you - @strang3lov3 - you helped me come up with the idea, made me this amazing moodboard, made my summary.... you kinda did everything. Except write it I guess, I did that part. You're so amazing and I'm so lucky to have you in my corner. I love you. (and big thanks to @beefrobeefcal and @covetyou for the motivation and beta-reading)

#francisco morales #frankie catfish morales #happy ending #noxturnalpascal #frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #Frankie Friday #writing challenge 2.0 #iamasaddie prompt

[iamasaddie]

WRITING CHALLENGE 2.0 MASTERLIST

ONCE AGAIN THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO DECIDED TO PARTICIPATE! I AM BEYOND GRATEFUL TO BE A PART OF SUCH A TALENTED COMMUNITY, AND WE ARE DEFINITELY DOING ANOTHER CHALLENGE SOON! it's gonna be called 'KINKTOBER IN JUNE' but that's all I'm gonna say. LOVE Y'ALL AND CAN'T WAIT TO READ ALL OF THESE FICS!

ALWAYS AND FOREVER by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog NEAT by @milla-frenchy OASIS by @beardedjoel TREPIDATION by @medellintangerine COULD BE by @corazondebeskar-reads HER SMILE WAS WORTH IT by @nerdieforpedro SWEET WHISKEY by @vivian-pascal WITHIN YOU/WITHOUT YOU by @ozarkthedog GLITCH by @janaispunk IT IS NOT MORNING YET by @survivingandenduring FROM GRIEF TO GRACE by @penvisions WHAT STRANGE CLAWS ARE THESE by @missredherring JUICY HOT DOGS by @frenchiereading ALONE ALWAYS by @pedroshotwifey EMERGENCY CONTACT by @javiscigarette JUST WANTED TO HEAR YOUR VOICE by @beefrobeefcal TOO LATE by @burntheedges COMEUPPANCE by @joeloverture IN THE DEEP by @hoeruiner HAPPY ENDING by @noxturnalpascal

enjoy your reading and don't forget to give every author some love and kindness!

#writing challenge 2.0 #iamasaddie ficshelf

[survivingandenduring]

This is my non writing try at @iamasaddie writing challenge 2.0

#writing challenge 2.0 #pero tovar #he’s my romantic baby #iamasaddie game #pedro pascal #ppcu #pero tovar edit #pedro pascal edit

[vivian-pascal]

Sweet Whiskey

dbf!joel x f!reader

summary: Your dad's best friend came over to "babysit" you because your dad was worried you'd do something stupid while he was out, let's say you might have done something, but it definitely wasn't stupid. (in your opinion of course)

warnings: smut piv (wrap it up), oral m!receiving, degradation, flirting, age gap, daddy kink, reader is on birth control, throat fucking, clit teasing, fingering, (this is basically pwp)

prompt: "Don't you like it when I look at you like that?"

this was written for @iamasaddie writing challenge 2.0!!

Walking through the patio to see your dad's best friend. Joel miller. You side eye him as you open the fridge to grab a drink. He's sat at the bar looking down at his phone in his hand. You lean against the kitchen counter as you crack your can of coke open. That seems to get his attention.

His head snaps up as he makes direct eye contact. He turns his phone off and puts it in his back pocket of his jeans. He gets out of the stool and walks over to the fridge. Just a few feet away. He turns around and leans against the fridge as he opens his water bottle.

As you walk out of the kitchen, your hand skims just under his belt and before you know it, he grabs your wrist and pulls you into him.

"Careful there darlin'. Don't wanna start something ya can't finish do ya?" You look up at him with doe eyes as he looks at your lips.

"Stop looking at me like that. Your gonna make me fuckin explode." You smirk, grabbing onto his bulge that's slowly growing through his jeans and he grits his teeth and groans.

"Don't you like it when I look at you like that?" He looks down at your doe eyed, soft face and verbally moans. His eyes go droopy and his mouth opens as he sighs at your small movements you make through his pants. You slowly begin to get on your knees and he sets his bottle on the counter.

You undo his belt buckle and unzip his jeans. You pull his boxers down and his hard cock pops out. Your dripping. Seeing his massive dick just makes you wetter at the second. You can easily see the stain of your arousal on your pants.

You slowly begin to move your hand up and down his dick. His hands make their way to the back of your head as his hands thread through your hair, putting it up in a ponytail in an almost desperate ask to put your mouth on him.

You slowly lick a stripe of saliva up from the base to the tip of his cock. "Darlin'" He groans. "Don't fuckin tease." You smile at his whimpering state and finally suction your lips onto his tip. Drinking in the precum and swirling your tongue around the rim.

He throws his head back in ecstasy and moans aloud. You bob your head up and down as fast as you can to give him that euphoric feeling.

He begins to slowly fuck into your throat as his hips thrust into your warm mouth. "M'close." He moans and you quickly pull off. He looks down to see your fucked out face with saliva dripping down your chin and your teary eyed eyes.

He groans at you and grabs your arm and pulls you into him. He kisses you roughly as he begins to yank your clothes off. Once naked, he picks your body up bridal style and makes his way to the bedroom.

You swat at his arm and giggle as he carries you to the room. He smiles at your sweet voice and places you softly on the bed, closing the door behind him.

You lie there in the middle butt ass naked while your dad's best friend starts to undress. You start to drool as you see his little soft belly when he removes his shirt. Soon after, he's as naked as a baby and crawls on top of you.

He kisses you slowly and you moan in his mouth. You grab through his hair and scratch at his scalp which makes him groan. He stops kissing you and watches your eyes. "You ready f'me baby?" You nod is desperation. "Yes."

He shakes his head as he trails his hand down your body. He slowly starts to circle your clit as he looks into your eyes. "Yes what?"

You throw your head back onto the pillow as you moan aloud when he presses down harder, urging an answer from your weak mouth.

"Y-yes." You moan louder when he inserts a finger into your weeping hole. "C'mon now sugar, you can do it. Just one simple word f'me and you'll get what ya want." His movements start to go faster as you arch your back. Your mouth drops open when he adds a second finger and you can barely even breath.

The girth of his fingers makes you feel so filled up and he's hitting on the right spots. His palm pushes into your poor little clit and that's what throws you over the edge. "Y-yes daddy!"

You scream as bliss takes over your senses. Your vision goes black as you start to see stars and you can feel your legs shaking. "There ya go, such a good girl f'daddy."

He crawls up your body and kisses you tenderly. "Daddy please." He chuckles at your desperation and begins to kiss your neck.

He lines his tip with your entrance and pushes in. He comes to a halt as his eyes close. "So fuckin tight darlin'." You claw at his chest and scratch at his hair. "Joel, move!" He takes a deep breath to try and compose himself as he starts to hammer into you.

Your breath catches in your throat as he stares at where you two are connected. "Yea, you take it you fuckin slut, begging for daddies cock while your dad could come home any minute."

You moan as he smashes his mouth onto yours. You whine and heave as he slams into you, over and over again. His pelvis hitting your clit every time he pulls out just makes you closer than ever.

"Daddy I'm close." You practically moan the sentence as he snakes his hand between you both and pushes on your clit. "Come f'me baby, cmon." You can tell he's close too.

His breathing is picking up and his thrusts are getting sloppier and sloppier each hit. You moan when your orgasm washes over you.

"Yeah baby, just like that, such a good-" He groans as he slows his movements. "fuck, girl." He moves at just the right pace, and then he's coming. Groaning into your ear as you feel his hot seed seeping into your pussy.

He groans and rolls over, pulling you into his chest as he lies down. You cuddle up close to him as you hear his deep breaths.

"How long till your dad gets home." You sigh as you think about his return. You don't want this to be over just yet.

"Not sure, probably somewhere around 30 minutes." You rest your head on his chest as he nods his head.

"Think we got time for round 2?"

tags!

@morallyinept @mermaidgirl30 @rav3n-pascal22 @mountainsandmayhem @amyispxnk @pinkcrystal44 @guelyury @iamsherloocked @itsokbbygrl @heartpascalispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @brittmb115 @kotourasan123 @simplewanderer @tupelomiss @heartramen @sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x you #pedropascal #dbf!joel #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel the last of us

[javiscigarette]

Emergency Contact

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: Frankie gets in trouble and this is the last time you're helping him. At least that's what you tell yourself.

Warnings: angst, smut, post break up, mentions of drug/alchol use/abuse, military ptsd, frankie on a downward spiral and needs to get his shit together, emotional smut because I had to, fingering, oral (f receiving), creampie, frankie is literally this emoji -> 🥺 the whole time

w/c: 6.8K

a/n: part of @iamasaddie writing challenge 2.0!!! I picked puppy eyes brown and my genre was angst with the prompt: "Tell me how to fix this." And guys listen. I literally never write angst I’m such a softy but I tried my best with this okay! and I obviously had to include some smut I just couldn't resist hehehe. Also thank u to my baby love @undrthelights for finding theses pics and for everything else you do :) enjoy!

my masterlist

You should scream at him, yell at him. Tell him to get the fuck out, fight him tooth and nail to prevent him from worming his way back into your heart, to avoid anymore pain.  But then he’s against you, his chest flush against your back, legs tangling together under the blankets. He slips an arm around your waist, the other underneath you, pulling you against him tighter as he nuzzles into your neck, burying his face into your hair and takes a deep breath. “Just one more night" he whispers. "Please. Just let me have one more night."

The vibrations of your phone buzzing on your nightstand pulls you from a deep slumber, your heart is already pounding at the sudden noise, the rest of your body slow and sluggish as you try to gain your bearings. 

You paw for your phone, squinting at the brightness of the screen when you find it. A call from a number you don't recognize. You debate letting it go to voicemail but the area code is local and that makes you pick up, a raspy Hello? leaving your mouth as you roll over in bed, glancing at the clock. 

2:13 am.

The sound of your name crackles down the line, the immediately recognizable voice causing your heart to plummet to your ass.  

"Frankie?" You ask, sleep quickly leaving you as tension takes its place.

"...Yeah, sorry, I…I didn't know who else to call." His voice is frail and pinched.

You don't have to ask him what's wrong, your brain already piecing the puzzle together You've been in this exact position before. The anger is already starting to creep in, your brow furrowed and stomach twisting as a familiar rage blooms in your chest.

"You couldn't have called anyone else?"

You know the answer is no. The rest of the boys are on a mission, leaving him behind after he failed on his promise to stay clean for long enough to get cleared to go. And now, you’ve fallen victim to that decision too,being the only person left to call whenever he finds himself without a leg to stand on. Frankie in trouble, you bailing him out. Just like normal. 

"I'm sorry I didn't want to bother you I just..." he takes a deep breath and sighs. "I'm at the station on Oak street. Can you maybe... pick me up?"

You close your eyes and take a moment to compose yourself and reign in the anger at the way he's gotten under your skin already.

"What did you do this time, Frankie?"

He's quiet for a second before he finally says, "DUI. And um, slightly resisting arrest? It’s uh, it’s my first one and I didn’t blow too high so they’re letting me go as long as I show up for court in a few days."

His voice is soft but you can hear him fighting back emotion, his voice cracking and straining under the pressure. the sound eliciting sympathy you desperately wish you didn't feel.

"Jesus, Frankie," you sigh, defeated already.

It shouldn't even faze you at this point. It should be expected given the path he's fallen down since his return home from their last mission 3 months ago. The Frankie you knew before he left had been a steady force. Protective, headstrong but soft in his demeanor, so sweet and full of love. The man now standing in his shoes still holds some traits of that Frankie, but they've all been scarred and tainted with his fall from grace.

Memories of the nights spent tucked in his bed, his arms around you, his hands buried in your hair come flooding back like they usually do. The sound of his laugh, the feel of the downy hairs on his forearm pressed against your skin and the steady thrum of his pulse under his jaw as you placed kisses against his neck. The words you would speak softly to one another in the early hours of the morning, secrets only shared with each other under the protection of black velvet night sky. 

All of it traded for bitter resentment and anger towards a version of the man that was ripped away from you.

When he was gone, you’d sleep in his shirts and on his pillow, clinging to the faded scent of his cologne as your brain conjured up ghost touches from his fingertips. Dreaming of the day that he'd come home, how he might touch you, and kiss you, the taste of his lips and the feel of his skin on yours. A reunion so deeply desired that the day after he returned was a sharp double edged sword - a blessing, and a curse. The Frankie that walked back in your life was broken, smothered with the weight of the innocent lives on his hands. 

Warmth and tenderness traded for stony silence. Nights now spent at the bar, warming himself up with vodka instead of your embrace. Fights ending in harsh words and raised voices as he stubbornly dug his heels in deep, too ashamed to admit he needed help. Staying out late with no warning and coming back at dawn smelling of smoke, weed, and liquor. You are always wondering where he went, who he was with, if he was safe, or if he’d found someone else to soothe the pain. 

Then the coke. An old habit that was kicked to the curb in his earlier years now back with a vengeance. Your ultimatum quickly following.

This or you.

A choice you prayed he'd be strong enough to make, but was clearly not.

And now here you are. Two months since you walked away, trying to convince yourself it was for the best. The majority of the last two months of his life is a mystery to you, which you've accepted is probably for the better. 

"I know," he finally replies. "I'm so sorry baby, you know I..."

You can almost hear the way his jaw snaps shut, three words catching on his tongue. You don't need to ask to know what the next words are. Tonight was not the first time he's tried to use them in a vain attempt to patch up a crack in the foundation of your crumbling relationship.

There’s nothing but silence on the line as a war wages within you. Part of you wants to believe that he’s the selfish, careless man that he’s recently proven himself to be. But your heart whispers in your ear a softer notion. He's scared. Fragile. Battered. Embarrassed. Alone.

With a heavy sigh, you run your hand down your face in a feeble attempt to wipe away some of the grogginess clinging to you.

"I'll be there in 20," you say.

There's a pause before he speaks, "Really?"

Always an air of disbelief.

"Yes. But this is the last time I'm doing this Frankie, I mean it,"

"I know, I... thank you."

You don't bother to reply, simply hanging up the phone as the heaviness of this final gesture sets in. The gravity of the situation, of the line you're about to cross, already threatening to consume you.

This will, without a shadow of a doubt, be the last time you show up to save Frankie’s ass. 

At least that’s what you tell yourself. Just like you told yourself the last time this happened and the time before that. But this time will be different. You'll set new boundaries. That's it, just ride this storm one final time and be done.

You know it’s a lie, one you desperately want to believe it.

___

He’s standing outside the doors of the small station, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, wisps of smoke rising and dissipating in the still night air. He looks up as he hears the engine of your car approaching, the red glow of his cigarette temporarily highlighting the deep frown on his lips as he takes one last drag before he flicks the butt aside and heads your way.

The anxiety radiating off of him is tangible as he drops into the passenger's seat, gently shutting the door and peering at you with wide puppy dog eyes full of shame. You don't look at him, focusing on backing out of the parking spot before pulling onto the road.

He picks at the skin around his thumb and bounces his leg, his jaw tight. You wonder how long he’s been at the station. How long he’s been sober. You’re still not sure if he entirely is right now.

Most of the ride is silent save for the hum of your engine and the clicks of your turn signal. His eyes never leave you, he can feel him boring a hole in your profile, trying to catch your eye as you watch the road.

"What?" you finally snap.

"Nothing, just...I was wondering if I could stay with you tonight. I can sleep on the couch, I…I don’t really want to be alone right now" he speaks so softly it makes your stomach lurch.

"Absolutely not."

"Please? I'll leave early in the morning, by the time you wake up I'll be long gone."

The rage is back, glowing red hot in your chest, fingernails digging into the leather of the steering wheel, your knuckles white and tense. How fucking dare he ask. 

"Absolutely. Fucking. Not," your grit your teeth with each word, biting off the end of the sentence with a sharp finality.

"Right. Okay."

Silence takes over once again, your heart slamming against your chest, heat crawling up your neck as your cheeks grow red and damp. No. No. Absolutely fucking not. Absolutely not.

Frankie leans his head back against the headrest and rolls it to the side to watch you again. You can feel the disappointment radiating off him, hear him sniffling, his eyes, big and glassy, pleading when you glance over at him. 

It would be a lie to tell yourself that your “plan” isn't already halfway out the window as your jaw clenches and your gaze ping pongs between the road ahead and the man beside you. Deep in the darkness of your soul you know that with Frankie is where your comfort lies. It’s tucked in the space between his ribs, squished alongside his heart and lungs, running the length of his spine and settling between each vertebrae. You worry you may never be able to completely dislodge it, unsure if it would ever fit anywhere else in any other person.

Maybe it would be easier if Frankie didn't fill up the cracks in your heart with the fractured parts of his. If he didn't take up room in your brain that's not his to own, if he didn’t crawl under your skin and take root into your DNA. Now every cell in your body knows what it feels like to be next to him, now programmed to cry out for his presence when he isn’t near.

And it’s no different now. He’s here, looking so pathetic it’s almost laughable, staring at you with tears sliding down his cheeks that glisten in the glow of the headlights passing you by. Crying over something that’s entirely his fault. You should be the one crying right now. Not him. 

So you do. 

Hot angry tears spilling over your lash line. Though you can’t decide who you’re more upset with. The man who drank himself out of your life, or yourself for falling for him once again in spite of it all. Either way, it’s not enough to convince yourself to stay firm in your decision. 

Fucking pathetic. Both of you. 

“You’re out first thing in the morning and then I’m done Frankie. I fucking mean it this time, we can't keep doing this to each other."

“Okay. I promise baby, I will. First thing, I promise." He replies quietly. 

Your hand flinches with the urge to reach over and slap him for calling you baby. But instead, you clench your jaw and you shake your head at him.

"Don’t call me that, Frankie."

He quickly nods his head in understanding, his eyes again facing forward as he wipes away the wetness from his cheeks, watching the road the rest of the way to your house. 

—

Neither of you move once the car is parked in your driveway. The silence is heavy, cut only by the tick of the engine slowly cooling once you remove the keys from the ignition. You chance a look at him and find him picking at his thumb once more, his face red, his eyes soft and timid when they meet yours. 

“Tell me what happened, Frankie?” 

You ask even though you don’t really want to know. 

Frankie sucks in a breath and scrubs a hand down his face. 

"I got into a fight at the bar, got kicked out, made the dumb fucking decision to try and drive home and...now I'm here," he laughs mirthlessly as he waves his hands as a vague gesture to you, your house, his current situation. You can't tell if he's telling you the whole story, his answer simple and devoid of context. The context you’re sure wouldn't be good for you to know. 

“You could’ve killed someone, Frankie. yourself included,” you say after a few beats, your voice comes out sharp, frustration bleeding in each syllable.

He slowly nods as huffs out a breath.

"I know... it was stupid, and I was an idiot I...shit I was really careless and not thinking straight I’m sorry. I'm really sorry I-"

"I mean seriously Frankie,” you snap, cutting him off. “Do you ever, I mean ever, think about anyone but yourself? Or has it genuinely never crossed your mind that your shit might possibly affect the people around you?"

Frankie opens his mouth, eyebrows furrowed as he's about to respond. You don’t give him a chance to. 

"How many more times are you going to take advantage of me, make me look like a fucking dumbass always showing up to rescue you? Why am I always the one covering for you, taking your crap, cleaning up your messes, only to have you throw it right back in my fucking face, every single time!"

Your voice cracks at the end of your sentence, chest heaving with each word that flies from your mouth. Two months worth of bitterness bubbling up from deep down, spilling over and cascading down your face in the form of frustrated tears.

"When did you become so fucking selfish, Francisco?!"

Hearing his full name fall from your lips spurs Frankie on, the last of his shards of resolve flying away as his walls come down.

"I don't fucking know okay?! I don't fucking know!" You flinch at the rise in his voice and his tone stings. But it's how quickly he follows up with a softer, feeble excuse that adds fuel to the fire, "I'm doing the best I can."

That does it for you. Hot searing molten rage pulses under the skin of your face, the tips of your ears hot with blood.

"Doing the best you can? The best you fucking can, Frankie? Fucking bullshit! Getting into bar fights, spending all your money on booze and blow, losing your fucking pilot license because you were too coked up to see straight? Was losing your driver's license just putting your best foot forward? Throwing your whole life away just because you refuse to get clean? Is that really the best you can do?"

You pause and swallow, giving Frankie a second to take it all in, letting him process the onslaught of scalding truths you've thrown at him, before you quietly continue,

"I can't keep doing this, Frankie. I just can't."

He sniffs and shakes his head in what appears to be defeat, his gaze fixed on his hands folded in his lap. 

“I know...fuck. I know I’ve fucked up alright? I know that. I just don't know how to fix this," he admits quietly, his wide eyes watching you helplessly. “Tell me how. Tell me how I can fix this. Please."

You bark out a laugh, sarcastic and cynical.

"Are you serious right now? What do you mean you don’t know what to do? How many times did I help you try to find a therapist, try to get you into a program? How many times did I suggest AA? Don't fucking tell me you don't know what to do because you do."

He nods, shifting around in the seat, sniffling yet again as he looks back at you. "Okay, okay. I get it, okay? But what can I do right now? To fix this at least for tonight?"

You sigh, deep and heavy, your entire body now just exhausted. You half wish he would put up more of a fight, call you a bitch, snap back at you for going off on him. Maybe it’d make it easier for you to let him go. But instead, he looks at you with desperate eyes and you can feel your resolve crumbling once again. 

"Just forget it, Frankie.”

But he won’t give up that easily. The man is persistent, you’ll give him that. 

"I'm serious. Tell me what I need to do right now to fix this. What can I do to show you how sorry I am?"

You stare back at him, jaw clenched, biting back the next words you were about to speak. They die on the edge of your tongue. You know the answer is.

Not a single damn thing.

"Look, I'll try harder, I fucking promise alright?” His tone becomes more frantic as your silence stretches on. “I’ll fucking try harder, please just...please," Frankie pleads, more tears welling in his eyes.

Your throat is tight, your head spinning and aching as your blood roars in your ears. He's already taken enough, stealing more would simply be the end of you. Giving in now would mean you've swallowed the bait, falling hook line and sinker into his trap, stepping back onto the slippery slope you've fought so hard to escape. And for what? More heartache, more bullshit excuses, more fighting, more pain?

But one glance into his wide-eyed, watery gaze and you know he's got you. Again. Faster than you can tell your mind no, your heart, foolish and hopeful, speaks for you instead.

"Lets just get some sleep, okay? It's late. We can...we can figure it out tomorrow."

"Thank you," he whispers immediately, relief coming off of him in waves. "I really mean it, I-thank you, I promise I’ll—“

“Can we not talk anymore Frankie? I just wanna go to sleep."

"Yeah. I'm sorry, let’s go."

There's nothing left to say, washing over the two of you as you make your way inside. You give him a towel and dig up some of his old clothes that live in the back of your closet from when he was here almost every night. You're back in bed before he’s done with his shower, tucked underneath the covers with your face pressed against your pillow, the silk fabric soaking up your tears of sadness and frustration.

The water shuts off and you can hear him getting settled in the living room. A pillow being fluffed, the creak of the couch when he sits. 

And then soft footsteps on the hardwood 5 minutes later, padding their way into your room.

He doesn’t knock. He doesn’t bother speaking either. He just simply creaks open the door and walks over to the other side of the bed, peeling back the covers before slipping into bed beside you. 

You should scream at him, yell at him. Tell him to get the fuck out, fight him tooth and nail to prevent him from worming his way back into your heart, to avoid anymore pain. 

But then he’s against you, his chest flush against your back, legs tangling together under the blankets. He slips an arm around your waist, the other underneath you, pulling you against him tighter as he nuzzles into your neck, burying his face into your hair and takes a deep breath.

“Just one more night" he whispers. "Please. Just let me have one more night."

You don’t have any fight left in you. Because at the end of the day, a night spent wrapped up in his arms, inhaling his scent, touching his skin and his beating heart is worth a thousand fights. And a million shattered dreams.

You don’t answer him, but you don’t tell him to leave either. Instead, you block out any looming thoughts, the impending worry of where this could go, or how bad the damage will be. For now, you chose to focus on the rise and fall of Frankie's breath against your skin, the way you fit so perfectly into his arms. 

One more night.

Frankie presses a kiss into the back of your neck, repeating his previous sentiment in a rough scratchy whisper, "Just one more."

And you listen to it resonate, bouncing around the walls in your head and tickling the space behind your eardrums.

Inhale

Exhale.

You should want to fight.

But instead, your body melts his, molding your bones and flesh against his, fitting into all the creases and gaps that have been carved out and reserved just for you.Trying to forget, to bury this pain as deep as possible,. Just for tonight. 

He waits a few more minutes, waiting until your breathing levels out with his before he makes his next move. His fingers trace mindless patterns on the skin of your stomach, goosebumps erupting under his fingertips, rippling outwards like a rock being tossed in a pond. He leans in once more, slowly dragging his nose up the length of your neck and curling his lip to press another kiss behind your ear. Then another.

And then another, this time lingering as he sucks softly on your skin.

Inhale.

You close your eyes, hoping for anything but this, yet feeling the sting of arousal spark below your skin.

And exhale. 

You’re better than this. You won’t stoop down to his level, you won’t let him chew you up and spit you out again.

But fuck, his lips are soft and warm, so is the breath as he exhales against your neck, lightly swiping his tongue and soothing the faint red mark he left behind with a small little hum.

“Frankie..." You warn, albeit much more breathless and weak than you would have liked. 

“Tell me to stop and I will," he murmurs, his beard gently grazing your sensitive skin, causing your toes to curl.

You take another deep breath, but this one is shaky, as you can't help but tighten your grip around his hand, squeezing his fingers as you lean your neck to the side, exposing more of your soft skin to him.

Dead in his trap. Caught so fucking easily. Pathetic.

But if his teeth and lips and tongue and soft, gentle touches are how you go down, then so fucking be it.

He hums his appreciation against your skin, scraping his teeth down to your shoulder, latching his mouth on a spot and sucking harder. Strong, callused fingers continue exploring, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, waiting for you to give him permission.

He rolls his hips forward against your ass and you bite your lip to stifle the whimper at how hard he is against you, his soft grunts in your ear traveling straight between your legs and fanning the flames building.

Then suddenly, he's sliding his hand up your shirt, squeezing your waist and traipsing over your chest until he’s cradling the weight of your breast in his palm, his thumb slowly brushing over your peaked nipple, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to moan out loud.

A small gasp escapes you instead, your fingernails digging into the back of his hand. 

"Frankie."

This time not a warning. It’s a plea. A desperate, burning want that you should be ashamed of. 

He murmurs into the shell of your ear then, his tone is deep and scratchy. 

“I miss you...I need you, baby. Just tell me to stop if you want. But I... fuck I miss you so much."

You don't tell him to stop.

You roll your hips back instinctively, a warm wave of arousal washing over you at the feeling Frankie's hardened length pressed firmly against your ass. He grunts in satisfaction as his palm slides from your chest and up your throat to your jaw. His grip is gentle as he turns your head to face him, his lips against yours without missing a beat. 

It’s too easy to fall right back into him, back into the practiced, very well rehearsed routine. To let him glide his tongue along the seam of your lips and coax them open so he can lick into your mouth, getting the taste of his tongue stuck behind your teeth. Too easy to let him remind you just how easily you fit in the palm of his hand, how tightly you’re wound around his finger. 

He kisses you fervently, desperately almost, lips and tongue moving against yours as though he’s trying to devour you whole, just like he used to. He’s been starving for too long.But right now, he's finally found nourishment, the feeling of your body under his hands and the taste of you on his tongue feeding his soul. Wanting more. Always more, entirely unable to help himself.

“Wanna make you feel good,” he murmurs, his mouth half a centimeter away from yours. “Let me make you feel good baby, please.”

As if you could say no.

As if you even wanted to.

He pushes his leg between yours, thick, firm muscle under warm skin pressing against your clothed core and you answer him with a roll of your hips, seeking out any sort of friction you can. 

It takes less than half a second for him to have you flipped over on your back. When Frankie truly wants something, he does it quickly and efficiently.

He moves above you, licking and kissing a trail down your neck. He makes his way down your body, greedily nipping at the skin stretched over your collarbones. He swirls his tongue over each nipple, only moving on when he’s satisfied. He presses wet, open mouthed kisses to your ribs and your tummy just above your navel, his beard tickling skin, making it twitch under his mouth. 

Your body is cooperating far more than it should, your hips lifting up instinctually when he hooks his fingers into the elastic of your panties, your thighs automatically parting further, and your hands migrating to his head. Your fingers tangle in his soft curl, your nails softly scratching his scalp just like you know he likes. 

And when his tongue drags up your thigh you have to sink your teeth into your bottom lip to stop the reactive moan. But your back arches with pleasure anyway, the last bit of your resolve evaporating into thin air as you give into him freely.  

His hands burn hot where they smooth over your skin, a comforting weight and a familiar drag of calloused palms fueling the fire and tightening the coil in your stomach. 

“Missed you so much,” he whispers, his breath fanning over your pussy before you feel the first stroke of his flat tongue up through your center.

This time, you're not strong enough to hold back the breathless mewl that leaves your mouth. You immediately push down on his head while simultaneously canting your hips upward, needing more friction, dying for more of everything he's willing to offer. He slides his arms underneath you and hooks his hand over your hip bones, holding you down and keeping you in place as he tries to find salvation between your thighs.

Heavy breaths through his nose as he uses his mouth, lips and tongue working in tandem to take you apart. Lapping and sucking at your clit while his fingertips nudge at your entrance, dipping just enough to tease, waiting until he hears the high pitched whimpers that he's after.

And when you've reached that level of desperation he wants from you, whimpering and panting, he slowly dips a finger in.

He moans along with you as though he's the one experiencing the pleasure. He's always gotten off on this almost just as much as you. The warm, slick slide of his fingers in and out of you, how you gush on his tongue, your thighs trembling on either side of his head, the tingle of his scalp when you tug on his hair.

More addictive than any substance he's ever found solace in.

And against your better knowledge, you're more than happy to indulge him, let him chase the high you give him and let yourself drown in it as well.

Your back arches off the bed as he adds another finger, grunting into you and thrusting faster as you tighten and flutter around them. He finds the spot he's looking for with practiced ease, whimpering into you and groaning along with you as he drags his fingers back and forth along the spot that has you bucking your hips into his hand. 

He knows how to get you there. Knows how to do it fast. And right now, that's what he wants. He's craved it too long, spent far too many nights with his hand wrapped around his leaking cock your name on the tip of his tongue as he fucked up into his own hand. He wants to hear you fall apart again, feel you coming on his tongue, your walls clenching as they try to suck his fingers in deeper. Wantsto know that he hasn't ruined absolutely everything between the two of you.

"Come on baby, lemme feel you,” he urges, voice deep and rough as he brings you to the edge. His mouth, licking and sucking at your clit, works in perfect rhythm with his fingers, sliding in and out, crooking them at the exact angle and speed he knows will get you there. 

"Please, Frankie...need to– fuck, I'm..." Coherent words evade you as he works you towards your peak, your breath stuttering as you struggle to keep air in your lungs. Your grip tightens in his hair, tugging roughly in an effort to ground yourself as the wave of euphoria starts to crest, the undercurrent pulling you down. 

Frankie growls in approval as you tighten around his fingers, all your muscles tensing as the sensation crashes into you. Your mind and body shut off and float into that sweet state of oblivion as Frankie's name falls from your lips, mixed in with a litany of profanity and slurs and choked back moans. He doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down until you're yanking on his hair hard enough for it to hurt, trying to wiggle away from his touch.

Frankie raises his head up and locks eyes with you, the tip of his nose, beard, and cheeks shiny with your arousal as he looks up at you through his dark, heavy lidded lashes.

"Want you so bad," he sighs, breathless and needy, crawling up your body and resting his weight on his elbows on either side of your head. He kisses you again, soft and sweet as if he has the right, tasting yourself on his tongue. 

You whimper into the kiss and hook a leg over his hip to pull his hips towards you. His cock strains almost painfully in his boxers when he grinds it against you, your warm arousal dampening the front of the fabric.

"Gonna let me baby?" He rasps when he moves to your neck, his teeth scraping sensitive flesh.

You both already know he's won. You're not even putting up a fight at this point, any dignity you thought you had left totally abandoned the moment you picked up the phone. But he asks anyway, needing the verbal affirmation, needing the confirmation that you want him as badly as he needs you.

And you can't lie.You're both equally weak and vulnerable. Two pathetic, heartbroken creatures chasing a temporary relief. A small glimmer of something to make the pain more bearable, something to fill the hole for the briefest amount of time.

You both know. And neither of you care.

No response to his question. Instead, you push up the hem of his shirt up and he does the rest, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor before he hooks a thumb underneath the waistband of his boxers and tugs them down his hips and off his legs.

Your hand finds his cock and he hisses at the contact, his hips shuddering as he pushes forward into your grip. You swear he's thicker and longer than before, heavier and hotter where you hold him. Your thumb brushes over the tip, spreading the pearls of pre cum around, coating the rest of his length to ease your glide. Frankie's mouth finds your neck again, tongue and lips tasting and teasing, his shaky breath in your ear.

You try to push up onto your elbows in an effort to roll him over, wanting to take over. But a palm finds your chest, gently pushing you back down until your flat against the bed again. 

"Wanna look at you," he says simply, as he pushes his length into the palm of your hand once more before sliding out. 

He lets his length rest against your sensitive clit and gently rocks his hips, slicking himself with the mess between your legs, sighing whenever you gasp each time his tip nudges at your clit.

"Please..." you whisper, feeling pathetic and needy, but at this point too desperate to care.

And he’s equally impatient, not waiting another moment before lining himself up and slowly pushing in. 

You tense at the initial intrusion, not having been with anyone in far too long and the feeling is almost overwhelming. You're trying to remember how to breathe again as you let your head fall to the side, trying to hide from his intense stare. But Frankie's there, using a gentle finger to tilt your face back up towards him as his hips moving at an agonizingly slow pace to let you adjust.

"That's it baby. Look at me."

And you do, the heat in your belly burning brighter with his eyes boring into yours as he witnesses your surrender to him. Your heart aches, still raw and tender and in pain from all the hurt that's transpired. But you ignore it and tell yourself the tears in your eyes aren't a result of a broken heart, but rather of how full you feel as Frankie's length finally bottoms out in you.

"Fuck..." You both curse under your breath as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust before he starts to move his hips. You cling to his broad shoulders as he pulls out of you, his eyes glued to where you’re joined, his thick cock slick and shiny with your arousal before he slides back in again with a quiet groan. He repeats the motions over and over watching as he pulls out almost completely before pushing back in, stuffing you to the hilt.

"Shit,” he hisses under his breath, his eyelashes fluttering when you clench in response. “You feel so good baby, fuck."

He buries his face into your neck, panting and pressing soft kisses as his pace starts to speed up. The soft grunts in your ear turn into more desperate moans when you lock your legs around his waist, pulling him, trying to get him even deeper than he already is. 

Your fingernails dig into the skin of his shoulders, holding on for dear life, hoping that you’ll leave half crescent moon shapes embedded into his flesh. A painfull reminder for the morning that you were here and this was real, despite the circumstances.

His hands slide under your ass, angling it upwards to let him hit just that little bit deeper inside, pushing the air from your lungs with each thrust. The muscles in his forearms flex and strain as he tries to hold back, always making sure you finish before he does. 

And he doesn't have to wait much longer. Your orgasm is creeping up and taking over your body and Frankie can sense it. He knows exactly what to look for, knows all the signs.

One hand moves to reach between the two of you two fingertips pressed against your pulsing clit, drawing fast, tight circles just like you like it. Your grip on his shoulder tightens, your nails digging into the skin and dragging down his back as his thrusts become more erratic. 

"Keep lookin' at me," he grunts and you struggle to keep your eyes open. They sting, the image of him above you starting to blur around the edges as he drives you closer and closer to your release.

"That's it, baby. Lemme see it, lemme see you come on my cock."

He doesn't have to tell you twice.

You come undone again just like that, dizziness spreading and heart hammering in your chest as you sob out, pleasure consuming you from within. He fucks you through it, not giving you a chance to catch your breath, as he curses and rambles in your ear about how he's missed this, how he's missed you.

You've barely started to come down when he grabs one of your legs behind your knee and pushes it into your chest, letting himself sink even deeper into you. The new angle has your head spinning, drowning in an unparalleled amount of pleasure. Your eyes flutter and roll back in your head as you whimper his name, fingers curling into the pillow above your head.

He doesn't last much longer, breathless moans and strangled whimpers into your neck as he gives you the last few sloppy thrusts. He's almost there, and when he tries to pull out, it's the way your leg tightens around his waste and your needy whine that sends him over the edge, groaning and cursing with his face in the crook of your neck as he spills himself into you.

His cock pulses inside you with every wave, his hips chasing his release, tiny jerks as he empties into you. He stills, his heavy breathing in your ear, his weight resting on you, heavy but grounding, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

Once the room stops spinning and the stars clear from behind your eyes, you drop your legs. With a shaky sigh, Frankie starts to pull out, both of you groaning in protest as he slips out.

His cum leaks out of you, quickly pooling between your thighs no matter how hard you squeeze your legs together. And when he catches sight of it, it makes your face burn. At the mere sight of his sticky, warm release spilling out of you, mixing with your own, Frankie swears he could go another round right then. Something about knowing he marked his territory, his claim on you established once again. He looks up at you, your eyes closed, forehead creased, and he has to dig his nails into his palm to keep from dragging his fingers through the cum leaking out of you and pushing it back in, keeping it where it should be. 

But the weight of reality is starting to press on him once again, the fear and shame from earlier taking root again and tugging at his stomach and pulling him out of the euphoria.

He kisses your hip bone once before making his way to the bathroom for a wet washcloth. The room is silent as he cleans you up, wiping gently between your legs, both of you keeping your eyes on anything except each other's. 

When he's done, he stands and moves to gather his clothes off the floor, tugging his boxers back on before heading towards the door. But your shaky, watery voice breaks the silence and freezes him where he stands.

"You're leaving?" You ask, voice squeaking at the end as you pull the sheet up to cover yourself, as if it would protect your heart when he ultimately breaks it again.

He turns to look at you, his heart aching in his chest from the innocent way you're looking at him. The way your eyebrows draw together, and your lips pull into a frown, the way your lower lip trembles as your eyes fill with tears.

"Can I stay?"

His voice is quiet, fragile, as if speaking any louder would scare you off, would cause you to start yelling at him again until you ultimately kick him to the curb for good.

He stares at you through the darkness of the room as you chew on your lip and try to grapple with the split decision you’re facing.

The logical part of your brain is screaming at you to say no and end this right here and now. But that part of your brain is buried and silenced underneath the heaviness in your heart. That desperate need to hang onto whatever's left. You swallow the lump in your throat and give in.

"Please," you plead softly. "Don't...don't want to be alone anymore."

A rush of air leaves his lungs as the pressure is released from his chest as he climbs back into bed beside you. Your head finds his chest, curled into his side and letting his arms wrap around you. His embrace is familiar, comforting, your safe space.

You count the steady beats of his heart in your ear as his blunt fingernail scrape lightly up and down your back, knowing it always soothes you. No words are spoken but the air between the two of you is thick, full of the things you both want to say, but neither of you speak.

Sleep wraps its tendrils around you once again, exhaustion settling in your bones. You welcome it fully, even though you know when you wake up, you'll have to face the reality of the situation once again.

You can only hope that he'll still be here in the morning to face it with you.

For now, you let yourself drown in the warmth of his embrace, pushing away all the other things that are gnawing at you and letting yourself relax in the arms of the man who broke your heart.

Just one more night.

Thank you for reading!! :))

#writing challenge 2.0 #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #triple frontier #triple frontier smut #triple frontier fic #pedro pascal characters

[aurorawritestoescape]

ALWAYS AND FOREVER || 1,6k

post-outbreak Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel comes home after a hard day on patrol and you comfort him.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, ANGST, m/f masturbation, mention of somno, mention of canon typical violence, mention of death. I chose not to include all the warnings so as not to spoil the fic.

A/n: written for @iamasaddie ‘s writing challenge 2.0. color: Joel’s denim shirt. genre: hurt/comfort. prompt: "It's gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay." Aly, you creative genius, thank you for hosting such a fun event! Also sending you kisses and hugs for the gif in my mb! Love you, baby!♥️ Smooches to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing the fic💕

MASTERLIST

*****

Joel stomps through the bedroom door, growling and mumbling obscenities under his breath. He’s tense, every nerve is an open wire, every unexpected sound makes him flinch and grit his teeth. He’s tired, lack of sleep painted his skin gray and his beard is all patchy. He looks like shit.

“What is it, Joel?” You ask sitting on your favorite spot on the bed, the left side, which is closer to the window and to the sun that is a rare sight in autumn here. Joel often laughed at you calling you a cat for your love to lie there, basking in the sunshine or napping. And you loved taking naps so much. When Ellie, Joel and you came to Jackson and settled, you couldn’t get enough of that sweet afternoon sleep.

Sometimes Joel would snuggle up to you, spooning your sleeping body, enveloping you like a big warm cloud. Many times you’d wake up to his lips moaning in your ear and his cock sliding in and out of your wet pussy, your body already vibrating on the verge of climax. You loved it. You loved him and he loved you.

“What is it?” You sing the question, repeating it again. His frustration, annoyance, anger or whatever else that ruined his day is about to spill everywhere, staining every corner of this house, and you need to stop it, defuse the bomb that’s about to explode.

“Nothing,” he drops in your direction, not looking at you and you sigh. He untucks his flannel shirt and strides to the bathroom. He doesn’t wash his hands and face right away. His eyes are boring into his own reflection, hands gripping the sink until his knuckles whiten. Not being able to contain himself any longer, he roars and elbows the mirror, shattering it into pieces.

“You hurt?” You ask quietly, standing in the doorframe, hands clasped shyly in front of you. You’re wearing his denim shirt and panties, nothing else.

His head whips in your direction and there are tears in his beautiful brown eyes, bloodshot from his constant insomnia.

You furrow your brows and step into the little room. He raises his hands, trying to stop you from walking on the glass-littered floor but drops them, seeing your bare feet gracefully step between the remnants of the mirror.

When you’re close you look up into his pained face and put your palm on his elbow, the one he just jammed into the wall. He doesn’t flinch.

“Wash your hands and come to bed. Please,” you ask quietly and reach up kissing his lips.

He does what you’ve asked him. He always did. He trusted you like no one else in this goddamn world. Maybe only Ellie and Tommy.

Joel sits on the bed next to you and you make him lie down, your hands applying light pressure on his tired shoulders.

He exhales feeling the frustration and rage leave his body already, bit by bit. He wants to pull you to him, hug you, kiss you but like a ray of sun you slip away from his fingers. He watches you get up and walk to the window.

His gaze catches the sway of your hips, the curve of your ass peeking out from under his shirt and he already feels his jeans getting too restrictive for his stiffening cock.

“Pull it out,” you tell him, quiet dominance in your voice, after you turn around and perch your ass on the window sill. He looks at you with defiance at first, always ready to object, but your sweet smile makes his hands dart down to unzip his jeans. You pull down your panties and take them off.

The only thing you have on now is his old denim shirt, worn out and soft, the one you stole from him years ago. You’re unclasping it now, fingers quick and sure and he watches you, palming his throbbing cock through his boxers.

You leave the shirt open and he sees a valley between your breasts and your belly. He catches a glimpse of your pussy and takes a sharp breath.

“Pull it out, Joel,” you ask with a soft and sultry tone, the one that makes his cock twitch every time he hears it. His name on your lips is like a balm for his restless soul and he places it somewhere deep for later to use, to remember.

He finally pulls his boxers down and takes out his semi hard cock. You inhale deeply and give him a little smile.

“You’re so tense, Joel,” you purr, lifting on leg and placing your foot on the window pane, “Relax for me.”

Your pussy is exposed to him now and his hungry gaze latches on your blooming flower while he’s holding his breath.

“Play with yourself for me, sweetheart,” he pleads before spitting into his palm. He wraps it around his girthy cock and starts slowly moving it up and down.

Your hand resting on your inner thigh slides to your center and with two of your fingers you spread your folds to show him your glistening pussy.

“Hnggg,” Joel groans, bucking his hips and thrusting his cock into his own huge fist.

“Wanna taste you, baby,” he rasps, eyes pleading under the bushy eyebrows.

You shake your head lightly, giving him a warm smile and start rubbing your clit. Joel’s watching you and pumping his cock faster, the skin on his hand wet with precum, his moans accompanied by your soft whimpers. Your chest is heaving and the denim shirt opens up, exposing your breasts.

“Make yourself feel good, my love,” his voice is quiet and full of love.

The hand on your pussy gets busy, as you’re plunging your fingers into your crying hole and move them in and out with the rhythm of his cock fucking his tight fist.

The other hand kneads your breasts, tugs on your pebbled nipples.

His hungry gaze desperately darts between your face, tits, belly, pussy. The vision of you, weaved into the golden light from the window behind you, brings tears to his eyes. He wishes he could take a picture, draw you like this, capture this image and store it forever behind his eyelids. Joel grips his cock tighter at the base, delaying his release for a few moments. He’s getting drunk on the sight in front of him, insatiable and already thirsty for more.

Joel is happy to forget about everything for these few minutes, his mind occupied by your fingers being pushed deeper into your sweet cunt, your face twisted with pleasure, back arched and legs trembling. He can hear how wet your pussy is.

Soon a climax takes over you as you freeze for a second before waves of pleasure shake your body making you cry out his name only for his ears,

“Joel!”

He wishes you screamed it coming on his cock and his cum spurted deep inside your pussy instead of all over his belly and hand like his pulsating cock is doing now.

You sniff, eyes sparkling with unshed tears, and he smiles, recognizing your telltale sign of a satisfying orgasm.

“C’mere, crybaby,” he whispers with a tired smile, wiping his spilled cum with the hem of his shirt.

You’re next to him in a second, lying on your stomach, arms folded on his broad chest, your chin resting over them.

“My sweet girl.”

His gaze showers you with warmth and adoration, arms itching to hold you, lips - to kiss.

“What happened, Joel?” Your piercing eyes are searching for the answer in his face. He takes a deep breath looking up at the ceiling, trying to quiet the rage, rising from the pits of his stomach again.

“We were on patrol. Me and this new kid. Dumbass! I told him to be careful but the asshole didn’t wait for me… rushed into the house when I specifically told him to wait…Found him on the floor, fighting a clicker. Bastard was lucky I was there on time. Shot the damn thing just before it bit his fucking face off.”

“In that house?” You ask quietly and he nods.

You sigh and climb a little higher on the bed and plant a kiss on his weathered lips. He averts his eyes embarrassed by the smell of whiskey you must have noticed but you smile and cup his scruffy cheek.

“You saved him. I’m proud of you, Joel.”

He closes his eyes, comforted by the softness of your touch, by your praise and he feels his soul healing a little. But the memories flood his mind and a second later his serenity shutters again.

“Yeah, I did. I saved him,” he rasps looking deep into your eyes, “but I didn’t save you.”

A tear slides down his cheek and you kiss it away. You pepper kisses over his eyes, nose, lips and then search for his sad eyes and speak softly,

“You can’t save everyone, Joel.”

“I don’t give a shit about everyone,” he snaps, fire waking up behind his eyes again, “I care about you. And I fucking lost you.”

His eyes are pleading for a miracle, tracing your slightly blurry features, but you can’t make it happen.

“You didn’t lose me, Joel, I’m right here,” you purr against his cheek, before taking his face in your hands. Your love is so strong, Joel can swear he feels their warmth on his skin.

“It’s gonna be ok, Joel. You’re gonna be ok. You have people who love you. Ellie, Tommy. And you have me. Always will.”

Joel nods and wishes he could see you longer but the exhaustion takes over and soon he falls into deep relaxing sleep, lulled and comforted by the ghost of you.

*****

Thank you for reading!🌺

Please consider reblogging and commenting if you enjoyed the fic. Your feedback motivates me so much!♥️

Masterlist

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @survivingandenduring @missannfairy @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover

If you’d like to be tagged in my future fics, let me know!💕

#pedro pascal #joel miller #writing challenge 2.0 #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller tlou #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller the last of us #tlou joel #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfic

[janaispunk]

glitch

pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

word count: ~1k

summary: Prequel to nights are so starry, blood moonlit. How you and Javi became neighbors with benefits.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), smoking, alcohol consumption, able-bodied reader, a hint of dom!Javi, unprotected p in v, kinda rough sex, ass slaps, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), Javi is a menace, a hint of angst and feelings because of who i am as a person

a/n: written for @iamasaddie’s writing challenge 2.0 with the prompt "never knew you were such a freak", and since my first story about these two was also part of one of aly's writing challenges, it just made sense to revisit them :)

dividers as always by @saradika-graphics <3

find my full masterlist here and follow @janaispunknotifs for fic updates!

It had started out with fleeting glances in the hallway, quick greetings when your apartment doors opened at the same time, then short conversations on your adjoining balconies, late night talks with your feet propped up on the railing and his back leaning against it, sometimes exchanging a cigarette or a light, or occasionally a bottle of beer when one of you had run out. 

Of course you noticed the ridiculously tight jeans that really shouldn't look that good on him, the way his broad shoulders strained against his clothes, and the way his shirts always revealed a little too much of his golden-skinned chest. You couldn't deny the fact that your neighbor was incredibly attractive, and that he knew it. 

You probably should have said no when late one evening, after Javi had found you on your balcony, smoking and watching the glistening city lights, he invited you to share a glass of bourbon. Together. At his place. 

He had been flirting with you, which you suspected he did with every woman he met, and you had tried not to pay it any mind, but you were well aware of how this evening would end if you accepted. 

You should have said no, and a stronger, less lonely version of you might have, but you craved human contact, craved to be touched by someone else than yourself, and if the sounds that traveled through the thin walls from his bedroom to yours frequently enough were any indication, Javi knew what he was doing. 

You should have said no, because it became clear to you very quickly that Javier Peña would ruin you for all other men.

He was more gentle, more caring than you had expected him to be and he prioritized your pleasure in a way that you had never experienced from any man before. He took you to heights that you hadn’t thought possible before, and it was addicting.

You should have said no, but you hadn’t, and now you keep coming back for more. 

You keep coming back for the way his skin tastes under your tongue, for the way his lips press against yours, swallowing moans and whimpers, for the way his fingers and his cock reach so deep inside of you that you still feel him hours later, when you have said your good nights and crawled under the covers of your own bed. Never his, never crossing the line to a different kind of intimacy.

It’s another one of those nights, a soft knock on a door, a mutual understanding passing between you, gentle touches that burned under your skin until they got more demanding, until you both gave in to that pull that kept you coming back. 

He’s already made you come on his tongue twice, until you were dripping onto his sheets, his name the only word in your mind and on your lips. You’re on your hands and knees, limbs shaking, trying to accommodate his length and the harsh rhythm that he’s setting. 

“Taking me so fucking well,” he pants, running his hands down your back and over your ass. You chase his touch, goosebumps forming in its wake, your moans filling the air as he keeps hitting impossibly deep inside of you. 

His palm connects with your skin, nothing more than a playful swat, but the sensation sears through you, lighting your nerve endings on fire as you all but scream your pleasure into the softly lit bedroom.

“Oh?” His voice is low, rough in his throat. You don’t need to turn your head and look behind you to know that he’s smirking down at you right now. “You liked that, huh?” 

You nod eagerly, too far gone to be ashamed of the way your hips are bucking back against him, working desperately to feel him deeper inside of you. 

He slaps you again, harder this time, and you feel yourself clenching around him, feel the way a new wave of slick is coating his cock. His fingers dig into your shoulder and he pulls you up, until your torso is pressed against his, his mouth moving against the delicate skin of your neck. 

“Never knew you were such a freak, baby,” he whispers, his lips curling into a grin, teeth nipping at you.

“Shut up.” You try to hold your voice steady, ignore the throbbing need between your thighs, but he just chuckles and presses another kiss against the side of your throat before he loosens his hold and pushes you back towards the mattress. 

His hands grab your hips instead, pulling you into his thrusts, filling you so deeply that you see stars behind your eyelids.

“You want me to do it again?” You hate how smug he sounds, would love to deny him the satisfaction, but god, you do want him to. 

“Fuck– please, Javi.” You’re breathless, reduced to a mess of trembling thighs and desperate whimpers, and you wish that you could stay like this forever. 

He slaps your ass twice in quick succession and deepens his thrusts at the same time, punching all air from your lungs. His hand snakes down to graze your clit and you’re overwhelmed with sensations, pure pleasure coursing through your veins so suddenly that it’s almost disorienting. You collapse onto the sheets, your pussy pulsing around him as your body shakes through its third orgasm of the night and you’re whimpering his name as he buries himself deep inside of you and comes with a groan, painting your insides with his release. 

After more kisses, more touches, and a shared cigarette, you get dressed and eventually, his apartment door clicks shut behind you. You lean your back against the wall, closing your eyes and breathing deeply for a moment before you enter your own place.

Again, you know that you’ll be coming back for more. And that no matter how many times you come back, it will never be enough.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

#writing challenge 2.0 #janas fics #fic: glitch #javier peña #narcos #narcos fanfiction #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena smut #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x female reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories

[joeloverture]

comeuppance | qz!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | notifs blog

pairing: qz!joel miller x f!reader summary: [post outbreak] when your recklessness causes an arms deal to go south, joel makes sure you regret it. warnings: (18+ mdni) qz!joel, age gap (late 20s/early 50s), written with hbo!joel in mind but with game!joel lore, guns, mentioned executions, misogynistic names outside (and in!) a sexual context, canon-typical violence as in murder (joel kills a soldier 'on-screen'), reader is a little shit but joel is worse, darkish & dubcon, spanking as a punishment, gunplay, attempted boot humping, degradation, humiliation, one kick to the cunt, mean!joel, orgasm denial [no use of y/n] word count: 2.7k a/n: this is my (admittedly late) submission for @iamasaddie's writing challenge 2.0! my prompt was 'you can't hide forever'. the genre was technically dark but joel himself isn't scarily dark here. thank you so much to aly for, once again, bringing this fandom together with her challenges. it's a steep task but she does a great job every time! and even more thanks to @joelsdagger and @lovesickonmybed for helping me brainstorm! (i have half of a brain without my wonderfully creative friends).

It only takes one deal gone south to fuck everything up.

You know the compass is already ticking that way the moment you and Joel, your longtime smuggling partner, enter the abandoned warehouse. Much like everything else in the Boston QZ, it’s falling apart. The corrugated metal walls are pitted with rust, and old blood is caked all over the floors. In another life, it might’ve been a slaughterhouse, but there’s no real way of knowing. It’s been long enough that any signage has deteriorated. The building’s state of decay, however, isn’t what messes things up.

It’s the singular man that walks in from the opposite side of the atrium.

FEDRA’s favorite executioner. Slitted eyes far apart, thinned out lips, and graying black hair. Rarely seen away from the gallows, only recognizable to you from all of the nightmares you’ve had of his face being the last you see.

If it were drugs, you’d think nothing of it. FEDRA soldiers buy quietly from you all of the time – but they have no need for guns that they don’t already have.

Joel steps forward, merchandise in the duffel bag over his shoulder, none the wiser. A knot ties itself in the base of your throat. You’re too busy trying to figure out what to do, what to do, what to do that you barely even realize that the soldier has a gun aimed right between your eyes until you’re looking right down the barrel.

Your hand jerks to your holster, drawing your pistol in one swipe.

“Drop your fucking gun!” he barks in your direction. It clatters out of your hands. “Don’t you dare fucking move.” Your hands fly up as you take a step back, nearly stumbling into a nearby crate. “Joel Miller and his bitch,” the man sneers. “What a lucky find. You two have quite the bounty on your heads.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Joel says, face completely blank.

“Easy for you to say,” the guard says with a nagging smirk. “Your little cunt here already did. Pretty fucking dumb not to check who you’re selling your merchandise to, huh?”

Joel tenses, ultimately huffing through his nose. “Can we get this over with?”

“I’ll make it easy, Miller. Come with me alive so I get paid, or come with me dead so I still get paid.”

Joel’s fingers twitch behind his back, and after almost three years of working with him, it’s impossible not to pick up on the subtext. Keep him busy. His hand is already reaching for the revolver in his back pocket.

“Turn the other way. I can make this worth your time,” you say. “But you’re lucky if those sons of bitches you work for even offer you half the reward they’ve posted for us. Dragging the bodies from Area 5 to the closest checkpoint… you’d have your work cut out for you.”

“Yeah fucking right,” he spits. “You two have been running around free for too damn long. Causing too much trouble. Not anymo–”

The man’s mouth freezes around the words by the time the bullet soars throat the canvas fabric of Joel’s duffel bag and through the man’s jugular. The soldier’s hands claw for his throat while he gargles on the blood as he begins the descent to the ground. New blood, still pumping directionless from the split artery, joins the old.

Much like him, where he’s slumping against the ground, chest moving until the very end, your hands clutch at your own throat. “We need to go,” you say, knowing the rest of FEDRA will come looking for the firefight at any second now. Joel doesn’t move. “Joel!” You reach out to tug his sleeve, but he doesn’t react. “Jesus– move!”

Joel turns to face you, gun still hanging from his hand. His fingers flex around the grip. “What the hell were you thinkin’, little girl?” You can hear his breathing, amplified from how close he is to you. His once inexpressive face is now red, lips curled, skin tight like a crushed soda can. 

“I– what?”

“Not vettin’ your buyers. First fuckin’ thing I told you all them years ago, wasn’t it? Gotta check so you don’t sell shit to the wrong guy, yeah?” He stalks closer to you – you stumble back.

Not vetting the now dead executioner, whose blood is currently creeping up to the soles of your boots. Your mistake, yes, a potentially catastrophic one that you’ll definitely never make again after this, but he’d been on your ass about finding buyers and after an entire day of burning bodies, the last thing you wanted to do was go asking around about the ‘John’ in search of guns that you’d talked to over the radio tower.

“We’re alive, aren’t we?”

Joel finally jerks his sleeve away from your grip. Your hand falls slack by your side, burning from his fire stoker touch. “And you oughta count your fuckin’ blessings for that. Dumbfuck of a girl, gonna get me killed,” he spits. Spittle flies across your neck. 

You flinch – and not because you’re scared. You’ve never seen him like this before. You hear noise in the distance, the moving of FEDRA trucks, no doubt. “Joel! We can do this later – we need to fucking go–”

“Then you better start running,” he says gruffly.

You don’t need to be told twice.

You sprint out of the atrium, cursing as your bloodied soles carve tracks behind you. A stack of crates blocks the door, which you vault over and shimmy your way through the broken glass panel. The hallway ahead of you is dark, and you have no idea where the fuck you’re going, only that you can’t stop. Each impact of your foot on the ground is like being struck by lightning, carbonating the racing blood pumping through your body. More glass crunches behind you, and a shock of terror pierces you when you hear Joel’s snarls filling the corridor.

There’s a metal cart in your way, which you send whirling in Joel’s direction. He grunts, presumably hitting him in the stomach before it goes clattering on the ground. You make the most of the diversion, hurtling forward and lurching through a cracked door.

Dead fucking end.

An office, by the looks of it. Desks all over the place, leftover tasks still pinned on cork boards from outbreak day, chairs on their sides. You hear Joel huffing and puffing behind you, and fear forks through you. You fall to your hands and knees, crawling underneath the labyrinth of desks and tucking yourself against a wall, carpet-burned hand to your mouth to muffle your breathing. Your chest avalanches with every single breath.

“You ain’t off the hook,” Joel says, voice getting closer with every word. You can hear the thump of his boots against the carpet. See the spread of his shadow roaming across the wall. You squint through the seam of two desks. He's looking over his shoulder when you haul yourself across the room to the next closest desk.

You look around for anything that might get you out of this long enough to slip back out of the door. If you can make it back to the apartment, maybe he can cool off on his own walk back. You reach up for a stapler and take a brief second to peek over a filing cabinet before flinging it against the wall. It snaps open, spilling decades old staples all over the floor.

“Only a clicker’s fallin’ for that,” he tuts at you. His boots land on the floor again, one, two, three steps closer to you. You wince, balling your hands into fists. 

All you can hear is the thrashing of your own heart. You scooch away from the desk – maybe if you throw something small at him, like a pack of sticky notes, it’ll be enough to abduct his attention long enough for you to slip by–

“You can’t hide forever,” Joel goddamn coos at you. You see him bending at the waist, scoping out the undersides of desks, seeking you out–

You crawl out from under the desk and book it to the door.

Stupid. Fucking. Idea.

Joel hauls you back by the belt loop, laughing as you cry out. You try squirming away, kicking at him, but his other arm wraps around your torso. It hits you then that you have no idea what he might do to you. You’ve trusted him with your life before, but what would he do when you risked his? You’d always been too scared to find out. He spins you, slamming you over the desk. You cry out as your chest meets the wood. His hand drags your wrists together, pinning them at the small of your back.

“Let me – the fuck– go!” you yell at him, trying to bend your elbow at the right angle to nail him in the chest.

He tightens his grip so much that you can barely move an inch. “Made your fuckin’ bed, gotta lie in it, sweetheart,” he tuts, shaking his head at you. His hand grazes over your ass, and you stiffen as he looms over you. He is just a man. Your mind spins to the worst-case scenario. No, no, no, no–

“How about an… old-fashioned corporal punishment to set ya straight?” Within the next second, he’s yanking your jeans down your thighs.

Oh. Oh fuck.

“Joel–” you exhale, breath shuddery. “Knock it off–”

“No panties? I was gonna be nice and spank ya over them…” Joel frowns at you. “Poor baby. ‘S gonna sting real bad.”

You snap at him, “What, you want me to go to the local QZ Victoria’s Secret?”

Joel swats, hard, across your asscheek.

You’ve seen how intense Joel’s brute strength can be. You’ve just never been on the receiving end of it. A cry pushes out of your throat, and you hunch over the desk as you struggle helplessly against Joel. Tears spring at your eyes.

Mercifully, Joel runs his calloused palm over the smarting skin. “Shh, shh, shh, shh. ‘S okay, Jus’ gotta teach ya a lesson. Make sure it sticks.” He strokes the nape of your neck as you whimper into the desk.

You tense up in preparation for the second hit, but, if anything, it just makes the impact worse. It prickles your other cheek, leaving your knees shaky. And God help you, your clit twitches. Twitches. Your thighs are already heating up, and you can’t help but squirm in a good way underneath Joel. A single tear slips over your waterline, and you have to tilt your head into the shoulder of your shirt to wipe it off. You don’t want him to see you weak – not that weak.

The next spank makes him grunt from how hard he swings his palm into your backside. “Joel!” you shout, pain nearly splitting you in two. Your feet raise off of the ground as you prop yourself up on the desk, kicking uselessly at his shins. All he does is chuckle at you.

Horror sinks like a cinderblock in your stomach when you realize that your hole, leaking slick, is practically fucking winking at him. You thank the darkness. It’s about the only good thing about this place.

“You don’t like that?” he mock-pouts at you. It’s enough to make you throb. The opposite, you’d say if you could.

A series of spanks follows, but at least these are lighter, and in rapid succession. Still, you jerk with each impact, squirming so that your fingers dance in his grip. “Stupid little girl. Thought you could sell our shit to a FEDRA bitch and get off scot-free? Really thought you could get away from me, huh?”

You try clamming up, desperately attempting to close your legs together. You squeeze your thighs together, relieved at the pressure – and then you hear a resounding click behind you.

You still.

Joel’s gun, still fucking hot from the bullet it’d fired right into the executioner’s throat, traces up the small of your back… all the way to your throat. “Could put one right here,” Joel whispers, more to himself than you. “Show ya what happens to girls that don’t follow orders.” He jams it into your skin, and you hiss at the pain, at the bruise it’s sure to leave. And in spite of it all, you fucking gush. God, you’re fucked up.

He wouldn’t kill you – he needs you more than you need him. But common sense isn’t enough to prevent the thrill, the arousal smiting your body from head to toe.

“I’ll reconsider if ya give it a kiss.” He nudges the barrel carefully against your lips and you stop breathing for a second, maybe two. “Go on. Give it some lovin’. Suck it like a cock. I know you’re good at it. Hear all the guys you bring over.”

You whimper at the thought of Joel listening to you getting your hook ups off – at the thought of him fisting his own cock while he listens. Obediently, you part your lips, slowly, ever so slowly, taking the gun down your throat. It fills your mouth up in such a strange way – all hard edges. It’d be freezing cold if not for the fact that it’s a weapon of death, a scythe in its own way. One press of the trigger, and you’d be just like the guard. You suck even harder at it, eyes rolling back in your skull. Your thighs twitch, stripes of slick running down your thighs. 

Joel reaches between your legs, grabbing at the meat of your inner thigh to spread you open. Instead, he gets a handful of the arousal that’s been pooling between your legs since he first bent you over the desk.

You freeze, pausing your ministrations on the pistol. He himself freezes before he drags his hips over your folds. His finger pads hover over your swollen clit before he properly rubs you once, and then twice. Your hips cant into the closest thing – his hand.

Joel makes a disgusted noise and swats your leaking pussy before shoving you forward and stepping back. You’re panting, properly fucked out even though he’d barely touched you. Cross-eyed, tongue hanging out, face hot. He looks you up and down, brows furrowing with revulsion. “Horny fuckin’ bitch. Creamin’ all over me. That long since you got action that a spankin’ and a gun in your mouth is all it takes to get you riled up? Pathetic.” He shoves the gun back in his pocket, still shining with your saliva.

He wipes your wetness all over your leg, grabs the back of your collar, and drags you to the floor in one foul swoop. You fall on your hands and knees again, ass still stinging from his treatment, lightheaded from how needy you are. Even his brutal treatment makes you whimper. 

You reach for his calf, pulling yourself up to brace your dripping cunt against his boot. You rut against it, not even fully cognizant of your movements as you roll your hips, praying that he lets you have this if nothing else. Your orgasm, wetting his boot thoroughly. Your scent, clinging to him on the walk back to the apartment. You buck into the boot, moaning as the toe bumps against your clit. It might be enough, if you could just do it one more time–

Joel tears his shoe out from underneath you, face pinched with aversion. “No!” you cry, still grabbing for his calf. You fall onto your back, legs spread and panting. Your ass needles from his spanking. The ceiling tiles spin above you. 

The same toe you’d been humping kicks into your cunt, and you yelp, curling in on yourself. Another tear slides down your burning cheek as you reach down to cup your sore pussy. Even that pressure feels like touching a live wire. 

Joel looks down at his shining boot and makes a disgusted noise. “Does humiliatin’ yourself always get ya dicked down?” 

He turns around, already walking away from you without a care in the world. The gun grip pokes out of his pocket, taunting you.

“Pull your goddamn pants up and get a move on. Curfew’s soon.”

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller/reader #joel miller fic #writing challenge 2.0

[milla-frenchy]

Neat

2k0 | Javier Peña x fem reader | ao3

Summary: Javi broke up with you, convinced that you were too different. He regrets it and comes to your apartment one night, drunk. You "take advantage" of him. 

Warnings: 18+ mdni. dubcon (somnophilia), oral (f/m), face riding, spitting, very light rimming/anal play, piv, creampie. Javi’s pov

No age specified

a/n: thank you @iamasaddie for your writing challenge 2.0 😍

Genre : pwp / Prompt: “I still hate you, by the way” I LOVED IT 💛

thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta reading 💕

Mood board by @aurorawritestoescape 💕💕💕💕🫶

Masterlist

****************

“I hate you Javi”, were the last words he heard from you, before you slammed the door of his apartment several months ago.

Before that day, you were “his sunshine”, as he used to say. He called you ‘bebita’ (baby girl), and he had never called anyone like that before. “You’re too sweet for me”, he kept repeating. You used to think it was cute, until you understood what he meant.

Javi was a night owl, and you were not. He liked to lose himself in alcohol and smoked way too much. He told you he was dark and would eventually extinguish your flame. That he would break your heart.  And that's exactly what he did.

Since then, you were no longer in his life. Steve kept telling him that he had spared you a shitty life, but he wasn't sure anymore.

So he thought about the past. The way you too fucked. How your lips rounded around his cock as he slid into your mouth and then your throat. How your hips or your waist accepted his fingers digging into the flesh as he thrust into you, kneeled behind you, jaw clenched. How you came on his tongue, his fingers or his cock, whispering his name.

Javi.

How your pussy used to take his length, and how he loved watching where your bodies joined, his cock all creamy with your weakness. How each time he held back because he didn’t want to come yet. Wanting to feel you more. Deeper, longer. So he used to make you look down there too, while he was focused on your face so he could keep fucking you a little longer.

He thought about it in the shower every morning, while he was jerking his length.

He thought about it every night, when he spurted his load on the sheets.

The girls of the brothel couldn't help him forget you. Their hips, their asses, their hands weren’t yours. Their cunts weren’t yours.

So he drank every night, more than before. To trick his brain. To forget that if you were suffering, it was because he had broken up with you.

One night, he couldn’t resist any longer. Alcohol made him forget his principles, gave him the liquid courage, so he knocked on your door in the middle of the night and when you opened, he staggered into your apartment.

“Javi, what the fuck?” 

You raised your hands before dropping them in annoyance, and by the time you turned around, he had already collapsed on your couch.

“Unbelievable,” you mumbled and went back to bed.

When Javi woke up two hours later, it was still dark and he didn't remember why he was on a couch that wasn't his. And when his foggy mind realized that a part of him was warm, the headache hit him. The whiskey hadn’t worn off and he didn’t understand immediately where this heat came from. He straightened up slightly and looked down, his eyes now slightly accustomed to the darkness, and he couldn't believe that you were blowing him.

He called your name in a low voice but you didn’t stop, your fist slightly tight on his shaft, just above his balls. Your other hand was on his hip, your thumb rubbing his skin.

“What are you doing?” he added, putting a hand on your shoulder.

You pulled him out of your mouth, making him whimper. You licked his tip and slit, and replied “you came here to fuck me, right? What’s your problem then?”

He frowned and you took him back into your mouth. Your lips rounded around his crown before your head started bobbing up and down, your saliva running down his shaft. He rested his head on the couch, surrendering to you objectifying him like that, even if the courage that alcohol had given him the day before had already evaporated. He missed your mouth too much. The way you sucked his cock like it was the best you have ever had, like you worshiped it. Your fist, accompanying your mouth, was still around his shaft, jerking him lazily then firmly, alternating rhythms perfectly.

When you pulled him out of your mouth again, he couldn't help but moan at the loss of your warmth. He knew it made you smile. He just knew.

You ran your tongue all over his length, from his balls to his tip. Your tongue then traveled down, to his balls. His moans became grunts, when you made them roll under your tongue, lapping one then the other and licking off the light sweat under them.

“Fuck, Hermosa…” he managed to say.

So you focused there, on that thin skin beneath his balls, and you slid your finger up to his ring, rubbing the surface gently. You had taken his cock back into your mouth, and your lips and finger were starting to make him see stars. His headache was forgotten.

“Wait…you’re gonna make me come, wait”, he said almost painfully.

You sat up, sliding your tongue over his whole length, to make him moan one last time.

“Make me come,” you told him as you crawled up his body, until your pussy leveled with his face. He looked up at you, your glistening pussy, your hips, your breasts just inches from him. Your face lowered towards him. You brushed your clit against his nose and whined. Your hips moving back and forth, you were fucking yourself on his face, from your folds to your clit.

“Fuck”, you whimpered.

He let you be in charge. Let you use him however you wanted, while your scent and taste drove him crazy. He darted out his tongue and slid it between your folds just when you lingered for a few moments with your clit on his nose. Your wetness flowed down to him. He kept thinking about how much he missed it. Your taste, your pussy. You.

He grabbed your hips and pulled you against him, his impatience taking over. He pushed his tongue inside you, eager to taste you fully. He growled into your folds and you moaned louder. He rocked your hips to reach your clit, placing his lips around it and sucking on it. His tongue swirled over it, and he felt the way your body reacted, the way your thighs squeezed his temples. The way you undulated on top of him, speeding up then slowing down to play with your orgasm and it made him smile, just like before. He tightened his hands on your thighs when you came, to keep you against him a little more. He didn’t release you immediately when your spasms stopped. He pushed his tongue into your core one last time, to lap up all the wetness that hadn’t yet dripped down his chin.

He released his grip and you crawled back until you looked at each other, and he wondered if you were going to kiss him. You caressed his cheek, and said “open”. His gaze darkened and you grabbed his chin between your fingers. You let your saliva fall from your mouth to his and whispered “swallow, Javi”. And it was one of the most sensual things anyone had ever done to him in his life. “Again”, he asked and you did. Then you kissed him, tangling your tongue with his. Tasting your saliva in his mouth.

You grabbed his hands, pinning them above his head, and said “I’m gonna fuck myself on your cock. And you’re gonna let me do it.” He nodded. Of course he was much stronger than you and could have gotten away. But that didn't occur to him. When you grabbed his cock to impale yourself on it, he closed his eyes for two seconds, time to assimilate this sensation that was in his fantasies every day, that he finally was about to feel again. He opened his eyes when your pussy swallowed him entirely. You didn't move, keeping him buried in you for a few moments as if you too were getting used to that feeling again. He was struggling not to cum already. Your tight pussy was squeezing his cock so hard. 

“Not yet, Javi”, you told him. He nodded and tried to  think about something else, even though he didn't take his eyes off you. Anything that could make him forget the feeling of your pussy squeezing his cock. You started to move, and god he loved it. Your cunt. Feeling her warmth around his cock. The way your folds were slowly getting used to his size. His hands were still trapped in yours, and he loved the view of your face above him, approaching then moving away from him at regular, sensual and slow rhythms.

“God, you’re such an asshole…but I love your cock.”

He knew that you didn’t mean it, that it was your bruised heart that was speaking, not you. He was afraid to answer, to confess he missed your cunt, that he missed you.

“Spit in my mouth”, he finally said. You smirked and did it again. You knew him. You knew why he asked you that. 

“Shit Javi, I’m gonna come.” You were rubbing your clit against his lower stomach for several minutes and he knew your climax was approaching. You buried your face in his neck when you came for the second time, continuing to rub him gently, at a slower pace. He felt your pussy pulsing on his shaft and he clenched his fists.

You looked at him and said “you’re gonna fuck me now.”

“How do you want it?” he asked.

You took his hand and led him to your bedroom. 

He followed you, staring at your ass. You got on all fours on your bed, without looking at him. “Spread it for me,” he said. He wanted to see you, all of you, in the dim light. You spread your buttocks, your cheek resting on the pillow, and remained offered to him until he knelt behind, caressing the roundness of your ass.

“You’re so beautiful, Hermosa”, he said, like a million times before.

He let his saliva fall, slide from your ring to your pussy, following the curves of your body. He leaned down and licked in one stroke from your folds to your ass then positioned his cock at your entrance. He wanted to feel you again, to sink into you like a beast. He thrust and bottomed out in one go, leaving you breathless. 

But he didn't stop, he knew you didn't want him to, that you wanted to feel him roughly. He held onto your hips, fucking you hard and fast, teeth gritted. Yet it still wasn’t enough for him, and he grabbed your neck, pressing your cheek further into the pillow, thrusting ever faster and harder. He heard the headboard banging against the wall. Every time he thrust his cock in your core he told himself that he missed it. This feral fuck with you. And each thrust he became a little more angry with himself. He looked at your hips, your back, your neck. Your cheek. Your mouth. He heard your moans, louder and louder as he fucked you ever faster.  He hesitated to slow down, to keep you a little longer. But it was too late. So he kept chasing his orgasm, his fingers digging deeper into your flesh. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come”, he growled. A little desperately. And then he thrust one last time, staying deep inside you, showering your walls with his white spurts. He felt like it was never going to end. His hands holding your waist firmly, keeping you close to him. “Fuck”, he said. He pulled back, seeing his cock and balls covered by your wetness.

Then he lay down next to you and lit a cigarette. You took it from his fingers and took a drag. “You’re a pain in the ass with your cigarettes, Javi”, you said. He smiled.

When you opened the door for him to leave later, the sun was rising.

“I still hate you, by the way.”

“I know”, he said, before you closed the door behind him.

***************

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

Follow @millafics and turn notifications on for fics updates

@pascalsanctuary @littlemisspascal @survivingandenduring

#javier peña #javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #javier peña smut #javier peña x female reader #javi peña x you #javi peña x reader #javi peña #javi p #javi fanfic #javi pena #javi x reader #javi x you #javi x female reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #narcos fanfic #narcos fic #narcos smut #narcos fanfiction #friends of juice collective #writing challenge 2.0

[ozarkthedog]

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮/𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮

summary: you wake up again without Javier in your bed.

warnings: javier pena x gn!reader. angst. established relationship. w.c: 301

author's note: written for @iamasaddie writing challenge 2.0. i got the prompts: Javier's Tactical Vest & "Why did you lie to me?". i've never written for Javier Peña before so I apologize if this is shit. thank you for hosting, Aly! also, thank you Cece, @freelancearsonist, for reading this and making me feel better about posting!

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⋅ 𝐏𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐨 𝐏𝐚𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

"Why did you lie to me?" You ponder into the dimly lit abyss of your shared bedroom as Javier shamefully crosses the threshold. Your voice remains firm, lacking the fiery anger you usually express when you and Javi argue about his job.

Javi sets his sunglasses and cigarettes on the bureau with a long, tired sigh. He's biding his time. 

He's wearing his green bulletproof vest, the one you woke up in a cold bed alone to find missing. His vest is supposed to symbolize safety and be a barrier to danger. Still, it protects you from delving deeper into the man you yearned to explore over these last few months.

You tug the sheet tight to your body, using it as shelter from the impending storm—the kind you and Javi weathered together despite always being the cause of the raging thunder.

"You know why," he grumbles; the late-night grit scratches his throat. He runs a rough hand over his jaw before looking over his shoulder at you.

Javi's sullen eyes swirl with bitter anguish. He knows he fucked up. He should've told you he was returning to the field and took responsibility for setting the serene life you had together ablaze.

"But I'm home now," he assures, unfastening his vest. The velcro tears loudly through the silence and grates down your spine. He hangs the vest off his bureau like he always does.   

He's stubborn and defiant, like a newly crowned king, with you, his fateful, adoring concubine. 

"What about tomorrow?" You ask as he rolls you onto your side and crawls under the sheets, molding himself around you like a spoon. "What about us?"

A defeated sigh breezes across your skin before you feel warm, plush lips press against your cheek. "Shh, Gatita. Let us have one more night."

#javier pena x reader #javier peña #javier pena x you #pedro pascal #writing challenge 2.0

[noxturnalpascal]

Happy Ending [I]

Masterlist (with all warnings)

A/N: tía - aunt, tío - uncle, primo - cousin, dios mío - my god, chulo - pimp, bonito - pretty (masculine), mala - bad, cariño - darling, guapo - handsome, mi amor - my love

🩷 🌅 🌴

Friday nights at the boardwalk with you. He buys all the tickets and you buy all the snacks. A corn dog you alternate bites of. A funnel cake he knows is getting powdered sugar all over his poor excuse of a mustache. Stale popcorn you pop in his mouth in-between throws of his darts. He watches you lick your fingers clean before he hands you the stuffed toy he won you. Your prize.

He makes you ride the ferris wheel even though he knows you’re terrified of heights and pretends to tease you when you sidle your body alongside his, grabbing at him to hold you because you’re scared. You retaliate by making him ride the carousel with you, a ride he hasn’t been on since he was a child, but when he looks into your eyes, how can he say no? He can’t.

You ditch your friends in the middle of a skeeball game and drag him towards the beach. Pulling his hoodie down until your head pops out of the neck hole, your hair mussed around your face but your smile peeking through. You always get cold when the sun goes down but you never bring your own hoodie, opting to steal his instead. Every time. 

The sound of your voice coming from his right is almost drowned out by the roar of the ocean coming from his left. Cold sand kicks up on the back of his calves with every step and he fights the urge to grab your hand, so close to his that your pinkies keep brushing each other as your arms swing back and forth. Just Friends.

A thump to the back of his seat interrupts his dream, waking Frankie from the nap he didn’t mean to take. He hears a whispered apology coming from the parent of the offending kicker. He turns to look at them through the crack in the seat cushions and tells them not to worry, that he has a kid himself and understands how it goes. And just those words kick him in the gut, since he hasn’t seen his kid in almost a year.

He pulls the shade up halfway on his window seat and admires the fluffy white clouds floating below him, casting shadows on the sparkling blue water further down. If they’re over water like this it’ll be the gulf, and that means they’ll be landing on the island shortly. Maybe this weekend will be good for him, give him a chance to catch up with family and get his priorities straight.

It’s been almost a year since his old friend Pope showed up with an idea in one hand and a stack of money in the other, asking for favors. Almost a year since he went against every voice screaming NO in his head, and agreed to follow a promise of riches beyond his wildest dreams. Almost a year since they came out of that jungle laden with the weight of their friend’s body and the guilt of a monumental fuckup. 

As a recovering addict, Frankie thought he’d already hit his rock bottom but it turns out he could go so much lower. He subjected his girlfriend, Stephanie, to further heartbreak and himself to further humiliation, coping with the consequences of his time in South America by shoving more white powder up his nose. His job wasted no time in firing him and Stephanie just as quickly took their infant son and moved back to Arizona to live with her mother.

The plane begins to shake with turbulence, causing the can of coke zero on the tray table of the person next to him to undulate towards the edge. Reaching out to grab it before it falls off, Frankie notices they have their eyes clenched shut.

“This is perfectly normal,” Frankie soothes.

The young man’s eyes fly open and meet his, relaxing slightly at his words.

“It is?”

“Yeah, it’s just like hitting some potholes while driving.” He sets the soda can back in the center of their tray table. “Perfectly normal.”

“You fly a lot?”

“I’m- I used to be a pilot.”

He remembers telling you the same thing about turbulence the first time he flew with you. You were such a nervous flier. He’s able to grasp onto the last remaining tendrils of his dream before they slip out of his hands. He remembers that he was just dreaming of you. That’s been happening a lot lately, waking up with the ghost of you on his mind, hazy dream-thoughts swirling like fog around his brain, impossible to hold and harder to focus on the more he tries to. He’s not sure why you’ve been on his mind so much lately. Probably because he’s lonely and pathetic.

He’s got at least 45 more minutes until the plane lands in paradise, his home for the long weekend. He wonders if maybe he can get another quick nap in, pick up where he left off in his dreams of you. He thinks you were mid-laugh; your head thrown back and the shine of the moonlight reflecting off the water, highlighting your pinched eyes and wide smile. He just has to think of you hard enough and maybe he can make it happen.

---

He was just starting his junior year at the technical college on the other side of the state from where he’d spent his whole life. It was far enough away that he could revel in the freedom of getting to be an unsupervised adult but close enough that his mother didn’t cry (too much) when he told her he was going.

He was 20, wouldn’t turn 21 until mid-December, but he and his friends had been drinking at this bar for well over a year. His fake ID was pathetically bad but he’s pretty sure at least half the people in this place were underage. This bar was known to let anyone in, and that’s why they all came here. The bathrooms were filthy, the bartenders were rude, the floors were sticky, and the whole place seemed to reek of Axe body spray. There was a small dance floor in the back illuminated only by black lights, playing thumping music and giving a place for people to grind on each other once they’d plied themselves with enough cheap alcohol. 

He was sitting at the bar with two of his roommates, drinking their quarter drafts and talking about the syllabus for their Vibrations and Controls course, when he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. He will never forget the moment he turned and locked eyes with you. He knows that time didn’t slow down, the bar didn’t get fuzzy and quiet, slowly spinning like it was only you and him in the world. But that’s how he remembers it. You adjusted the glasses on your face and opened your mouth to speak, a giggle spilling out. Your laugh was adorable. You were really pretty. And you looked way too young to be in a bar. 

“Hi,” you manage to get out before another giggle spills from your lips.

“Hi,” he answers back. 

He knows he should be playing it cool but your laugh is infectious and has him smiling, awaiting your next words. He really can’t believe how pretty you are. This is a technical college and most girls who go here aren’t focused on their looks. Not that Frankie thinks he’s hot shit or anything, but the small amount of girls on campus definitely don’t look like you do. And you don’t look like you’re even trying. 

Unlike the majority of girls in his high school you haven’t flat-ironed your hair, you aren’t wearing makeup, and you aren’t dressed in tight, revealing clothes. You have natural beauty. Your hair is shoulder-length and has a slight wave to it, your skin is smooth and supple and there’s a sparkle in your eyes, peeking out from under long lashes behind your wire-rimmed glasses.

“My friend over there wants to know if you wanna dance?” you finally manage to say.

“Oh yeah? Your friend?” Frankie pulls confidence out of his ass, hoping that you’re actually the ‘friend’ who is interested in him.

“Yeah, her,” you point your thumb behind you to a table of two girls who look even younger than you do. “The one in the pink shirt.”

Frankie’s eyes land on the girl in the pink shirt. She has almond-shaped eyes, long dark hair, and she covers her mouth, erupting in laughter with her friend beside her when he makes eye contact. That’s more like what most of the girls on campus look like, he thinks. Not ugly but not cute. Boring. Plain. Blah.

“Uhhhh,” he starts, wondering what he can say to keep you standing here talking to him. Should he ask more about your friend? No, he doesn’t give a shit. He runs his hand nervously through his hair. Should he ask if he can dance with you instead? No, that would probably earn him a slap. ‘I can’t dance,” he blurts out. Way to go Frankie, smooth move. That’s gonna spark a romance to last the ages.

“Oh,” you say, looking taken aback. You recover quickly. “Well maybe you and your friends could just buy us some drinks?

You point to the bar, covered in five dollars worth of quarter drafts and he feels his friends poking him in the ribs from behind him, urging him to say yes and give them all a chance to talk with a girl tonight. All he has to do is nod his head, and he gets to keep talking to you. There’s no way he’s gonna give up this opportunity.

---

The shuttle van from the airport was mostly empty, just one other couple from his flight joining him on the short ride to the dock. Once at the marina they board a boat even smaller than the van, a speedboat that just barely fits him, the couple, their luggage, and the guy standing behind the wheel. The captain’s name tag says Charles and he wears a pair of blue linen shorts with a white button-up shirt; long-sleeved but rolled up to his elbows. The resort’s logo is stitched in blue script over the pocket. Paradise Cay. 

Charles tells them to hold on to their hats once they’re out of the marina, and Frankie takes his off, holding it tightly in his lap. Charles revs the motor on the sleek little boat and cuts through the water, the wind whipping through Frankie’s uncovered hair. When the boat docks thirty minutes later at a tiny barrier island, they’re greeted by several smiling resort staff. Frankie shakes Charles’ hand, thanking him for the ride, and attempts to smooth his wind-blown hair before plopping his Standard Oil cap back on his head.

Two men dressed like the boat captain pass by him to grab luggage out of the back of the boat. Two women stand in front of him wearing similar outfits; instead of shorts they wear skirts that hit mid-calf, and their shirts are short-sleeved. One of the women steps forward - her name tag says Kiki - and she welcomes him to Paradise Cay, greeting him with a tropical flower that she tucks behind his ear and a brown-husked coconut that she places in his hands. He looks down at the pink straw and tiny yellow polka-dotted umbrella sticking out of the coconut.

“Ohh I- I don’t drink-,” he starts.

“It’s coconut water, Mr. Morales,” she says.

Well shit, he didn’t realize Kiki knew who he was. He looks over at the couple who exited the boat after him and sees they are sipping out of pineapples, slurping down a white frozen slush that he can only assume is a piña colada. His family must have told the resort already that he’s maintaining his sobriety. Don’t give Frankie any temptations. He’s just over four months sober now and he’s doing really well. He takes a sip out of the coconut.

“Follow me, please,” Kiki says, and he trails behind her retreating figure, hearing the footfalls of the employee carrying his bag behind him. 

He wishes he could take his dirty, stained army duffel out of this poor man’s hands and carry it himself. This resort is super fancy. He’s probably used to pushing expensive roller luggage, the kind with hard metal sides and combination locks. Or hand-stitched leather bags, the kind with the letters L and V patterned across them. He probably gets crisp twenties pressed into his hand when they arrive at the room and Frankie’s not even sure he has a five dollar bill in his wallet.

Through the trees he saw a large building, stretching along the beachfront, but they turned on a trail that took them away from that building. He watches as they pass several smaller buildings, each one surrounded by dense palms and looking identical to the one before it. After passing nearly a dozen, they go down a short path leading to a side door on the left of one of the smaller buildings. Kiki opens the large wooden door and directs him inside. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust from the bright sun outside to the relative dim inside.

There is a king-sized bed against a wall of dark, rich wood while the foot of the bed faces four large sliding glass doors that open up to a small patio and private plunge pool, and look out onto the crystal blue waters of the Caribbean, seemingly just steps away. There is no ceiling, instead exposing the beams of the high roof, making the room feel even bigger. The side walls are a light-colored stucco and the room is dotted with plants, both large and small, that seamlessly blend the outside with the inside.

A plush sofa sits on the near side of the room while a small table and chairs sit in the middle past the foot of the bed. Kiki is walking around the room, motioning to the near wall, where there are bookshelves filled with some reading material, hand-crafted decorations, and some sleek electronic devices glowing with blue lights. She walks to the far wall where there’s a countertop with a small sink and a coffee bar. She opens an empty minifridge and then a double-drawer beverage refrigerator packed full - complimentary and non-alcoholic - she informs him.

Frankie is still taking in the sight of the incredible - and definitely expensive - suite before him when Kiki explains that there is a walk-in closet and a large bathroom at the back of the villa. She points to a door on the far side of the room. 

“....and the outdoor shower is right through-”

“I’m really sorry but there’s been a mistake,” he interrupts

“A mistake? I don’t think so.”

“No, there's definitely been a mistake. This can’t be my room.”

“You are,” she pulls a small device out of her skirt pocket, flipping it open to double its size, “Mr. Francisco Morales, yes?”

“I- I mean, yeah, that’s my name,” he shakes his head. “But this is definitely not the room I booked. I just booked a regular room. Like one with a view of the parking lot.”

“No, we don’t have a parking lot,” she quickly corrects.

“Right, no… Sorry. I just meant whatever room was cheapest is the room I booked. And that’s…” he looks around, “definitely not this room.”

She presses several things on her tablet now, seeming to go back and forth on several different screens, scrolling and reading and trying to get to the bottom of this obvious mix-up. He most definitely did not book an oceanfront villa for his stay here. The rest of his family has been here all week, turning this destination-wedding into a vacation. He can’t afford that luxury. He can barely afford to be here at all.

Today is Friday. The wedding is tomorrow and his flight out would have been the next day if it hadn’t been two hundred dollars cheaper to fly out on Monday instead. With the wedding group-rate, the room cost him $180 a night, so even having to shell out one more night’s worth on the resort he still saved twenty bucks by staying the extra night.

“No, this is your room, Mr. Morales,” she finally says.

“But-”

“The outdoor shower is through that door,” she points again to the door and the sweeps her arm over to the bookshelves. “Please message me on your dedicated device if you need anything at all, Mr. Morales,” she finishes.

She passes him walking towards the door, causing Frankie to turn around and face the man who stands there, having been holding his stinking old duffel bag the entire time. Sorry, Frankie mutters as he juggles the coconut in his hands to pull his wallet out of his pocket, attempting to fish out as many crumpled ones as he can find.

“All gratuities have already been paid, Mr. Morales,” Kiki says as she slips out of the room. 

The man gingerly sets down the duffel bag by the front door and follows Kiki out, seemingly not wanting to tarnish the spotless perfection of the room with Frankie’s filthy, well-traveled bag.

“Thanks?” Frankie manages to call out just before the heavy door closes, the sound echoing around him in the air-conditioned air of this gorgeous resort room.

--- 

Three hours later Frankie is walking through the double doors of the hotel’s main lobby bar. There’s a sign just outside the door set up for the private event that says: Thank you for attending the wedding of Rogelio Garcia & Liliana Schneider. Enjoy some drinks on us! 

Rogelio - Elio - is Frankie’s cousin, his mother’s sister’s son, and someone he grew up living just two blocks away from, spending every holiday and most weekends playing with him and his brothers. Frankie knows Elio has been dating his fiance Liliana for many years, he’s heard her name out of his mother’s mouth countless times, but he’s never met her. Frankie’s been kind of a shitty family member for longer than he can blame his addiction for and he was honestly surprised to be included on the invite list of this destination wedding.

The decor inside the bar is bright and tropical, maintaining the island-vibe with steel-drum music playing over the speakers. Not putting enough foresight into his method of packing and the formal nature of the weekend’s events, Frankie is forced to wear an embarrassingly wrinkled outfit. He aimed a hair dryer at the khaki pants for a half hour and it didn’t make much of a difference. Luckily the busy pattern on his tropical shirt is forgiving enough to hide any imperfections there. He weighed wearing his emotional support hat versus having hat hair and left the hat in the room when he thought how his mamá would give him that look if he showed up with a ballcap on. 

Frankie is sipping cranberry juice and talking to his mamá and some of his tías, waiting for the rehearsal dinner to be over and the wedding party to spill out of the private room at the side of the bar. Despite his mother’s dirty looks and attempts to change the subject, his one aunt keeps asking him questions he’s not even remotely interested in answering.

Do you miss your old army days? Are you ever gonna be a pilot again? Where are you living these days? Have you spoken to Steph recently? Do you know if baby Leo is walking yet?

The questions are grating on his nerves and he’s trying to remain polite but the clinking of ice in everyone’s glasses sound like cymbals in his ears. The too-loud laughter from his tíos, who are already over-served, is grating at the frayed edges of his composure and each question feels like a hundred pound weight being piled onto his shoulders. He keeps raking his hand through his hair, self-conscious without his hat on, missing the ability to lower the brim and hide his face away.

The side door opens and the wedding party spills out, a distraction of bodies and murmured conversation. He looks around for an exit, then back to the group, then back towards a door looking out over the beach. Wait a minute - for a split second he thought he saw you, coming out of the side room among a large group of other women. You’re decades older, sure, but it looked just like you. No, it can’t be. Jesus, his dreams have got him fucked up. He drags his eyes across the faces of the crowd spreading across the room again. He doesn’t see you. Of course he doesn’t, cuz you were never there.

Elio, the groom, bounces up to Frankie, pulling him away from the old hens he’s been surrounded by and introduces him to his bride-to-be, Lili.

“Lili-baby, this is my favorite cousin, Francisco.” Frankie takes her smaller hand into his massive one and they share a smile.

“Woah now Elio, we have a lot of cousins, that can’t be true.”

“Oh no primo, it’s definitely true, you’ve always been my favorite.”

“I’m so surprised I haven’t met your favorite cousin before, babe,” Lili teases him slightly.

Frankie winces, here comes the part where he has to explain why he’s been so absent all these years. The army. An addiction. His life falling apart. And then all the follow-up questions that come afterwards. He drags a hand through his hair before he responds, but before he can even open his mouth Elio is answering for Frankie, explaining how Frankie was in the service traveling the world and now he goes around to military bases helping to repair and maintain the same helicopters he used to fly. 

At first Frankie isn’t sure if Elio was told this flowery-version of events by his own mamá or by Frankie’s, but when Elio winks at him over his fiance’s head, Frankie knows that he’s giving her the G-rated version to keep Frankie from having to get stuck in that inevitable uncomfortable situation he always finds himself in. Frankie smiles and nods slightly. He thinks Elio might be his favorite cousin too.

The happy couple break away for more introductions and shortly after the women all file out of the bar, heading to the spa for their evening of bachelorette activities. Once they’re gone the men gather around the bar, his uncles ordering shots of tequila, forcing them down all his cousin’s throats, and shouting loudly in Spanish. If Elio is too drunk to get married tomorrow, at least Frankie can say it’s not his fault.

Eventually he slips away from the raucous crowd and heads to the outside porch of the bar, which sits just above a large expanse of beach. He sits on the short staircase leading down to the sand and sips his third cranberry juice of the evening, watching the waves reflect colors from the setting sun. He can’t help but think about you again.

---

He’d spent that whole first school-year getting to know you, growing closer. Wednesday quarter-draft nights became a regular thing. Then you added Thursday study hall, Friday movie nights, Saturday evenings at the boardwalk, and Sundays at the laundromat. Pretty soon you were spending more days of the week together than apart, and on the days you didn’t see each other he was calling your dorm phone to talk to you for hours or chatting with you on AOL instant messenger into the wee hours of the night.

And yet you were nothing more than friends. The whole semester went by, and then phone calls and AIM chats all summer, but you never indicated you were interested in more and he didn’t dare make a move. You were just going to be friends, and that was okay. He wasn’t upset about it. He figured that you probably knew what he’d known since the moment he laid eyes on you - that you’re too pretty for him. The more he got to know you the more he learned that you were also probably too smart for him, too funny for him, and too outgoing for him. Too good for him.

He’d see the way people’s faces lit up when they met you and you smiled for them, made them laugh, made them feel like a friend, made them feel special. That’s exactly how you made him feel. You made him want to be the best version of himself. He felt lucky to be your friend and if that’s all you ever were, it was more than enough. His senior year was about to begin and after graduation he’d be getting his posting assignment and shipping out for training as a Lieutenant in the U.S. Army. He knew he had to soak up every minute with you these final two semesters.

He remembers move-in day his senior year, the Saturday before classes began…

You resumed your previous year’s tradition of going to the boardwalk with a combination of some of your friends, some of his. When you get there the sun is still setting and you grab his hand and drag him into the still-warm sand, saying that you have something important to talk to him about. Standing in front of him, wearing his sweatshirt, the pinks and oranges from the sky cast your face in a beautiful glow and you look like you’re illuminated from the inside out. Did you get even more beautiful over the summer?

Your hands feel cold even before the chill of the night air settles in, and he envelops them, trying to warm them as you begin telling him in a shaky voice the thing you’ve kept from him for months. Your mom caught your dad cheating and it blew up into a huge fight that ended with her kicking him out. He stopped paying the mortgage on the house and your mom had to sell it at a loss and find you all a new place to live. Their divorce still wasn’t settled and was already very contentious, your dad leaving your mom to pay for your school without his help.

Knowing how badly you wanted to go to this school, she took out some loans to cover the tuition for both semesters this year but the room & board bill as well as your bookstore account was on a payment plan that she needed help paying for. You’re trying not to cry as you tell him this story of how your life has been turned upside down over the last three months and he wants to ask why you hadn’t told him any of this sooner, but he can see how you are bearing the shame of your dad’s infidelity and your mom’s newfound poverty. This is a lot for you and you’re clearly still processing it.

“How can I help?” he asks.

You tell him that you need to get a job for the semester and he immediately takes over the conversation, offering to get you a job at one of the labs his professors maintain. They’re always looking for lab assistants, he assures you. You tell him that you already looked into that option and they only pay $6 an hour, you can only work 12 hours around classes during the week, and it would take almost two week’s worth of work to pay for just your $114 Statistics book.

He exhales in defeat, but you quickly tell him that you’ve already found a job. He wonders what you need from him if you’ve already found a job but then you tell him what it is. You’d be working downtown in a call center as a phone sex operator. He balks at this. You’d be working 3 nights a week, late at night, and you’d make $50 each shift, paid in cash. He’s not sure what to say until you laugh at his shocked expression, squeezing his hands.

“You okay, Pancho?”

Your pet name for him. On a late night phone call at the beginning of the summer he’d accidentally let slip that his whole family used to call him Pancho - a nickname for Francisco - before he turned eleven. The day of his eleventh birthday he got embarrassed about being called it in front of all his school friends, who knew him as Frankie, and insisted everyone switch to the more anglicized stylization of his name. Hearing that old nickname used to make him cringe, but now it felt like something just between the two of you. It was easier to hide his blushing when you were on the other end of the phone, but now that you’re face-to-face, he has to fight a bashful smile from settling on his face.

“Yeah I’m just…. are you sure about this?”

“Not really, but it’s good money and it’s not real sex, just talk.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles.

“I need your help,” you squeeze his hands again. 

He can feel the flush creep up his neck and settle in his cheeks. How could you possibly need his help for phone sex? He gulps loudly and manages to grunt out a noise that sounds like, “Hm?”

“I need a ride into the city to work my shifts, I’m too scared to ride the bus that late.”

He exhales a breath he was holding. “Ohhh,” he says. You just need a ride. He’s the only person you know with a car, having been given his pop’s old Ford Ranger to drive last year when he and his roommates got a place off-campus. “No problem.”

“Really?” you squeal.

“Of course, anything you need.”

You usually worked three or four nights a week, earning more money than you would have working any on-campus job. Frankie would drive you twenty minutes into the city every shift you worked, helping you to avoid the hour-long late-night bus ride you’d have to take otherwise. Then at the end of your shift, sometimes three or four in the morning, he’d drive back and pick you up, making sure you were safely returned to your dorm. 

You constantly offered to pay him for gas but he always refused. His tuition, room, and board was completely paid for by the ROTC program he was enrolled in, and he was fortunate enough to have a job back home that he worked all summer and every break, saving up spending money to use during the semester. He’d call you every night you worked, dropping $25 for each 15-minute phone call, paying with the debit card his mamá helped him get the summer before his Freshman year, and hoping she never looked too closely at his bank statements that got sent to their address each month. 

He never wanted you to do your typical routine and talk sexy to him when he called, he just wanted to talk to you about regular things. How is Calculus going? Did you get your Chem homework done? What are you doing in your Systems Design lab? You’d tease him about waiting until after work so your conversation would be free but he’d say that’s 15 minutes you didn’t have to talk to some creep. You’d tease him by saying better the creep you know than the creep you don’t, and then have to stifle your laugh so you didn’t get in trouble. 

---

Elio slaps him on the shoulder, drunk for sure but more sober than Frankie would have expected, breaking him from his reverie. He sits down next to him and asks how he’s doing. Frankie goes to give the scripted answer but Elio says no, seriously. Frankie tells him some of the truth, trying to balance being honest about the state of his life without overwhelming his inebriated cousin. Elio says that Frankie’s always been the smartest among all the cousins and he’s sure Frankie will find a way to turn things around. 

“I think I’ve done too many stupid things at this point to feel smart anymore,” Frankie laments.

“Well I can’t speak to that, but at least you’re here in paradise and you can have a nice vacation,” Elio pokes him in the ribs.

“Oh shit that reminds me, they put me in the wrong room. They accidentally gave me an oceanfront villa!”

“Holy shit!,” Elio shouts too loudly, “See primo? Things are already turning around for you!”

“Sure,” Frankie laughs, clinking his empty glass with his cousin’s half-full pint of beer.

“Hey did you know Lili has three sisters?”

“Oh yeah? That’s coo-”

“You should totally hook up with one of them this weekend.”

“Dios mío, Elio,” Frankie huffs. “I don’t think a woman is interested in taking on all of this mess,” he motions to himself from head to toe.

“Three sisters though,” Elio repeats. “Well one of them is married… oh and one of them just got engaged.”

“My chances are rapidly decreasing, primo.”

“No, the third one is divorced and totally single,” Elio assures him. “Maybe you can take her back to your oceanfront villa, papi. Show her the front of your ocean.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” Frankie laughs and Elio joins him, both of them dissolving into hysterical wheezing. Elio recovers first.

“I don’t know man, I just think you should have a good time. It’s my fuckin’ wedding, chulo!” Elio shouts, and they dissolve into a fit of laughter again. 

Frankie helps him up off the steps and carries him inside - putting Elio in the seemingly capable hands of his father and eldest brother, who appear to be the most sober out of everyone - and heads to bed. 

#francisco morales #frankie catfish morales #happy ending #noxturnalpascal #frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #Frankie Friday #writing challenge 2.0 #iamasaddie prompt

[iamasaddie]

WRITING CHALLENGE 2.0

RULES:

1. SEND AN ASK WITH THE NAME OF THE COLOR 2. GET YOUR PROMPT AND GENRE 3. WRITE 4. POST AND TAG ME

IMPORTANT! If you send an ask with the color that's been taken (I give it out to the first person who asks) you still have a spot! I will text you privately and you will secure a different color not losing your spot!

TIME GIVEN FOR WRITING: ONE WEEK FROM WHEN START IS ANNOUNCED PARTICIPANTS: 20 WARNING: ONE OF THE GENRES IS DARKFIC

YOU CANNOT SWITCH/ASK FOR A NEW PROMPT/DIFFERENT GENRE, THEY ARE TIED, PLEASE KNOW THAT BEFORE SIGNING UP

THE HASHTAG FOR UPDATES/FICS: #writing challenge 2.0

if you have any questions you can ask them in the comments or shoot me a message

APPLICATIONS ARE CLOSED

#writing challenge 2.0 #iamasaddie game

[burntheedges]

too late

Dave York x f!reader | 18+ | 4.6k words | masterlist | ao3

summary: Dave hasn’t see her in years, but he knew she would find him again.

a/n: this is for @iamasaddie's writing challenge 2.0! ok so my prompt was dark fic and "You should've pulled the trigger when you had a chance.” I've been calling this "baby's first dark fic" for days because it is 😭 and it's probably not that dark. but it's what I could do 🤷🏻‍♀️ it's also my first Dave fic. thank you to @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta as always 💕, to @beardedjoel for reading over it and helping and being so encouraging 🧡, and to @goodwithcheese for giving me feedback and helping me make some changes 🧡

tags/warnings: darkish fic, assassins doing assassin things (including killing some guys, not described in detail), flirting, betrayal, seduction, one character drugs another without their knowledge (not for sex), guns, hidden intentions, smut: kissing, groping, manhandling, ripping underwear, pet names (baby, good girl), fingering (f!receiving), p-in-v sex (unprotected), creampie

...

Dave wasn’t someone who fidgeted, as a rule. He might seem to fidget, when necessary, as part of a cover or a ruse, but it was never unintentional. Every motion was planned, considered. Part of his work.

But when he fixed his cuff links just then, it wasn’t planned.

He’d looked up from his drink, turning away from the open bar to scan the room of wealthy socialites for his target. His eyes had cataloged the people he’d known would be there and skipped over them. He’d stepped away from the bar to set his drink on a high top table and, in a manner totally unlike himself, like some sort of amateur, he’d frozen. When his eyes had landed on her.

She’d been looking back at him.

She’d looked just as good as the last time he’d seen her, at least two years before (2 years, 3 months and 10 days, a voice whispered at the back of his mind). The dress she was wearing drew his eyes like a magnet and he’d remained frozen as he traced its lines before snapping his gaze back up to her face. 

She’d smirked.

And then he’d blinked as a server had passed in front of her. She’d disappeared.

He’d cleared his throat and fumbled with his cuff links, off-kilter in a way that wasn’t like him. Wasn’t the way he did things.

Dave shook his head, trying to clear it. This wasn’t good. He needed to get back on track, or call it. And he didn’t want to call it.

“Boss?” He heard the quiet voice of one of his guys in his hidden earpiece and picked up his drink. “I said, target in the northwest corner of the ballroom.”

Dave turned slowly to his left as if he was looking for someone he knew and his eyes traveled over the target’s back.

She was standing right next to them. He resisted the urge to curse.

He hid the small movement of his lips behind his glass, and murmured, “foxtrot.” That was the code that would tell his men to pack it up and rendezvous in 48 hours at one of the safe houses. He could feel their surprise in the long pause before a response – they’d been prepping this job for weeks. But he couldn’t explain now.

“Understood.” The line went quiet and Dave started to casually make his way to the exit at the opposite end of the ballroom from where she still stood next to the target.

His exit went smoothly – this was easier than the job would have been, anyway – and he turned to head down the hall towards the entrance. The hall was starting to empty as people joined the party, but he could see a line of people waiting to come in at the entrance. He decided to take the side exit that would give him some cover as he made his way to the car his men had stashed in the parking deck two blocks away.

This turned out to be the wrong decision.

As he stepped onto the dark side street, he started to scan his surroundings as usual. Before he could do more than check the busy intersection with the main road to the left, he felt someone step up behind him and the unpleasant sensation of a gun in his back.

“Hello, Dave.”

…

2 years, 3 months, and 15 days earlier

There was someone else on the job.

Dave had seen the signs, but he wasn’t certain until now – someone else was after their target. He’d started to feel them like a shadow, a few steps behind his team as they planned and prepared. But tonight they’d gotten ahead of him.

One of his guys had gone for another routine check of the art gallery where the target would be hosting an event. They’d found the back door unlocked (sloppy, Dave muttered to himself). Whoever it was had left a clear path through the building for anyone who knew how to look, but had slipped out before Dave’s guy could so much as realize the problem. 

Now they knew for certain. This new competitor might be an amateur, but they were after the same target.

Dave pressed his palms to his eyes, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. Shit. Now they had to split their focus – the target, and whoever this asshole was that was mucking up the job. He didn’t have time for this.

In the end, though, it was easier to identify them than he’d even bothered to hope.

The gallery was hosting a different group 3 nights before the event, and so Dave and one of his guys were planning to go and do some recon while the place was crowded. It turned out the opposition had the same idea.

Dave was standing in front of some sort of art with a drink in his hand when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Someone was watching him.

He finished his drink and turned, as if he was looking for somewhere to put it down. As he scanned the room, he spotted them.

He spotted her.

She was standing with a small group, posture relaxed and open as she chatted with them. But he clocked her (and her thigh holster) immediately. Distantly he noted that she was incredibly attractive, though she was trying to hide it with her outfit and makeup. 

Dave began to circle around the room towards the bar. He kept her in view as he got a new drink and began to move through the exhibits again. His path took him to her side of the room, until he stopped just close enough to hear her group’s conversation as he pretended to study the work in front of him.

“--you know how he feels about modern art.” Her voice did not betray any sort of tension – she was better at this than breaking and entering, at least.

He continued to eavesdrop, but the conversation wasn’t interesting. So he focused on her instead. As he moved slowly around her group, taking in the art, he realized he knew who she was – new on the scene, but he’d heard of her. He could tell she was aware of him, too. He wondered if she knew that he knew, if she was good enough to read him like he could read her.

She answered that question only a few moments later.

“Excuse me,” he heard her say as she turned away from the group towards the restrooms. When she was about 20 feet away, he turned to follow. Dave didn’t look at her as he walked.

But when he turned the corner into the long hallway with the bathrooms, she was gone.

“Looking for someone?” Dave didn’t give her the victory of startling, but it was close. She was standing behind him. He turned slowly and calmly to face her.

“Looking for the restroom,” he returned, voice mild.

She raised a single eyebrow at him and he pretended not to notice how attractive it was. “Oh, are we playing that game?” Her tone matched his.

“And what game is that?” Dave leaned against the wall next to him and crossed his arms.

She smirked and stepped closer to him. “The game, David York, where we pretend not to know exactly who we are. And why we’re here.” She was new at this, he could tell, even if she was affecting confidence. He leaned in and watched as her eyes drifted downward against her will. He didn’t smirk.

Ah, he thought, as a new path opened in front of him. He didn’t have to get rid of her, after all. And it wouldn’t exactly be a hardship.

“Who’s pretending? I know your name, too. And I’ve known you were on this job for weeks.” He didn’t mention the fact that he hadn’t known she was his opponent until he recognized her in the gallery.

She was surprised but hid it well. “And you’re just talking to me now?”

Dave pushed off the wall and stepped towards her again, letting his hands fall to his sides. “Wanted to see what you can do, first. That was sloppy last night.”

He watched the corner of her mouth tick down, but she didn’t give into the frown. New at this, but not too new.

“I didn’t realize I was on a try out.” Her voice was stiff now. He didn’t smile.

“Isn’t that what you wanted? Why you approached me tonight?” He watched her avoid admitting it. “Well, you did well in there. You’ve got some promise.”

She was angry now, he could see it slipping through the cracks in her facade. But she wasn’t angry enough to walk away from this just yet.

“Promise?” She kept her voice mild, anyway. That was good.

Dave just looked at her for a moment. He could see the tension in her body as she kept herself from fidgeting. She still had a lot to learn.

“So, what? You want to work together?” He let his skepticism show in his voice and watched as her spine stiffened in response.

She crossed her arms. “Look, Dave. You need me.”

He let his eyebrows raise slowly. “Oh?”

She nodded. “I know you haven’t figured out the approach, yet. That’s my specialty.”

He mirrored her and crossed his arms. She was right, but he didn’t show it. “Don’t need it. Plenty of chances when he’ll be alone.”

She shook her head as if he’d disappointed her. “You and I both know that’s harder to plan for. I can get him from the party. Guarantee it, instead.”

Dave regarded her silently. She seemed confident, and he’d just watched her perform – she was right that she was good at that part, at least. Just new to the rest of it and unable to learn on her own.

He stepped closer again and pressed one palm into the wall by her head. She blinked. He knew this was what she was hoping to see from him. It didn’t hurt that the attraction he felt was genuine – easier to make it believable that way.

“And what’s in it for me?” 

Her eyes narrowed. He could see that she was interested, too interested, but wouldn’t admit it so easily. “Not that.” Her voice was flat. He allowed himself to smirk, finally, and watched the effect it had on her. “But I can guarantee you success. Something you can’t do on your own.”

That, at least, was partially true, based on what he’d seen. “Then what’s in it for you?”

She stepped around him and turned to walk down the hall. “A share of the payout.” And the experience she still needed on the job, but that went unsaid by both of them.

He watched her walk away and reached into his pocket to find the scrap of paper she had just slipped inside. A phone number.

Dave already knew he was going to call, but it was better to make her wait.

…

Two nights later, you’d finally been introduced to his team in preparation for the job.

He’d made you wait. It didn’t surprise you. You knew he thought you couldn’t read him, but you could see his interest in you well enough. But he had to pretend he didn’t want you, didn’t want your help. You knew the game.

But now you were involved and less than 24 hours out from the job. You heard footsteps approaching your little corner of their workspace and turned to find him leaning against the table behind you.

“You ready?” He affected the same mild tone he’d used when you first met, but you could see through it now. 

“Of course.” You’d relaxed a bit and you knew he could hear the slight annoyance in your tone.

Dave smiled. “Good.” He stepped closer and leaned against your desk right next to your chair. You looked up at him, leaning back as far as you could. “You’re not bad, for someone so new at this.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thank you for admitting it.”

He shook his head. “I knew that, from the night we met.” He tilted his head and lifted one hand to trace his fingertips down your jaw. “Might be interesting, having you around.”

You tried not to look affected, or at least not as interested as you were in that possibility. “For the job?”

He hummed and cupped your cheek. “And for after, maybe.”

You blinked. That was unexpected.

“After we see how this job goes, of course.”

You nodded slowly, surprised. You’d hoped for this outcome, when you approached him, but he’d seemed so aloof.

“You’re not just saying that because you’re attracted to me, I hope.” You tried for a teasing tone and his thumb stroked your cheek.

“I am attracted to you,” he confirmed, voice even and direct. It made you shiver. “And you’re attracted to me.”

Dave leaned down until his face was level with yours, only inches away. “But that’s not part of the job.” You blinked, staring at his mouth. “Why don’t you show me what you’re planning to do tomorrow. To get his attention.”

You frowned. “We already talked about it.”

Dave shook his head, standing up again.  “I want you to show me, now.” You looked around and noticed everyone else had left. “That’s right, just you and me. Show me what you can do.”

He seemed serious. You stood and shook out your shoulders. You shifted your weight and fell into the persona you’d use the next night, the woman who would approach the target and lure him away. 

As you took a step towards Dave, you saw his eyes widen a bit. Good. 

“Well, I’ll make eye contact and flirt a little – make him approach me, not the other way around.” You raised one hand to trail your fingertips down his chest and you watched as he drew in a deep breath. “But I’ll let him talk to me and get me a drink, when he does.” You stepped closer and noticed Dave’s eyes dipped to your chest. “And when he flirts more, I’ll be impressed. When he compliments me, I’ll act shy, a little innocent.” You pressed both hands to his chest now and ran them upwards until you could link your fingers behind his neck. “He’ll lean in, and I’ll be flattered.” You leaned in to speak into Dave’s ear and watched his hands flex around the lip of the table he was leaning against. “In the end, all it will take is wide eyes while I place my hand on his arm or his chest.” You covered the remaining distance between you and pressed the length of your body against his. He was warm and firm – you could feel his strength. “And then he’ll feel like he’s in control when I leave with him.” You felt Dave’s hands come up to grip your waist and you bit back on a grin.

“And so he won’t be thinking of anything but me when I slip the drugs into his drink in the hotel room and let you in to finish the job.” You were whispering now and you could feel Dave’s cock hardening against your thigh.

You paused, and let your demeanor shift back to your own.

“Well?” You felt Dave’s hands tighten on your waist in his surprise at the normal tone of your voice. “What do you think?”

His arms slipped around your back and he pulled you closer before growling into your ear, “I think you’re ready.” And then he leaned back so that he could crush his lips to yours.

It was a searing kiss. It stole your breath, from the first moment – you felt it crash over you and vibrate down your spine. 

You knew he wanted you. You wanted him, too, but you wanted in more, and this was your way in.

…

Dave watched without watching as she lured in the target at the party the next night. She was doing well, as she’d promised – with the shy looks and the lingering eye contact he could tell that the man was about two minutes away from giving in and crossing the room to talk to her.

He let his mind wander to the night before – he’d kissed her against the desk but hadn’t let it go any farther. She was gagging for it, he could tell, and he was going to use that to his advantage soon enough. 

The target approached and fell for all of it. Right on time she stood up and began to walk towards the back hall. Dave made his way there slowly, following as they exited and walked the two blocks to the target’s hotel.

Everything went according to plan – the hotel, the drugs, the ambush. Dave killed the man in his bed and removed the evidence. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she pocketed the tech that was the real prize, smirking to himself before they all slipped out into the night with no one the wiser.

Dave was letting himself ride the high of a job well done when she followed him to his hotel room later that night, as he’d known she would. He softened his smirk into a smile before he turned around to find her right behind him at his door. 

“Coming in?” he asked as he swung it open behind him.

“Are we done pretending you don’t want this?” She raised an eyebrow at him as she crossed the threshold, and he grinned. 

“Yes, we are.”

…

Dave grabbed you by the waist and pushed you backwards into the door. You sucked in a sharp breath. “Wanted this,” he muttered into your neck before biting down, leaving a mark with his teeth. Your eyes widened. “You looked so good, baby, working the room.” He pressed hot kisses down your neck as he pulled the zipper down the back of your dress. It slid easily to the floor, leaving you in nothing but lace-trimmed underwear underneath. Dave growled. “And I know you wanted it too.”

He pulled you into a searing kiss and reached behind you to grab your ass, fingers twisting in the lace. You felt it tear in his hand before he ripped them off of you with a snarl. “Isn’t that right?”

Your legs almost gave out at the possessiveness in his voice. Yes, this – this was what you’d wanted since you first saw him. You’d known you would need to impress him and you could barely believe you’d succeeded.

“Dave–” you were breathing heavily and leaning against the door. His eyes swept over you and he grinned, wicked. “Touch me.”

“Oh, is that what you want?” His voice was dark and you shivered again. He was still fully clothed and it made you squirm with desire. “C’mere.” 

He tugged you towards the bed and threw you down so hard you bounced. “I know you want it, baby. And I know just how to give it to you.” He crawled on top of you and captured your mouth in another kiss as his hand trailed down your stomach to tease along your slit. “Hmm, you didn’t get wet like this for him, did you?”

You shook your head. “No–” your hips stuttered as he nudged his fingers inside to tease at your entrance. 

He rose up on his elbow to look down at you. “No,” he repeated. He smirked again as his fingers slipped inside. “Good girl.”

Dave worked you over quickly, drawing an orgasm out of you faster than you’d ever felt before. You were shaking as you felt it climb up your spine, shuddering as you fell over the edge, moaning as it swept you away.

When you blinked your eyes open, you found him smirking at you again. “You’re gorgeous when you come.”

The compliments, the way he’d spoken to you since you crossed his threshold – it was all starting to settle and warm something inside of you in a way that frightened you. You pulled him down into a kiss, ignoring it.

You reached down to tug at the button on his pants and felt him smile into your mouth. “Want something?” His tone was lighter, suddenly, and you wondered if this was what he was like when his walls were coming down.

“You know what I want, Dave.” You pushed at his pants until he assisted by tugging them down just far enough for his cock to spring forward, hard and big. You wrapped your hand around it. 

He looked at you and smirked again. “Oh, good girl,” he leaned in to run his teeth down your neck and palmed your breast. Dave reached down and lifted your right leg, knee to your chest. “Such a pretty pussy,” he praised, and you sighed. “Let me see it.”

He urged you to hold your legs open, gripping behind your knees. It felt suddenly obscene, holding yourself open for his gaze as he kneeled before you fully clothed with his cock out. You felt yourself get wetter and knew he could tell.

He grasped his cock at the root and leaned forward to tease it through your folds. You looked down and moaned when you saw your own arousal glistening on the head of his cock.

“Well, baby, keep your eyes on me.” He notched the head of his cock at your entrance and started to push forward. You almost let go of your knees, reaching for him, but he stopped. “No, keep your hands there,” he scolded. When you got back into position he pushed forward again, all the way in until you were so full you felt your eyes roll back.

Dave grabbed your chin roughly. “Look at me.” His tone was commanding and you blinked until you could do as he said. “You keep your eyes on me.” It was an order. You nodded. He raised his eyebrows and shook your head by the chin.

“Um,” you cleared your throat and felt his cock throb within you. “Yes, sir.”

He smiled. “Good girl.”

It was harder than you could have imagined, not closing your eyes when he started to thrust. It felt delicious, the way his cock filled you up and touched every part of you. But you did it. You watched him, eyes darting over his face and down to where your hips met and back up. 

He watched your face the whole time, never looking away.

“That’s good,” he praised, leaning forward to kiss you. “Hold on tight.”

He sat back and grabbed your thighs where you held them open for leverage. His next thrust was harder and faster and so was the next. You keened. 

“Just like that, baby,” he breathed. “Take it.”

You nodded, eyes locked on his as you held your legs open for him to fuck you.

“Look at you.” He picked up the pace. “So desperate for it, hmm? So beautiful like this.”

You blinked, and his brow furrowed. “Eyes on me.” You nodded, mouth falling open as you heaved in heavy breaths. 

Dave released his grip on your thigh and moved his right hand to your pussy. “Now,” his voice was deeper than ever, “you’re going to come on my cock. And then I’m going to come inside you.”

You nodded, eagerly. He smirked. “Good.”

He worked your clit with his fingers until your legs were shaking in your grasp. The unrelenting thrusts combined with the way he toyed with you pushed you over the edge before you even felt it coming. Your orgasm slammed into you like a freight train, and your next breath was a sob.

“Good girl,” he snarled, hips thrusting harder. He replaced your hands with his own and pushed your knees into your chest. “Now, watch.” You did and you marveled at the sight of him as he reached his own peak and lost himself inside of you.

He collapsed on top of you afterwards and for a moment neither of you did anything but breathe.

Dave flopped to the side, pulling out in a way that made you gasp.

“You know,” his chest was heaving just as much as yours and it made you smile. “I’ve never worked with a partner.”

“Well.” You turned on your side and ran your hand over his chest, undoing the buttons of his shirt. “I think you could use one.”

He hummed, but didn’t answer.

A few minutes later he got up to get you some water, but you didn’t notice when he slipped something into your drink.

…

Early in the morning, Dave slipped out of bed easily, knowing you would still be sleeping off the effects of the drug for a few more hours. He dressed quickly and looked down at you, watching you breathe. He didn’t feel any regret – it had all gone according to plan, after all. Teasing you and drawing you in until you couldn’t help but follow him here, couldn’t help but believe he wanted the same things you did.

And so he’d gotten what he wanted from you. It was time to go.

He slipped the small hard drive from the pocket of your coat and removed all evidence of himself from the room. He left without looking back.

…

You went after him.

Of course you did. You’d woken, groggy, unable to open your eyes and feeling like you’d been hit with a bag of bricks. 

“Dave?” You’d groaned, voice scratchy. You’d reached for him, but his side of the bed had been empty and cold. You’d opened your eyes, finally, and found the room around you empty of everything but your clothes, which had been folded neatly on the desk.

It had taken only a moment for the truth to set in, and you’d felt it like a dagger to the heart – he’d drugged you. He’d used you, taken advantage of your lack of experience, let you see what you wanted to see in him, and then left you here, alone. Your eyes had darted to your jacket, but you’d known even before you’d checked. He’d taken the hard drive, too. 

No one had heard your muffled screams as you buried your face in your pillow. And no one had noticed when something that had still been soft hardened within you.

You’d been angry. And then you’d turned it into something you could use.

You tracked him and his team. Took out two of them. Followed them to the marina, to the boat they were going to use to escape.

Just as you were about to step onto the dock, you froze and looked down.

The red dot of a sniper rifle scope appeared on your chest. You whipped your head back up and found him, at the far end of the dock, rifle pointed towards you. He stood on the open deck of the boat. You could hear the engine start. 

You couldn’t move. You just watched as the boat started to pull into the bay. But you saw the moment he decided not to take the shot.

Dave lowered the rifle and looked at you. You couldn’t see his expression from so far away, but you knew he was looking. You looked back until you couldn’t see him anymore.

…

Present day

“Hello, Dave.”

Her voice sent a shiver down his spine. Fuck, he thought. He’d known that this was coming, but not when.

He’d heard talk of what she’d been doing since he left her on that dock. She gained a reputation. He knew she was skilled, and now so did everyone else in the business.

Dave didn’t regret it, but he sometimes wished he could. He opened his mouth, “You–”

“Shhh,” she hushed him, leaning closer. “It’s too late for that. You should've pulled the trigger when you had a chance.”

...

a/n: how did I do? *hides*

tag list: let me know if you only want to be on the Maintenance Request list! @harriedandharassed @jupiter-soups @ilovepedro @auteurdelabre @anoverwhelmingdin @myloveistoolittle @iknowisoundcrazy @beezusvreeland @screechingphantommaker @bigboiseason123 @joelalorian @untamedheart81 @ashleyfilm @jessthebaker @jeewrites @fluffygoffpanda @paleidiot @mithicakurogo @theclairvoyage @lizzie-cakes @islacharlotte @syd-djarin @copperhalfcent @vabeachazn @pigeonmama @littlevenicebitch69 @secretelephanttattoo @katareyoudrilling

#dave york x reader #writing challenge 2.0 #dave york x you #dave york smut #dave york x f!reader #dave york fanfiction #dave york fic #dave york #x reader #too late fic

[penvisions]

from grief to grace {javi g x reader drabble}

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: Determined to work through your heartbreak, you end up spacing out until your boss comes to check on you.

Warnings: hurt and comfort, break up, heartbreak, asshole boyfriend, negative language, degrading language, disrespect, um idk if there's anything else?

A/N: written for @iamasaddie as part of their writing challenge 2.0! decided to go literal with the prompt of 'javi's blue jacket' and pick javi g since i've never written for him before. the genre i was given was hurt/comfort and the prompt was 'will you tell me about it?' i had so much fun with this even if i took an angstier route (apparently that's my thing lol)

drabble masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

You were trying to concentrate on threading the needle, but your hands were trembling, and tears were brimming. Sighing, you set the needle’s pointed end back into the pin cushion atop the desk, beside the jacket you had been attempting to fix.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and you quickly picked up the notebook you had scribbled Javi’s measurements on, double checking them against the thin white lines you had drawn onto the fabric as you heard him enter the room.

“Okay, my apologies, that meeting ran a little longer. It was unexpected.” He clapped his hands together, seemingly done with that part of the day and more than willing to move onto the nest.

“Th-that’s okay, senior.” You tried to sound normal, but your heart sank when you realized it hadn’t been convincing enough.

“Is everything okay, you do not seem like yourself.” Javi’s cheerful tone had dampened, worry creeping into him as you could feel his eyes look you over completely as you sat frozen at your desk. No doubt taking in the way the jacket that was supposed to be ready for him to try on was sitting in front of you in pieces.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been too slow on this jacket, senior, please accept my apologies.”

“I am not worried about the jacket, I am worried about you. You’re crying, querida.” He intoned softly.

Quickly raising a hand to wipe at your cheeks, you were startled to discover that you were crying. The tears having fallen to the fabric you were supposed to be working on. Damp spots decorating the bright fabric. It was a mustard yellow, the color deeper where you tears had landed. You frantically tried to rub the wet spots off, patting at them with a tissue from the box near the edge of your desk.

“Oh shoot! No, no, no, I will fix it, I swear.”

“No need,” Javi strode further into the room, kneeling beside you to take your hands in his. They looked so small in his, the freckled tan of his feeling warm. “I worry for you, tell me what’s wrong?”

You shook your head, aware of a few errant tears flying away at the motion. You wanted to keep it inside, to not ruin the day or be the cry baby that vented to their sweet, understanding employer.

“I’m okay, I swear.” You wouldn’t look directly at him, knowing his wide brown eyes that glittered in the sunlight would make you spill the news far too quickly if you were to gaze into them. You always had a soft spot for him, for the way he was endlessly kind and wore his heart on his sleeve. Something that had been a thing to tease you over, from both your friends and your – well now ex – boyfriend.

“Will you tell me about it, querida, please? I will do my best to make it better, whatever it is.” He beseeched in that deep baritone he had, his hands squeezing yours reassuringly.

“My-my boyfriend, h-he broke up with me. He said he was embarrassed to tell his friends I was a seamstress.” You sputtered, the ache in your heart making the words flow from you to your boss. He was always so kind, so thoughtful. You hadn’t wanted to tamp down on his sunny and excitable demeanor today of all days. He was preparing to host a viewing festival, indie film makers from all over the world would be there and he had requested you to work overtime if you wanted to. You had taken him up on it, even in the wake of the breakup. You needed to save as much as you could to cover the down payment for a new place, your ex not too prideful to kick you out of the one in your name that he had moved into. “He ki-kicked me out of our apartment, I have nowhere to go.”

You felt a tug on your arms and you leaned into it, your bottom thudding on a plush pillow Javi had pulled from the nearby couch. He took you into his arms carefully, on the watch for any signs that this was not the way to go about this. But you went willingly, your arms going around his neck and your cheek going to his chest. You breathed in deeply, one of his hands rubbing up and down your back soothingly.

“I’m so sorry, mi amor. Why don’t you let me cook for you or take you out to a lovely dinner, mi amor. To help get your mind off of things. You can stay here in the meantime, there are countless rooms here for you to have.” His voice vibrated through you, comforting in how it caressing your ears at the same time. You could only nod, not trusting your voice to be more than a warble of nonsensible words. You tightened your on hold on him, feeling safe for the first time all week.

-

The next morning you woke naturally, the sunlight filtering in through the sheer curtains over the windows. You had opted to stay in, too nervous to be out in public lest you run into your ex. Javi had understood completely, whisking you toward the kitchen after he had dried you tears. Glasses of wine were shared over the course of making dinner and during. Two led to three led to four and you found yourself slow dancing with the graceful man in the kitchen once you had finished. The soft sounds of the distant ocean paired with the oldies flowing low from the radio too tempting. He whispered how he would never treat you in such a bad way, how he would always take care of you, make sure you were happy and healthy.

When he offered you a room again, you had been emboldened by the wine and casual touches. It urged you to lean up close to him, hands still around his neck from dancing to ask if his room was available. He had answered you with a deep kiss, his hands wide on your back as he licked into your mouth. He had assured you he was a man of honor before offering you a pair of pajamas and settled into his plush bed beside you. He hadn’t done anything more than tangle his fingers with your underneath the covers before you both drifted off to sleep.

Smiling to yourself, you stretched out. A moan bubbling up as you felt a few kinks work themselves out in your back. You felt heat rush to your cheeks, the sound so dirty in the warm bedroom. But when you looked over to the other side, you were the only one in the bed. Your eyes flashed to the pop of neon color on the bedside table.  

There was a post it note atop the alarm clock, blocking the display of numbers from view. Javi’s script penned in ink, a message for you.

‘Mi amor, I had to leave early but did not want to wake you.

Please join me for the festival if you’re feeling up to it. Just ask my assistant for a VIP pass.

I will bring home something for dinner. I hope you got some rest last night, please take it easy today.

Yours, Javi’

You liked the sound of that. Home.

#dev writes #fic: from grief to grace #writing challenge 2.0 #writing exercise #the unbearable weight of massive talent #javi gutierrez #javi gutierrez fanfiction #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez x you #javier gutierrez #javi g #javi g x reader #javi g x you #javi g fanfiction #fluff #hurt and comfort #ao3 #archive of our own #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction

[nerdieforpedro]

Weekend Update 04/14/2024

Nerdie, you’re kinda late tonight.

Yeah, it was all taxes this weekend. 😭 Ugh. But it’s done. Let’s not talk about it anymore.

OK…So what’s new?

Back to work after time off. Adjusting and writing. I did watch the Ryan Gosling SNL episode. I laughed so hard.

I did get a manicure and pedicure - 💜 purple hehe!

I did read some fics this week:

1. Something Old by @fhatbhabie (Javi G x plus size female)

2. Sexting by @reallyrallyauthor (Steven Grant x Marc Spector x Jake Lockley x You)

3. Enchanted to Meet You by @beskarandblasters (Din Djarin x f reader)

4. Fires at Midnight by @inept-the-magnificent (Lucian Flores x f reader)

5. A Midnight Plea by @soft-persephone (Marc Spector x fem reader)

6. A Galaxy Far Far Away part 6: Halloween at Juniper Cottage - Pick your own pumpkin by @grogusmum (Din Djarin x earthling f reader)

7. I’ll Give You The Moon by @soft-persephone (Marc Spector x fem reader)

8. Mi Santa by @fhatbhabie (Frankie Morales x reader)

I did write some this week 👀 I’m sorry I’m advance. Things ended up dark. 😭 Those are marked with the red.

Back & Nose, Hair and Hat - (Only Parts of you Mr. Morales Series)

Her smile was worth it - for the iamasaddie writing challenge 2.0 (Pero Tovar modern AU DARK FIC)

Interlude Two - Tell me about her and Part Seven Merging the Star Clusters - (The Lake between us Series)

Scarlet Stains and their Echoes (DARK FIC) - Post Apocalyptic Fluff and Stuff

Chapter 3: Can we talk for a minute? - This is the Neighborhood Din Series.

This week there were a few things, like the writing challenge 2.0 @iamasaddie put together. We sent in asks, pick a color (I did it to myself, I asked for mob enforcer- where else was the fic to go but dark?) Despite being kinda freaked out at what I wrote (I’ll need to process that later) I like it. I usually don’t do dark fics but given recent themes in my writing it’s there. 👀 So I’ll write it if it pops up in the brain.

And this past weekend (I totally missed but sweethearts @perotovar and @honeyedmiller tagged me in) was the @swiftiscruff friendship exchange. From what I saw, people are writing fics for each other, making gif and moodboards and proving much needed friendship and fun. 😎

I’m sure there are other things. But I dunno what they are. 🤣 I hope everyone enjoys what they’re working on. And if you need to rest, drink some water, dance around, nap, all the things.

This week there will another chapter of Din’s neighborhood, I FINALLY have more Din fluff. Well in the neighborhood and Star Ocean Series. I should have another chapter of Benny and actual fluff post apocalypse. It escaped last week. So we’re bringing it back.

No more Ezra and his gumbo or tanktop 🥺 Part 8 will be up next Sunday. His prose will be no more for now. 🙃

My Frankie miniseries will be almost done. This Friday and the next Friday of my math is right. lol

Special thanks:

@mysterious-moonstruck-musings for finding an excellent pic of Frankie’s back and giving me notes on smut that I chose not to use for now

@connectioneverywhere for letting me talk their thumbs off and putting them to sleep. 🤣

@soft-persephone I see you 👀 Two words: Dem noses. 👃 You know. 😄

@megamindsecretlair You need to write about some curls! Telling me and Softie to write about them. You know which curls. 🤭

@soft-girl-musings Songbird, Cabbie and loud ass Marcello on drums. Why did I half expect him to be playing drums on SNL? 😂 He was wearing a very loud shirt so half credit.

@tinytinymenace it’s always fun seeing your namesake laying and just relaxing. 😎 With a dope poof.

@604to647 I really appreciated your ask and messages this week. 💜

Have a great week everyone! 🥰

Love Nerdie ❤️❤️❤️

#weekend update #Nerdie’s update #just under the wire #pedro pascal characters #oscar issac characters #fanfiction #fanfic rec #lovely friends #and just some fun