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macfrog · 11 months

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grilled cowboy like me chapter three

part iii of dbf!joel! parts i here and ii here. ask, dear readers, and you shall receive. i do just wanna also add a massive thank you to you guys for all the love on this series. every single like, reblog, reply, etc. means the world to me. i hope you enjoy this next chapter 💚 reader got joel quaking !!! 🥵

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel knows he shouldn't be looking at you the way he is, but you look so pretty on your knees; how can he say no?

warnings: 18+ minors dni!!! oral (m receiving), praise kink, jealous/protective joel, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), consumption of alcohol, cursing

word count: 4.6k

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You know what he means. He’s in a lot more trouble than you are if you both get caught; he’s your dad’s buddy. He isn’t supposed to be fooling around with his best friend’s daughter. You think over what you’ve gotta be doing to him – all the glances when no one’s looking, the touching, practically fucking begging for him to make you cum earlier. It’s no wonder he’s trying so hard to stop himself every time, no surprise he’s doing all he can not to give in to you. And right then, you realize – That’s exactly what you want him to do.

You spend a few more minutes up in your room before you follow Joel out the door and downstairs. You’re a little flustered, okay? Your dad’s best friend just had you literally wrapped around his fingers, and now you both gotta head off to a friendly neighborhood barbecue you’re supposed to be hosting. All smiles. All, Anyone need a refill? All, No, I haven’t just totally been fooling around with Joel Miller.

The house is empty and voices feed in from the backyard. You push aside the shades and step out onto the bright patio, where a few of your neighbors are sitting. Joel stands between Hank and Rita’s chairs, and you amble over to his side.

You sense his body tensing as soon as you reach him, your shoulder brushing off of his deliberately.

“Hello, my girl,” Rita calls, taking one of your wrists in her frail hands. “I sure am glad to see you back on home turf.”

You smile a little awkwardly, placing a hand on top of hers. “It’s nice to see you, too. How’ve you been?”

“Still livin’, honey, still livin’.”

She lets go of you when Hank takes her up in conversation, and your attention turns back to Joel.

“Busy, huh? Lotta people came.”

“Mhm,” he grunts, taking a step away from you and folding his arms. You eyes skim across the new distance between you both, noting it.

“Joel, your Sarah,” Rita swivels to face him, “she’s home soon, right?”

Joel nods. “The seventeenth.”

Hank gives a nod. “It’ll be a fine summer havin’ both you girls back home.”

Joel shifts awkwardly, his eyes darting around the patio. He spots Bill across the pool, by your dad’s work shed, and excuses himself. You track him as he makes off, and feel your face reddening.

Your dad’s head and shoulders materialize through the sliding door to the kitchen and he calls on you, beckoning you in. You hesitantly wander over, a cloud of shame forming over your head that you hope he can’t see.

“Bill’s beer,” he adds a Coors to a tray filled with glasses and bottles, “Marcia’s iced tea, a Coke for Sam…Joel– Shoot, we ain’t got Joel anythin’. Reckon he’ll touch Coors?”

You flinch at the mention of his name, and instantly try to recover it. “I wouldn’t know, why would I know that?”

Your dad’s hands lift like you’ve aimed a shotgun at him. “Alright, cranky, jeez. Go back to bed, get out the right side this time. Here.”

He lifts the tray and slowly passes it over the island to you, the glass trembling.

“…you remember, now? Bill – beer, Marcia – iced tea, Sam–”

“– Coke, yeah, I got it. Go take a Xanax, dad, your hair’s fallin’ out.”

“And ask Joel what he’s after!” he calls as you slip out of the sliding door.

Marcia sits beside her daughter, Lisa, on the pool loungers. You bend your knees and lower the tray for her to reach her drink.

“Thank you, honey.” She grins gratefully as she lifts it off the shaking tray and you return her smile, then continue on.

Bill is stood at the other end of the garden with Joel, arms crossed, both listening to some story Arthur Kennedy’s telling about a mechanic he works with. Arthur Kennedy always kinda scared you, was always loud and drunk. Your dad and Joel used to deliberately come up with excuses to keep you and Sarah away from him at parties.

This time is no different. You approach the group of men from Joel’s right side, dipping behind his back to stand between him and Bill, safely separated from the raving storyteller.

“He says he’d just oiled it, I said, Benny, that engine’s drier ‘n a nun’s nasty!”

He erupts into a roar of laughter despite the silence of his companions, and you nudge the tray against Bill’s arm.

“Oh, darlin’,” he says, turning to you and giving you an affectionate smile as he lifts the beer. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

You smile back. Bill can be gruff, a bit of a loner, but he’s always had a soft spot for you.

“How you doin’?” he asks, taking a swig.

You nod. “Good. Back workin’ at Sal’s, so…living the dream.”

You can feel Arthur’s stare on you like the hot sun. You shift awkwardly from foot to foot, tray tucked under your elbow against your hip.

“I’ll bet,” Bill says. “He got you workin’ hard?”

“Not really. It’s a pretty quiet store. Uh, Dad wanted me to ask,” you turn to Joel, whose eyes are glued to the ground, “what you’re drinkin’?”

He shakes his head, palm hooked around the back of his neck. “I’ll get my own. Thanks.”

“Aw, c’mon Joelie,” Arthur taunts. You try to avoid looking him in the eye out of fear he’ll take you up on it, but he does it anyways. “Why don’t you just let this pretty little waitress of ours bring you a drink? Since she’s bein’ so sweet ‘n offerin’.”

Your eyes flit to Joel. His jaw is tense, his eyes dark as he stares down Arthur.

“You know what,” he says through his teeth, “I’ll take a Bud. C’mon, you’ll know where they are, right?”

“Wh– We didn’t get any–”

“Be in the fridge, I’ll bet.” He takes your arm and pulls you away from the duo, who resume conversation as you leave.

You’re hauled back into the kitchen so fast that you almost drop Sam’s soda.

“Joel, be careful!”

He lets go of your arm and watches Arthur from the kitchen window. “Scumbag,” he mutters.

“Do you suffer from short-term memory loss?” you ask, throwing the tray onto the counter. “Didn’t we have a whole argument in the store about me not gettin’ Bud?”

“Just had to get you away from him, talkin’ like that. Guy pisses me off,” Joel huffs.

“Who pisses you off?” your dad calls, appearing from the bathroom.

Joel shoots him a look. “Arthur Kennedy. What’s he doin’ here?”

“I couldn’t not invite him; I know he’s a dirtball. You stay away from him.” He points a finger at you.

“Very good,” Joel replies. “Great plan. Make it her problem to keep the pervert off her tail.”

“Pervert?” You scoff.

“You don’t hear him at Frank’s!” Joel rounds on you now, and you raise your eyebrows. “That waitress line wasn’t even half of it.”

Your dad chuckles, patting Joel’s shoulder as he passes. “I’ll keep an eye on it.” He wanders out to the patio.

Joel’s still full of rage. You watch him, not sure whether to move closer or let him calm down on his own.

“I think you’re probably overreacting a little. It was a creepy line, and I won’t be goin’ near him anyways, but it’s fine. I can dodge Arthur Kennedy.”

“Shouldn’t need to. Shouldn’t be put in that position.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off of the kitchen counter, palms pressed flat to the surface, shoulders hunched, breathing deep. He looks like a wild bear, like he could rip Arthur Kennedy limb from limb if only he’d just stroll through the sliding door.

You decide to give him some time to cool off.

“I gotta get this Coke to Sam. You good?”

“I’ll be fine,” he snaps, and you take that as your cue to dip.

When you reappear into the sunlight, a pair of hands clamp down on your shoulders, making you jump.

“Hey, stranger!”

“Sam!” you cry, clutching your chest. “You almost gave me a damn heart attack. Here, idiot.”

You hand him the soda, and he tilts it in your direction, a thank-you in the form of a toast.

“I’ve been meaning to drop by Frank’s since I got home, come pay you a visit.”

“I’ll get you a drink on the house when you do.” Sam smiles, blonde fringe gleaming in the sun.

“So, how’s it going?” you ask.

“It’s…going.” He laughs. “Was just talking to Hank about college courses. Figured I might apply. This bartending life is not for me.”

“Do it. Come be a graduate with me. I got a degree, forty grand of debt, and absolutely no prospects!”

Sam laughs. “Nah, you got a brain, you’re gonna work somethin’ out.”

You both take seats by the pool to catch up. Sam’s a nice guy; he was in your circle of friends at school, and, like Anna, always stayed in Austin while you and the rest up and left.

Your dad always thought he had a thing for you, being that he was male and you two were close, and your dad’s an old-fashioned man who doesn’t believe any good can come from two people of opposite genders being friends. But Sam’s a sweet guy, and his being here pushes Joel’s sudden change in behavior a little further back in your mind.

“I’m working later on, so I’m only staying for an hour or so. My mom says hi, by the way.”

“Hi right back. Is she doing okay?”

“Fine! She’s fine. As fine as she can be, I think. Y’know, my dad leaving wasn’t too great. She took it pretty hard. But we’re settled into the new place, she’s doing good. Do you…Did you scratch yourself, or somethin’?”

He points underneath your hair to the side of your neck and your fingers run across the skin, wincing a little over a particular spot under your jaw. A memory flashes before your eyes as the sensitive skin tingles and your eyes instantly lock on the culprit: emerging from the kitchen door, beer in hand, dark eyes scanning the garden for you.

When you lock eyes, he makes a passive expression and wanders off in the opposite direction.

“Uh– No, that’s weird. Well, I had a nap earlier. I might have scratched myself in my sleep, y’know?”

Sam narrows his eyes. He’s twenty-three, dumbass, he’s not an idiot.

You smile sweetly at him and scrape together some reason to excuse yourself, dashing off to the bathroom to examine Joel’s handiwork.

It’s only a little red, probably more noticeable in the sunlight, but still, you grab some concealer and dab it over the mark. Feeling exhausted from running around and pretty pissed off with Joel, you march back outside and throw yourself into a chair beside Hank.

“Your dad knows how to cook a burger,” he tells you, holding a napkin to his mouth. “Delicious.”

“I’ll grab one in a bit. Not really hungry.”

You spend a little time chatting with Hank and Rita, answering their questions about college, telling anecdotes about work, asking about Anna’s makeup business.

“That girl,” Hank shakes his head, “there ain’t no tellin’ her. I’m just her ol’ uptight dad.”

All the while you periodically glance up, across the pool to Joel, and each time, he’s staring right back.

When you get up to grab some food, his eyes follow you. When Sam pulls you in for a hug to say goodbye, he’s watching. When Arthur stumbles over to sit across from Hank, Joel’s figure appears like an apparition at the side of him. Across the table, an appropriate distance away, but keeping an eye on you.

It fills you with equal parts thrill and frustration.

You find yourself laughing extra hard at Bill’s comments, leaning your head on Marcia’s shoulder, leaping to your feet anytime Hank wants a refill, or Rita asks you to light her cigarette. All to get to Joel. All so he has to watch you be unbothered by him for the entire night.

The garden is darker, porch light attracting moths and flies, but a small group of your neighbors sits congregated under blankets on the patio still. You’re talking about New York with Lisa when you notice Joel lean in to your dad across the table.

“I’m gonna head, early start tomorrow,” he says, getting up from his seat.

“You remember your gas tank, Joel,” your dad tells him, nodding over to the grilling station.

“Hey.” You feel a nudge on your shoulder and look up to find his brown eyes looking down into yours. “Give me a hand, would ya? Loadin’ this into the truck.”

“You got it out just fine on your own.”

He calls you by name, and you know from his stern expression he’s serious.

You stand, shaking the blanket from your shoulders, and follow him over to the barbecue. He detaches the tank and picks it up. You wrap your fingers around the handle beside Joel’s, but when the two of you waddle out the back gate, you can feel he has most of the weight.

You reach his truck, shrouded in darkness from the dusk. He hands you the keys from his back pocket and you drop the tailgate, then Joel hoists the tank up by himself and wipes his hands on his jeans.

“What’d you even need me for?”

“Been weird today. Wanted to check you were alright.”

“Are you fucking serious?” You groan. “Are you talking to me or not?”

“Of course I’m talkin’ to ya.”

“Then stop being an asshole, okay? I’m bored of asshole Joel. I want my Joel back.”

He looks at you almost solemnly.

“Look, if you don’t wanna talk about what happened upstairs, we don’t have to, but–”

“’s not that I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Then what is it?”

The floodlight over the garage switches on and your back gate clicks open. Your dad ushers Rita out, coat draped over her shoulders.

“Just walkin’ Rita home,” your dad calls.

“See ya, hon!”

You wave. “Bye, Rita.”

When you turn back, Joel’s making his way toward the truck door.

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” you mutter under your breath, and silently storm back into the house.

You hear his truck pull away as you throw yourself down onto your bed. Fucking livid.

Alright, you agreed nothing happened. But then Joel went and started acting like something totally happened. If anyone had caught on to the way he was acting, they’d for sure know something was up.

The anger rolls around in your stomach; his avoiding you, the way he kicked off when Arthur made that comment, the way his eyes followed you around the garden afterward.

And worst of all, you fucking liked it. You liked him protecting you, didn’t you? You liked the way he couldn’t help himself, had to make sure you were out of reach of any danger. You liked peering over Sam’s shoulder to find his gaze frozen on you.

You sit up, hands either side of your hips on your mattress. You look down and notice what they’re resting on.

Joel’s flannel shirt.

You’re halfway out the door, shirt in your fist, before you even have time to breathe. You run into your dad in the driveway.

“Woah, woah, where we off to?”

“Joel forgot his shirt.”

“I’m sure he can do without it for a few days, kiddo.”

“I’ll just take it back to ‘im,” you call, hopping in your car before he has time to protest.

You’re at Joel’s in five minutes.

Knocking and waiting for him to answer might ruin the argumentative vibe you’re trying to set, so you fling his front door open and walk straight into his hallway.

The house sits in complete darkness, save for a small light flooding in from the room at the end of the hall. You wander up to it and find Joel sat at his kitchen table, staring down at some contract papers on the wood. Aside from the dull light over his head, the kitchen is dark, orange tinge on the walls from the streetlights outside.

He doesn’t flinch when your shoe scuffs his tile floor. Instead, he just flips the papers back over and sighs.

“Subtlety not in your nature, is it, kid?”

“You left this.” You throw the shirt onto the table.

His eyes scan over it. “Thought I told you to keep it.”

“Oh,” you sit down opposite him, “my mistake. I thought you meant keep it until you’d had your way with me. Thought once you’d dumped me I was to hand the flannel back.”

“Dumped you?” He raises his eyebrows, sitting back in his chair. “Hm.”

“Hm?”

“I wasn’t tryin’ to dump you. I didn’t mean for you to feel…dumped.”

“The most you talked to me all afternoon was to give me a grilling about Arthur Kennedy. All you did was stare at me, then ask me to help you carry a gas tank at the very end of the night.”

He scratches his beard, considering what you’re saying.

“I mean, I thought we agreed to act like it didn’t happen,” you continue, “I thought we were fine.”

“Fine? You think what we did was fine?”

You struggle to find words to reply. Sure, it was better than fine. And at the same time, it was a terrible idea.

“We…We were…We were just messing around.”

Joel almost laughs. “Messin’ around.”

“Yeah,” you protest. “I liked it, you looked like you liked it. What’s wrong with it?”

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong with it. If we do this, if we’re ‘messin’ around’…what makes me any different to…to Arthur Kennedy? Hm? Just another creep on the street, hangin’ around and flirtin’ with girls far too young for ‘im?”

“The difference is I actually want you to do it, Joel.”

His expression drops. He stands up, shoving the chair back, and wanders off toward the kitchen counter.

You twist around to watch him. “I want this. And I’m twenty-three fucking years old, I can decide for myself. Arthur is, like, sixty years old, anyway. And he ain’t even a good sixty – he’s all grey, wrinkly skin, greasy hair like he doesn’t know how to work his own shower–”

“Alright, kid, we’re digressin’ here.” Joel waves his hand.

You snap back to reality and shake your head to clear it of Arthur Kennedy’s leathery skin. “Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s just not a good idea.”

“What’s not?” You stand.

“This. Us. You ‘n me.”

“And did you decide this before or after you fucked around with me in my bedroom?”

Joel sighs, shaking his head and turning away. He places one hand on his hip, the other to the bridge of his nose.

“I mean…” You throw your arms up, finally at breaking point. “What are you doing to me?”

Your tone forces him to turn back. When your expression matches it, he approaches you, gently cupping your face in both hands.

“I’m tryin’ to rein this in a little, baby. I’m tryna be the responsible one here. You know how hard it is not to give in to this? To you?”

You know what he means. He’s in a lot more trouble than you are if you both get caught; he’s your dad’s buddy. He isn’t supposed to be fooling around with his best friend’s daughter.

You think over what you’ve gotta be doing to him – all the glances when no one’s looking, the touching, practically fucking begging for him to make you cum earlier. It’s no wonder he’s trying so hard to stop himself every time, no surprise he’s doing all he can not to give in to you. And right then, you realize –

That’s exactly what you want him to do.

Your head falls limp in his grasp. “Then, stop trying.”

Joel’s eyes trace over your face; down the bridge of your nose, across your lips, over to where your jaw meets his rough hands. He’s tossing the thought of it over in his head like a penny. Only there’s no right answer.

Heads, you call it off, and lose any chance of ever knowing what this is between you guys. Tails, you fall down the rabbit hole; secret, clandestine, forbidden rabbit hole, and risk losing…well, everything.

Is it worth that risk? Just to feel him on you again? To feel his lips across yours, hungry, demanding, his hips grinding into you, his hands all over you, the way he looks at you as you cum for him…

Suddenly, like the realization hits him at the exact same time as it does you, Joel’s eyes darken.

Yeah. It’s fucking worth it.

His grip becomes rough, shifting from your jaw to around your throat. He pulls you toward him, lips connecting, and your hands press against his chest.

His grasp drops, squeezing your hips, before one hand leaves to settle between your legs. He just can’t get enough, can he?

“Uh-uh,” you mumble against his mouth, “you had your taste earlier. It’s my turn.”

You push him back against the counter. He’s staring at you with nothing but lust behind his eyes. Without a word, you sink down, knees hitting the cold tile.

“Baby…” Joel hums when your hands find his belt buckle. You smirk at his voice; you’re too good to be true to him. Like he can’t believe what’s about to happen.

You undo his belt and pull it through the loops, letting it fall to the floor with a clink. Then your fingers undo his jeans, almost tearing them apart by the zipper with your eagerness to see him.

As you pull the denim over his hips, you feel his hand softly rest on the crown of your head. A quick glance up tells you he’s watching every single thing you’re doing, lapping it up like it’s the last thing he’ll ever see.

You can see the bulge through his boxers; it’s big. Bigger than you imagined, even with your hand stuffed down your panties.

You place a gentle kiss to his thigh and pull the waistband of his underwear down, and his cock springs free. You gasp a little at the size of it, feeling your mouth watering at the sight of precum on his tip.

Your hands wrap around it, clutching his girth. You pump him a few times in your hands and he tips his head back, mouth agape. His free hand grips the counter, steadying himself.

His tip oozes more precum and you wrap your lips around it, sucking gently. Joel groans, audibly. The most audible you’ve heard him yet. It drives you insane.

You push your lips down his shaft, his cock filling up your mouth to your throat before you even reach the bottom. You push down as far as your throat will allow before releasing him with a pop, saliva mixed with Joel all over your lips.

“Good girl,” he’s mumbling, eyes still screwed shut, hand still knotting in your hair.

You drag your tongue along the underside of his dick, closing your eyes. All you can think is Joel, all you can taste, smell, and breathe is him. Completely dumb for this man, cock stretching your mouth so good.

When you take him in down to your throat again, he begins moving his hips; fucking your mouth. You steady yourself, hands on his upper thighs, and let him, trying not to lower your hand to your cunt to relieve the ache quickly growing there.

The sounds he’s making are enough to make you cum by themselves. He’s panting, moaning, breathing your name, groaning whenever your cheeks hollow and you suck until he’s so close he pulls you off.

“Wanna take my time, baby. You’re doing so good.”

You pull him back into your mouth. He tastes like sweat and salt and Joel. He tastes perfect.

When he bumps the back of your throat and you gag a little, you notice Joel’s head snap down to check on you. His grip on your hair loosens, and you softly gaze back at him, eyes blown with lust, to let him know you’re okay.

You drag your lips off of his head, a string of saliva still linking your mouth to his reddened tip. You’re panting now, half-turned on, half-tired from accommodating the size of him between your jaw.

Your palms wrap around his length again, pumping and twisting slowly while your tongue flicks over his head. He grits his teeth, both hands now against the countertop, knuckles whitening the longer you go on.

When you let go of him and dip your head down to take his whole cock in your throat, he lets out a deep groan.

“Keep goin’, baby, keep doin’ that,” he’s groaning, your head bobbing up and down. “Don’t fuckin’ stop.”

His hand falls to the back of your head and he applies a little pressure, fucking into you again.

When you begin to feel him jerk, you lean back, hands helping him to his high as you hold his head to your bottom lip.

Joel’s hand never leaves your head as his cock twitches, filling your throat and coating your tongue in warm, salty cum. He’s calling your name, breath heaving and hips shuddering.

His length slides out of your mouth. When his orgasm subsides, he watches you lick your lips and swallow his load, before tucking his softening dick under his boxers and pulling his jeans back up.

You watch in a distant haze of ecstasy as Joel does his pants up himself and takes your chin in his hand.

Breathing heavy, you look up at him, eyes hooded. Waiting for permission to stand.

“C’mere,” he whispers, and your tired legs hoist you back up to height.

He envelops you in his arms, placing a kiss to your forehead and letting you lean into his chest.

You let your eyes fall closed as you breathe each other in.

“So good to me,” Joel mumbles against your forehead, and you lazily smile.

You could let him carry you up to his bed and fall asleep right then and there, you think. That is, until you hear your phone vibrating on the table.

“Fuck,” you groan, and Joel releases you from his grasp.

“Just makin’ sure you ain’t dead,” your dad chirps down the line.

“I’m still at Joel’s,” you reply, “just leavin’.”

“Don’t you be keepin’ him, you hear?”

You pretend not to, and get him off the phone as quickly as possible. When you turn back around, Joel’s stood with a smirk on his face.

“Go on. Don’t want to make him suspicious.”

You skip over and place a kiss to his lips, and he runs a hand through your hair.

“Like I said, we’re not doing anything wrong.”

“Just messing around,” he says.

----------

As you approach the front door, you pause for a second and compose yourself. Glance in the window to check your reflection, take a deep breath. The last thing you need right now is your dad noticing something’s different.

He’s sitting in the recliner watching baseball highlights when you stumble in. He doesn’t turn to look at you as you dive straight for the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water.

“Hey there. Joel get his precious shirt back?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure. Just couldn’t be bothered with it lying around my room.”

He hums absentmindedly. You stand by the kitchen island chugging the water, avoiding conversation with him and looking for an excuse to dismiss yourself to bed.

“Hey,” he says after a bit, “did you find the burgers too…salty?”

You choke on your drink. “The– Too– What?”

“The burgers. Not sure if I over-seasoned ‘em. Were they salty?”

“No. They were fine. They were fine.”

Dizzy with adrenaline, you feign sleepiness and bid him goodnight. When you reach your room and collapse onto your bed, your phone buzzes.

Your eyes scan over the text; your heart skips and you feel a flutter just south of your belly button.

Joel: You free Sunday?

----------

tag list: @yvonneeeee @brittmb115 @subconsciouscollapse (let me know if u wanna be added!)

#joel miller #joel miller fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #joel miller smut #joel miller pedro pascal #pedro pascal #cowboy like me

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millerscoffee · 9 months

Text

soft spot for trouble | hbf!javi

lit a cigarette and gave it a kiss.

6.3k | javier peña x f!reader

masterlist

rating: 18+ MDNI

warnings: dub-con: drunk sex, honey this is all S-M-U-T, husband's best friend, infidelity, dirty talk, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, squirting, piv (protected), brat tamer!javi, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, size kink, praise kink, this is just so horny, smoking (lots of it soz, and shotgunning cigarette smoke – OOPS). no use of y/n.

summary: javier peña is back from colombia and decides to spend some time with you and your husband, his best friend since college. after telling a story you know nothing about, an argument ensues between you and your husband, and you get drunk... both on whiskey, and on javi.

A/N: what can i say, i'm just the worst for narcos's very own javier peña and there's nothing you can do. enjoy!!!!! || [when you click keep reading you don't see the chalkboard i have stashed away stating "i will not make this a series" over and over 🤭]

"Bebita, I know your husband. He's not exactly notorious for making women cum. When was the last time he even went down on you?" Your cheeks absolutely flush at the tone of his voice, the truths he's spilling from his lips. Truths so intimate, you hadn't even told Gabbie about them. You swallow a knot in your throat. "Not saying it's me who should do that for you," finishing off his statements and drink Javi stands up, slipping on his leather jacket. "I'm saying I could." Stepping closer, he bends down to catch your ear. Goosebumps litter your skin as he whispers: "Could make you forget all about tonight." And you very much would like to forget all about tonight.

"Okay – okay! Would you have a threesome?" Your best friend is reading these conversation cards you got her some birthday ago, and you can hear her partner and your husband laugh amongst themselves.

A dinner party is going on at your house, and you and your husband have invited your best friend, Gabrielle, and her partner, Kris. Along with them there's your husband's best friend, Javier.

He was meant to bring a date, but for reasons that were more mumbled out of his mouth than spoken outright, they aren't here.

You're all sat around the dining room table with after dinner drinks and a game everyone agreed would be a fun way to end the night.

"Oh, gosh!" You laugh with Gabbie, both of you shaking your heads in anticipation of what would be said next.

"You gonna tell her or should I, pendejo?" Javi refers to your husband, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

The one you explicitly told him to smoke outside. You heard your husband, Julian, veto the request as you left, allowing the DEA to do what he wanted.

Julian undermining what you wanted... again.

"Tell me what?" You raise your brow, wafting smoke from your face dramatically as if to say, I told you not to do this. Javi doesn't seem to pay it much attention.

"Me and this guy...," in fact he points to your husband with the cigarette, flicking ash into the tray. You blink in annoyance.

"No! You didn't!" You gasp. Your mind races at the thought of them taking someone back to their dorm in college. You curb the ache that tempts your middle at thought of Javier and Julian sharing a woman between the two of them.

But that excitement is fleeting when a more sinister, grueling feeling creeps up your stomach.

"You're right. We didn't. Well, I didn't. I just played wingman. Julian here isn't as much of a saint as you thought." Javi says this to make you laugh, but it does the opposite.

Your eyes catch Julian's who now is looking at anywhere else but you. Knowing damn well before the two of you got married, this man prodded and practically bullied sexual information out of you.

Said it was only fair to know each other's pasts before making such a big commitment.

Within a sentence, a simple – stupid – game, the perception of your husband could shift before your very eyes. Your jaw ticks forward and you take a long, contemplative sip of wine.

"O-kay, let's just put these away," Kris muses, taking the cards in her hands.

"No, let's keep going," you antagonise. Your eyes become dull, tongue sharpening by the second. "I think Julian has a story to tell. It's good to know who you're married to."

You remember the way Julian said those very words to you while he was digging your own history of who you've slept with. Like a secret call directly to him... in front of everyone.

You can see Peña shifting in his seat out of your periphery.

"Well, it was in college," Julian speaks now after shooting the rest of his bourbon. His body language involving everyone in the story, but he finally has the courage to look at you. Somehow that hurts worse.

"There were these two girls at the bar we used to go to, and–"

That's when the tear spills over your cheek.

"Alright, I think she's heard enough." Javi's voice is low to Julian and your head snaps in the direction of him like a vulture who's making a meal of something dead.

"You don't get to decide that."

It's only when Gabbie whispers your name do you take heed. "I think we should leave you two to talk about this."

The guests in your home pack up their things until it's you and Julian. "I'm sorry, Jul–"

"Peña just go, man."

Javi nods sadly at your husband, his hand touching your shoulder as he slips out. He's the last one to go, and as the door closes it feels symbolic.

It's silent for a long time.

You go between wanting to cry, wanting to scream, wanting clarity.

Since your own husband didn't bother to give that to you.

"I never cared," you let out an uneven sigh, searching over your husband's features.

He looks defensive, annoyed and it's totally misplaced. You should be the annoyed one. You are the one who got betrayed.

"It never bothered me to tell you my partners. I agreed with you, even. That we should be open and honest to have a better relationship–"

"You really think you're in the position to be on a high horse when you fuck Javier with your eyes?"

It's deflective. A defense mechanism to take the heat off of himself, and unfortunately, it works. Your mouth is left agape.

"What the fuck do you mean?"

"I mean," he begins, tilting his glass to where Javi sat, "whenever this guy is over, I don't exist."

"This guy, is your best friend. Someone you've known way longer than you've known me. Excuse me for being hospitable."

"There's hospitality, then there's throwing yourself at the first man who walks through the door. It's embarrassing."

His words make you feel small for the first time in your relationship.

It causes a crack, irreparable in nature, and you feel a shift.

Because you don't cry, it makes you angry. Puts you back on track as to why you were having this conversation in the first place.

"Embarrassing?" You stand, wine glass in hand, "Embarrassing?! You just confessed something you knew would make me irate in front of our very best friends. Something personal that I should have known in private. You lied to me and you admitted it in front of people we care about. Made me look like a goddamn fool! Don't tell me about being embarrassed, you don't know the first fucking thing. Fuck you, Julian!"

You could throw the wine glass, but you decide to slam it down instead. Grabbing your purse, keys, and jacket to escape without letting him finish his thought. Door slammed. You've heard enough.

Mature. But you were pissed off, and you knew staying in a house that you made a home together wouldn't solve anything.

Maybe getting some fresh air would help.

Maybe walking to the bar in town would be even more helpful.

Your thoughts were swirling, clouding your judgement on the walk in, sneakers on. Your pleated white skirt brushes above your knees that paired with the black top that made your breasts look concealed more than shown off.

As if the forest green bomber jacket didn't help in making you look modest.

What the fuck did Julian know?! You weren't throwing yourself at anybody.

Because you were not thinking about Javi with his shirt off moments before the truth was told, and he did not infiltrate your dreams occasionally with sexual undertones.

It couldn't happen, and it was not happening.

You had been to this bar a few times before. It's dimly lit, a variety of music pumps through the speakers. There's plumes of smoke, and there's something about it that feels safer than when you experienced it in your home. Like a part of you enjoyed it.

Studying the room, you discover Javier Peña on a barstool, staring into his glass of whiskey. You knew Peña to play dirty, but there's something about the way he's contemplating – or at least looks like he's contemplating – that gives off remorse.

"Didn't know you could do that," you kid, taking a seat beside him. Your eyes scan over his jeans, the buttons undone from his red shirt. The way his chest and neck and NO – no!

"Oh, hey," and his dreamy crooked smile, puppy eyes. Jesus Christ, you needed a drink and fast. "Didn't know I could do what?"

"Think." You try to cheer him up, but it doesn't seem to work. You both keep doing that to each other tonight.

Instead, Javi huffs out a fake laugh through his nose and downs the rest of the amber liquid. His eyebrows flash quickly, showing hints of regret, "You're tellin' me."

"Hey," your say lowly, eyes softening at the signs of his guilt. It feels different from your husband's accusatory behaviour.

It makes you feel like Javi actually cared that he hurt you, or at least hurt his friend. You can see him run his tongue atop of his teeth through his lips when he looks at you. It makes his jaw jut out, strong and chiseled, and you fail at averting your gaze.

"You didn't know that I didn't know. It's not your fault. For either party." You reach out to touch the top of Javi's hand in a friendly manner, and you catch a glimpse of your wedding ring.

A twinge of guilt hits your gut, and you pull away from the warmth as soon as you land.

"You really didn't know?" Javi peers over to you before finding eyes of the bartender, holding up the number 'two' with his fingers.

"Not only did I not know, he insisted on knowing every person that I've ever slept with, where they live, and how many times. Yes you heard that correctly," you nod a thank you to both the bartender and Javi before taking your drink.

Whiskey's not typically your first choice, but it's like he knew you needed something stronger. It's not a typical night.

The alcohol feels good on your tongue, as if it washed away what you just said.

You conveniently leave out what your husband threw at you about Peña before you left. Tonight was awkward enough already.

"Mierda, what a fucking idiot." Javi snickers in disbelief, shaking his head.

"Yeah, I think you taught him some interrogation skills you didn't warn me about." You don't mean for that to come off so flirty, but you see Javier's face change minisculely and it makes your thighs to squeeze together.

"Didn't know I had to look out for you, cariño," he says, charm dripping from every syllable. He offers you a cigarette and it's hilarious, really – him handing this to you after telling him time and time again not to do it in your house.

Even more hilarious that you take it from him. He seems a little surprised by that.

You press the stick between your teeth when Javi has his lighter ready. Pour your stare into his as he starts your cigarette. Allow the inhale to sting your lungs.

You're very composed about it all, really. Really.

Exhaling the air from the side of your mouth, away from his face, you shrug slightly. "I guess you know now." Your words not making complete sense as you dizzy from nicotine, alcohol, and deception.

"Two women...," you trail off, focusing on the neon lights of the bar that create reflections on the shiny, hardwood floor. "Can barely satisfy one." You weren't saying it to chide Julian, you mostly said to to yourself, but of course nothing goes unnoticed with Peña, and he chokes a laugh.

It feels nice to hear a light sound in the midst of something so heavy that you can't help but partake in it, too. The two of you chuckling and you shake your head, taking another drag of the cigarette.

"Well, here's to the ones who can," Javi lifts his glass, and you do the same, just barely picking up what he's hinting while you down the rest of drink. Head swimming now.

The two of you sit in conversation as the piles of people in your town fill seats for a good ten minutes. Most of them know the both of you, and that keeps you on track. You abandon the butt of your cigarette in an ashtray that has at least three of Javi's since he arrived.

Kept on track because the more you drink, the more you realise you want to act on your impulses. Want to go against the things you were keeping yourself from thinking. To make some of those dreams come true.

"You know what your fuckin' problem is?" Javi starts, and it makes your blood boil. Breaks you out of your reverie.

"Maybe start that sentence off differently."

"No," he's quick to reply. So quick you don't notice you fold your own argument. "You're too uptight, that's your problem." he shrugs casually and you shove his shoulder lightly.

"Making it worse, Peña."

Javi brings his hand up to tap his index and middle finger at to the side of your head lightly.

"You're operating too much from here," his arm sweeps down, those two same fingers brushing against your panties from underneath your skirt. You jump back in your seat, gasping in response.

"Need to operate from here."

And there it is. It would seem out of place if it were anyone else but Javier Fucking Peña. Known for debaucherous ways. Known for his vices.

"W-what... what are you doing?" You stare wide, not quite sure you even felt what you did. It happened so fast that when you look around, no one saw a thing.

It wasn't as much of a record-scratch stop to them as it was to you.

You notice that you don't tell him to stop. And so does he.

"Not saying it's me who should do that for you," finishing off his statements and drink Javi stands up, slipping on his leather jacket. "I'm saying I could." Stepping closer, he bends down to catch your ear. Goosebumps litter your skin as he whispers: "Could make you forget all about tonight."

And you very much would like to forget all about tonight.

It's only when you stand do you notice how drunk you are. Not completely wasted, but not sober enough to make decisions with your brain. Exactly how Javi wants you. The walk to Javi's apartment is remembered in jolly splices.

---

Your mouth greets the shoulder of Javi's jacket playfully while he unlocks his door. You detect his aftershave in mix with the cigarettes, alcohol, and leather.

A whine escapes you and slick gathers in your panties, even more from the bar if that were possible. Especially when your noises and eagerness pull a baritone laugh from him, "Tranquilo, tigre."

He says that, but as soon as you've crossed the threshold of his door he has you against the other side of it. Fingers playing in your hair. Ever the gentleman, sliding off your jacket to put it... on the ground. Great. You like that jacket!

But you're just as careful and kind to his things as you tug on his belt. Your fingers playing with the brown leather and metal and finally, finally your mouths touch.

A sweet moan, high in octave and breathy, eases out of your throat and it's met with the gravel of his groan in the pit of his own. He feels and tastes nothing like your husband which makes it much easier to forget him.

Truthfully, he hadn't been in your mind since fresh air hit your face on the walk to Javi's.

Smoke, alcohol, and the faint likeness of gum moves over your tongue while your hands multitask in untucking his shirt from his jeans.

"That fuckin' easy?" He quips, but his breath as shaky as yours. Large hands palming the smushed shape of your breasts from the modest top, and it produces a whimper in the middle of your panting.

"It's that fucking easy, Peña. Could've been doing this a long fuckin' time, now." Your hands eclipse his, pushing them further into your tits in effort to obscenely massage them.

This stirs a groan from his lips. In awe of how in control you are like this. How it's different from the woman allowing her requests to be denied in her own home.

Javi disobeyed you on purpose at your house earlier, so maybe you could get it through your thick fucking skull that this is what you really needed.

To watch your desires bubble to the surface, and moreover to let them have space here. He wants you to act on them.

Taking your chin between his fingers, he rolls over the bone. Moustache twitching in a smirk, "Javi, baby."

To say you're wet now is an understatement. Your clit tingles with anticipation, thighs shaking without even being touched.

"Javi," you say it back to him, but it comes out more like a moan. A catalyst for a messy kiss, all tongue and teeth and brushing of his facial hair against the top of your lips while he towers above you. Palm flat against the door above your head.

Somewhere between that and undoing each button on his shirt, you end up in the kitchen – bent over the island. Pouting at not getting the chance to see him shirtless fully.

You shiver against the granite, claw at the edges of furniture for something to land on. To find purchase. A cheek is pinned against the cool texture and you choke a breath the second you feel air flow against your ass. Your skirt riding up just for Javi to view.

"Motherfucker," you hear Javi behind you. The tone amused, saturated in desire. That's when you get your first taste of relief.

The edge of his index finger runs between your legs, rubbing the obvious wet spot of your panties. Your folds, even through the fabric, wrap around the length of his finger from how deeply he's pressing against you.

It flicks a flame in the pit of your stomach and causes more hunger than relief. Your pores open from how hot it's making you.

"You get this wet for him?" Javi's simple question evokes a mewl you've never heard come from yourself. Your hips lift back and roll in need.

"No... no. J-just you, Javi. Just you."

"Just me," he repeats, head tipping to the side as he examines you.

How easy it is for you to handover claim of your cunt. It's instantaneous, him pulling your undies down. Wasting no more time in what the two of you came here to do.

The pad of his thumb collects your slick between your folds. From the top of your hole all the way to your clit at the bottom from how you're positioned, and you bite your lip hard. Cheeks flushed while your ass peeks out from your skirt.

"Is that because this is mine?"

You confidently say Julian has never talked to you like this. You don't think you've ever been addressed like this in your life.

Never been made to feel special in this way, or that your body was someone's because they wanted you. Not because they wanted to have some icky claim of you.

Even more, you don't feel guilty. Not yet, anyway. There's no time for it. No time to pretend from what you've wanted from the very moment this man, whose warmth now radiates behind you, entered the picture.

"It's yours," you say in a rush as your torso drapes and digs into the side Javi's kitchen island. Makes you think you'd say this even in a sober state. "It's all yours, Javi!"

"What's mine?" He's deliberate and torturous, and his voice alone could make you cum. Your ass pushes back languidly, giving him a good view to curse at under his breath, of your cunt and the velvet of your asshole.

"Me, Javi. I'm yours. Everything." Hot tears swell over your cheeks from how horny and desperate you feel. Like if you don't get him now, you could combust.

"Javi!" you gasp, rutting against the outline of his hard cock in his jeans when he grinds against you without warning.

"Get used to fuckin' saying that," he cautions, and it's cocky, but unlike all the other broken promises you've been given, he's true to his word.

Because he pulls away from you, and you're now his ragdoll – putting you wherever he wants. Hoisting you up on the kitchen island, and it feels cold against the heat pooling at your core.

Javi watches as you bring your bare feet onto the counter, leaning back on your hands, and spread your legs apart like he's being called for dinner. And, fuck, that's exactly what he wants.

Because as soon as you do that, as soon as he sees just how wet and pink you are at the core for him, he can't say no to you.

Not that he was ever planning on it.

"That's it, that's fucking it. Jesus fucking Christ."

You get a good view of Javi's chest all the way down to his stomach and jeans in their disheveled state from this point of view. The bulge of his cock difficult to hide in pants that tight, and you are grateful for it.

You shiver at a mixture of the view of him and the air against your soaked skin.

Your cheeks and lips are painted crimson when he pulls up a seat. He wasn't kidding. He was planning on eating you out, going down on you like you were his own personal meal – as if his eyes devouring you weren't enough.

Your manicured nailed comb his hair back once you get the chance to reach him. Feeling exposed, throbbing by the time you feel the smooth skin of his cheek proceed the inside of your thigh. He takes you in, marveling at the way your cunt pulses and clenches over nothing. Fluid floods right from the source. The way your clit peeks out from its hood, just enough that his teeth could brush against it.

It makes his mouth water, and yours too now that you think about it. Pressing slow, teasing kisses on your thighs you sigh in frustration and alleviation. You can't help but wriggle your hips up towards him. "Please," you whimper, and that makes Javi's eyes grow even darker if you could believe it.

"Please what?"

"Javi, please eat me out!"

He doesn't miss a beat. Using his nose and face to breach your folds apart, to take a mess even further, Javi digs in. His tongue flattens against your slick and your sounds are immediate. It's all too sensitive, too unfamiliar for you to fully register how to feel.

He was right when he called your husband out at the bar. Julian made sure you came, but it was rarely with his mouth. Most of the time you were left rubbing yourself off during sex.

So to have someone, to have Javi – your husband's best fucking friend, between your legs. Servicing you with the sluttiest smile on his face, you can't help but slump back on the counter.

To be under his stare is almost too much. Perfect and needy for you. You slip your eyes shut from the intensity.

"Eyes on me, princesa," Javi rolls off his tongue easily, the tip of it digging right underneath the hood of your clit. Making you gasp, eyes wide, popping back open to meet his gorgeous features.

"Did my pussy like that?" He hums in satisfaction, wrapping his mouth around the all-too sensitized nub before mercilessly sucking it.

This leaves you with your mouth hanging open, your eyes crossing as they roll into the back of your head. The same head that's now reclining in sheer ecstasy.

But Javi's quick to make his point as he goes off of you and replaces his sucking with a harsh slap to your cunt. It makes you spring up, makes you pay attention. You pout and writhe at his power over you.

"I said fucking eyes on me. Don't you dare think about anyone else."

"I-I," you try, you really try to say something, but you can't. It feels too good, and you're too drunk to understand you can't use your words right now.

So you comply, watch him as best as you can. Your mouth split open, eyebrows knit together. And he's kind in the way he goes right back – sucking on your clit like it's his fucking job.

Like he hasn't eaten in weeks, and you're sitting at his kitchen counter, on display.

Not using your brain to think, but using your pussy.

"JustyouJavi," you manage. It's slurred, but you manage it because while he's sucking on your nerves, he's rolling the edge of his tongue against it too. Methodical circles, a tempo to die for. Doesn't switch it up, or make awkward transitions. It's just right.

It's inevitable, screaming his name. Feeling your toes curl, the heels of your feet grind into Javi's shoulders. Damn near pornographic in the way you keen your mantra of: yeah, yeah, yeah. The ache explodes into an uncontrollable fit of passion as you gush all over Javi's mouth.

But as he pulls back, you see that it's not just his mouth that's coated. His cheeks, chin, nose. You're spilling down his neck. And he smiles at you like a blood-soaked lion polishing off its prey.

"I know what you can do, princesa," the sentence has far too many words for you to understand what's happening during your comedown, so that's why it happens as a surprise when you feel Javi's two fingers prod against your cunt.

Standing from his chair now, he pushes it back with his heel. Hand in a loose fist around your neck as he makes you watch what he's doing to you. "Don't fucking blink," he grits, and it makes you want him to tighten his grip. To be possessive while he fucks you.

Your head is slightly angled down while he starts. Eyes looking up, mouth wet but not as wet as Javi's and it makes you come apart to watch his skin glisten still from you. Index and middle fingers press inside your wet hole. His wet hole.

"Fuck!" You exclaim, slipping your top lip above the bottom, you open easily for him to plunge deeper, his fingers curling up with no trouble at all in finding that spongy spot of pleasure right at the tips of them. Your eyes gloss from how overwhelming it feels, the repetitions.

"You can squirt for me, baby." His echoes have you in a trance, but that request makes you nervous. "I've... I don't know how...," you manage the words and he massages your insides in a way that makes you discern you're being primed for something.

"You can do it," Javi leans down, and the encouragement makes your mind reel at how simple words can create such an affect on you.

"Pull my cock out and slip those pretty lips around it, hermosa. You'll forget about anything else."

A part of you isn't ready. To see his cock would mean that things were progressing, and if they were in a standstill you could soak up this moment for longer. But the way you can hear your cunt slosh in between thrusts has you curious if he actually could make you do this.

You look down first. See the bulge more prominent and close in his boxers from his unbuttoned jeans. Eager to break out, you pull the fabric down enough to send the leaking head of his cock to slap against his abdomen before it springs out in front of you to tease.

"Holy fuck," the moment before the freefall, your body becomes alert of the sheer size of him. It was even better than the dreams of you getting railed by him from behind.

You can't help but take a moment to appreciate this. To brush your face sluttily against the warmth of his cock. Your lips teasing him until the precum lands on your tongue and your jaw instantly burns from how sore it is to be open like that.

Saliva falls on your shirt, not yet found the time to take it off.

He tasted heavenly, your hand cups his balls while his moves from your throat to the back of your head.

And it's delicious to watch his face. The way his jaw relaxed open before grinding it back shut, exhaling sharply through his nose. Javi tests your gag reflexes then, gripping the back of your head and sending the shaft of his cock down your throat.

"Mierda," he falters in keeping both rhythms from how hot your wet mouth is. "Knew you could handle my cock, baby, but fuck."

Between the sounds of you gargling him and the squelching of your pussy he is relentless in using, your body is distracted and slack enough for him to pull out of you.

"Ay dios mio, bebita. That's fucking it, there you go." The way he's nodding, proud and spasming in your mouth has you cumming again. This this time clear liquid sprays from you when he tugs his skilled fingers from you and you vibrate such moans from Javi's cock he has to pull out to stop himself from cumming, too.

A wail replaces your moans as the sound of your voice is more prominent in the space. "Javi!" You can't help that you're crying obscenely now, tears flowing from the intensity and the treatment he'd been giving your throat. Mascara running down your cheeks.

---

"Good fucking girl, bonita." You don't realise it straight away from you cum-drunken stooper, but he's picked you up now. Showing you how strong his lean frame is by carrying you to his bed. Tossing you onto the mattress like it's nothing.

"All of this off. Now." Yes, sir. You bob your head yes frantically, knowing how fucked you must look. Mascara running, your panties... somewhere. Your skirt soaked from a new trick Javi just taught you.

You catch a glimpse of the man who did this to you, equally a mess. His hair in all directions, neck red as beads of sweat tempt his broad shoulders, and fuck, he was naked now. You don't mean to, but you drool – this time without a cock in your mouth – too fucked to notice, or care.

"Take a fuckin' picture, baby." Javi softens his knees to curve down at your ear, "Off. Last warning."

You begin to wonder what he would do if you didn't do as he said.

"And if I don't?" You challenge, a lascivious grin crosses your face and you raise a brow.

Mistake. Big mistake.

Because that makes Javi's grin fade. Ripples a new sense of foreboding into the air when he takes your skirt off just as easily and swiftly as he did your undies, but the skirt isn't unzipped so it bursts from the force and you yelp at the sensation.

"Javi, you broke my skirt!" You whine. Naked from the waist down he ogles you before tutting his teeth sarcastically.

"It really bothers me, hermosa," Your shirt is slung overhead and abandoned somewhere on the floor.

"Good girls don't talk back."

You can tell he's drinking you in from the moment he stands back, but he's pulling away more and more until you don't feel his warmth anymore and you realise the error you've made.

"W-wait... come-come back!" Your words dejected, giving him doe eyes as he mimics them way better than you could.

"Bad girls get punished. Rub your clit, get yourself off." It drives a pathetic sound from your mouth before you plead to him.

"Please, no. Please – Javi, Javi please. I'll be good. Please, Javi!" Sitting up, you beg him, undo the sheer bra so your tits pop out from it. Both of you bare in his bedroom.

You can see that makes his cock undoubtedly ache.

"Oh, querida. You're gonna have to do better than that." Arms crossed, he watches as you part your sticky legs, exposing your folds to him again and he hums in approval.

"Let me see how you do it."

You're so deep in it with him, it feels like you've been doing this regularly. How he knows your body, helps you discover little things you didn't even know you were into.

It relieves you to let out wanton moans, your fingers spanning your slick, opening yourself up on cue. Fingers roll, pinch, glide your clit in a hypnotic motion.

It sends you close to the edge, but you can't quite find it with the prospect of Javi inside you.

You keep staring at his cock.

The way precum collects at the head, the girth of him. You could only imagine how deep he would be. Unsure if you could take him all.

"I need you, Javi. Javi, please. Please give me your cock. I'm sorry, I wanna be your good girl!" Torture rocks your throat, and right before you force a dull orgasm from yourself Javi takes your wrist, pushing it away from your core.

"We have to use a condom, baby." It's his way of telling you yes, and you sit up zealously, understanding and willing to do whatever it takes.

Because in reality, he's right, and that almost causes you to stop. Like those dreams you have where you wake up and instantly flock to your husband. Overcompensating.

But this wasn't one of those dreams, and you wanted this so badly it stung.

Javi goes to his nightstand, slicking lube on his cock before sheathing it in the rubber protectant. You certainly don't feel upset that you have to use it, but it leaves you curious what his skin feels like slipped inside of you.

Already coveting his presence before it even began.

But that's the thing, there's no slipping here. When he comes around to make sure you're both lubricated enough for the barrier, you see just how fat his cock is as it bulges from the condom.

Your legs unfurl, chin lining forward as you watch him. Javi keeps you on your back for now, draping your legs over his shoulders. No, he doesn't slide inside of you, he stretches you to such completion your body pulses repeatedly, coming completely undone.

It almost feels too much at first, this position – as deep as it was, but the way you're groaning has you both believing you can take it. Just in time for your sex to push him out of you.

Your muscles all too tight, beginning to worry he's too big.

But that doesn't stop you.

"Mierda, you need it that fucking bad, bebita?" His words make you weak. Because immediately you go between your legs, inviting him back into the innermost part of you without him needing to do it himself.

Javi's lips crash against yours, taking time in burying himself all the way to the hilt. But he doesn't move a muscle.

He stays there, admiring above you. The way your mouth parts, nipples becoming alive at the sensation. "Eres hermosa," more of a mumble, his lips brush and decorate the inside of your calves. The tip of his nose slightly bending against the skin.

It starts to become unbearable, your hips shifting up, but you find it is working. That your muscles relax and are able to take. "I can take it," you incline, not noticing you're heaving shallow breaths until the words leave you in pieces.

"Can you?" Javi asks condescending, thumbprint teasing the split of your clit, rasping at the way you convulse your whole body from contact.

He can't take it anymore, your hold is too strong over him. Javi, compelled to fuck you, drives his cock in, proprietorial in its approach.

You're almost oversensitive, unsure of the statement you just announced because you find yourself swallowing hard, your throat dry. Fingernails claw at his forearms as his large paws grip your waist for leverage. Your pelvis bucking up because like his fingers before, his length is hitting your g-spot and it's too much – you have to screw your eyes.

But Javi doesn't reprimand you for it this time. Instead he hovers over you, sending your ass off of the bed and him deeper than ever before. Right against your cervix now. Causing your mandible to unhinge, pitiful sounds expel your lungs. It's just too good.

"You can take it, baby," Lustful words right there at your ear, you beg in way that makes you want more.

You stroke his hair, tugging the strands – scratching his scalp. His body mercilessly colliding with yours. All sweat and skin, balls eager to tap against the curve of your ass, and all of those sounds fill the room. The sounds of your sex.

"Javi, please. Tell me." It's magic, he doesn't hold it against you that you're not being completely direct. He's understanding, and wants this for you again. The gears connecting that you need to be talked and fucked through it.

"Tell you what, cariño? How I want you to cum for me?" His glistening covered brow presses against yours, hairs stick to both of your foreheads. "How I make this pussy feel so perfect you have to explain why you're limping tomorrow?"

Fuck, you're a mewling, writhing mess.

"Let go for me, ángel," his dark, pleading eyes invite you to jump over the edge, "That's it. That's fucking it, baby. Cum for me."

Your skin trembles like a live wire. He's pulling another orgasm out of you and you don't even know where it's coming from or how he could get you to do it again. But you are. It shows up in your fingers curling, your thighs fluttering until streams of your sex leak from around his cock in your climax.

You're speechless. Moans come from you, yes, but you're so fucked out there's no words that could be put together to describe how fucked you really are.

Your legs fall on either side of Javi's waist, and there's a moment of cognition as your hand reaches to touch Javi's face. "You are so handsome," it slips out before you can stop it, but you don't want it to. Your thumb finds the divot at his bottom lip. Recall the way he tastes of you now. The tops of your fingers stroke his clean shaven cheek.

A face so hauntingly beautiful for a human up to no good. You knew snippets of his past, but his pout nudging against your palm tells you more than any story. Lets you know exactly who he is. You knew the truth.

"Get on your back, honey." You encourage, coaxing his cock out of you – still hard and dying for release.

Surprisingly, he does what he's told, unable to stop himself from kissing your cheek and you swallow down words.

No need to complicate things further.

So you climb on top of him instead. "Shit, cariño. Look at you." That makes you blush, his warm and strong palm splays on top of your breast to brush a digit over your nipple and you shiver. Tentatively, you take him back in and make an oomph sound. He somehow feels deeper like this.

You're intentional in the roll of your hips, but the pace is far too slow for Javi. He needs you, needs the chase of something. "Let me," he grits, pulling your chest onto his and pins your arms behind you in his own bear hug.

The way he digs his heels into the mattress to fuck you, to use you to get himself off is borderline degrading but his quiet praises against your skin has you lit up again in ways you don't anticipate. He slaps your ass hard enough to leave a mark before petting where you connect. This leaves your sticky sweetness to cover his lap in no time.

"Hermosa, h-hermosa," his voice staggers at the shell of your ear, hips erratic while it feels like he's fucking you into oblivion. "So fucking good for my cock, pretty girl."

You have orgasmed so many times now it feels automatic when it happens again, but this time you take note of his arms tightening around you. A hand in your hair. "Just like that, just– fuck. Take it." It almost sounds like a resignation, but his waist pounds you both into another wave of pleasure until he emptied inside of you, filling the condom.

You both stay still. Spent. Relaxed. Eyes bleary, the two of you collapse into assuage.

A pile of shuddering, panting limbs tangle together in the wake of something devious and beautiful.

"Pretty, pretty girl." You hear him say into the top of your head. The hint of affection aches at your heart.

It's then you become acutely aware of how tight your wedding band feels around your ring finger.

---

Javi lights a cigarette in the middle of your afterglow, and it's intimate, him sharing it with you. You hold it, sobriety taking your head, and it frightens you when you don't pull away from him as you begin to think more clearly.

In fact, you roll onto your stomach. Body half-slung onto his, your tits pushed together perfectly as you sit up your elbows.

Taking the cigarette between your lips, you inhale, leaning to him as you push the smoke to billow into his mouth. He exhales the rest through his nose and your tongue tastes the plush lips in front of you because, fuck, it might be the last time you can.

"What do we do?" You ask after a while. It's quiet, and you give the stick back to him by dangling it between his lips.

"I was gonna ask you the same thing." His words muffled by it, he takes a drag before leaving it to burn between his fingers. He puffs the smoke away from you. "You stay with him, bebita. You work it out. And when you need to be fucked, you call me. When he's being a cabrón, you call me. I'll make you forget about him."

Your survey the curtains in his room, the blue glow of dawn tempting to bring another day forward. You don't like his idea, but that doesn't make it wrong.

"You mean you don't want to run away together?" You joke, your eyes conveying, no really it's a joke. I swear. And he runs his fingers across your cheek to pinch it lightly, lips pressing together when he shakes his head 'no'.

"You know we can't do that."

The words bring Julian back to life. Shows his existence in a way that doesn't make you want to push him away. Through the love Javi has for him.

Despite it all, love. A common goal the two of you have for the man who is probably worried sick over you.

Just before guilt tempts to wrap its vengeful claws around your throat, Javi stops it in its tracks.

"You took what you wanted. That's all."

You nod compliantly, not willing to argue in order to savour the moment. Your head brushes against his chest and you close your eyes. If only to capture this feeling a little while longer.

You allow his words to integrate, and swallow down the antagonist of his statement: that there was more you wanted. You were certain the chase of this, the irrevocable quench from throes you shared with Javier, would not just die down.

Terrible that you didn't want it to. You would take what you wanted.

#narcos fic #javier peña #javier peña smut #narcos #javier peña x f!reader #pedro pascal #javier peña fic #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x afab!reader #narcos smut #hbf #hbf!javi #husband's best friend #brat tamer!javi #by bee

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waves-against-a-cliff · 3 months

Text

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

MDNI

The Usual Please Series - Last Updated on 4/02/24

Gaz likes ass - afab gn!reader, pure smut. No plot. Anal, ass slapping, fingering, double penetration, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, backshots, aftercare.

The thing you did that made the 141 go 'Im gonna marry them' - Fluff, sexual themes but no smut.

Don't be wasteful - PiV, oral (masc receiving), creampie

Sharing is Caring PT3 - Smut, fingering, rough sex, military uniform kink(?), minor cum play

Childhood Best Friend Gaz - Content Warnings - Dark Gaz at the end (literally two sentences), pining,

Wanna Try? - Content Warnings - DUB-CON. I cannot stress this enough, this is dub-con, pretty much bordering on noncon. Anal, PiV, throat fucking, weed usage, Gaz is maybe kinda lacing the weed. Photos and videos being taken and sent to others without consent!

Cigarettes - Shotgunning cigarettes, PiV sex, cowgirl position, very minor mention of weed.

Welcome Home - Content Warnings - pussy eating, rough sex, orgasm denial, cream pie, hair pulling, ass slapping, afab reader- 1/27/24

Watch Her - Content Warnings - Forced voyeurism, multiple orgasms, cum eating, oral, König is forced to watch and tied up, multiple positions, - Gaz x Reader x König - 01/22/24

Sharing is Caring PT2 - Content Warnings - DUBCON fmm, anal, threesome, double penetration, multiple orgasms, fingering, facial, oral, public sex, aphrodisiacs - Gaz x Reader x Soap - 1/18/24

Sharing is Caring - Content Warnings - fmm, Anal, threesome, double penetration, multiple orgasms, tit slapping, rimming, oral (both m and f receiving), throat fucking, multiple positions - Gaz x reader x Soap - 1/15/24

Munch Gaz - Overstimulation, oral (fem receiving), fingering

Something about them - so. Much. Fluff.

Rule Breaker - Degrading, little prep, ass spanking, orgasm denial, hair pulling, mean Gaz, top Gaz, bottom reader, brat reader - 11/17/23

#gaz call of duty #gaz #gaz x reader #gaz smut #gaz mw2 #cod smut #cod imagine #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick x you

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diorsluv · 4 months

Text

feather , part 21

“ send a pic ”

series m. list previous chapter next chapter

( socialmedia!au )

_quinnhughes

liked by jackhughes, mackie.samo, yourusername, and 61,963 others

_quinnhughes went out with jack and our luke replacement 🙏

tagged: jackhughes, yourusername

view all comments

trevorzegras sleepy girl lmaooo

→ _quinnhughes fr this kid brought a whole body pillow in my car

→ yourusername they dragged me out of my bed at 5 in the morning 🙄🙄

rutgermcgroarty “luke replacement” is wild

→ _quinnhughes she agreed and he didn’t

→ yourusername more like they could drag me into their car but they couldn’t drag him

→ lhughes_06 i’m just a little hurt

username13 their relationship with her is the cutest thing ever

yourusername photo proof that jack enjoys my “green juice”

→ jackhughes yeah yeah whatever

→ markestapa HEY YOU NEVER MADE IT FOR US

→ mackie.samo YEAH WHERES OUR GREEN JUICE

username45 the sleeping mask is so relatable

username98 quinn’s pics are so cinematic

adamfantilli does she just sleep in everyone’s car

→ _quinnhughes yes

→ markestapa sprawls all the way out in the backseat

→ jackhughes sprawls out in shotgun too

→ trevorzegras she’s like a starfish

→ _alexturcotte she smacked me in the face once

→ yourusername I DID NOT.

→ mackie.samo she’s fallen asleep with her legs in my lap too many times 😒

→ lhughes_06 she’s fallen asleep with her head in my lap too many times 🙄

→ edwards.73 ok luke i see u

username34 jack LMAOOOO

username11 don’t do my girl like that she’s more than a luke replacement 🙄

→ yourusername 🗣️🗣️

luca.fantilli lil drizz needs to give us the fit check rn

→ _quinnhughes don’t obsess over her in my comments 🙄

→ yourusername shush quinny

→ yourusername and also it’s mark’s hoodie, target sweatpants and my sleeping mask 😈😈

→ luca.fantilli that’s not a fit check send me a pic

→ yourusername no

→ lhughes_06 MARK’S hoodie??

markestapa yo that’s my hoodie ask her where she got it from

→ jackhughes she said and i quote “your dresser”

→ yourusername oops

→ lhughes_06 YOUR hoodie??

dylanduke25 hughesy is no bueno

→ jackhughes i’m muy bien

→ _quinnhughes estoy más o menos

→ yourusername don’t use google translate that’s cheating _quinnhughes

→ lhughes_06 muy mal, no me gustan mis hermanos ni uno de mis mejores amigos porque ellos son pendejos y los odio

→ yourusername lukey babes we know you used google translate too 😭😭

→ jackhughes he and quinn are the same

yourusername

liked by dylanduke25, edwards.73, rutgermcgroarty, and 82,964 others

yourusername adam fell asleep questionably and luca straightening my hair should prob be a fire hazard but i finally spent sum time w my fav boys 🫶🫶

tagged: adamfantilli, luca.fantilli, rutgermcgroarty, mackie.samo, edwards.73, dylanduke25, markestapa

view all comments

luca.fantilli oh my god i’m a fav boy

→ yourusername only because you didn’t burn the house down with my straightener in your hands

trevorzegras where’s moose

→ yourusername gone

→ edwards.73 he ditched us 😒

→ missseraphina with me!

→ trevorzegras please god no

_quinnhughes i don’t understand how my brother can get what he’s wanted for years while also simultaneously fucking it all up

→ yourusername fr it’s crazy

→ jackhughes LMAOOO he showed me ur comment and started whining

rutgermcgroarty i really struggled carrying you down that street

→ yourusername are you saying what i think you’re saying 🤨

→ rutgermcgroarty WHAT NO

→ yourusername i think ur just weak! 🙄🙄

→ rutgermcgroarty I WAS RUNNING

username67 i love these little dumps when she hangs out w them

username9 the titanic recreation is amazing

username27 if you really think about it we could ship her with any of them

→ username12 mcdrysdale??? IT SOUNDS LIKE A MCDONALDS MEAL LMAOO

→ username78 drystilli

→ username35 drystapa ofc

→ username66 dredwards 💀

→ username90 dukedale (or drysduke??)

→ username4 dryskevich.. wth why does it sound like a normal last name

→ username51 dryshughes 🔛🔝

adamfantilli IT WAS REALLY COLD

→ yourusername so u disregarded the blankets on the other couch and stole everyone’s pillows

→ adamfantilli yes

→ yourusername i understand

→ luca.fantilli she has a soft spot for u she replaced all the pillows and gave u like three blankets 🙄

markestapa eddy the jack to my rose 😘😘

→ edwards.73 marky the rose to my jack 😘😘

→ yourusername stop flirting and get out of my comments 😐😐

→ markestapa no i don’t think so ‼️‼️

→ edwards.73 stop being a hater yourusername 🙄🙄

→ mackie.samo i feel left out i wanna join 😞😞

→ yourusername aww ofc mack 🤗🤗

→ dylanduke25 me too 😊😊

→ yourusername i mean i guesssss 🙂🙂

→ lhughes_06 can i join too 😇😇

→ yourusername no 🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️

lhughes_06 damn wish i could’ve joined

→ dylanduke25 😐

→ markestapa 😑

→ edwards.73 😐

→ yourusername is that supposed to be the emoji blinking

→ mackie.samo 😐😑😐 yourusername

→ missseraphina yeah but you had more fun with me!

missseraphina 🙄

→ username63 uh… you do realize you’re PUBLICLY commenting right 💀

colecaufield is that girl harassing you

→ yourusername no it’s so funny lmfaoooo

→ jamie.drysdale bro she’s dming ME

→ yourusername u should see my dms 😭😭

next chapter notes ) yes seraphina is a certified delulu girl! i don’t wanna antagonize her terribly but she needs to cause enough drama so we’re going down this road and ik i haven’t been uploading recently but i’m too busy being an academic weapon 🙏

tags: @aliaology @hockeyboysarehot @absolutelyhugh3s @jackquinnswife @freds-slut @love4ldr @blueeyedbesson @43hughes @v1olentdelights @dancerbailey3 @random-human02 @ho3forfakeguys

#luke hughes #luke hughes fanfic #luke hughes fic #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x y/n #quinn hughes #jack hughes #cole caufield #alex turcotte #trevor zegras #jamie drysdale #ethan edwards #mackie samoskevich #dylan duke #mark estapa #adam fantilli #luca fantilli #rutger mcgroarty

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aflame4goinghome · 6 months

Text

Head First

j.m.k. x f.reader

part one

a/n: i had an idea for a little josh blurb inspired by this lizzie mcalpine song and i’ve decided to make it into a short series! friends to lovers josh is always my favorite, i hope you guys like it!! the next part will be current day...

summary: You and Josh grew up next door to each other, spending almost your entire life together. He was your closest friend, and that’s how it had always been. One summer, the two of you attend a music festival with your group of friends and a switch seems to flip for him that day, hurling you head first into a weekend of surprises. It feels as though everything has finally fallen into place, but young love is not always meant to last...

word count: 7.9k

warnings: this story contains smut! minors DNI!!! swearing, drinking, flirting, yearning, nicknames, sexually implicit language, heavy petting, kissing; SMUT: oral sex (f. and m. receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT, Y'ALL), praise kink if you squint i guess, dirty talk, soft dom! josh, fluff at the end! aftercare always!

JULY 2019

“Guys, seriously, come on. We were supposed to leave over half an hour ago!” you yell from the bottom of the stairs. You get no response, so you scoff, storm up the steep stairs to the hallway, and look around for movement. You see the bathroom door cracked open and walk over to push it open, revealing Josh still fixing his curly hair in the mirror.

You roll your eyes and clear your throat to get his attention, causing him to look over at you. “Oh, hey honey,” he says, giving you a sheepish smile. “Josh, it’s almost 8:30! If we don’t leave now, then we won’t have any time to get ready before we have to go down to the festival! You can fix your hair more when we get to the hotel, please,” you plead, making a praying motion with your hands, and giving him the biggest puppy eyes you can manage.

“Yes yes, I know, I’m sorry. I’ll help you round up the rest of them, okay?” he says, taking one last look in the mirror before turning the light off and heading down to the other end of the hallway. Josh breaks off first to enter his room and find his equally tardy twin, who’s still asleep. You giggle as you hear him yell at his brother to wake up, followed by a loud startled scream from Jake.

You enter Sam’s room to find him lying on his bed scrolling through his phone while Daniel is playing the guitar lightly. “Hello? What are you two doing? Come on, get up, let’s go!” you scold them, making Sam jump out of his seat. Danny chuckles to himself as he gets up to put his guitar back in its case.

They gather their packed bags and file out of the room, heading down the stairs. As you return to the hallway, you see Josh and his seemingly exhausted twin exiting the room. Jake descends the stairs with a groan as Josh follows closely behind him, shooting you a wink before he disappears.

Finally, you all finish packing the car and can finally get on the road. The five of you were heading to the Cosmic Sound Festival down in Detroit, something you and Josh planned months ago. The drive was just under 2 hours, so you were still able to get to the hotel in time to change and get ready before you had to be at the grounds for the first set at 12, or so you hoped. You feel grateful that this break in their tour allowed for you all to go to the festival together, as the time you spent together these days was few and far between.

“I call shotgun!” you shout, hurrying to open the door before one of the others beats you to it. “Hey, that’s not fair, Smalls! You always get shotgun!” Sam yells from behind you.

You roll your eyes and turn around to face him. “Yeah, because why would I ever want to be crammed in the back with you idiots? No, thanks. I’m good up here with Josh,” you reply, sticking your nose up at him and smiling proudly before getting into the car and closing the door. Josh shrugs and laughs lightly before getting into the driver’s side, with the rest of the boys following suit and getting into their seats.

Josh turns the car on and rolls the windows down to feel the cool summer breeze. “Ready, Saph?” he says, turning his head to look at you with a wide, crooked smile. His nickname for you never fails to make you smile. He had that effect on you, as he did with a lot of people. He first gave you the nickname in the fourth grade, after you’d learned about different types of gemstones in science class.

The two of you were walking out of the classroom to go to lunch as you turned to look at Josh. “I think rose quartz might be my favorite. They’re so pretty. Which one was your favorite?” you asked. He thought about it for a moment and said, “Sapphire. They’re so blue, and they’re valuable. Pretty, too.” You nodded and smiled at him, then turned your attention back to walking to the lunchroom.

“You’re like a sapphire, you know,” he continued. You looked back up at him with a questioning look. He pointed and said, “Your eyes, they’re the bluest I’ve ever seen. And pretty. Like a sapphire.” You blushed and looked away, not really knowing what to say. “I think I’ll call you Sapphire,” he said. You looked back up at him and smiled timidly. “Okay.”

The nickname has stuck ever since, though it’s almost always shortened. But it’s just his, and that’s what makes it special. Josh was your best friend in the whole world, as well as your longest friend. The Kiszkas were your next-door neighbors your entire life, and you all became friends practically right away. Being the same age as the twins, your mother would bring you over to their house at a very young age, so the three of you grew up together.

Watching Sam grow up and meeting Danny was something you always felt very thankful for. You had the best group of friends that you could ever ask for, who loved and cared for you like you were their own flesh and blood. You also got to watch as the music they made in their garage late on school nights became something much more.

You spent endless nights lying on the battered old couch in the Kiszkas’ garage as the four of them played together. Jake had always played guitar for as long as you could remember and Josh always loved singing, performing in the school musicals with you every year.

But near the end of high school, you watched as Jake’s dream became their collective dream and they started playing gigs around town and in other close cities. Before you knew it, they would make music that would reach thousands of people and tour places all around the world.

Admittedly, you fear for the day that the band gets even bigger than it is now, knowing that they’ll have to leave you. Your whole life was here in Michigan, and you knew that one day their journey would take them much further than here. You help your father run his business in Frankenmuth now, an old music store, where you sell instruments and sometimes teach lessons when he’s busy. You were needed here, and you knew that the guys wouldn’t be able to stay here forever.

For now, their home was still in Michigan, despite their time being taken up by near-constant touring and writing new music. They were just gone for several months on tour and will be returning to touring at the beginning of fall, so now is the chance to spend time with them.

Josh knew how much you missed them when they were away, so he tried to fill up your time this summer with as many activities as possible. He was always thoughtful in the way he planned things, wanting to get the most out of any experience.

“Ready,” you reply with a smile, plugging your phone in to connect to the aux. You press shuffle on your road trip playlist and Got To Get You Into My Life by the Beatles comes on first. “Ah, perfect!” Josh says, smiling as he starts to sing along and drives out of their driveway, down a long winding road toward Detroit. The five of you spend the whole car ride singing along to your favorite songs, with Jake usually vocalizing every single guitar solo.

*:·.·:**:·.·:**:·.·:**:·.·:*༺˚ ⊹♫⊹ ˚༻*:·.·:**:·.·:**:·.·:**:·.·:*

Day One

You finally get to the hotel around 10:30, giving you all enough time to get ready before driving to the festival grounds. You got two rooms next to each other, putting Danny and Sam together in one and you and the twins in the other. The room had a pullout couch, which Jake promised he’d stay on since he “barely gets any sleep these days anyway,” and you know that he’ll be out much later than you and Josh will be. He always manages to go off on his own at these types of things.

You throw your things onto one of the beds and then turn to Josh. “Just let me have the bathroom for like twenty minutes and then it’s all yours, okay Diana Ross?” you say, referencing his long, poofy head of hair that goes almost down to his shoulders. He chuckles and flops down on his bed, putting his hands behind his head. “Okay, okay! Whatever, I’ll take some much-needed beauty rest in the meantime,” he says, shutting his eyes as you turn toward your bed, grab your makeup bag and outfit for the day, and then head into the bathroom.

Knowing how hot it was outside this weekend, you decide to wear a pair of short overalls with a burnt orange sports bra underneath to match your Converse of the same color. You pull your hair half up, putting that half-section of hair into a messy bun and pulling out some front pieces to frame your face.

With your hair done and out of your face, you just apply a base of makeup and use setting spray so that you don’t sweat it off. You place your aviator sunglasses on the top of your head and then exit the bathroom. “All yours,” you say, going to sit on the edge of your bed and plug your phone in to charge until it’s time to leave.

With your back turned, you can’t see the way that Josh is looking at you. As always, you were oblivious to it. He gets up from the bed and grabs his clothes, and as he walks over to the bathroom he turns around to look back at you.

You’re just sitting there, scrolling away on your phone, but he stands there for a moment to admire you; the way your eyelashes curl upward, the way your long hair lays down your back, the way the bare skin of your torso peaks through in your overalls. He sighs to himself quietly, then turns around and goes into the bathroom.

Jake didn’t need to use the bathroom, he was already dressed and ready to go in a short-sleeved button-down shirt (half-unbuttoned), jeans, and light brown Chelsea boots. You couldn’t imagine how that would be comfortable for a festival, but Jake’s fashion always eluded you.

Next thing you know, Josh emerges from the bathroom, hair all “fixed.” He’s wearing a plain white t-shirt with a burnt orange bandana, accidentally matching you, and some khaki shorts and white sneakers. You look up at him and smile, and he says, “Okay! Let’s rock and roll!”

The three of you go next door to collect Sam and Danny, who are thankfully ready to go. Sam pulled his long hair into a low bun and threw on a loose long-sleeve button-down with the sleeves rolled up paired with shorts, contrasting Danny in his band tee and skinny jeans, who has also pulled his hair back.

You all head down to the car and drive over to the festival, planning to try and get there early to watch Tame Impala’s set at 4 PM- Jake’s idea of course. The 1975 will go on at the same stage at 8 PM, which is what you’re looking forward to more. The main event, however, will be Hozier tomorrow night, which is something you’re all anticipating. You’ll also go to see Tyler Childers tomorrow afternoon before Hozier’s set, at Josh’s request.

Jake, Sam, and Danny want to be close to the front for Tame Impala’s set, so they rush to the front to save a spot while you and Josh go to find the alcohol. You walk ahead of Josh, trying to weave in and out of the crowd to find the booth, holding his hand tightly behind you to stay together. As always, with your back turned you can’t see the pink hue that has graced his cheeks at the feeling of your hand tight in his.

Finally, you approach the table and get in line. As Josh meets you at your side, he squeezes your hand tightly before dropping it and combing his fingers through his hair. Your face softens as you look at him for a moment before turning to look around you. The line isn’t too terribly long, luckily, since you both desired to be far more intoxicated.

“God, it’s hot, huh?” you say, reaching behind you to pull your hair off of your neck and wipe off the sweat. Josh nods and wipes some droplets of sweat off of his forehead. “Yeah, it’s not ideal, is it? We’ll make do though, I’m sure. We always do,” he says with a smile, always the optimist. You reach the front of the line shortly and order two Bud Lights, three black cherry White Claws, and five bottles of water, and then turn to head back to the main stage. They gave you bags, thank god, since you wouldn’t possibly be able to carry all of those drinks back by yourselves.

“Still feeling hot?” Josh asks with a smirk as he walks next to you with the bag of water bottles in his hand. You nod and before you can react, he giggles as he takes one of the bottles out of the bag and shoves it into your bare side, causing you to scream from the cold touch. You shove him away from you and yell, “Josh! What the hell is wrong with you? That was so cold!”

He’s cracking up as he comes back close to you and snakes his arm around you, pulling you into him. “Sorry, Saph. You said you were hot! A gentleman is meant to help a lady in need, is he not?” You roll your eyes and then lean into him. “You’re such an idiot,” you scoff. “Your idiot,” he replies with a smile.

*:·.·:**:·.·:**:·.·:**:·.·:*༺˚ ⊹♫⊹ ˚༻*:·.·:**:·.·:**:·.·:**:·.·:*

You finally make it back to the guys, who have found a spot a few rows back from the barricade. You hand everyone their drinks and point to Danny and Sam with a stern finger. “You’re both lucky I bought these for you. Behave yourselves, if you get caught I don’t want to go down with you,” you say as they both laugh and take a sip of their drinks.

You all hang out and listen to the set of one of the smaller artists who’s playing on the stage now, just vibing to the music. It didn’t matter if any of you knew who it was or what they were playing, it was just fun to be there together. You smiled and danced by yourself to the songs, in your own world. Josh is to your right, the two of you are standing just behind the others as you’d gotten there later. He looks over at you with a content smile as he watches you enjoy yourself, appreciating how lucky he feels to be there in that moment.

You feel his eyes on you this time, however. You turn your head to look at him and a smile grows across your face as you lock eyes with him. “What?” you ask, turning to face him. “Nothing, darling. Just you,” he answers, looking down at you. “Just me? What about me?”

He reaches down to brush some hair out of your face. “All of you. I just feel very grateful to be here with you, Saph.” Your cheeks flush as you look up at him with a shy smile. There’s some conflict in his eyes and you can tell that he wants to say more, but he doesn’t.

You reach up to wrap your arms around him and pull him in for a tight hug, breathing him in. You feel him sigh into your neck and put his arms around your waist as you squeeze him tightly and then pull away, his arms still around you. When you look up into his eyes at that moment, there’s a feeling there that you don’t recognize, a strong force pulling you toward him. You find yourself not wanting to let go, feeling this innate need to be close to him. It almost feels out of control. You’re not sure what triggered it or what you’re meant to do, but you plan to find out.

The set ends and people file out of the pit slowly. You have some time before the 1975’s set, and even though you don’t want to lose your spot, you need a break. Jake and Sam split off and say that they’re going to go to the Strokes set in an hour, so they head to another stage. Danny opts to stay for the 1975 set with you and Josh and says he’ll hold the spot if you and Josh take a break and go get food and water.

The two of you go to find a food truck to get something to eat, struggling to make your way through the crowd. As you approach the field where all the food trucks are, you look to your left and exclaim, “Oh my god, look! They have a big water sprinkler! C’mon Josh, let’s go let’s go!”

You grab his hand and pull him after you toward the sprinkler, where dozens of other people are cooling off in the cold water. You run under the water and turn around to face him, giggling and pulling him under with you. He smiles wide as the water hits his head, drenching his hair and causing it to lay long and flat on his shoulders. He shuts his eyes tight as it soaks him and his white shirt becomes completely damp, causing it to stick tight to his skin.

Your hair is wet and sticking to your cheeks and you know your overalls will be wet all night, considering jean materials never dry quickly, but you don’t care. The cool water feels so good on your skin after such a long day as you lean your head back and soak it all in.

You look over at Josh, smiling from ear to ear and you stop to admire how honestly beautiful he looks like this. He slicked his wet hair to lay down his back and you watch as little droplets of water drip onto his cheeks from his thick eyebrows. You can see hints of his abdominal muscles thanks to the tightness of his wet t-shirt and you’d be lying if you said that your eyes didn’t linger there.

You pull him into you, wrapping your arms around his waist. Your wet clothes are sticking tight to both of you- a slightly uncomfortable feeling but welcomed for the experience to cool down. “Your shirt is wet,” you state matter-of-factly, giggling as you pull back a bit to look at him. “Really? You’re kidding,” he laughs, reaching his hands down to swipe the wet hair off of your face.

You sigh and look up at him with a grin. “Hungry?” you ask. “Starved,” he says. He looks down at you for a moment, his eyes drift to your lips for a second and linger there before traveling up to meet your gaze, the look on his face much more serious than you were ever used to. You take a deep breath, the moment starting to feel a bit more intimate than you’d anticipated. “Let’s go get some walking tacos!” you say, leaving the sprinkler and heading toward the food trucks.

Josh sheds his shirt off as you walk, needed to squeeze the water out and let it dry in the sun for a bit. You’ve seen him shirtless your whole life, you should be used to it by now, but you have to admit that it felt different this time. You let yourself stare a bit too long at the way his wet chest shimmers in the light of the sun, realizing that you need to snap out of it and stop getting distracted.

You and Josh grab your walking tacos, saving one for Danny and grabbing a few more bottles of water, then start the trek back to the stage. You both decide to eat a bit as you walk, being so hungry that you can’t wait until you get back. As you walk, Josh drops a bit of ground beef onto his bare chest and you erupt into laughter.

“Here, let me get it,” you manage to get out through laughs. You both stop walking and you take a napkin out of the bag and then bring it to his chest. You wipe a bit from his chest and then notice a bit of sauce further down toward his belly button.

You reach down and wipe that as well, hearing his breath catch a bit at the feeling of your hand there. Your eyes shoot up to his face, which is now a light shade of pink. Your lips turn up slightly into a subtle smile and you say, “There. All better.” You take your hand away and watch him finally breathe out, then turn away and start walking again. Interesting.

*:·.·:**:·.·:**:·.·:**:·.·:*༺˚ ⊹♫⊹ ˚༻*:·.·:**:·.·:**:·.·:**:·.·:*

You reach Daniel back at your spot by the stage and hand him his food. “What happened to you guys? You’re soaking wet,” he asks. “We found a water sprinkler. Felt great,” you answer with a smile. He shrugs and starts eating his food and the three of you hang out until it’s time for the band to come on. Josh slips his shirt back on, which is now significantly less damp.

The 1975 comes on stage as the sun starts to go down, cooling the air down considerably. You’re having so much fun dancing around with your best friends and there’s truly nowhere else you’d rather be. You and Danny sing along to every song as Josh watches and dances along, not really knowing the songs but having fun, nonetheless.

The band closes out the set with your favorite song, Sex. You scream as the song starts and jump around with a wide smile on your face, taking Josh’s hand in yours. He jumps with you, watching you instead of the show as you jump around grinning ear to ear, singing along.

When they get to the third verse, however, Josh can’t take his eyes off of you. The way you’re dancing and singing to a song with these kinds of lyrics is doing something to him that he didn’t expect.

Now we're just outside of town,

And you're making your way down

And I'm not trying to stop you, love,

If we're gonna do anything, we might as well just fuck

You sing along to the song as you take his hands in yours and dance with him. His eyes are piercing through you as he studies you, but you don’t notice with all the excitement. As the chorus starts, he pulls you in and twirls you around, smiling down at you.

You sway with him as the chorus continues and the song ends, much closer than you’d expected to be with your chests touching. As the crowd erupts into applause, you find yourself getting lost in his eyes for a moment. He’s looking down at you, his breath a bit heavy from the dancing, trying to get a glimpse of what’s going on inside your mind.

Before you can say anything, Danny turns around to you guys and says “Well, time to go,” then starts heading toward the exit. You snap back into reality at that moment, releasing your hold on Josh and stepping back a bit, then following after Danny. Josh follows closely behind.

The three of you head back to the hotel after getting a text that Jake and Sam planned to go to a bar down the street from where you’re staying before returning. They say they’ll meet you at the hotel, so you leave without them. When you arrive, you split off from Daniel at his room and then you and Josh head into yours.

You go into the bathroom to put on a tank top and a pair of sweatshorts then wash your face and pull your hair back into a low ponytail. You open the bathroom door and see that Josh has already changed, having thrown on a pair of sweatpants and opting to go without a shirt. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, reading something on his phone, and looks up as he hears you come out.

He watches you as you walk toward your bed and sit down there across from him. He seems a bit deep in thought, his face not as lit up as usual. “Tired?” you ask, bringing your legs up onto the bed and leaning to your left arm onto the pillow. “Yeah, something like that,” he says, giving you a half smile. He goes to lie down but still faces your direction, and you do the same, just looking at him for a moment before finally speaking again.

“Hey, Josh?” you say, looking at him across the chasm between your beds.

“Yeah, Saph?” he answers.

“I miss you a lot when you’re gone.”

“I know, darling. We miss you too, always.”

“I mean just you. Not that I don’t miss the others too, but… You make everything better, Josh. Everything feels so much easier when you’re here,” you confess, meeting his gaze with a soft smile.

“Everything is easier with you there, too. It’s like you add air to my lungs. You walk into a room and it’s like a breath of fresh air,” he answers, smiling back at you.

Your face drops a little bit and you want to say more, but before you get the chance, you hear the door as Jake waltzes in, drunk off his ass. “Oh. You’re still up,” he slurs out, then flops down onto the bed he’s made on the couch.

Josh leans up to turn the lamp off and looks over at you. “Goodnight, honey,” he says, turning the switch. “Goodnight.”

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Day Two

The hotel alarm clock goes off at 9 AM, bright and early. You rub your eyes and sit up in your bed as you hear groans from the other side of the room. “Oi! Turn that shit off!” Jake hollers from the couch. You chuckle as you turn off the alarm and get up to start getting ready.

Josh is still sleeping peacefully, having not heard the alarm at all. He snores lightly as you walk over to his bed and bring your hand down to his head, brushing his hair back out of his face and then shaking his shoulder softly.

“Come on, honey. Time to get up,” you say as his eyes flutter open and land on you, causing him to give you a sleepy, toothless grin. “Morning, Saph,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes as he sits up in bed. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Long day ahead of us,” you reply, heading into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

You pull your hair back into a loose French braid down your back and then wash your face and apply some base makeup once again. You put on a small sky-blue cropped tank top and black biker shorts, then open the bathroom door and walk back into the room.

Considering you were spending the weekend with four men, you knew they wouldn’t be changing their outfits that much. Josh had subbed out his white t-shirt for a black one of the same kind, wearing similar-looking shorts. Jake wore a Guns n Roses t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and a darker pair of jeans.

You sit down on the edge of your bed across from Josh and tie on your Converse. “I quite like how you styled your hair,” Josh says, looking over at you. “Beautiful.” You take your attention away from your shoes to look at him, trying to make sure you heard him right. He’s looking at you in such adoration, it’s hard for you to understand.

You smile shyly and blush a bit as your eyes lock with his before turning your attention back to your shoes. “Thank you, Josh…” you mumble, not sure how to react, especially with Jake in the room. His presence becomes especially apart when you hear him chuckle to himself behind you at his brother’s attempt at flattery. Josh scoffs and then stands up and walks toward the door. “Shall we?” he says, opening the door. The three of you file out and meet up with Sam and Danny and then go to the car once again.

When you arrive at the grounds, you all get drinks together and have a round or two before Tyler Childers’ set at 3 PM. You didn’t know much of his music, but Josh really liked him and you were tipsy enough not to worry about it too much. The five of you had a spot closer to the barricade this time since you’d gotten there early enough, so you had a great view of the stage.

Josh enjoyed the set, smiling and grooving to the music. The songs were folky and country, which made it quite easy to dance along and enjoy it. You watched Josh as he blissfully watched the show, unaware of how truly content he looked and how it made you feel. You couldn’t help but smile as you studied him, admiring how much kindness and beauty exuded from his soul.

You looked at how his curls looked as the summer breeze blew lightly. You watched how his eyes squinted as he smiled wider and sang along. You observed how his lips looked- full, pink, and warm. You admired his hands as they were wrapped around his torso, almost like he was hugging himself. You couldn’t look away even if you tried. He was an enigma.

There was a particular song at the end of the set that really sparked something in him, All Your’n. When it started, Josh took his gaze away from the performance to look at you with a grin. He wrapped his arm around you, his hand gripping your right shoulder softly as he leaned his head to the side on top of yours and sang along to the song.

So I'll love ya 'til my lungs give out

I ain't lying

I'm all your'n and you're all mine

You smile as you dance with him to his favorite song. Seeing him happy was all you needed in the world, and you’d do anything to be the one contributing to it. Your face flushes as you feel him place a soft kiss on the top of your head and then nestle his head on your shoulder, swaying as the song comes to an end. At that moment, there was nowhere you’d rather be. You knew you’d do anything to experience this feeling every day, for the rest of your life.

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The five of you went to the other side of the grounds to eat a quick dinner before returning to your spot by the stage. As you ate, your mind was clouded with only thoughts of Josh and how different things felt. Of course, you’ve always felt a deep connection with him, a bond that could never be broken. You loved him, but the context of that love felt different now.

You’re unsure if it was the recent distance due to their tour or just that the two of you were growing up but after today, your love for him has seemed to turn into adoration. Being with him felt like a piece of you had been returned to you, as though you were only truly whole when he was by your side. His presence felt like breathing fresh air into your lungs after being submerged under water. You understand now what it means, and you think he does too.

Soon, it’s time to get back for Hozier’s set, what you’d all been waiting for. All of the guys were a fan of his, but none of them were nearly as big of a fan as you were. Every song felt like it reflected your soul and your heart in a way that no other music does.

The set begins and you know every song, of course. He plays all of his hits, one of your favorites being Jackie and Wilson. As he sings the song, you’re dancing around and pull Josh in to dance with you. You take his hands in yours and sway with him, jumping around with the largest grin imaginable spread across your face. He’s smiling back down at you and laughing as he lets you maneuver him in whatever way you want to. He even twirls you around a few times, making you giggle.

The mood switches as Hozier begins to play Work Song, which is one that has always resonated with you. You keep Josh’s hand in yours as you watch and sing along. You feel him give your hand a tight squeeze, causing you to look up at him. He gives you a closed-lip smile as he looks down at you, his eyes lingering on your lips for a moment.

There’s nothing sweeter than my baby

I’d never want from the cherry tree

‘Cause my baby’s sweet as can be

She give me toothaches just from kissin’ me

The other guys were standing in front of you and despite the crowd of people behind you, you suddenly felt alone there in that moment, eyes never straying from each other’s gaze. Your expression softens as you turn your body to face him and he wraps his arm around your waist and lowers his head to press his forehead to yours. You shut your eyes and take a deep breath as the song continues, swaying with him.

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I’ll crawl home to her

You open your eyes and meet his, breathing heavily from the heat of the crowd as well as the tension. You start to overthink the entire situation but before you’re able to voice your thoughts, Josh finally brings his lips to yours. Your entire body relaxes in his arms as he pulls you closer to him. It feels as though he’s put the air back into your lungs, like you’ve been living your whole life without something that you know now that you could never live without.

You bring your hands up the back of his neck as you deepen the kiss. You grip his hair at the nape of his neck lightly, eliciting a quiet groan from Josh. He nips your bottom lip and you giggle as you finally pull away, his arms still holding you. It’s almost like the rest of the world disappeared in that moment, you heard the song playing on but you didn’t even notice.

The set ends and you quickly let go of each other before the others turn around to face you. Something you can’t hide, however, is the pink hue on both of your cheeks and swollen lips, which slightly gives you away.

“Ready to go? I could sleep for a day, it feels like,” Danny says, starting to head out toward the exit. You all start to walk out as Jake elbows his twin, chuckling and whispering, “Feeling okay there, brother? You’re looking a little… flushed.”

Josh rolls his eyes and walks a bit faster as he mutters, “Yes, Jake, I’m perfectly fine,” and takes your hand to drag you with him. You laugh as you follow closely behind him to the car and he drives the five of you back to the hotel for the night.

*:·.·:**:·.·:**:·.·:**:·.·:*༺˚ ⊹♫⊹ ˚༻*:·.·:**:·.·:**:·.·:**:·.·:*

You all arrive back at the hotel and as you get out of the car, Jake says, “You guys wanna go find somewhere to have a few pints?” Danny and Sam all answer in agreement, but Josh shakes his head. You look at him for a moment and meet his eyes. “Yeah, I think Josh and I might stay back, if that’s okay. It’s been a long couple of days,” you say, looking back at the guys with a shy smile.

Jake chuckles to himself. “Okay then, suit yourself. If you’re so tired, then I won’t come in late and wake you. I’ll stay with Sam and Daniel,” he answers with a wink to Josh. Damn these twins, you can’t get anything past them. Josh sighs and says okay before turning to head inside the hotel. You follow him up, beginning to feel a bit nervous.

Josh opens the door to your room and you both walk inside, closing the door behind you. When the door is finally shut, Josh turns around to face you. Before you can say anything, his lips find yours once again. You sigh into his mouth as he pushes you up against the door, his hands holding your waist tightly.

Your hands find their place around his neck as he deepens the kiss, his hands traveling from your waist to the swells of your ass. “Fuck,” you gasp under your breath, the feeling of his hands on you becoming almost too much to handle. That’s when he uses his grip to lift you and wrap your legs around his waist, bringing you over to your bed and laying you down.

He stands at the edge of the bed and removes his t-shirt, pulling it over his head in one swift movement. You take that moment to remove your own, sitting up on your elbows for a moment as you take it off and then pull your sports bra over your head.

Josh looks down to admire you for a moment before leaning over you, still standing but kneeling one leg slightly on the bed. He pulls you in for a kiss with one hand cupping your cheek as he reaches the other down to grasp your breast, kneading it softly with his fingers and groaning quietly into your mouth.

“Saph, you are so beautiful. Sculpted by God himself,” he says, leaning his forehead against yours. “Josh…” you start, rubbing your thumb along his cheek. “Shhh,” he whispers, bringing his finger to your lips. “We can discuss it later. Right now, I just need to feel you… gotta make sure that this isn’t some sort of dream.”

He leans back away from you to lower himself to the floor and then starts pulling down the waistband of your shorts. Leaning up on your elbows, you watch as he pulls your shorts down, agonizingly slow. He brings his hands down to pull them down over the curves of your ass when he notices that you’d opted to go without any underwear today. He kisses your inner thigh with a low moan and then looks up at you and says, “No panties? Dirty girl…”

He helps you out of your shorts the rest of the way then reaches up to grasp your ass cheeks, causing you to spread your legs for him. “So perfect,” he mutters, reaching one hand down to run his fingers through your folds. “Is this all for me, baby?” he asks, looking up at you with his eyes dark with lust.

“All for you, Josh. Only you,” you nod, sighing at the feeling of his fingers right where you’ve longed for them to be. “Lucky me…” he whispers before lowering his mouth down to your aching core. He licks into you like a man starved, lapping up the wetness at your folds before wrapping his lips tightly around your clit, making you whine and lean your head back.

He inserts one finger inside you, causing you to moan again, and then removes his mouth from you to speak. “Look at me, baby. Wanna see how angelic you look when I bring you over the edge.” You look down at him and he curls his finger inside of you before adding another one. He attaches his lips back onto you, sucking lightly as he curls his fingers inside of you, eliciting all kinds of lude noises from your mouth, which was exactly what he wanted.

“God, Josh. Fuck, I’m so close,” you whine, gripping the comforter of the bed tightly as you continue to look down at him. “Give it to me, angel. Want it so bad, do it,” he says against your clit with a groan, quickening his movements. You finally feel the band snap inside you and call out his name as he works you through it, taking his mouth off of you and slowing his fingers inside of you.

He kisses your inner thigh again before bringing his fingers up to his mouth, sucking your release off of them. “Mmm, fuck. You taste like heaven, my love. I fear I might get addicted,” he says, standing up to remove his shorts along with his boxers, stepping out of them, and then leaning back down to kiss you. He licks into your mouth and holds the back of your head steadily as you bring your hand down to stroke him lightly.

He groans against you and ruts his hips into your hand and you quicken your pace and then lean up to push him off of you. “My turn,” you say with a smirk, pushing him down onto the bed to lay with his head on the pillow. He looks up at you as the corners of his mouth turn into a smile and you crawl up toward him, taking his hardened length into your hand.

You bend down and swirl the tip with your tongue, then take it into your mouth. You work your mouth down onto it slowly until your nose touches the happy trail on his lower abdomen. You’re met with a long groan from Josh as he leans his head back onto the headboard with one of his hands gripping your hair lightly.

You continue to bob your head along his length, occasionally stopping to gag on it for a few moments at the hilt, causing him to sputter out various expletives. Before it gets too far, he goes to pull your head off of him with a groan. “Baby, if you keep going like that, I’m not gonna make it long enough to feel what this divine pussy feels like wrapped around me.” You blush at his direct language, something you’re still not used to hearing from him.

“You want me, Josh? Wanna feel me?” you tease, crawling up to straddle him, feeling his dick flush against your soaked folds. You reach down and put your hands around his neck, gripping his hair as you lean closer to him. “I need it, Saph. Haven’t been able to think about anything else all night besides how good it would feel to be inside you,” he whispers, holding your hips so tightly that you know it would leave a bruise.

You don’t need to hear anything else before you bring a hand down to grip his length and lift your hips to lower yourself down onto him. He grips your sides tighter as you make your way slowly to the hilt, adjusting to the size. He leans his head back with a groan as you finally lift your hips up and then back down.

He leans up to capture your lips with his and moans into your mouth as you grind repeatedly down onto him. “God, baby. Feels so good. So perfect for me,” he mutters, gripping you tightly as he starts to thrust up into you quickly, causing you to whine and try to steady yourself on the bed.

It feels unlike any other man you’ve ever been with. Not only do you feel safe and loved by someone you trust the most, but it feels like everything has finally fallen into place. The two of you were destined and your intimacy now only proves it further. You were meant to be his.

Josh flips you over onto your back and re-enters you, bringing his hand up to hold the back of your neck and kiss you passionately. His tongue slips past your lips as his other hand grips your hip and he thrusts into you, repeatedly hitting the same spot that drives you wild. “That’s it, honey, that’s it,” he whispers, bringing his hand from your hip to rub circles around your clit as he lowers his mouth to attach to one of your hardened nipples.

You moan at the overstimulating feeling of his mouth on you combined with his quick movements on your clit and throw your head back against the headboard. “Fuck, Josh, don’t stop I’m-” you mumble as he removes his mouth from you to interrupt you. “I know, baby, I’m right there with you. Let me have it.”

That’s all you need to hear before reaching your second orgasm, and Josh is not far behind you. He brings his mouth to yours as he finally releases inside of you, slowing his thrusts as he fucks it back into you until he stills his movements entirely. He brings his hand to caress your cheek and looks down at you with a wide smile, his cheeks flushed and rosy.

“Stay here, okay? I’ll be right back, baby,” he says, pulling out of you slowly and then padding off toward the bathroom. He returns with a wet washcloth and a small cup of water, setting it down on the side table and then sitting down at the edge of the bed next to you. He cleans you up delicately, almost pampering you, and then reaches up to move some of your hair from in front of your eyes.

“So beautiful. I’m still not sure how I got so lucky,” he says, smiling down at you. You sit up a bit and kiss his lips sweetly, then lean your forehead against his. “I love you, Josh.”

“I love you too, my Sapphire. More than words, and you know I’m not usually speechless… You’re everything to me, Y/N,” he answers, rubbing his thumb on your cheek.

You both slip on some comfier clothes to sleep in, just in case Jake decides to come back in the morning. He then turns the lamp off then climbs into your bed with you, laying on his side to face you. You turn to face him as well, looking into his eyes silently for a moment.

“I’m not sure what I’d do without you, Josh. You’re my world, more than you know,” you admit.

“I know, my love. You’ll never have to find out. I’ll always be yours. Always,” he answers, bringing his hand down to stroke your hair affectionately. The two of you drift off to sleep in each other’s arms, where you were always meant to be.

Or so you thought. One can never predict where the road may take you… What seems to be love at one point can turn into nothing within a moment’s notice. Nothing lasts forever, despite all efforts to fight it. But love doesn’t always fade away entirely, does it?

*:·.·:**:·.·:**:·.·:**:·.·:*༺˚ ⊹♫⊹ ˚༻*:·.·:**:·.·:**:·.·:**:·.·:*

part two

#gretavanfleet #josh kiszka x reader #josh kiszka #greta van fleet fic #greta van fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fluff #greta van smut #greta van fleet smut #greta van fleet #josh kiskza smut #josh kiszka fluff #joshgvf #josh gvf #joshkiszka #spotify

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kiwisbell · 8 months

Text

Whiskey Sour

chapter two: manhattan

Reuniting with your estranged father while you finish college in Austin has unintended consequences. His best friend, for one.

series masterlist

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

series tags and warnings: dbf!joel being extremely criminally attractive, big ol' age gap (40s/early 20s), unprotected piv (do not follow the leader), creampie, multiple sex positions, multiple orgasms, oral sex (m and f receiving), dry humping, spitting, biting, joel miller is a MUNCH, very appropriate use of a showerhead, consensual somnophilia, yoga, heavy emphasis on payphones, daddy issues, family reunions, angst, dead mom, grief and mourning, father/daughter relationship, bartending, reader is a woman in STEM (author is not), being a student in university deserves a warning probably, attempted drugging (roofies), college boys suck, possessive sex, possessive joel, protective joel, obligatory warning for joel's salt-and-pepper hair, masturbation, wet dreams, no outbreak AU, hurt/comfort, healing, no sarah or ellie, stargazing, face-sitting, pining/yearning, happy ending

word count: ~ 5.9k

chapter 2: manhattan

Furniture-building and bonding.

Two of your housemates are perfectly pleasant. Liam, however, is… peculiar.

The house itself is just fine. It’s attached to others on the quaint street, a shotgun-style thing with plain grey paint and white trim. It’s situated right near campus, and there haven't been any problems with the landlord nor the house itself, so you're happy. It’s bigger than your studio apartment in New York, and you're paying less, considering you now have others to chip in for the lease.

You met Leigh and Sonya in the bathroom of a bar downtown while acquainting yourself with the city and deciding to get a little too drunk. In front of the mirror, the three of you became best friends, the way drunk women do in bathrooms, and they mentioned they were looking for a couple roommates over the school year. You greedily accepted.

You’d like to think they're good judges of character, and Liam isn't terrible. Truly, he's not. He’s a handsome young guy, he’s on the rowing team, and he gets good grades. He knows how to cook, even though he's a bit of a health nut, and the four of you have eaten a few meals together at your little dining table. Still, he sits a little too close when he’s next to you on the couch, and he asks you where you're going every time you leave the house.

With all of your shifts and classes, you still haven't had time to unpack all your things. Your dad’s offered to help you on his time off, but you refuse to let him work without you. So, your many boxes sit around a mattress on the floor until you find the time to set up. On your way down the stairs to the foyer, your bag on your shoulder, you rifle around for your keys.

“Where are you going?”

You stop in your tracks and roll your eyes before you turn around to face him. “Class,” you say evenly.

You're frankly surprised he hasn't memorised your schedule already. “Bio?”

Okay. Maybe he has. “That’s right,” you say with a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll see you later on.”

“Yeah.” He gives you a charming smile and leans against the wall with his arms folded over his chest. “See you later.”

You hurry out the door without making it look like you're hurrying, and slide into your car. It takes two turns of the key to start up, but you’re glad you didn't have to endure a question-and-answer session with a guy who has no business knowing your business.

Leigh’s already there when you settle into your seat. “How was American Lit?” you ask her. She had a free block just before Biology, and decided—for some reason—to fill it by studying the transcendentalists, free-thinkers, and racists of the world.

She gives you a good-natured eye roll. “Overrated as always. Hey, did Liam give you a tough time this morning?”

You shrug your shoulders. “Not as much as usual. Why? Did he harass you?”

“He doesn't give a shit what Sonya or I do,” she says with a laugh of mirth. “Maybe because we aren’t single—or into the male of the species. He probably wants to know you're not going to see a boyfriend.”

“Ah. Well, luckily for him, Bio is all the action I can manage to get these days.” You flip open your notebook and eye the clock. Your professor strolls in just on time. “And Liam isn't my caretaker. He shouldn't care if I have a boyfriend.”

“He does if he wants to be the lucky guy.”

You nudge her gently with your elbow. “He should have told me that before he served me plain tofu last week. For breakfast.”

Leigh giggles, stifling it with her hand, and the lecture begins.

Your dad opens the door a few seconds after your soft knock. “Thank God you're here,” he groans. “I was gonna eat this whole steak myself. Joel would've had to fend for himself.”

Oh, that's interesting. “Joel’s here?” you say casually.

“I hope that's okay.” He scratches the back of his head awkwardly. “Was hoping I could ask you a favour in exchange for food.”

You step inside and give him a kiss on the cheek. “Of course. As long as you don’t make me eat plain tofu.”

He makes a face, but you just shake your head. “Don’t ask. What’s your favour?”

“I want to help you get your new place in order,” he tells you, “and Joel’s volunteered to help.”

“Your favour… is that I let you help me unpack?”

“Uh. Yeah.” He shrugs. “We don’t mind, kiddo. Really. It’ll make things go a lot faster.”

“But…” You know it’s a beautiful deal, and you should take it, but something in your gut twists at the idea of using your new family for manual labour. “I… I can’t let you do that for me. Let me pay you, at least. Let me—”

“No.” He wraps his hands around your arms. “Let me do this for you. I’m your dad. Dads are supposed to help their kids put together furniture and shit.”

You don’t remember being such a teary-eyed person, but you wrap your hands around his middle and blink away the wetness. “Thank you. But I’m not letting you do it for free.”

“I’m sure Joel will have something to say about that, too.”

Sure enough, Joel Miller is in the kitchen, pulling three plates from a cupboard. When he turns around and meets your eye, your stomach turns upside-down. “Hey.”

“Fancy seeing you here.” You give him a smile and take the plates from his hands, since he hasn’t even managed to close the cupboard since you walked in. “I was under the impression you had a bad back, Mr. Miller. Don’t do too much heavy lifting.”

“Where the hell did you hear that?” Joel narrows his eyes at your dad. “You tellin’ your daughter I’m incapable of doin’ my job?”

“Nobody ever said that.” You set out the plates and give Joel a reassuring look. “But if you think I’m letting you both put together my space for free, you’re in for a rude awakening.”

“I’m family,” says your dad. “And Joel’s my business partner, so he gets roped into my shit no matter what.”

You stare expectantly at Joel, who just folds his arms over his chest. You look sharply away when you find your eyes catching on the bulge of his biceps. “It’s true,” he says. “I don’t mind.”

When he sees you worrying your bottom lip with your teeth, Joel looks down at the counter and blinks hard. Jesus, he thinks. The fuck am I looking at? Mike’s kid. Mike’s fuckin’ daughter.

He scratches his jaw and slaps Mike on the back. “You want me to start the barbecue?”

Mike waves a hand. “Nah, man. I’ll get it.” He looks toward you. “Can you cook something other than boxed macaroni?”

You scoff indignantly, pointing at him with a fork from the table. “You listen here, old man—”

Mike lifts his hands in surrender and backs out the kitchen door. “Get the potatoes ready.”

With that, you're left alone with Joel.

Shit.

“You heard the man. Do you know where his masher is?” Moving around the dining table, your hand ghosts over his back to put some distance between you as you shuffle past him to the stove. The gentle touch fuses every knob of his spine together and echoes through his bones.

Joel stiffens, shutting his eyes, his knuckles white around the counter. “It’s, uh—” Fuck. Where is the masher? He’s been in this kitchen a hundred times. He’s held the masher plenty. “It’s in the…”

He can vaguely hear some rattling in the cupboards behind him, but it’s only when he hears his name that he manages to unstick himself from the counter and move aside. You're on your knees, staring up at him with an apologetic smile. “I need to look in this cupboard.”

Joel staggers backward so suddenly he almost trips over his own feet. “Sorry,” he croaks. Holy shit. He can see your tits perfectly in that little white tank top, the swell of your ass in those godforsaken jeans as you bend over and scour through the cupboard. Joel’s mouth feels dry. He rubs two fingers across his mouth, feeling fucking filthy as he imagines tugging your pretty tits out of that shirt, shucking down your jeans, spreading your thighs and tasting the sweet—

“Found this instead.” You stand up, a little flushed in the face, holding up an electric beater with a huge smile on your face. “Think it still works?”

“Uh—” Joel clears his throat. “Yeah.”

You frown at him, setting the beater aside as you begin to peel the potatoes at the counter. “Are you all right?”

As if you don't know what you're doing. As if every single man who walks by you in the street doesn't do a triple take just to take in that body. Jesus Christ. “Fine,” he says tightly.

Soft skin. Lips. Teeth. Kind, expectant eyes, peering up at him from—

He’s completely fine. He's never been fucking better.

Joel doesn't miss the flash of hurt that passes through your eyes before you focus on your task. “I know it's strange,” you say softly, kindly, “having someone else here. In Austin, in this house. I know you're best friends, and I don’t ever want to get in the way of that. I definitely don't want you to resent me. So, if there’s anything I can do”—you draw in a small, shaky breath, and it sounds so fucking sad that his heart cracks down the middle—“just let me know. Okay?”

Oh. You think he doesn't like you?

“Fuck. Wait.” Joel steps up next to you and places his hand on your arm. You stop your peeling and look up at him, your eyes so fucking buttery and sweet. “Wait. I… I don’t mean to be an asshole. Mike says I do that sometimes.”

You let out a genuine laugh, and Joel wonders if you're used to having people fall under your spell. If you know that a mere smile from you will make a man walk a tightrope between two mountain peaks. “It ain’t strange,” he tells you. “I’m happy for Mike. I’ve never been happier for him. If you knew how long he's been talkin’ about you…” He scoffs, his hand falling from your arm, even though he indulges a little when he lets his fingers lift goosebumps on your skin along the way. “Don’t… Please don't think for a second that anyone couldn't like you.”

Your bottom lip trembles, and his heart spikes in panic that he's said something wrong. You quickly swipe your thumbs under your watery eyes and sniffle. “I’ve been crying a lot,” you tell him with a weepy laugh. “It’s not you, Joel. Fuck, I think—I think I really needed to hear that.”

“I’ll say it again,” he says, “if you want.”

The sight of that crooked smirk imbues your knees with a unique weakness. “I’ll let you know the next time I need it.”

His fingers linger a little too close to yours, but he backs away, flexing his hand to shake the imprint of your softness under his palm. The perfume you wear is fucking intoxicating—his nostrils flare when you shift your attention back to the potatoes and the subtle turn of your head makes him inhale the smell of your flowery shampoo. “What can I do?” he asks you, his voice coming out a little rougher than he intended.

You give him that wicked smile again, and it strikes him hard. “It’s about time you asked. Use those big muscles and fill this pot with water for me.”

Big muscles, huh? He'll fuckin’ show you. He doesn’t give a fuck about his back if it means carrying boxes and putting together furniture will make you happy. Joel does what you tell him, filling the pot, draining it again, then refilling, poking the potatoes when you ask him to, adding milk and butter. You work quietly together apart from the guiding hand of your soft voice, and thank God the beater works, because he cannot handle seeing you bent over in Mike’s kitchen one more time.

“This is so fucking good.”

Across the table, Joel watches you cover your mouth as you chew, a little moan rumbling in your throat, and he immediately returns his attention to his own cut of medium-rare, ordering his hand to manually unclench around his knife.

“I told you,” laughs Mike. “No more eating that shitty boxed macaroni. Or plain tofu, whatever the fuck that is.”

Plain tofu? What the hell are you eating at home? “Liam thinks he’s allergic to sugar. It’s the only explanation.”

Both Joel and Mike speak at the same time. “Who the hell is Liam?”

They share a glance, but you interrupt the brief silence. “My housemate,” you reply. Neither of them miss the distasteful tone in your voice.

“Is Liam… nice to you?” asks Mike. It’s a careful question, tediously making sure he doesn't overstep too fast, even though Joel wants to know the same thing.

You, of course, see right through him. “Liam is perfectly fine,” you tell him, taking another cube of steak between your teeth.

Yeah, Joel’s not convinced. Neither is Mike, judging from the look he sends Joel’s way. But they both drop the subject, for now. It’s one thing to find his long-lost daughter and welcome her into his home—it’s another to inadvertently scare her away with overbearing questions. You're independent. You're used to caring for yourself.

Though, judging from how you devour your steak and potatoes, Joel’s not particularly convinced you’re taking enough care of yourself, either.

“So, this Daily Texan thing.” Mike swallows a mouthful of cooked carrots and looks at you expectantly. “Did it pan out?”

Your eyes glint with excitement. “Yes! God, I forgot to tell you—I’ll be starting next week.”

Mike grins, and you try, truly and deeply, to stop yourself from crying again. “That’s my girl.”

“Congratulations,” says Joel, lifting his beer in toast.

Your flushed cheeks are so damn cute. “Thank you.” You hide your growing smile behind a bite of steak. “So, what's your next job?”

“Client is looking to fill in their pool,” says Mike. “Wants a gazebo over it.”

Your mouth drops open. “So you're pouring concrete and filling holes?”

Joel snorts. “Ain't always like that. Finished the scaffolding on a house last week. Sooner than we expected.”

He doesn't know why he cares about sounding better at his job than he is, or more exciting. It’s not like carpentry is thrilling. Not to a young, pretty, smart girl like you. Still, you beam like it’s as much of an accomplishment as being elected president. “Looks like a tight ship you both run. Does it ever get difficult?”

“It’s difficult every goddamn day,” says Mike, “especially with this asshole.”

Joel smacks him upside the head as you take a passive sip of water. When all the plates are cleared, and you practically race your dad to the kitchen to clean up, Joel decides he doesn't want to go home yet. It’s rude to dine and dash, after all. It's what his momma told him.

So, he helps you wash the dishes while Mike decides to walk two blocks over to the closest variety store for a six-pack. “Wet or dry?” you ask Joel.

He’s already fixing himself in front of the sink and scrubbing the first plate clean. You huff, nudging him playfully with your elbow. He gives you a mock-injured look with those big brown eyes, like a kicked puppy. “Ow.”

“I’m sorry, Joel.” You blink up at him and pout, and the air, unfailingly and familiarly, flees through the open window. His blood surges down to his cock, which twitches, deeply interested, in his jeans. “I’ll kiss it better once you're done,” you tease.

Jesus Christ. No wonder your roommate wants in your goddamn pants. Joel’s never wanted to fight a college boy until now. “Looks like you're already fallin’ behind,” he manages to tease back, indicating the two plates he's stacked up next to the sink.

You grab a clean cloth and begin to dry the dishes in silence, accomplishing your tasks at the same speed he does, entering a plain and effective routine. There’s no push or pull. It’s easy. It isn't awkward. The wind whistles gently outside, but Joel still feels hot around the collar, and wonders if you’re checking him out as often as he’s raking his eyes up and down your body.

He’s going to hell.

“I don't know much about him,” Joel says gruffly, “but this Liam kid is bad news.”

You laugh mirthlessly. “I could’ve told you that. You know he asks me where I’m going every single time I leave the house? He might think he's coming up with the same clever excuse to talk to me, but he’s embarrassing himself. I…” You press your lips together then part them again, and Joel swallows at the sight. “I can’t ever seem to find luck with guys. I mean, uh… guys my age. They all feel too much like boys.”

It strikes him like a slap to the face. He knows it's not pointed, he knows, and yet his mouth curves up in a smile he can't suppress. He feels something like vindication. That scrap of a college kid doesn't deserve you. He doesn't deserve the same fucking air as you. But they're all entitled. They don't earn what they get. You’ve earned every victory you've won.

And you like men. You like men who will show you how you deserve to be appreciated.

“Joel.” Your soft voice wriggles from his ear to his brain and sticks firm to the grey matter. “You’re the one falling behind now.”

You're right. He rips his gaze away from your face and focuses on washing the dishes. And like that, the pair of you dissolve into a pleasurable silence once again.

The next time it breaks, you're the one who speaks first.

“Are you happy?”

He’s working a particularly tedious spatula, one filled with holes, so he can stall a little while he meets your gaze again. The look in your eyes gives him pause: it's like you're afraid of what he has to say.

He shifts his body to face you better, and you do the same. “What kind of answer are you lookin’ to hear?”

It's a gentle question, but it makes you frown. “I don't want you to change your answer to please me.”

He knows that. He also knows there are plenty of things he'd do to please you. “I don’t think I know what happiness is.”

“Good,” you sigh, “because I don't either.”

“What's wrong with that?” Joel wants to brush aside that stray piece of hair hanging in your eye. He doesn't. “You're young. You've got a lot of life left to figure that out.”

“You’re not old, Joel,” you scold. “And sometimes… I don’t know. Sometimes, I think I missed my window.”

At some point, he stopped washing the spatula. “Why?”

“Because I made a lot of sacrifices.” Your voice breaks, and he’s overcome with the need to help, to pull you in and ground your body with his hands. But he doesn't. It will cross a hundred lines. He will not. “And I feel terrible for wanting that. Happiness. I just feel selfish.”

“You know, I was almost married.” Your brows lift at the admission, and Joel chuckles. “Yeah. I know. Proposed and everything. But somewhere along the road, we both realised we wanted lives that didn't mesh. She wanted the life of a world traveller, and I was just ready to settle down. Maybe even have a kid.” He shrugs. “Wouldn’t have worked. Not with each other, at least.”

“You don't regret it?”

“Maybe…” He clears his throat, backing away just a step and focusing on the godforsaken spatula. “Maybe it's okay to be selfish sometimes.”

A hand, soft and small, is on his upper arm. It’s the simplest touch in the world. But to Joel, it’s a match that lights up his whole body from hand to gut to feet. It’s a pair of shackles that lock him in place. He refuses to breathe for fear that the slightest movement will shrug your hand away.

“It’s not my place,” you say, “but I’m glad you made that decision. I’d hate to ever see you unhappy, Joel Miller.” Your lips quirk up into that smile again, and his nerves twinge like violin strings. “Might have to start running for the hills.”

You can tell Joel and your dad are carefully scanning their surroundings when they enter your home on Sunday night for any sight of Liam Baker. “He’s at work,” you reassure them. “Sonya and Leigh are out for date night. Thank you both. Seriously. I can’t repay—”

“You don’t need to,” says your dad, kissing the top of your head. “Let's see the damage.”

You lead them to your room, and Joel focuses his gaze on the creaking wood under his boots so he doesn't have to look at your ass in those tight fucking yoga pants. Do you do yoga?

Jesus, he's losing it. You let them into your room, your face a little flushed. There’s a yoga mat unrolled on the floor, and Joel’s got his answer. He tries very hard not to imagine you with your ass up in the air, grabbing a handful of your flesh as he gets up close and—

“You don't have a bed frame.”

You try to wave off Mike’s gentle scolding. “I needed another person to help put it together. It's been perfectly fine—”

“—sleeping on the floor?”

Joel can tell you're getting uncomfortable with all the focus on you, so he smacks Mike on the back and asks, “What do you want done first?”

Mike gets it, backing off and letting you take the lead. The three of you make quick work of assembling the bed frame and lifting your mattress onto it. When you crawl onto the bed to test that it won't collapse, your limbs resembling a starfish and that tight shirt and those tight pants, Joel looks away.

Next is your dresser. It’s a fucking breeze for two carpenters, who have it assembled and placed precisely where you want in a half-hour, without looking at the instructions (“Men,” Joel hears you scoff under your breath). You busy yourself with putting together your bedside table and, afterward, folding your clothes neatly in the drawers of the dresser. Sitting on the floor cross-legged, you fold up all your pairs of jeans and your goddamn yoga pants in such clean piles that Joel wants to ask you to help reorganise his closet. “The track work okay?” he asks you.

“Like a greased wheel.” You grin at him when he kneels to test the drawer himself. “I trust you, you know. You do work with wood for a living.”

“Can’t have this fallin’ on you as you walk by.” He matches your smile, deciding that the track works just fine. It’ll do you good. His chest feels a little bigger for knowing he’s helped you out.

“Where’s my dad?”

Joel gestured with his chin toward the window, which looks out on the driveway. “Lookin’ at your car,” he replies. “Apparently, he doesn’t trust it.”

“I can’t imagine why,” you say nonchalantly, folding your pairs of socks as fast as lightning. “The guy I bought it from only snorted two lines while I was there.”

“All right, smartass.” His smile drops when he sees what’s in the bag you haven’t yet unpacked: a haphazard pile of panties. Lace. Jesus Christ, there’s so much lace. Pink, blue, white. Joel’s jaw ticks. There’s a black fucking thong in there, and he hasn’t had enough time to put up a shield. All he’s doing is picturing that pathetic scrap of black lace as you get on your hands and knees, as he bites into the flesh of your ass, as he sucks bruises into your thighs that will smart for days, as he shucks down that fucking thong and fits himself—

Joel’s back pinches a little when he stands up so abruptly, and you’re the first to notice his wince.

“Hey,” you say with a furrowed brow, standing up to close the distance between you, “you need to go home? You’ve done enough.”

Joel cocks his head at you and opens his mouth to reply, but the sound of the door opening downstairs diverts both your gazes. It isn’t your father’s voice calling out to you; it’s Liam’s. You glance at the clock and curse. He’s done his shift.

“Hey,” he says, slapping his palm above the doorway of your bedroom to signal his entrance. His gaze finds you immediately, but when it flickers to the other man in the room, his eyes narrow. “Who’s this?”

Joel puts his body in front of yours instinctively. Doesn’t this asshole know how to knock? “This is Joel,” you say politely, keeping things nice and civil, “my dad’s friend. Joel, this is Liam—my housemate.”

Liam stretches his hand out, but Joel sizes him up first. He’s clean-cut and clean-shaven and looks like he hits the gym, but he’s scrawny compared to Joel. He could knock the kid clean out if he wanted to. He sort of wants to. He reaches forward to shake his hand and squeezes a little harder than usual.

“Good to meet you, Joel,” says Liam.

“Yeah,” is all Joel says in reply.

You clear your throat and step out from behind Joel’s broad shoulders. “Is there something you needed to talk about before I call it a night?” you ask Liam.

“Actually”—Liam eyes Joel warily—“I was wondering if you wanted to go out. Hit a bar or something.”

Oh, this kid is bold. Joel lifts his brows, folding his arms over his chest. Who the fuck goes bar-hopping on a Sunday night? You’re visibly uncomfortable at the proposal, your eyes darting between the two men in the room. “No,” you finally say, “not tonight, sorry. I have class pretty early tomorrow before my shift.”

“Right,” says Liam, shaking off the invitation just as easily as he offered it. “No worries. Maybe next weekend.”

“Yeah,” you say, and Joel hears a sigh of relief threaded between the letters. “Anyways, we’re all done here, so…”

Something like panic settles in for a restless sleep in Joel’s chest. He can’t just… leave you here. He can’t, on good conscience, walk out the front door knowing you’re a couple doors down from this asshole. There isn’t a lock on your door. He could—

“Joel.” Your hand, again, gently squeezing his bicep. “I’ll walk you down.”

Liam only leaves when you do, and it pisses Joel off even more. He doesn’t follow you downstairs, thank Christ, but it still means Joel has to leave. You keep holding onto his arm as you guide him outside to the front porch. “No fuckin’ way,” seethes Joel, finally letting himself speak far out of earshot, “can you live with him.”

“I never had a choice, Joel,” you reply, calm as ever, your hand doing all the heavy lifting—seeping into his bones, helping his shoulders relax a little.

“You haven’t seen how this asshole looks at you—”

“Joel,” you cut in. “I’ll be fine.”

Joel’s fingers flex into fists and uncurl repeatedly. “Has this kid tried anything on you?”

“No. He hasn’t touched me, said anything out of line, or done a single thing that warrants this.” You smooth out the tension in his brow with your thumb, and Joel’s heart kicks up five notches. “I’ll be okay. Can you trust that?”

It feels illicit to have you touch him like this. You’re strictly off-limits. You’re not his. You’re not here for him. Joel scolds himself for all the pretty pictures he conjures in his head when you smile and laugh and show off that fucking body. He scolds himself a little harder for not caring enough to stop.

“Yeah,” he says with a pout you want to bite right off his pretty mouth. He’s gorgeous in the light of dusk, softened around the edges and still grumpy as hell. He’ll never touch you like this, like you’ve imagined in your nicest little daydreams.

“But if he does…” That muscle in his jaw feathers like it tends to do, and all you want is to climb onto him and suck all that tension away.

“If he does…” Your voice sounds like midnight, velvety soft. “I’ll run to you.”

He still can’t decide, hours later when he’s staring at the ceiling and feeling anything but sleepy, if you were joking.

He’s trying to be careful about the time he spends alone with you. It’s just that you make it very difficult.

He’s in Sandy’s Bar again. Without Mike. When he walks in, you’re chatting up with an elderly couple who are both drinking strawberry gin and tonics. Joel can’t help but smile. You’re so fucking sweet, leaning in close to hear them properly and being patient with their repetitive questions whenever it seems their memories aren’t availing them. They’re asking you about school, it seems, when he gets close and sidles up at the bar.

Your eyes meet his, and they glimmer when you smile. Joel’s chest feels tight. “Hi,” you say, your voice a little breathy when you finally get away. It’s such a sexy fucking sound that his head goes a little fuzzy. “Sorry about that.”

“Charming the locals?” he asks.

“Apparently so.” You give him a humble shrug. “Complain about the current state of politics or the economy and you can charm the pants off anyone over fifty.”

Joel chuckles. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You drinking?”

“Just coffee, if you have it,” he replies. “I’m… here alone.”

You don’t frown for very long. In fact, he isn’t certain you were ever frowning at all when that wicked smile is twisting your mouth again. Cloying, black, filthy heat courses through his bloodstream. “So you came to see me. Whatever did I do to deserve the attention of Joel Miller?”

Fuck if I know. God forbid he get a restful goddamn sleep since he met you, since he mostly spends his time imagining your tight, soft body underneath him. He pictures sweat and sighs and wet, gasping moans that jerk him awake even when he manages to fall asleep for a moment.

He needs to get laid. He needs to bury himself in a woman’s body. It’s been too fucking long. That’s all.

It’s not you.

“I came for the discount,” he says instead, holding up the chipped mug of coffee you’ve handed him.

You give him a challenging glare. “What discount?”

You've got him there. “How's the car?” he tries instead.

“Dad thinks I need a new alternator.” You blow out a breath as you shift to pour a beer for another patron. “Another thing I can’t afford. I’ll pick up a couple extra shifts next week. And here I go, complaining again. I’m sorry, Joel.”

He wants to shake his head and tell you to complain all you fucking want. It means you like talking, confiding, untangling your brain from those knots it gets itself in, and giving him little bits of your life.

“Alternators ain’t cheap, but I know a guy,” he says. Ken will fix up your piece-of-junk ride if Joel has anything to say with it. “I can give him your number if you want. Tell him you’re Joel’s friend.”

“Sure that won't make him hang up on me?”

Smartass. “Almost sure.”

The gratitude in your eyes is an addictive substance. “I’ve accepted way too much help from you already,” you say, “but God, I need that car.”

Joel scratches his beard and laughs. “If your car guy only snorted one line of coke, you might not have had that problem.”

“I may have to give him a piece of my mind.”

He’d certainly like to see that.

“Listen.” You lean forward. Joel can see the winding shapes in your irises and the curve of your upper lip, the way your tits press together in that shirt. “My shift will be over at eleven, and I have a paper to write. But I have something to show you.”

Joel lifts his brows. “I can’t edit papers for shit. I can barely read ‘em.”

“No!” You wave your hand, your cheeks flushing a bit. “I… I know you like the stars, out in the country. I was wondering if you'd like to take a drive.”

A drive.

A drive? You want to go stargazing with him? You want to drive out, alone in a car together, out of the city, and watch the night sky? Joel is momentarily dumbstruck; he can't fathom that a girl like you would want to spend her Friday night with an old, grumpy asshole. You should be out at a club in a tight little dress, conning free drinks from idiot college boys and dancing with your friends. You shouldn't want… him. This.

“It was stupid,” you blurt out, casting your eyes down at the bar top. “If I crossed a line, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

Joel shakes his head. “Hey, look at me.” Your eyes lift, wide and sad, and he’s going to slap himself for being the one to make you look like that. “What will your dad say?”

You blink slowly, catlike. “Dad won't complain about me spending time with his best friend.”

“He will if his best friend’s much older than you.”

“Joel.” Your syrupy voice makes him want to reach out and wrap his hand around your hair just to hear what kind of noises he can get you to make. “You’re a family friend. If Dad has a problem, I’ll make sure he takes it up with me.” You squeeze his shoulder. “You’ve known him a lot longer than he’s known me. I wouldn't do anything to screw up your friendship, or make him angry with you. You know that, right?”

His heart aches a little for your compassion, how you're willing to take the fall for him. He doesn't want you to have to make another sacrifice, ever again.

“I know,” he says softly.

Your tongue wets your bottom lip, a pleasurable hum in your head at the sound of his gentle voice—like a hand at the nape of your neck, holding you firm. “How d’you know I like stars?” asks Joel.

“Just…” You watch his eyes flit down to your mouth. “Just don't laugh.”

“I won't laugh.”

“Promise me.”

“Baby, I’m not gonna laugh.”

You take a deep breath. “I asked my dad what he gave you for your birthday last year, and he told me you really loved the telescope.”

You watch his brows curve upward in the middle, his warm eyes glimmering as his face softens. “This is my birthday present?”

“This is your pre-birthday present.” You poke him square in the chest with a finger. “Don’t think you aren't getting a gift after everything you've done to help me.”

“I don’t need—”

You cut his protest short. “I get off at eleven.”

Joel, of course, goes with you.

#kiwisbell's fics #whiskey sour #pedro pascal #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us fanfiction

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melancholy-of-nadia · 3 months

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love u lately (m) #7 | myg/knj/pjm

title: love u lately chapter title: #7 - People (Pt. 2) pairing: yoongi x f. reader, namjoon x f. reader, jimin x f. reader (yoonminjoon x f. reader) rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; college/university au , pseudo frat! bts; best friends! yoonminjoon friends to lovers; summary: a camping trip in the middle of January does not prove to be ideal at all. for many reasons. and you'll blame taehyung for suggesting this! with high tensions and emotions simmering beneath the surface as you, the beta tau sigma boys, and your girly besties go on a weekend getaway, someone unexpected decides to confess to you, leaving you to wonder what your heart even wants? warnings: camping, reader being obviously jealous, AND STRESSED, smut, deep talks, shower sex, consensual groping, v in p penetration, unprotected sex (well she's on BC), swearing, kissing...A LOT, fingering, yoongi smoking cigarettes, hwasa the drama pot stirrer, ANGST, INJURY, eventual CONFESSION, yoonminjoon on high tension, jungkook carrying reader = jealousy, ft. Hwasa, IU, Adora, and Soyoon note: as always thank you to @daegudrama for editing this chapter and giving me smut ideas!!! total word count: 12.6k drop date: February 9th, 2024 3:00PM PST cross posted on AO3 here ← #6 | Series Masterlist | #8 →

January 19 [Saturday]

The rhythmic hum of the engine and the soft purr of the tires on the pavement accompany your focus as you sit shotgun in Yoongi's car, en route to the campgrounds. Winter break ended earlier that month, and reality is setting in as you find yourself juggling the remnants of relaxation with the impending demands of university life.

Yoongi decided to bring his car to campus this semester, knowing that he would need it for the camping trip to be able to fit everyone. Each car housed a portion of your close-knit group:

Jin's car: Hoseok, Hwasa, Soohyun Jimin's car: Namjoon, Soyoon, Jungkook Yoongi's car: You, Taehyung, Jieun

Seated beside Yoongi, you diligently work on a writing assignment, your laptop open on your lap. Yoongi cast a sidelong glance, noting your dedication despite his concern for your motion sickness.

"Are you seriously working on your homework in the car? You get bad motion sickness, Honey." He sighs, worry lacing his words as he continues looking at the road.

You finally lift your gaze, meeting his eyes after a focused 25 minutes. "I took a dramamine before this, so it’s not too bad. I just need to get this assignment done before Tuesday. I know I’m going to fuck around and not work on it much this whole trip, so I’m doing all I can to get it done within the next 3 hours."

Yoongi hums, understanding the struggle. "Damn, that business comm class has you hustling hard this semester, huh?"

You groan in agreement, "Yes! I was so close to dropping it because the professor is so stingy, but I need to take it now so I can graduate on time." This spring semester is going to be a lot harder so you have to stay focused. Though, this camping trip offers a temporary escape with your friends before you start calling the library your new home for the rest of the school year.

As the car rolls along the highway, your mind wanders back to a few weeks before the semester started. The course load is much more formidable than Fall, now taking some upper division courses like psychology, business communication, international economics, and market analysis. That business comm class is going to kill you though. You sigh at yet another twist of fate of Jaebeom's presence in a class, which somehow leaves you feeling uneasy.

He struck up a conversation after the first class, asking for your phone number to discuss homework and projects. While you agreed, sensing something off, Yoongi appeared behind you as if summoned from thin air. His dark expression and the firm grip on your wrist conveyed a silent warning to Jaebeom.

Before leaving, Jaebeom couldn't resist a sudden sarcastic remark, "Wasting time? You better finish that mixtape if you want to get signed before me, Agust."

At the time, you didn't fully grasp the implications. However, his words linger, and you wonder if Yoongi has recently been struggling with his music and if that somehow was connected to you. The mixtape project, once a seamless process for him, now seemed to be hitting roadblocks.

You decide to try to pry into Yoongi’s mind and see if your suspicions are correct by continuing the conversation. "What about you, Yoongi? I know you’re taking that Recording Production Process class this semester to release a mixtape by the end of it."

"Yeah, yeah, it's going well,” Yoongi nods shyly, offering a few affirmations.

"Right, hyung is working on an album!" Taehyung chimes in from the back seat where he sits with Jieun, your upperclassman friend you'd invited on the trip.

"Oh really? That’s really cool, Yoongi!" Jieun compliments, her eyes sparkling at the mention of Yoongi producing music.

"And if you need a vocalist feature, you should ask Jieun. She’s in the university’s acapella group." you suggest, thinking it could add a unique dynamic to Yoongi's music. Yoongi has asked you to sing a couple parts in the past for his songs, though you always try to gently refuse. You don’t think you’re much of a singer and don’t want to ruin his works. However, Yoongi always thinks differently.

"Really? Jieun, if you don’t mind helping me out with some of my projects, I would greatly appreciate it." Yoongi proposed.

"Sure! I sing as a hobby, so I don’t know how great I would be, but I’ll do my best." Jieun responds, her willingness evident in her tone.

You met Jieun last year when she was a 2nd year TA in your Psych Statistics Analysis class. After several office hour sessions of trying to understand how Tukey’s Honestly Significant Difference worked (which you don’t want to explain how it works), you ended up befriending her and becoming good friends. You found out she’s an amazing singer outside of her pursuing a psychology degree and even a theater major. You think Yoongi would get along really well with her (cue Yoongi’s obscure interest in broadway musicals).

The car continues its journey through picturesque landscapes, and after two hours, you finally arrive at the campsite. Nestled in the embrace of nature, the site sprawls out with a serene lake nearby, and scattered cabin lodgings surround the area. You note the promise of a hot spring spa somewhere around here, creating a mental checklist for exploration later on.

As you step out of the car, the crisp January air hit you, carrying remnants of moisture from the previous days' rain. It is undeniably cold, and you question the wisdom of camping in the middle of winter. Everyone starts unloading the supplies from the cars for the next 2-3 days. Jin, Yoongi, Soyoon, and Jungkook take charge of building the tents, their collective efforts combating the chilly breeze.

After everyone settles down, you all decide to have a group meeting to discuss what you guys are going to eat for lunch.

Taehyung, who is always down for something random, proposes a cooking challenge that divides everyone into two teams: Team Red and Team Blue. The plan involves creatively preparing lunch and dinner using the BBQ grills and sinks at the picnic area, as well as utilizing the supplies Jin and Namjoon bought the night before. Everyone will decide on the best meal after dinner.

Team Red, consisting of Jin, Hoseok, Namjoon, Soyoon, Soohyun, and Jimin, strategize their approach.

Jin, surveying the available ingredients, rubs his hands together, ready for the challenge. "Alright, team! We have premade dough, broth, veggies, meat, fruit, side dishes, bread…ideas, anyone?"

Hoseok, ever the enthusiast, suggests, "I’m tempted to say we should make the barbecue feast for lunch. I’m craving BBQ so bad. Please, Jin."

“No! We’re doing that tomorrow night!” Jin lightly argues, earning a groan from Hoseok which makes everyone else laugh.

Namjoon, exchanging glances with Soyoon, feels a spark of inspiration. "What if we do something a bit different? Pizza. We can make pizza outdoors. It's a bit unconventional, but we do have the premade dough. I think the result will be worth it."

Soyoon giggles and nods in agreement, adding, "Yeah, I actually brought the dough because I thought we could use it to make something cool out here. Pizza would actually be fucking cool." Namjoon smile widdens knowing she understands him so well.

"I'm down for pizza!" Jimin, excited by the idea, chimes in.

"Let's make a giant combo pizza. That way, we can feed everyone." Soohyun, examining the ingredients, suggests.

Jin, impressed with his team brainstorming thoughts, declares, "Fantastic! Let's get to work. Hoseok, start the fire. Namjoon, you and Soyoon work on rolling the dough. Soohyun, you and Jimin can handle cutting the ingredients for the toppings. We've got this!"

The team disperses to their designated tasks, banter and laughter fills the air as they toss around more ideas. Amidst the cheerful chaos, your attention involuntarily drifts to Soyoon and Namjoon.

You steal glances at them, observing how they playfully engage with each other while improvising rolling pins from random cylindrical objects. The rhythmic motion of rolling dough becomes a backdrop to their shared laughter, and you can't help but feel somewhat uncomfortable.

It's different. In the past, Namjoon would get close with girls you didn’t even know, like Jihyo. This time, it hits a bit closer to home—Soyoon is your friend, and Namjoon is your childhood best friend. You remember the first time they met is when Namjoon came by to pick you up after a late night library shift during finals season last year. But you’re not even sure when they started talking to each other more without you knowing. Could it have been through one of their art history classes?

Lost in your thoughts, you're snapped back to reality when Yoongi playfully flicks your forehead, jolting you back to reality.

“Get your head in the game, Y/N.” He grumbles and you wince slightly in pain. Jerk.

“I am!” You retort as you go back to facing him and looking at the ingredients in front of you. “I was just trying to see what they were plotting for lunch.”

Yoongi can’t help but shoot you a questioning expression. You wonder if he knows that you were looking at them. It wouldn’t be the first time he catches you staring at Namjoon being with another girl. Whether he knows or not, he doesn’t decide to pry and instead looks back at the ingredients on your table.

“You can do that later, we need to start making something so we can have more time to not do shit later.”

“Just make some of your good old kimchi jjigae and have some rice on the side. It’ll keep us feeling warmed up for the night.” You see some packaged pork belly and hand it to Yoongi, “Add a little protein too.”

You’ve helped Yoongi cook in the past, so you have a sense of his cooking process when he decides to make stuff, specifically stew. This won’t take too long to prepare.

“I hate that this is such a good idea.” He groans, grabbing the meat as you smirk right back at him cheekily. “Everyone else on board? I just need the onion and green onions cut, then the pork belly stir fried before I put it all in the big pot for the stew.”

Everyone nods, followed by a “Yes Chef!” from Taehyung. As you get straight to chopping onions, you notice Yoongi looking at you with admiration. You want to know the thoughts that blossom behind his cat-like eyes, but you decide not to ponder it right now.

Taehyung takes a suspicious glance at you two, seemingly wondering about something. Though he remains silent, and instead goes to assist Jungkook and Jieun in preparing ingredients.

++++++++++++

The sky paints hues of orange and pink as the sun begins its descent, casting a warm glow over the campsite. You, Jimin, and Hoseok venture towards a pile of firewood behind the shower houses to build a cozy campfire for the night.

Jimin, ever perceptive, notices the contemplative look on your face. "Hey, Y/N, everything okay?" he asks, concern etched on his face.

You hesitate for a moment before replying. Did he notice you looking at Namjoon and Soyoon earlier? Shit, this is embarrassing. He must be thinking about how ridiculous I’m being.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just stuff on my mind, you know?"

Jimin shoots you a curious glance, silently questioning if you were ready to share what was bothering you.

Before he could delve deeper into your thoughts, Hoseok, his eyes darting around nervously, chimes in, "Guys, let's pick up the pace. It's getting dark, and I'm not really a fan of the dark in the woods. Gives me the creeps!"

You take this interruption as a chance to avoid answering him and focus on the task on hand. Jimin doesn’t push you to continue and you all walk back to the campsite.

+++++

The campfire casts dancing shadows on the faces of your friends as laughter and chatter fills the night. The aroma of the delicious kimchi jjigae lingers in the air. Yoongi and Jungkook busied themselves with slicing fruits and getting out the ingredients to make some s'mores.

Jimin goes to his trunk to take out several boxes of soju bottles, sparking a cheer among the group. The soft strains of music emanate from Hoseok's compact speaker, adding a melodic backdrop to the festivities. Crackling fire, music and the clinking of soju bottles set the perfect ambiance for the end of the B.T.S. member trip day one.

"Alright, why don’t we share some confessions around the campfire to bond with one another. Jin, you wanna kick it off?" Hwasa settles down on the picnic blanket around the fire and grins.

Jin nods, a mischievous glint in his eye, "Huh?! Me? Why don’t you start it off since you want to do this.”

“Give me like three minutes to think of something. So please go for it, Seokjin?”

“Agh, fine. Just don't judge me too hard,” Jin looks around and clears his throat before he continues. “Back in middle school, I tried to impress my crush with a card trick. It didn't go as planned, and I ended up looking like a dumbass magician. Needless to say, she wasn't impressed."

“That was kinda a lame confession.” Hwasa tells him and you try to stifle your laughter next to her.

“I said don’t judge me!” A bit of laughter ripples through the group. “You also didn’t add any rules!”

"If Hwasa wants to hear about embarrassing shit, let me share.” Hoseok eagerly volunteers, “I accidentally liked my crush's old Instagram photo while stalking their profile. It was from two years ago, and there was no way to undo it. I hoped they wouldn't notice, but they did."

“Oh see! That’s what I want to hear!” Your girl bestie yells in excitement.

Soyoon follows after, "Something to confess…I have this quirky habit of talking in my sleep. One time, my roommate caught me in the act and recorded. I talked about kissing girls for a good five minutes."

Namjoon chuckles a little too hard at that. "Funny you mention sleep-talking. I've been told I do the same thing. Apparently, I give motivational speeches about pursuing dreams in my sleep."

“No, you just ramble about shit that sounds like it makes sense when it doesn’t!” Jimin opposes. Namjoon tsks, narrowing his eyes at the younger man.

The round table of confessions continues with Jieun, "Alright, brace yourselves. I had a massive crush on my neighbor when I was in high school. Turns out, he's now a famous actor in every Netflix show imaginable. I had no idea back then."

“Wait who?!” Everyone exclaims.

“I can’t kiss and tell.” She pretends to seal her lips, leaving everyone sighing and groaning.

The stories lighten the mood, but as Hwasa shifts the rules to be only dating confessions, a tension hangs in the air. You decide to tread carefully as your turn, "Well, I had this experience just once… you know, with someone. It was interesting, but things didn't exactly pan out."

“Come on, give us more juicy details! I haven’t heard you talk about this much.” Hwasa presses.

The gazes of Yoongi, Jimin, and Namjoon linger a bit longer, as you navigate through your words, leaving certain details in the shadows.

“Me and that guy were basically academic rivals. Always trying to one-up each other. I beat him and got the Salutatorian honor when I graduated. Jimin was Valedictorian. We never thought we’d date until I asked him to be my fake date to a wedding–”

A collective gasp and “oohs” escapes the group, and Hwasa clasps her hands together, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“It was my brother’s wedding.” Jin adds matter of factly.

“Yes, your brother’s wedding. Then one thing led to another and we dated for about 3 months until we broke up right when I moved for college.”

And now there was suddenly a bit of silence. Did I make the mood awkward? Oh god, maybe I should’ve made something up. You look around and see a bit of disappointment after a short rom-com summary of your first dating experience.

“Why did you need a fake date?” Namjoon was the first of your three best friends to speak up and ask. This catches you off guard.

“I…Er…”

Your hesitant response left an air of curiosity hanging around them. Namjoon's question touches on a chapter of your life you haven’t shared with anyone at all, and now, with the flickering firelight revealing the subtle expressions on everyone's faces, you feel a mix of vulnerability and uncertainty.

Why were you insistent to get a fake date back then? Even thinking about it now, it seems so silly of an idea. What were you trying to prove by having arms linked with a man, who you didn’t originally like, in front of your male best friends?

"It was to spite us. She didn't want to show up alone and have us think she couldn't find a date." Jimin interjects. He must’ve sensed you struggling to answer.

"Spiting us at a wedding? We could’ve just all gone as friends like we did for prom." Namjoon teases, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Was it really spite? Aimed at Namjoon, Jimin and Yoongi for taking other girls instead just going with you? What does that really say about you? Why do you feel unhappy when they don’t have you at the center of their attention? This isn’t a good time to spiral into this.

"Yeah, well, it wasn't the best idea." you chuckle nervously, glancing quickly at Yoongi and Jimin. Their expressions are unreadable, and the silence that follows your story lingers a bit too long.

Hwasa, not one to let awkward moments fester, leans in with a playful smile, "Okay, spill. Was he a good kisser?"

"I…uh, I think this is getting a bit too personal, isn't it?"

The group erupts into laughter, dispersing the tension that momentarily settled. As the night continues, the stories shift to lighter topics, the crackling fire providing a comforting backdrop.

+++++++

The campfire's warmth lingers on your skin as you gather your things from your shared tent, preparing to head to the shower building. The night is settling in, and the laughter of your friends still echoes in the cold air. As you pass by the dwindling group still gathered around the fire, you catch Jimin's eyes for what feels like a minute. There is a depth in his gaze that leaves you wondering if he, too, is navigating through a maze of emotions from earlier today.

It’s been two months, when will you finally make up your mind instead of leaving them hanging?

Your attention is momentarily diverted by a scene that tugs at your heart. Namjoon and Soyoon are sat close, giggling animatedly about an unknown topic in the glow of the firelight. The sight of Namjoon's deepened dimples and the warmth in his smile captivates you, the flames casting shadows on them.

And there it is again. A twinge of an unknown, yet familiar feeling sparks within you. It is a feeling you couldn't entirely shake off, even though you tried to bury it beneath layers of rationality. A mix of emotions swirls as you continue on your way to the shower building.

The path to the shower building is dimly lit along the way, and the sound of laughter at the campsite slowly fades behind you.

Upon reaching the shower building, you notice Yoongi sitting by a picnic table, a dim glow from his cigarette and phone lighting up the darkness around him. It is a sight you haven’t seen in a long time, and concern creeps into your mind. You thought he stopped smoking a while back. Without hesitation, you call out to him and take a seat.

"Hey Yoongs," you begin, studying his expression, "Are you good?"

Yoongi looks up at you, caught off guard by the sudden question. He hesitates to speak, opting instead to take a drag from his cigarette. The smoke curls into the night air, carrying with it a sweet yet bitter scent, reminiscent of cherries.

“Why do you say that?” He finally responds, with a question, however.

“I haven’t seen you smoke since that time.” You refer to the month right before college when Yoongi got word that his father had fallen ill and was admitted to the hospital. Yoongi doesn’t smoke unless he feels like he needs something to keep him afloat while his mind is conflicted in chaos.

“Just felt like I needed it right now.” He explains shortly.

You sense his reluctance to provide context. While you normally don’t like to pry too much when it comes to him, you feel like you should right now. Aside from whatever transparency or honesty rules you have as fuck buddies, you are his best friend at the end of the day.

You sigh softly, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, Yoongi. But, you know, I'm here to listen to any of your worries. Anything. That's what best friends are for."

Yoongi's eyes widen a little from your reassuring words. It takes him a moment to collect his thoughts, the ember of his cigarette glowing in the darkness as he begins to speak. "You truly are an angel that comforts me when the world has gone to shit."

You feel your cheeks heating up a bit before following it up with another question, “What’s been troubling you this bad?”

Yoongi scratches his temple anxiously before putting his phone down. “It's just…the mixtape project is weighing on me more than I thought.”

"But you always come up with something amazing when it comes to music. We literally call you the hands of Midas."

He exhales a sigh, the smoke dispersing in the air. "Yeah, but this time it's different. Professor Kang is pushing us hard, and he's been emphasizing how crucial this project is if we want him to recommend us to work for Mr. Bang."

The gravity of his words sinks in. "The Mr. Bang from that one major record label in LA you told me about?"

Yoongi nods, and you can see the anxiety in his eyes. "Exactly. But he’s only recommending two mixtapes out of our 10-person class.” He takes a minute to assemble his next thoughts, finding it hard to speak out the potential outcomes. “This could be a game-changer for my career, but it feels like I'm standing at the edge of a cliff. One wrong move, and everything could just crumble."

You remain silent, absorbing the weight of his concerns. Yoongi told you awhile back that Professor Kang is actually another big producer named Pdogg. The man is incredibly close with Mr. Shihyuk Bang, who is a part of a major record label that Yoongi has been dreaming of joining since high school. You know Yoongi doesn’t want to disappoint anyone, and that carries even more magnitude and pressure to his creative process.

"I've been working day and night, trying to create something that stands out. But with every passing day, doubt creeps in. What if it's not good enough? What if I disappoint everyone who believes in me?" Yoongi admits, his vulnerability laid bare. “Jaebeom really hit a nerve when I saw him a few weeks ago. He’s been working on good stuff too, especially with the help of some upperclassmen. I have Yijeong and Sammy giving me some feedback from time to time, but this is all done by me.”

He extinguishes the cigarette with a firm stomp, the embers scattering in the night air. Discarding the remains into the trashcan next to the table, he releases a heavy sigh, the weight of his thoughts etched on his features.

You recognize the heavy burden he carries. The expectations, the fear of failure, and the desire to prove himself in an industry that can be unforgiving – it's a lot for anyone to handle.

"I get it, Yoongi," you begin, your voice adopting a soothing cadence that seems to meld with the ambient night sounds of the forest around you. "It's a big opportunity, and it's okay to feel overwhelmed. The music industry can be relentless, and there is a lot on the line for your future.”

Yoongi narrows his eyes at you, “Thanks for confirming my fears.” He chuckles.

“Wait! But here's the thing—you're not alone in this. We're all here for you, supporting you every step of the way."

You pause, letting the words linger in the crisp night air. Yoongi looks at you, his gaze a mix of gratitude and vulnerability.

"You've got an incredible talent, Yoongi," you continue, your expression earnest. "I've seen you pour your heart and soul into your music since we were in high school. Your dedication is inspiring, and it's about time the world recognizes it. The journey you’ll take will be tough, but remember, you're not just carrying your dreams. You're carrying the dreams of everyone who believes in you, and that's a powerful force."

Yoongi takes in your words, a subtle nod acknowledging the truth in them. The flickering light from the light post dances in his eyes, reflecting a renewed sense of determination.

"And, hey," you add with a soft smile, "even in the face of challenges, don't forget to savor the process. This journey is as much about the growth and experiences along the way as it is about the destination. Embrace it, and you'll find strength even in the toughest moments." You hold Yoongi’s large hand against your face, comforting him. He always likes his hands being held.

He exhales slowly, as if releasing a burden he didn't realize he was carrying. "Thanks, Y/N," he says, his voice genuine. "I needed to hear that."

Yoongi looks at you, gratitude and a touch of relief in his eyes.

As the heaviness of Yoongi's concerns lifts with your words of support, a more casual conversation takes its place. Yoongi turns to you, his gaze softening, and asks, "What have you been dreaming of lately, Y/N?

You ponder the question. As a second year in college, you haven’t spent much time thinking about it. "Honestly, I'm not entirely sure yet. Maybe a corporate job somewhere nice, stable. I don’t really have much of a dream.” Yoongi looks at you, wanting to dive deeper on that, but you chose to divert the question. “But, no matter what, I hope to be close to you and everyone else until the end of time!"

His eyes widen, filled with admiration and awe at your sincerity. It's a sentiment that seems to touch him, and you feel a sense of warmth between you two. Emotions linger in the air, as if inching closer to understanding something profound.

Suddenly, as if propelled by an internal decision, Yoongi gets up. He extends his hand towards you, his touch gentle as he grabs your wrist. He looks at you with a hint of anticipation and eagerness in his eyes.

You don’t know what he has in mind, but if you’re with Yoongi, you have nothing to fear.

Intrigued, you follow him to the shower building which was empty at this hour in the night. Without a word, he pulls you into one of the shower stalls, closing the curtain behind you both. He starts kissing you, making you gasp into his mouth. As you close your eyes, you feel yourself slipping away, and in the process, accidentally turning on the shower. The water begins to flow, causing your clothes to get wet. In response, Yoongi starts undressing you, peeling off your clothes and tossing them to the side to keep them from getting too soaked. You didn’t mind though. You were going to shower anyway.

The soft sound of running water creates a soothing ambiance. The air fills with a mix of steam and electricity as your lips keep meeting each other again and again, while the world outside the shower stall fades away.

The sounds of water droplets hitting the tiled floor mixes with the soft hum of your shared breaths. There's a delicate dance between you and Yoongi, a silent exchange of emotions that words can never capture.

As the kiss deepens, you find a certain comfort in the connection, a reassurance that goes beyond the worries and pressures of daily life. Yoongi's hands, tender and deliberate, trace a soothing path across the expanse of your back.

He pulls back slightly, his dark eyes fixed on yours. "Y/N," he breathes, his voice a soft murmur that's almost lost in the sound of running water. "Do you want me to keep going?"

All thoughts in your brain are clouded by the horny brain rot brought about by Min Yoongi. This man is probably the most dangerous out of your three best friends.

“Please.”

This is the cue Yoongi needs to suddenly unchain his desires. His hands continue to explore, tracing patterns on your skin, and the heightened awareness of where you are adds a layer of excitement. The sound of the shower and the muffled noises from outside create a cloak of privacy, but at any moment, an impending intrusion could get you both caught. You don’t want to know what consequences await that.

The pure thrill of the situation and the delicate touch of Yoongi’s hands gets you wet with little effort. He breaks away from the kiss, leaning down to swirl his tongue around one of your nipples before turning you around. He kneads your ass in his hands then slips one hand between your thighs. Without warning he pushes one finger inside you with ease.

“So wet for me already?” He whispers into your ear sending a shiver down your spine. He uses his other hand to cup your soft breast.

The sound you choke out is not intelligible which brings a low chuckle to Yoongi’s throat. He slides the finger in and out of you slowly like he’s trying to drive you insane.

When he adds another finger you can’t help the sound that espaces your lips. He moves more quickly building the pleasure inside of you. Yoongi rests his head against your shoulder putting his hands on your waist.

“I don’t have a condom with me.” He groans, mentally beating himself. You turn around to see a pout gracing his lips.

“It’s okay, I’m on birth control now.” You pause looking into his eyes.

“Really?” He says excitement lighting up his face before you can continue.

"Yup," you confirm with a playful wink. "I had been thinking about going on it when we made the deal to include Jimin, and I finally did it over winter break."

Yoongi chuckles, reaching to hold your chin gently with his fingertips, ensuring your eyes stay locked on his. "Such a little minx. You planning to do something scandalous with that?"

You eye him mischievously. "Maybe… but no risks tonight. Let's take it steady for now."

He turns you back around and gently guides your shoulder until you are bent over. He unzips his pants, revealing his hardened cock and holds it in his hand. With no resistance, he glides inside you and groans at the feeling.

You’ve never done this before. Not with Wonwoo. Not with Yeonjun. Yoongi is the first to go raw in you, and it feels so damn good. Every vein and curve of his dick is felt in your pussy, molding itself as the perfect fit. You don’t know if you could ever go back to the feeling of a condom-covered dick, but you’d have to. Though you’d hope that you’d get to be safely creampied at least once before going back to double coverage of condom and BC protection. That’s one of your ultimate goals, though you won’t let them know.

Yoongi traces his fingers up your side as he thrusts into you with long slow strokes. He is enjoying the thrill of being this close to you in such a risky environment and savoring every moment.

You find yourself lost in the intense pleasure he brings, each thrust a wave of delicious sensation that floods your entire body. You arch your back, allowing him deeper access. The slight pain from his movements intertwines with the pleasure, making this experience all the more unforgettable.

Yoongi's gaze never leaves your face, his eyes locked on you as he pushes deeper into your warmth. Your own eyes are wide with passion, the fear of getting caught replaced by the thrill of the moment. His fingers dig into your hip, his expression a mix of raw lust and pure adoration.

"Look at you," he growls, "You're so wet, and so tight just milking me.” He whispers against your ear, driving you slow to become viscerally animalistic. You’re so close.

Suddenly, as if the world wanted to manifest your worst fears, the door swings open. The voices of Hwasa and Soohyun echo through the shower building. Panic sets in, and you tense, trying to stifle any telltale sounds of your current sexcapade. Yoongi, ever the master of composure, holds back a laugh at your panic without halting his movements. How is he not worried?!

"Steam? Oh, someone’s already in here? Is it you, Honey?" Hwasa's voice calls out.

You struggle to respond, caught between pleasure and the risk of exposure. Yoongi's movements pause briefly, awaiting your cue. "Y-Yes," you manage to stutter out despite feeling how good his dick feels stuck inside of you.

Hwasa, seemingly oblivious, starts a conversation with you about the night as the two girls do their nightly skincare at the sinks behind your showers. She begins touching on the earlier confessions and how it was a fun activity. You struggle to act like you're paying attention, but all you can muster in response are muffled "Mhms." Each of them start to sound like moans, which scares you even more. Yoongi looks like he wants to laugh so bad. This won’t end well. Can the girls tell something is off?

The proximity to getting caught adds a thrilling layer to the encounter. Yoongi decides to continue several strokes mid conversation, “A-Ah..”

Hwasa's concern grows. "Are you okay, Honey?"

"Y-Yeah, I'm fine," you manage through gritted teeth, looking back at Yoongi looking smug. You desperately hope they won't linger. Another noise escapes, and you quickly try to cover it up, pretending it was you dropping your shampoo bottle on your toe.

The girls, unsuspecting, leave not too long after, and you release a breath you didn't realize you were holding. The tension lifts, and a soft, shared laugh between you and Yoongi echoes in the confined space.

Without warning, this is Yoongi’s cue to go faster. He grips your hips tightly holding you into place as he thrusts into you harder and faster leaving you.

"Y-Yoongi!" He grips your hips tightly holding you into place as he thrusts into you harder and faster leaving you.

Your eyes flutter, a lustful grin pulling at your lips lost in ecstasy. Gripping the shower wall for support, you meet Yoongi's thrusts with equal intensity, your hips bucking back against him in perfect rhythm. The pleasure is overwhelming, the tension and fear of being caught only adding fuel to the fire.

His name from your lips was music to his ears, and that was all he needed. He moves deeper, relishing the tightness of your body around his member. You feel the pleasure coursing through your own body, your orgasm nearing.

Yoongi's eyes never leave your face, his expression showing that he's drinking in each detail of this moment.

"Come for me, baby," he growls, his tone changing from a mix of lust and adoration to something more possessive. "Let me feel you come around my dick."

His words are the spark that lights the fire, and you feel your body reacting to his touch. The waves of pleasure crash over you, your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave. Your nails hold onto dear life, and you cry out his name, your voice echoing in the shower stall.

“F-Fuck.” Yoongi soon falls to his own pleasure, pulling out quickling and cumming on your ass. Drops of his cream drip down your thighs and soon washed away by the shower downpouring on you two.

You both try to control your breathing as Yoongi holds you close in an embrace.

“T-That was…oh my God.” You can’t find the words to explain the whole experience, added with the adrenaline rush of getting caught.

“Good to know my cock feels better without the condom.” He smiles in a goofy way, still high on the orgasm. You smack him in the hip with your hand.

When your orgasms subsides, you send Yoongi to go retrieve your toiletries, towel, and pajamas that you left outside by the picnic table you two sat. You two bid goodbye to each for the night, and he leaves. You don’t know how he’s going to explain why he’s soaked from head to toe, but you pray he’s slick enough to avoid any eyes.

+++++++++

As Yoongi walks back from the shower house, water droplets cling to his tousled hair and drip down onto his damp clothes. His steps are sluggish as he wearily tries to wring out the water. In this moment, Namjoon suddenly strides up, his curiosity piqued, eyes narrowing at the unusual sight.

"Yoongi, why the hell are you all wet?" Namjoon questions, checking out the shorter man up and down.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. "Just checking out the shower building, man. One of them was broken and here I am." He cheekily points to his wet attire. He feels a euphoric confidence after his rendezvous with you. So much so that if anyone tries to challenge him right now, he will not back down.

Namjoon narrows his eyes, finding it a little hard to believe. "Really? I thought I saw you go smoke alone back at the picnic area."

Oddly, this observation pisses him off.

"Didn’t know you liked stalking my whereabouts too." Yoongi is quick to rebuttal, bitterness lacing in his voice. Namjoon is taken aback by his best friend’s response.

"What are you even talking about? Aren’t you the one hiding—" Just as Namjoon is about to press further, Jimin appears, interrupting the conversation.

“What are you guys up to?” Jimin puts his hands on Yoongi’s shoulders, which makes him relax slightly. He knows Jimin can manage to get Namjoon off his ass. He might even say that Jimin is his second angel tonight.

Namjoon glances between both of them, the tension palpable in the air. Yoongi's demeanor seems a tad defensive, and Namjoon feels there might be more to the story than he thought before.

“Just trying to figure out why Yoongi here looks like he went for a swim."

Yoongi rolls his eyes, dismissing Namjoon's inquiry. "Shower issues, Jimin. Nothing to worry about."

"Come on Joon, let's not make a big deal out of this. It's cold, and we're out in the middle of nowhere. Let’s just get him a towel and help him get a change of clothes." Jimin says casually, diverting Namjoon's attention away from Yoongi.

As Yoongi gives Jimin a subtle nod of gratitude, Namjoon reluctantly lets the matter go, deciding to drop the interrogation for now to help. Jimin seems to have an idea about Yoongi's whereabouts in the last 30 minutes, and he's not spilling the beans to Namjoon.

“If you think I haven’t caught on to you guys getting closer to Y/N in the last few months, you’re wrong.” The taller man says, warning heeding his voice.

The shorter men glance at him, not saying anything and enter Yoongi’s tent. They do share one thought at that moment though. You have to give them an answer once they come back to campus.

+++++++++

January 20 [Sunday]

The second day of the camping trip unfolds, and the group embarks on a hike through the scenic surroundings early in the morning after breakfast. The weather, though chilly, is pleasant, and the crisp air invigorates everyone. Conversations ebb and flow as the trail winds its way through the tree-filled landscape.

Jieun, a few steps ahead, animatedly shares memories of visiting this place during her childhood. "I remember catching fireflies by the lake in the summer." she reminisces, her eyes reflecting the nostalgia. Seokjin, walking beside her, chimes in with a grin, "I used to come here a lot too when I was a boy scout.”

Hoseok, Taehyung and Jungkook snicker in response to this.

“You guys can laugh all you want, but these boy scout skills come in handy."

"I don't know about them, but for sure Jungkook can fight a bear barehanded." Yoongi playfully remarks, the group erupting into even more laughter. Jungkook, sporting a lighthearted grin, flexes his muscles jokingly.

As you walk, you notice Namjoon and Soyoon strolling together. Soyoon, despite the chilly weather, wears a form-fitting pine green turtleneck that lacks the expected thermal warmth. Namjoon, ever the gentleman, notices her discomfort from the cold and offers his jacket. She initially refuses, probably mindful of the potential interpretations of their exchange. But after Namjoon continues insisting, he finally accepts with a gracious smile.

Behind Namjoon, you see Hoseok also catches the scene and shoots him a disapproving look.

Further back, Taehyung, Jungkook, and Jimin seize the opportunity to tease Namjoon about his chivalrous gesture. "Look at Mr. Romantic over there." Jimin smirks, nudging Taehyung and Jungkook.

"I bet he practices that move in front of a mirror." Taehyung chuckles with them.

Namjoon, momentarily caught off guard by their reactions, glances at them and then immediately at you. He seems to be searching for a reaction. You know you struggle at being fake. It’s not in your nature to hide your feelings. Though, you feel like he does sense a subtle frustration from you. He wonders if you have been feeling like this for some time. Why is he starting to see it only now?

Before he even has the chance to go over to you and question it, the sky suddenly transforms, heavy raindrops plummet from the clouds and onto the earth. Great. It's as if the weather gods have decided to test you and see what you would do. However, panic sets in when you realize you left your laptop in the tent, vulnerable to the impending downpour.

“Holy fuck! My laptop!”

“Wait, Y/N!”

Hastily, you dash back down the path toward the campgrounds, your footsteps echoing in the mud leaving behind a voice that calls out to you.

You worked on your assignment last night in the tent before going to sleep. Once you finished for the night, you left your laptop next to you and that was where you last saw it this morning before you left on the hike as well. There are no signs it was going to rain this weekend. Yeah, the soil seems moist from rainy days from the prior week, but everyone should’ve been safe now. How could the weather change so suddenly like this?

You recklessly sprint, fueled by worries of your irreplaceable laptop and paper, amongst other things. Like reality. And the irritation you feel seeing Namjoon keep giving his attention to— Your thought process cuts as you notice the uneven terrain beneath your feet become treacherous. The realization of the potential catastrophe awaiting you propels you forward, a surge of adrenaline pushing you beyond reason.

In your haste, disaster strikes. A misstep, a slippery surface, and you find yourself sprawled on the ground.

No sound from you, but pain radiating from your scraped knee and throbbing ankle. The once jubilant group following behind is now consumed by concern seeing you on the ground, injured and covered in mud.

Jungkook and Jieun are the first to reach you, genuine worry etched across their faces. "Are you okay?" Jungkook's voice carries a note of genuine concern. Wincing in pain, you shake your head, the gravity of the situation sinking in. "I left my laptop in the tent, and I can't let anything happen to it, so I rushed off." you explain, your words rushed and pained. You feel yourself about to sob as you try to get yourself to stand and your legs are not cooperating.

“Hey, hey, be careful.” The younger man advises. However, the pain makes walking nearly impossible. Before anyone can offer help, Jungkook immediately leans down and decides,“You know what, just get on. I’ll take you somewhere safe.” Jungkook offers, gesturing you to get on his back.

The unexpected gesture catches you off guard.

“O-Okay…thank you Jungkook.”

“I’ll help retrieve your laptop as well. You’ll be okay” Jieun says, and you thank her.

However, as Jungkook carries you through the rain-soaked trail, glances are exchanged among the group. Jimin and Yoongi share a look laden with unsaid sentiments, a subtle pang of jealousy lingering in the air. It should’ve been them to help you, they think to themselves. They are the ones that like you after all. Though for some reason, they froze in that moment.

Namjoon, still grappling with the aftermath of his earlier actions, feels a tinge of disappointment in his own inability to respond swiftly too.

You, Jungkook, and Jieun are the first to make it back to witness the mess. The campsite now lies in disarray. Flooded and muddy soil squelches beneath Jungkook’s feet, and the aftermath of strong winds has left tents in tatters. Items that were once neatly arranged outside the tents now scatter across the ground, casualties of nature's sudden fury.

Amidst the chaos, Jieun takes charge, her quick eyes scanning the wreckage. Miraculously, your laptop emerges unscathed, protected by the cocoon of your sleeping bag. With a relieved smile, she carefully places it in its bag next to it and hands it to Jungkook, who holds it securely.

"We can't stay out here like this," Jin remarks, his practicality cutting through the disappointment that hangs in the air. "It could rain again and we could also get sick."

A collective sigh ripples through the group. The abrupt turn of events forces them to confront the reality of their situation. Plans of an idyllic hike and spending a weekend outdoors have been derailed by the unpredictability of nature.

"I can go check the cabin lodging next to the campsite to see if they have any available," Soyoon suggests, her willingness to take charge evident. Namjoon quickly volunteers to accompany her, the two of them lightly jog toward the lodging office.

In the meantime, everyone takes shelter under the picnic area until the downpour turns into light showers. Once it does, everyone starts packing up and cleaning the campsite in the meantime.

++++++++++++++++++

Luckily, Soyoon and Namjoon manage to book a large cabin by the lakefront.

“It was the only largest one available that could fit all of us. It’s also a little expensive…” Namjoon stated earlier. Seokjin shrugs, saying he’ll cover majority of the cost as long as everyone is able to chip in a little. We all agree. You thank god that Seokjin is the rich friend in the friend group during times like this.

The cabin charms with its cozy allure. A fully stocked kitchen was just what everyone needed right now. The gas BBQ included will definitely be useful to the meats that survived the storm. The upstairs living room invites relaxation with comfy seating and a Smart TV. Everyone immediately takes advantage of this and sits around.

Outdoors, the upper deck beckons with stunning views. Downstairs, the master bedroom offers luxury, a California King bed, and a sliding door to the lower deck overlooking the lake.

Four rooms in total provide ample sleeping space, including a bunk room with two sets of twin bunk beds. Practicality meets convenience with a fully equipped laundry room and an upstairs half bath.

Jungkook carries you into the master bedroom and lays you down on the bed, elevating your head with the pillows. Seokjin grabs a first aid kit he found in the kitchen and takes out bandages, disinfectant and other supplies to tend to your scraped knee and sprained ankle.

“See, told you my boy scout skills will come in handy!” You giggle at Jin’s attempt to cheer you up. As he works, Namjoon hovers nearby, his concern evident.

"You should’ve been careful." Namjoon murmurs, a gentle scolding in his tone.

You manage a sheepish smile, acknowledging his warning. Seokjin finishes the impromptu first aid session, making sure you're comfortable before stepping back.

"Thank you, Jin," you express your gratitude, relieved that the injuries aren't as severe as they could have been.

Seokjin waves it off, "No problem. Just take it easy for a while."

Jin and Jungkook disperse to join the others upstairs. Jimin and Yoongi, lingering at the doorway, exchange a glance.

Jimin steps forward, concern etched on his face. "How are you feeling, Honey?” he asks, sincerity in his eyes.

You nod, offering a reassuring smile. "Alright now, thanks to Jinnie. Thanks for worrying, Jimin."

Yoongi, standing a bit more reserved, adds, "Do you need anything? I can whip up some food."

"That would sound really good right about now."

"Give me about 20 minutes, and I'll come back with some sweet rice porridge. Sounds good?"

"Yes!"

Namjoon remains standing there watching your interaction with them. He feels somehow intimidated by how they're so much closer to you despite you all having the same title of "best friends".

He glances at your laptop on the nearby table trying to find a reason to remain here. While part of him wants to join the others upstairs, he lingers. Maybe he needs to let you know about his feelings soon before his relationship with you strains any further.

He sighs loudly, making you all look at him, “I’ll come back to talk to you later.” He excuses himself and follows Yoongi upstairs, leaving Jimin alone with you.

Aside from the fact that he’s upset that you got hurt, you’re not sure what else could be fueling an unknown frustration behind his eyes. You guess you’ll find out later.

Jimin has some thoughts about Namjoon’s behavior, but decides not to voice them right now and gives his attention back to you.

“You need to get out of these clothes, love. They’re really muddy and gross.” He comments, looking at you with a disgusted expression, making you laugh.

“I would try, but I literally can’t move much.”

“I’ll help you.”

Huh? Did Jimin just say he’ll help you undress yourself? You find yourself feeling very flustered suddenly. What if someone walks in? Locking the door seems suspicious but what else can you do?

“I-It’s fine! I’ll just try removing my clothes slowly one piece at a time!” You wave your hands frantically, creating a makeshift barricade against Jimin's helpful hands.

“Why are you being so shy right now? I’ve seen you naked at least 15 times by now.” he remarks, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

“H-Hey! Shut up! What if someone hears you?”

“Everyone’s upstairs, probably playing board games in the living room. Yoongi won’t be back for another 10 minutes or so. Plus he’s seen you naked too.” He checks his phone. “And he just texted the Sanctuary chat to say that he’ll come in whenever I’m done.” He flashes the text messages Yoongi sent.

You can’t continue arguing with a concerned Jimin, so you decide to surrender.

“Fine, just be quick.”

Jimin's eyes turn into crescents, satisfied he won this battle. He carefully removes your lilac puffer jacket, followed by your black converse sneakers and then your medium washed jeans covered in mostly dried mud and blood from your knee scrape. When he finishes gently unbuttoning your cropped long-sleeve polo shirt and removing it, he starts giggling. Perplexed, you shoot him a puzzled look, unsure what’s so funny to him. I mean, sitting here half naked is humiliating, so maybe you deserve it. You’ve been acting reckless.

“You’re just so pretty, Y/N. Never thought I’d be in a situation to even see you like this before the deal we made.”

Heat fills your face and you can’t even find words to rebuttal his claims. Why have those two men been saying things that make you feel like you’re going insane?

Jimin knows you feel embarrassment, but pays no mind as he unclasps your black bra, removing it and leaving your breasts bare. He decides to tease you a bit more and softly grasps your breasts, squishing them with his hands. Your eyes widen, suddenly feeling a surge of heat radiating elsewhere due to your chests’ sensitivity.

“I really never realized how beautiful you look naked before.” he admits with a playful tone. He continues with his massage until you finally fight back the horny demon that he awakens in you. Not today, Satan.

You playfully smack his arm, urging him to stop. “O-Okay, Jimin! I get it! Just give me that oversized t-shirt from my duffle and leave before I go crazy.”

He chuckles, relinquishing his playful antics and retrieving the desired t-shirt from your bag. “Glad I was able to cheer you up a bit, darling. We’ll have fun another time.”

Once he ensures you're comfortably tucked in, he plants a gentle kiss on your forehead before exiting the room.

Oddly, that felt a lot more intimate than all the sex you two had before. It feels like you two are inching closer to a new territory beyond whatever fuck buddy and best friend relationship you have. You feel a little scared, but somewhat excited.

Before you can dwell on it further, you feel your body become heavier and you gradually drift into a peaceful slumber. You make just a small mental note to apologize to Yoongi for falling asleep before he can feed you some of his porridge.

+++++++++++

Several hours have passed and it is 2:30PM by the time you wake up from your nap. You were hoping to sleep for the rest of the day to avoid whatever confrontation Namjoon wants to have. You are still feeling tingles from the interaction you had with Jimin, but it proved too difficult with your sprained ankle getting in the way. There is also a group of your friends upstairs that will get suspicious at his sudden disappearance if that did happen.

Hwasa has sent you text updates regarding what everyone else is doing upstairs.

Hyejinnie [12:00PM]: I’m going to send you updates so you don’t feel FOMO Hyejinnie [12:01PM]: Wait you might.. I’m sorry bestie. ;( Welp, we are playing board games and eating snacks! Hyejinnie [1:22PM]: I’m helping ur boyfie make lunch with jieun eonnie. Oh and we’re all going to eat kbbq for dinner. Don’t miss out Hyejinnie [1:25PM]: wait not your boyfie i forget he’s just your fwb right now oops. pls ignore. Hyejinnie [2:07PM]: also you need to catch me up on whatever is going on with you and your.. friends. Don’t think i haven’t caught on ;p Hyejinnie [2:14PM]: I think we’re going to watch a movie now. Jieun said she’s going to show us a movie her old crush was in and we have to guess who it is lol Hyejinnie [2:25PM]: idk if you’re up from your nap, but let me know if you need anything. I’ll be in the living room watching the movie with everyone else. Some of the guys are on their phones though haha

You appreciate her consistent updates while you remain MIA from the trip festivities. Maybe you should take this quiet time as a chance to get back to working on your paper. You just need a few more paragraphs and a final revision before submitting it on Canvas.

Just as you plop your laptop on your lap, a strong knock is heard at the door. You yell to whoever is on the other side of the door that it's okay to enter. It turns out to be Namjoon.

You don’t feel mentally ready to talk to him yet. You’re honestly not sure if you can come up with any cohesive thoughts as you remember that you haven’t eaten since this morning. You glance around and see the bowl of porridge Yoongi must’ve left on the bedside table while you slept.

“I wanted to come in sooner, but Yoongi told me you fell asleep.”

You nod. “I felt really exhausted after that hike, the run and injury, so I knocked out once I felt safe enough to do so.”

“So is now a good time to talk?”

You feel hesitant to say yes, knowing another lecture from your tall, beefy best friend awaits you. You’re so over this trip. Despite all these feelings, you decide just to do it and get it out the way so you can eat.

You nod. “Okay, what did you want to ask me?”

“Why have you been acting really weird lately?”

He doesn’t hesitate to get straight to the point, which doesn’t surprise you much. Okay, so you’ve been caught. But what about you has been weird to him though? Does that mean the others have caught on to your behavior too?

You feign ignorance. “Can you elaborate by what you mean, Namjoon?” Your voice sounds deadpan, with a hint of coldness.

“Can you stop acting like you don’t know what you’re doing when you’ve been staring at me and Soyoon throughout this whole trip?”

Oh.

You shrug. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He ignores your remark and continues, “I already told you before. There is nothing going on between me and her, so you can just stop feeling jealous or whatever.”

Jealous? What?! How dare he make that accusation. You’re not jealous. You’re just worried for the sake of your friendship. There’s no other feelings tied to that…is there? Memories from the party in October where you saw Namjoon and Jihyo flash in your mind.

“No the fuck I’m not!” you immediately deny, a little too quick at that.

“Yes, you fucking are.” he smiles, knowing how right he is based on your defensive response.

“You’re sorely mistaken, Joon.”

“No, I’m not, Y/N. I noticed this even when I was seeing Jihyo and the girl before that. For some reason, you’re always acting off when another girl is involved with me.” He explains further.

Fuck. He really caught on to that a little too well. You know what, maybe he is right. Maybe you’re not jealous out of concern that these girls that keep showing up in Namjoon’s life will take him away from you. It’s really because you wish you were in their place. Being so intimately closer to him than you have ever been. Another flying thought of Yoongi’s questions that caused you to spiral comes to mind.

“You literally do that to me! I couldn’t even go somewhere without you acting weird and accusing me of hanging out with other men who do not live in our house.”

“That’s different.” He rubs the crease between his brows, you press your lips even tighter in frustration. “Plus, I don’t even think I trust some of the ones that do live in our house.”

Namjoon’s comment has you puzzled. What is he trying to imply?

“Why do you think that?”

“I’ve just had a feeling that something weird is going on, and everyone seems to know except for me.”

Shit, everyone? You’ve been cautious this whole time except when you first slept with Yoongi, leading Jungkook to find out. But Jin, Hoseok and Taehyung? Have they somehow realized and have been quiet about it. There’s no way to address something you don’t even know. You have to redirect the conversation.

“You say that, but you’re the one being so vague about why you've been so buddy buddy with Soyoon lately.” You mutter with an attitude, crossing your arms. “You don’t have to hide it and lie to me if you’re interested in her. Just go date her already.”

Namjoon scoffs. He walks closer to you, outstretching his arms on both of your sides, caging you. He’s so close, smelling like the fresh wood sage cologne he sprays on after a shower. For some reason, this smell is more intoxicating right now than ever before. Your heartbeat feels like it’s increasing from the close proximity. This isn’t even the first time you’ve been this close to him, but there’s some kind of energy making you feel anxious than before.

“Because I don’t fucking want to.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“You.” Namjoon mouths out, words so quiet feeling like only you two are meant to hear.

“Huh? Me?” You scrunch your eyebrows while whispering at him. “Is my jealousy really getting in the way of you being happy?”

“You’re one of the smartest people I know and you still want me to spell it out for you?” He chuckles bitterly, seemingly feeling like he’s going to regret the next sentence that’s going to come out of his mouth.

You nod, “Yes, because I’m still confused about your actions and I’m tired of the constant misunderstandings and fights— ”

“Because I’m in love with you.”

The world suddenly goes silent for what feels like a thousand minutes.

Your mouth is left agape, unable to find any reason to continue speaking. Whatever thought bubbles filled your head with anger and anxiety are now gone. You find it hard to gather the next words you say from looking right into Namjoon’s dragon eyes, mesmerizing you.

“Y-You’re in l-love with me.” The realization escapes your lips, rather shaky, The words hanging in the air, charged with an unexpected gravity.

Namjoon takes a deep breath, his eyes holding a mix of determination and vulnerability. "Yes, I've been in love with you for a long time. Soyoon was in the process of helping me confess to you on Valentine's Day, but with you acting jealous and making up scenarios in your head, I couldn't keep it a secret any longer."

Your mind races, processing his confession. Namjoon, your best friend, has just declared his love for you. The first one out of your friends… but is he? You vaguely remember Yoongi saying something similar during that one party, but you brushed it off. There’s also Hwasa’s observations… Jimin’s kiss on his birthday…

Oh no.

The gravity of the situation sinks in, and your internal conflict intensifies. You're entangled in a complicated fuck buddies deal with Yoongi and Jimin, who potentially may be in love with you too. And now a lot of these things are starting to make sense,

Then there’s Namjoon's words adding a new layer of concern. How will this confession affect your shit with Yoongi and Jimin? You like all of them but do you love them? You also do not live in a perfect universe to be dating all of them. Would they even want that?

Namjoon must sense your anxiety skyrocketing, because he leans in and kisses your forehead. And for just a bit, you go back to feeling floaty. You want to feel like this all the time, but it’s not going to happen anytime soon. You have things to resolve.

“You probably have a lot on your mind. I do too.” He cups your cheeks, sincerely staring into your eyes. “You don’t have to answer me right now. I just wanted to ease your mind before anything else happens.”

You nod back slowly, waiting for him to continue.

“I might be gone for the fall semester.” He starts, moving over to sit on your bed.

Oh.

“I applied for a study abroad law program in New Zealand and Korea. I’ll be in my last year and my parents told me over winter break that they want me to go abroad and gain some new experience. I see Yoongi working so hard and I feel like I haven’t been doing much at all.”

This new information comes as a shock to you, and you feel excited for him, yet sad for several reasons

Namjoon had fought with his parents last summer about wanting to pursue a career as an archivist or art conservator. They said it wasn’t ideal and that he should focus on being a civil servant and then become a politician. He came over to your house once and stayed the night in your room, shedding tears about how his parents didn’t understand him.

The second reason is more selfish: You’ve never been apart from Namjoon for a long time since you first met him. Sure, since you guys have a one year age difference, there were times that you weren’t at the same school together. Though, it’s not like you never saw each other at least some point in the week. You’re neighbors after all. This would be different. Maybe there will be an occasional facetime call or texts sent during different time zones from him retelling his adventures. Though it won’t be the same as having him with you. You’re not going to admit that right now though.

“So you’re not going to pursue art and become an archivist or art conservator anymore?”

“I…I am. I’ll find a way to prove to my parents that I can do this and be successful. I’ll network, find a way to get into that space more. Studying abroad would be a great way to do that.” He explains softly.

You remember the question Yoongi had asked yesterday about your dreams. You still feel like you don’t have a concrete answer, but seeing the way your older best friends try so hard makes you think you should start focusing on that as well. You wonder if Jimin has any thoughts of his own regarding the future too.

Namjoon continues to converse with you about his future plans and why he had to confess to you now, as he didn’t want it to be “too late” and regret it later on. While you don’t ask him what he meant by that, you kind of had an idea.

++++++++

Once Namjoon leaves your room to rejoin everyone upstairs, the floaty and relaxed feeling inside you fades away and you immediately start to feel like shit.

The truth begins to bear down on you: Yoongi and Jimin's friends-with-benefits arrangement might not be just a casual fling. They probably like you too — well, more than a best friend. The deal was probably to act as a trial period, a way for them to express their feelings without the complexity of a formal confession and for you to realize some repressed feelings. Although now, with Namjoon's direct and sincere confession, you just simply don’t know what to do anymore.

Things were easier when you didn’t have to think about this much originally with Yoongi. Just have sex from time to time and still remain best friends. When Jimin managed to seduce you, awakening something within you, and get added as fuck buddy #2, you had stepped into a dangerous zone. Now the thought of Namjoon getting added to that…

No! He’d never do it. He’s not as open-minded and insane to become your third fuck buddy. If he found out, you don’t think he’d be happy. He’d probably murder Yoongi and Jimin for hiding and doing such an insane thing. Then you’d be next. And even if you’d add Namjoon to this fuck buddies trial deal, you don’t think anyone would be happy in the end.

You love them all. No favoritism for one over the others. They all have something that makes you feel butterflies, whether you realized it before or not.

Is this the perfect time to talk to Hwasa about your dilemma? You don’t even think you’ve told her about you and Jimin, but she’s perceptive. She probably saw some signs, but hadn’t commented on them.

You [4:03PM]: Hey Hwasa, we need to have a girl talk time. Hyejinnie [4:04PM]: Say no more! I’m telling Jungkook to come carry you up so we can talk in my room.

And just when you received that message, Jungkook shows up at the door and bows to you.

“I have been requested to bring up the Honey Princess to Hwasa’s room.”

You laugh. He’s adorable, you think. “Yes? Please take me up, Sir Jungkook.”

Jungkook carries you on his back once again, up the stairs. You take a glance of Yoongi, Jieun, Jin and Namjoon in the kitchen, preparing dinner before you are in Hwasa and Soohyun’s shared room at the end of the hall. Jungkook comments that he’s getting you ice to make your ankle’s swelling go down, leaving the room. You faintly hear him scolding your guy besties for not doing that earlier, making you guys laugh. He comes back with a bag of ice and then exits the room, closing the door in the process.

Hwasa greets you with a warm smile as you settle onto the bed, propping yourself up against the pillows. This bedroom is adorned with fairy lights, creating a cozy atmosphere that contrasts the turmoil in your mind. Hwasa, perceptive as always, senses that something serious is on your mind.

"So spill, what's going on?" she asks, her eyes filled with concern.

You take a deep breath, contemplating where to begin. "Remember my thing with Yoongi…” You whisper, hoping no one outside could hear. The TV is pretty loud playing someone’s Spotify playlist though.

“Yes, of course! Are y’all still…”

“We are.” Hwasa nods in response. “I’ve been keeping things lowkey so I haven’t told you much advancements, but I also started doing that with Jimin."

Her eyes widen, not in surprise, but more in confirmation of her past observations. “I figured that might’ve been the case when I kept seeing you be a little more touchier than usual in class last semester."

Your face reddens as you remark. “Nothing really passes by you, does it?” Hwasa can’t help but laugh at your reaction.

“You’re literally living the dream!” She holds both of your hands, intrigued at your ‘love life’. “They’re two of the finest frat boys on this campus. I don’t see how there can be a problem.”

"Except there is…" you admit, unraveling your overall deal with Jimin and Yoongi, your thoughts about them probably liking you and the argument you had with Namjoon earlier. As you share the details, Hwasa listens attentively, offering occasional nods and empathetic expressions.

"Wow, that's…a lot," she remarks when you finish. "And now Namjoon dropped the bomb? He’s equally as hot too."

You nod, feeling the weight of the situation. "Exactly. I never expected him to confess. I didn’t think he felt that way about me. Now, I'm stuck in this mess, and I don't know what to do!" You fall back onto the pillows, looking at the ceiling in frustration.

Hwasa places a comforting hand on yours. "First things first, take a deep breath.” You do. “It's a lot to process, but you'll figure it out. Now, tell me how you feel about each of them. Let’s start with Jimin"

“Jimin is someone who I feel comfortable with to try new things. He’s always managed to get me out of my shell and without him, I don’t think I’d be the person I am today. He’s also really kinky in bed so…Soft dom vibes?”

“Okay, spicy, I see! And Yoongi?”

“Yoongi feels like my soulmate…even Jimin pointed it out. We’re so in tune with one another that I don’t feel so on edge around him. I feel more relaxed. But I’m so emotionally driven and sometimes he doesn’t get that. Though he does try. Always does.”

Hwasa coughs repeatedly, “How’s the sex?”

“I… It’s really fucking good. Getting fingered by a man who plays the guitar is another worldly experience. Ten out of ten.” Hwasa squeals hearing this, but quickly covers her mouth to avoid anyone coming in concerned.

“Well holy shit. I guess that leaves Namjoon?”

“Namjoon, right.” You haven’t thought about it much before, but it was mainly because you’ve tried not to see him like that. He was obviously attractive with his muscles and tall height. His brains are another thing. “Aside from how obviously hot he’s always been, his mind is just so eloquent. He’s such a big brother at times and while I get annoyed at his lecturing, he makes me feel grounded and keeps challenging me to work harder. I don’t know what else to say?”

You find that articulating your emotions brings a sense of clarity. Hwasa provides thoughtful insights and asks probing questions, guiding you through the maze of your own emotions.

Once you've laid out your feelings, Hwasa leans back, pondering. "Alright, here's what I think. You need to have an honest conversation with all of them. Start off with Yoongi and Jimin, then somehow get Namjoon in that conversation. Lay your cards on the table, and let them know where you stand. It's the only way to avoid misunderstandings and hurt feelings."

You sigh, realizing the truth in her words. "But what if I can't choose between them? What if I ruin everything?"

Hwasa smirks, "Then, my dear, you need to consider a different kind of arrangement—one that works for all parties involved. But that's a discussion for another day. For now, focus on being open and honest with them. You owe it to yourself and to them."

“You’re right. Thank you Hwasa for hearing me out on my crazy dramatic life. I appreciate you so much.” You gesture her to get closer so you can give her a hug, and she does.

+++++++++++

After your heart-to-heart with Hwasa, Jungkook comes in to let you know that dinner is ready and that he’ll be taking you over there. You appreciate his kindness.

The delicious aroma of the meat wafts through the air as you enter the kitchen, where the group is gathered around the table, engaged in lively conversation.

Jin, always the culinary maestro, tells everyone to take their seats. As you settle in, you can't help but glance at your three best friends at different points during the meal.

Yoongi is focused on grilling meat, his brows furrowed in concentration. The subtle scent of his cooking skills fills the air, momentarily distracting you from your internal conflict. You catch his eye, and there's a silent understanding between you two.

Jimin, sitting across from you, steals occasional glances your way. His gaze is warm and comforting, reassuring you that no matter the complications, he's there for you. A small smile passes between you that speaks volumes.

Namjoon, busy discussing something with Hoseok, occasionally looks in your direction. There's a mix of emotions in his eyes—longing, and perhaps a touch of hope.

The dinner is filled with laughter and camaraderie as the trip ends tonight. You try to savor the meal and the company, but the weight of the unspoken hangs in the air.

As the night progresses, you find yourself more restless. The uncertainty of your situation gnaws at you. Once dinner concludes, you and the other girls go to the living room to watch some youtube videos on the smart TV. As they busy themselves talking about stuff, you grab your phone and open the group chat with Yoongi and Jimin.

You [8:45PM]: Valentine’s Day. I’ll give you my decision.

Sending the message, you brace yourself for the conversations that lie ahead. Whatever happens, you face it headstrong.

–

tbc :O a/n: uh-oh we're getting to the conflicting part hehehehe !!! i apologize for the delay getting this chapter out. i am currently working on some big things and doing some interviews so the fic had been neglected for a month or so, but i am back for a bit and already working on CH 8 as well! Anyone have any thoughts or theories on what Y/N will decide to say? i'd love to hear about them so lmk hehehe thank you all for reading!

➸ let me know what you think OR join the taglist! ➸ love u lately series masterlist

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sparkagrace · 7 months

Text

Happy spooky season! I hope everyone is looking forward to the turning of the season (I am!)

september

390,977 words read over 36 fics (average of 10,860 words per fic, not including wips) 📈 up 29% from August

current total for the year: 2,296,745 words

a handful of fic recs

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series rec

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be kind, rewind

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non-mcu recs

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#monthly fic recap #fic list #fic rec #author rec #steve x bucky #firstprince

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thot-of-khonshu · 6 months

Text

Detour (Frankie Morales x f! reader)

Masterlist | Kofi

Shotgun Part 1 | Passenger Part 2

Summary: part 3 in the shotgun series. after last year's Halloween, you and Frankie decide to create your own tradition of fooling around in his truck every year

Rating: M, 18+

Content: a Halloween party, alcohol use, drug use (marijuana), car sex, dirty talk, fingering, explicit smut, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, benny still being dumb

A/N: Happy Halloween! I figured I'd check back in on my favorite potheads after last year's festivities.

Your heels clacked on the pavement of the driveway as you ran outside of Benny and Will Miller's house. The Florida air was still humid and sticky, and your body felt heavy and sweaty, but you had to make sure Lexi was okay.

You heard the retching sounds on the pavement from the front yard and saw her bent over in the bushes, her boyfriend Jack standing next to her rubbing her back.

"You good?" You called to her.

"Yeah, I think it's the alcohol or the sushi I had before. I'm fine." She said as she stood up.

"Maybe you're pregnant." Jack suggested.

"No, no." She said quickly, her eyes widened in wild frustration.

"Are you sure?" Jack asked, getting up and laughing, swaying himself from all of the alcohol he had consumed that night.

"We don't need to have that conversation in the driveway!" She groaned, pushing him away.

You stared at them confused that this was even a conversation. The last time the two of you had talked about it you had agreed you were both still feeling too young to have kids. "Is there something the both of you need to tell me?"

"We're trying to have a baby!" Jack shouted dramatically, his arms spread out wide.

"Stop saying that!" Lexi hit him with her white cowboy hat. Out of context with her dressed up as Cowgirl Barbie and him as Metal Ken, this was a hilarious site to see.

"I'm just trying to speak it into existence, babe."

"Well, the only thing you need to be speaking into existence is getting me a water or a Pedialyte." She slurred.

"Got it!" Jack ran back into the house as fast as his drunk ass could. You walked up to Lexi, stumbling over your strappy heels, to hold back her hair as she continued to get sick.

"The Halloween curse continues. Fucking Benny and his hunch punch" She whined.

"No, the curse was broken last year, remember? You got Jack, I got Frankie. We have boyfriends now and don't have to go back into the gross cesspool that is the dating world?" You smiled, remembering how you met Frankie.

"Speaking of, where is loverboy?"

"I'm right here." A deep voice said behind you. You turned around and saw your boyfriend Frankie walking from the doorway wearing his same devil horns from the previous year. He looked over to Lexi concerned, giving you a half smile exposing his dimple as he wrapped an arm around your waist. "You okay, Lexi?"

"Yeah, yeah. Benny's hunch punch just caught up to me."

"That shit is poison. He's gonna have to get his stomach pumped one of these days." Frankie rolled his eyes.

"Benny's an idiot, but he's our idiot." You joked.

"Did somebody just say Benny?" Benny bellowed as he walked outside. He was wearing his boxing shorts and gloves alongside an elaborate face tattoo to emulate Mike Tyson.

"Yes, we were talking about how much we love and adore you, Benjamin." Lexi smiled sarcastically.

"Aw, thanks, Lex. Sorry about the hunch punch. You know how it is, sometimes it punches you right back."

"You're forgiven, just get me a water for my way out."

"On it, ma'am." Benny ran back into the house, running into Jack who was on his way out with Lexi's first water. She did a double take, as if she had remembered asking Jack to get the water in the first place, and then opened the bottle and chugged. You and Frankie exchanged grimaces.

"I think that's our sign to head home." Frankie said to you.

"You don't have to tell me twice." You loved Benny, but his parties could get a bit out of hand and you wanted nothing more than to be home and comfortable with Frankie.

"Goodnight, guys. I'll see you later." Lexi winked while giving you a hug goodbye, still stumbling. "And happy Halloween."

"Happy Halloween. Please, both of you take an Uber home." You replied. As you were walking away, Frankie's hand gravitated to your butt and gave it a playful squeeze. You looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.

"What?" He feigned innocence. "C'mon, let's go home, baby."

After a quick round of farewells in the Miller household, Frankie opened the door for you to his truck and closed it. You rolled the window down, lighting a joint that Frankie had rolled for the both of you earlier.

Frankie hopped into the driver's seat, putting on his worn baseball cap and tossing the devil horns in the backseat as he took the joint from your hand and lit it. You watched him intently, the streetlight illuminating the side of his face and his dimples. He handed the joint back to you and began driving.

"I was thinking..." You started.

"Don't strain yourself." He laughed, looking over at you.

“Hey!" You slapped his shoulder.

"Sorry, go on." He smirked.

"I was thinking maybe we could have a little Halloween tradition."

"What, like every Halloween I have to wear those dumbass devil horns?" He teased.

"No, asshole." You rolled your eyes, smiling. "I was thinking every Halloween, we can dress up, and have some fun and go to a party with our friends. But then we'd get high, and have a good time and...you know, other stuff."

"Other stuff?" He cocked his eyebrow at you.

"Yes. You know, what we did last year." You said quietly, you reached over to him and started carding the curls at the nape of his neck.

"Is that why you wore that dress again this year?" He grinned, knowingly.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." You feigned ignorance, setting back in the passenger seat and taking another hit of the joint.

"Oh yeah?" He looked over at you with dark eyes, reaching a hand over to your thigh and pushing up the dress, exposing the white lace of your thong.

"Baby, I'm trying to drive here but you're making it hard to focus." He said in a low, rumbly voice.

"So keep your eyes on the road." You said, placing his large hand in the middle of your thighs, spreading them apart. He groaned.

"Fuck, you're wet already, baby." He said, running his fingers over the damp fabric.

"I missed you all day. I was thinking about last Halloween."

"Me too. You look so fucking hot. And it's driving me crazy." He said, his thick fingers tracing over your heat.

"Frankie." You sighed.

"Yeah, baby?" He said, pressing his fingers against your clit.

"Pull over."

He did as you asked, pulling over to a random deserted parking lot and parking in the corner of the lot. He shut the truck off, and looked over at you with dark eyes, the moonlight hitting his face perfectly.

He moved the hair from your face, taking the joint from your mouth to his lips. "You want a shotgun, baby?"

"Please."

He inhaled and placed his hand back on the back of your head, pulling you in close to his mouth. You felt his soft lips on yours and opened your mouth to him. His tongue slid into your mouth and he slowly pushed the smoke out, the feeling sending shivers down your spine.

"Why don't we put this out for a bit?" He asked, kissing your jaw.

"I can't argue with that." You said.

He put the joint out and began to unbuckle his seat belt, moving his large frame across the center console.

You pulled his baseball cap off and tossed it into the driver's seat. His fingers were still teasing at your slit through the underwear, his beard scratching at the base of your neck as he left small kisses on you and moved his fingers to press circles into your clit.

"Every Halloween, huh?” He breathed, sucking on your pulse point. You moved your hips into his hand, feeling the warmth pooling in your lower abdomen.

"Yes." You whined.

"Every. Single. One." He accentuated each word with a harder kiss. "I'm gonna make you cum in this truck just like I did last year. That's our tradition."

He moved his thick fingers to breach into your cunt, curving to the spot that makes you fall apart.

"Fuck." You whispered, letting out a shaky moan.

"You wanna know a secret, sweetheart?" He growled into your ear, biting at the lobe.

"Y-yes." You said, stuttering.

"Last Halloween, when I drove you home. I went home and fucked my fist so hard, wishing I was fucking this pussy."

You moaned, his words pushing you closer and closer to the edge. The sounds of his fingers fucking into you and his breathing echoed through the cab of the truck.

"God, baby. So fucking wet for me. You're dripping all over my fingers." He said, looking down and watching himself fuck into you.

"Frankie. I'm so close."

"Yeah, I know you are." He said. “And when you cum guess what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna get you on top of me and I'm gonna fuck my cock into this tight little pussy, okay? Gonna fuck my cum deep inside you, baby."

His thumb came back to play with your clit as he continued to thrust his fingers inside you. You felt his teeth biting at your neck, your breathing becoming heavier.

"Frankie, fuck I’m gonna cum."

"Go on, sweetheart. Cum for me. I want to hear you. Nobody out here but us."

You came, loudly moaning his name and grinding into his fingers, feeling him slow his motions inside you as you rode the orgasm.

"That's it. You did so good for me."

When you finished, you were still breathing heavily. Your skin was sticky and hot, but you didn't care. Frankie looked at you, his pupils blown and his mouth in a half smirk.

"Come here." He said, reaching over the console and pulling you onto his lap, the two of you sitting awkwardly and uncomfortably but neither of you caring.

He crashed his lips into yours and you began undoing his belt and jeans. You reached a hand into his pants and wrapped your hand around his length. He was hard and his cock was leaking with precum and you needed him so badly.

"Shit." He muttered under his breath. "Get on top of me, baby."

You did as he asked, moving your underwear aside and positioning yourself on top of him, your bare, slick heat grinding into him. He looked up at you with heavy eyes, grabbing your face and pulling you in for a kiss.

"You're so beautiful." He said, kissing at your jawline and neck.

"Fuck me." You whined.

"Patience." He whispered, grabbing his cock and teasing your folds. "Are you ready, sweetheart?"

"Please." You begged.

He moved his tip into you, his cock stretching you full. You moved yourself further down, until he was completely buried into you and you felt him in your stomach.

You began rocking back and forth, grinding on his cock while Frankie pulled the top of your dress down to reveal your breasts. He took one of your nipples into his mouth and sucked at it, making you grind harder.

You whimpered, running a hand through his hair and tugging. Frankie's hands grabbed onto your hips, guiding you up and down on his length.

"You feel so fucking good, baby. Like you were made to take my cock.” He slid his hands down to your ass, kneading and squeezing at you.

He looked down, watching as his cock disappeared into you. His pace became quicker and he was thrusting harder into you. You could feel yourself getting close again.

"I'm gonna cum." You panted, looking at him with a glazed-over expression. He moved one of his hands to your clit and rubbed tight circles into it, his movements becoming faster and more erratic.

”Cum with me, sweetheart. Fuck, baby I'm so close." He growled, his pace quickening and his grip tightening on you.

Your hips stuttered, and your second orgasm crashed through you. Frankie was right behind you, his thrusts slowing as he fucked his cum deep inside of you. You collapsed into his chest, your bodies sticky and sweaty, but you didn't care.

The two of you sat like that for a few moments, him still inside you. He pulled your face to his, kissing you deeply. When the kiss broke, he was looking at you with a dazed expression.

"That’s a damn good Halloween tradition.” Frankie grinned.

You giggled. "Happy Halloween, Frankie."

"Happy Halloween, sweetheart."

#pedro pascal #frankie catfish morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x y/n #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut #frankie morales #triple frontier smut #triple frontier #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #frankie catfish morales

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wordywarriorwrites · 1 year

Text

The Run

Title: The Run | A03 | Rating: M

Pairing: Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: Being a day late returning from a run isn’t that big of a deal, but two? Worried doesn't even begin to describe how Joel feels.

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Language.

Brow furrowed and teeth clenched, Joel prowls the living room, the dull thud-thud-thud of his boot heels matching the thunderous pounding of his heart.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Tommy insists, bouncing his fussing son in his arms. “Just behind schedule, is all. You know how it can be.”

The glare he directs toward his brother stops any further placating dead in its tracks, and the floorboards continue to creak and groan as he restlessly strides back and forth. Being a day late returning from a run isn’t that big of a deal, but two?

The sky out the front window looks all sorts of picturesque; swaths of purple, orange, and pink serve as a backdrop to a glorious, snow-covered mountain range, but as the day slowly gives way to night, his mood also begins to turn dark. Unable to stop his brain from churning over the endless series of disastrous consequences this run could have, Joel resumes his pacing, gaze flickering over to the front door and the shotgun propped up against the wall beside it.

The town is in desperate need of medicine and other essential supplies. You’re the only doctor in Jackson; you know how to tell the difference between the fake shit and the real goods, so, it made sense for you to go. As for Joel? Well, he busted his arm helping build the new schoolhouse and had been urged by the collective to stay put.

Riding, hunting, hauling back the goods - they all require two hands, and there had been plenty of younger volunteers itching to get out of dodge for a bit. Being left behind, being seen as frail - as a liability - it felt akin to a kick in the nuts, but at the moment, he doesn’t give a shit about his pride. All he cares about is you and Ellie.

And if anything happened to either of you…

Joel runs an unsteady hand over his beard. Stalks over to the fireplace. Makes use of the fire iron by viciously poking at the wood and pushing at the coals.

Your time in the National Guard meant you could certainly take care of yourself, and Ellie - who could handle a gun much better now - had tagged along to watch your six. Joel knew the two of you would look out for each other, but he also knew what could happen if shit went sideways. An every-person-for-themselves mentality would set in right quick, and if experience taught him anything, chaos could quickly dissolve into violence, and turn so-called friends into very real adversaries faster than lightning.

Twilight hits and Joel makes up his mind. All he can picture is the two of you hurt - or worse - and he can’t sit on his hands anymore. Tommy tries to talk him out of it, but even his insistency and the protesting-like wails his nephew emits can’t deter him from what he knows he needs to do. He gets his emergency bag of supplies from the hall closet and is reaching for an extra box of ammo from the top shelf when the door abruptly swings open and Ellie strolls in.

Joel hears her laugh, and just like that, his gear slips from his hands. He knows her mirth means all is well, but still, he looks for you. He clocks your high, no-nonsense ponytail. The purple scarf one of your patients knitted you for Christmas. The smile that doesn’t quite reach your grave eyes and the scar along the apple of your cheek and your posh accent interspersed with Ellie’s chattering.

Neither of you appears worse for wear, and Ellie proves it by issuing him one of her infamous rib-cracking hugs. Joel holds her a bit longer than he normally would, and uses the toe of his boot to discreetly kick his bag and the box shells back into the closet and out of sight.

Tommy enters the foyer; his sigh of relief is audible as he welcomes you and Ellie home, and the baby exudes excitement, clapping and squealing at your arrival. Ellie drops her pack at the foot of the stairs, gives them a jovial wave, and announces she’s going to stay with her girlfriend for the night.

Her arrival and subsequent departure are a whirlwind. Joel barely has a second to process it because once you’re divested of your own travel garb, you take his nephew into your arms, and pepper his chubby cheeks with sloppy kisses. The kid is all gummy grins, gurgles, and giggles, and as Tommy catches you up on what you missed while you were away, Joel carefully shuts the closet door and takes a few deep breaths in an attempt to steady himself.

His brain registers some of the conversation. Instead of coming home straight away, you dropped the haul off at the clinic. Stopped at the mess hall to chat with Maria, who was relieved you were able to get your hands on some morphine and antibiotics that weren’t expired. When you say something about a shower and checking on a few patients before calling it a night, Joel’s composure finally snaps.

“I’m going to bed,” he barks as he heads for the stairs.

Both you and Tommy call after him, but he keeps going, taking the steps two at a time. Joel catches the tail end of your abrupt goodbye to his brother. The baby whines, clearly unhappy with the turn of events, and then, they’re gone. The front door shuts. The stairs creak with your hasty footsteps. He’s just easing himself down on the foot of the mattress when you step into your shared bedroom, sporting a deep frown between your brows.

“What’s wrong?” you urge.

Joel rubs his hands on his knees and looks up at the ceiling, “One day there, one day back. That’s what you said. But it’s been four days. Four fucking days.”

You curse. Rush forward. Wrap your arms around him and hold his head as he burrows his face against your sternum. It isn’t until he’s able to hear your heartbeat beneath his good ear that he realizes it’s not anger that’s been gripping him for the past forty-eight hours, but fear.

After Sarah, he stopped giving a fuck. But then, Ellie came along, and fear became part of his everyday reality again. And now, there’s you. You came with a whole different set of brand-new fears, and his heart is so damn full of that special, deadly combination that is protectiveness and love, and he doesn’t know how to be calm or rational when it comes to you.

And Joel would rather be swarmed by a thousand clickers than see you hurt or taken from him.

“A couple of the horses went lame,” you explain, voice muffled against the crown of his head. “Everyone insisted we remain together, so, we had to walk for a time. Nothing more.”

Joel wraps his arms around you. Swallows back the fist-sized lump at the base of his throat. Pulls you down to sit sidesaddle on his lap, and then, drops a relieved kiss to your brow. Your eyes and cheeks are next, and when you accept the kiss he presses to your lips, it’s more than a relief.

It feels like home. You feel like home.

It’s in the way your soft mouth parts and makes way for him, and the way goosebumps climb up his neck when you trail a fingertip along the shell of his ear. It’s the way his hand fits perfectly over the curve of your hip, and the way you hum and sigh with contentment when he squeezes you just a bit tighter. It’s in the way you playfully nip his chin and make him chuckle, and the way he sinks his teeth into the flesh of your throat and makes you gasp.

Belt, button, zipper. You’ve got your hand down the front of his pants because you’re deft like that, and the way you look him straight in the eye as you stroke him makes his belly swoop and his cock jump. When you twist your wrist just right, Joel drips like a leaky faucet, and both the sight and sound of you jerking him off makes him hot all over.

“Missed you,” he breathes into your mouth.

You smile against his lips. This time, it is completely genuine, and it only gets better from there.

Undressing is a hasty thing because he’s impatient; of course, that means he’s way more of a hindrance than a help, and it’s all shared, breathless laughter until you’re naked astride him. Then, he gets serious about refamiliarizing his mouth and hands with the softness of your neck and stomach, the plushness of your hips and ass, and the tenderness of your inner thighs and the apex between.

You cup his face, meeting his gaze with heavy-lidded eyes, and he finds your folds with careful, explorative fingers. You’re exactly where he wants you to be - all hot, wet, willing, and totally, completely his. Joel puts his good hand to use by pressing the heel of it against your clit and working the spot deep inside you - the one that makes your thighs shake - with the tips of his fingers.

“Was worried,” Joel exhales against the column of your throat. “Outta my fuckin’ mind…”

You let out a choked sound and murmured reassurances - you’re with him, you’re not going anywhere, wild horses, and all that good shit. It isn’t trite - you mean what you say, wholeheartedly. And fuck, the way you come - writhing in his lap and clenching around his fingers, the way you tell him you want him inside you - tongue in his mouth and nails clawing his shoulders. It beats back the nagging doubts and fears and does absolute wonders for his ego.

Joel lines himself up. Holds his breath while you sink down. Watches your lashes flutter and your teeth dig into your lower lip as your hips rock and roll in a leisurely, steady tempo. It’s a rhythm he knows - one he is more than happy to follow - and he drops kisses on your collarbone as you run your fingers through his hair and hold him close.

“Joel,” you moan, face upturned and eyes shut tight. “I’m close, Joel.”

“Good,” he drawls, giving his thumb a quick suck before pressing the pad of it to your clit. “That’s real good, sweetheart.”

Firm, rapid circles - it’s what you like and what gets you there the fastest. You tighten and pulsate as the second wave begins to crest, and when you come, Joel guides you by the waist, helping you see it through and ride it out. You’re still vibrating in the aftermath when you tell him to take you, take whatever he wants, however he wants, and your insistency is all the permission he needs.

Joel rolls you onto your back and you go with it willingly - all glossy-eyed and boneless and welcoming, and the way your eyes shine when you look up at him - it makes him so eager for it. Eager like the first time. Eager to lose himself inside of you. Eager to please you any way he can.

He pins you beneath him and nips at your lower lip, “Gonna lemme love you how I wanna?”

“Don’t I always?” you quip with a throaty laugh.

Joel maneuvers you how he likes it - hips high and legs hitched over the crooks of his elbows so he can bottom out completely. His broken arm screams in protest, and he hisses with the discomfort of it, but you don’t urge caution because when you’re beneath him like this - when he’s got you wide open, when he’s driving into you with deep, sharp thrusts - you’re not a doctor.

You’re his. Only his.

White-hot heat builds in the pit of his stomach. A dozen strokes, and then, you let out a sharp cry and bear down on him. You squeeze his cock so tight that you practically yank the release right out of him, and the sudden pleasure of it is blinding and brutal and so damn good.

With a low, muffled groan, he lowers himself to sprawl atop of you, and you take the weight of him without complaint. His arm throbs, but with his cheek pressed to your chest and your warmth still surrounding him, Joel can’t be bothered to give a single fuck about the twinges. He’s completely and utterly content, and he wants to hang onto that feeling for as long as possible.

“I missed you, too,” you eventually whisper, fingertips ghosting along his jaw.

Joel nuzzles your breast before slowly lifting his head to look at you.

“No more runs without me, alright?”

You smile again - with all sincerity - and nod once.

“Alright.”

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fan fic #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #wordywarriorwrites #the run

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karahalloway · 25 days

Text

(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 19 - Field Day

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: It's off to the bridal boutique, but Harper and Olivia have a secondary agenda...

Word Count: 6,200

Rating/Warnings: M (royal bitchiness, possible emotional abuse, kidnapping, threats of murder)

Chapter theme song:

A/N: So, I have tried to keep everything as realistic and accurate as possible in terms of the locations that are touched on in this chapter. The only thing that is made up is the antique store. As usual, translations for the French and Italian are at the end.

Chapter 19 - Field Day

The five-minute drive to the bridal boutique is every bit as excruciatingly awkward as can be expected.

"What part of we are already running late is so difficult to comprehend?" derides Madeleine before the limo door even shuts. "When I tell you to hurry, I expect you to do exactly that!"

"I'm sorry, Lady Madeleine," stammers Penelope tearfully. "The heel of my shoe became caught on—"

"Save it!" the Countess of Fydelia snaps. "If you cannot do something as simple as totter down a corridor without breaking your neck, then frankly, I do not see how you are supposed to be of use to me."

Penelope's face turns whiter than a sheet. "I—"

"As lest you forget, I took you on as a lady-in-waiting as a favour to your family, given the historically close personal relationship between our fathers," Madeleine reminds her with a steely edge to her voice. "But that does not mean that I cannot send you packing just as easily. And if you do not get your act together, then that is exactly what will happen. Am I clear!"

"Yes," Penelope whimpers, lowering her gaze.

"What was that?" demands Madeleine imperiously.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And the same goes for the rest of you," adds Madeleine, casting the haughty gleam of her gaze over the limo. "One misstep — proverbial or otherwise — and you are gone. Not just from my employ, but from court as well."

Shifting my gaze over to Hana, I see that she is just as perturbed as I am about this borderline psychotic power-trip.

Talk about being a queen bitch...

Olivia scoffs from her seat in the corner. "How about you try making a threat you can actually carry out..."

Madeleine bristles. "As Queen I will have the authority to—"

"Do exactly what Christian permits you to do," Olivia interjects flatly, examining her nails. "As lest you forget, you will only ever be a queen consort — not queen regnant."

The Countess of Fydelia's eyes narrow. "That is but a technicality."

"I still wouldn't overplay my hand," Olivia cautions with a smile. "Wouldn't want to get caught out on a technicality now, would you?"

Madeleine glares down the length of the limo like a viscous viper.

"Didn't think so," smirks the Duchess of Lythikos as the driver pulls the vehicle to a stop...

...and the paps immediately descend on us like a swarm of black flies.

"What the—?" I blurt, catching the flash of the cameras through the blacked-out windows. "When did they get here?"

"Five minutes ago," replies Madeleine tartly, slotting a pair of shades on.

My jaw drops. "You... told them where we were going?"

"Of course," she affirms as the Royal Guard who had been riding shotgun manages to squeeze his way through the human press to open the door. "Royal patronage elevates the esteem and profile of any institution. It is only right that the press should be invited to cover the visit."

"Like that's the only reason..." I mutter as Madeleine steps out of the limo and the roar of the crowd becomes deafening.

"Contessa!" several people shout. "Contessa Maddalena! Quaggiù, per favore!"

"It's horse shite, by the way," Olivia advises as she slides past me. "The only thing she is looking to promote is herself."

"Well, she definitely seems to be succeeding..." I admit, watching the Guards struggle to hold the photographers back as Madeleine sashays her way towards the doors of the boutique.

Olivia scoffs. "It's an act of desperation. Nothing more. She knows she is on thin footing with Christian... and the public."

"Great..." I groan, pulling Drake's blue aviators from my clutch as I, too, exit the limo.

Rather than being an unfortunate one-off, it seems like yesterday's altercation at the Apple Harvest Festival was actually the opening salvo in a concerted campaign of media brinksmanship that Madeleine is determined to win.... at my expense.

Yet, I'm just not sure I have it in me to play her contrived publicity game. The paps have already up-ended my life more completely than I would've ever thought possible, so the last thing I want to do is pander to their voracious appetite for scandal.

"Duchessa Harper! Duchessa Harper!" the photographers shout as I step out onto the sidewalk. "You made it to Italy! What do you think of the city so far?"

"You did not travel with the King and future Queen! Were you forced to make alternative arrangements because of your argument?"

"Will you attend the opera tonight?"

"When was the last time you spoke to your family? Is it true you cut all ties with them?"

Gritting my teeth, I force myself to keep my head down and my feet moving forward as the invasive questions zing over my head like bullets. Camera bulbs flash in my face as the photographers press in, trying to get that front page close-up...

...and that's when I spot him.

My heart skips an uncomfortable beat as recognition hits me like a punch in the chest.

Oh, my God, the photographer from Applewood!

He's standing in the second row, regarding me almost casually, like a tourist at a zoo, faded red baseball cap slung backwards over his head, just as in the picture Ana de Luca had saved on the flash drive.

Our eyes meet and I stumble to a stop, unable to tear my gaze away, my morbid curiosity overpowering my senses even as the paps close in around me...

...but then I feel the warmth of a hand on my back and the sound of a familiar voice brings me back to earth.

"Nous vous tienons, Demoiselle," Allard assures me, appearing at my side to shield me from the press invasion.

Glancing up, I see that Schweitzer has taken up position in front of me, using his body like a blocker to force a path through the crush.

Curling into the safety offered by my Guard's no-nonsense attitude, I let them whisk me into the boutique.

"Thank you..." I say sincerely as we pass through the doorway into the foyer.

Allard relinquishes his hold on me with a nod. "Certainement. Vous allez bien?"

"Yeah..." I reply, heart pounding as I try to recollect my bearings. "I just—"

"Oh, my gosh!" gasps Hana, stumbling into the boutique behind us. "That was horrible!"

"C'est le bordel!" agrees Kiara as she and Penelope manage to squeeze themselves through the press before the Guards shut the door. "Qu'est-ce qu'elle croyait?"

"She wasn't," Olivia replies flatly, shooting an accusatory glance over her shoulder at Madeleine, who is already being given a queen's welcome by the boutique's owner.

A tense silence descends as we all process this assessment.

"I... I suppose we should go through," Hana suggests eventually.

"Oui," Kiara affirms with a huff, smoothing the front of her dress. "Sa Majesté expects our assistance."

Penelope glances uncertainly towards the fuss being made over Madeleine. "I don't think she's expecting mine..."

"Don't be silly!" Kiara admonishes, looping her arm through her friend's to tug her forward. "She just had a petite éclat. Every bride gets nervous and she is under a lot of pressure to maintain constant perfection. But that is why we need to help her, non?"

Penelope looks like she's about to disagree, before finally acquiescing with a sigh. "I just miss Merlin and Morgana..."

"J'sais..." consoles Kiara, patting her reassuringly on the back of the hand. "Hopefully once the tour is finished, Madeleine will allow you to send for them."

"I doubt it..." Penelope mutters meekly as they join Madeleine in the store proper. "She said she hates yappy little dogs. You don't suppose they have anything here with poodles on them, do you?"

"I don't think this boutique specialises in that type of lingerie..."

"Oh..."

"I'm sure they have some pretty floral designs, though!" Hana offers encouragingly. "Italian lace is known around the world for its intricate rebrodè detailing."

"Yes, because that's what men care about on the wedding night..." Olivia mutters dryly, turning towards me. "You coming, or what?"

"Huh?" I ask, snapping my head up. "Umm... Yeah. Sorry."

"You better be," she snips disdainfully as she starts down the foyer as well. "I refuse to be the only sane participant in this clown show..."

I glance warily back towards the front of the boutique, where the paps were still battling each other, trying to snap a shot of us through the tastefully curated window displays.

"What?" Olivia objects after a beat. "No snide comment? No wry clap-back? You're not conveniently coming down with a sudden fever, are you?"

"I... I saw him," I admit, tearing my gaze away from the feeding frenzy outside.

Olivia grabs my wrist to yank me to a stop. "Saw who?"

"The photographer," I say tightly, pulling my arms around myself in a bid to stop myself from shivering, despite the record-breaking temperatures outside. "From Applewood."

"Dion Guillard..." clarifies Olivia, staring at me intently. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I nod.

Olivia purses her lips. "He could be here on his own volition, or because someone invited him. Either way, we should make use of this opportunity."

"How?"

"By making him an offer he can't refuse," she replies slyly, pulling her phone out.

My eyes widen. "You mean right now? But Madeleine—"

"Has enough sycophants coddling her already," she counters flippantly as she quickly types up a text. "We only have one chance to do this. Do you want the truth, or not?"

I swallow down the lump in my throat. "I do."

"Good," she nods, slotting her phone away again. "You don't mind if I borrow your hunks, do you?"

"Umm..."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," she responds, clicking her fingers authoritatively at Allard and Schweitzer. "Meet me in the back in fifteen minutes."

Before I have a chance to respond, Olivia has already spun on her heel and is striding towards the rear of the store, my two Guards in tow.

"'Kay..." I mutter under my breath.

I have no idea what Olivia's plan is... much less how she thinks to arrange a clandestine meeting with the photographer under Madeleine's nose while there's an entire army of paps parked outside watching our every move.

But I've learned during the course of the social season that the Scarlet Duchess is as enterprising as she is resourceful, having pulled a number of successful ploys in a bid to advance herself in the competition. And Drake seems to trust her implicitly, otherwise, he wouldn't have asked her to keep an eye on me while he's off in Dubai.

So, it looks like I'm just going to have to trust her, too.

Taking a deep breath, I move towards the other end of the shop floor, pretending to peruse the various items on offer while I wait for the allotted time to tick down.

Luckily, Madeleine is busy loudly shooting down each and every lingerie option that is presented to her by both the boutique staff and her increasingly frazzled ladies-in-waiting, so nobody really notices when I announce a pretend visit to the restroom.

Slipping back out into the foyer, I move as casually as possible towards the back of the store, knowing that the paps are still watching me like hawks through the windows.

Rounding the corner, I allow myself to speed up a bit, casting my gaze left and right, looking for Olivia...

...when I'm suddenly yanked into a dimly-lit storeroom stacked with cardboard boxes and plastic-wrapped veils and dresses.

"Hey! What the—?" I protest as the door is shut promptly behind me.

"You're late," Olivia informs me dryly, clicking the lone light bulb on above us.

"Sorry, I had t—"

I reel back in horror as my eyes land on the bound and gagged form of Dion Guillard perched on top of a box of lingerie.

"Oh, my God!" I gasp. "When the heck did this turn into a kidnapping?"

"Ten minutes ago," she replies breezily.

I drop my head in my hands. "I am going to jail... I am literally going to jail..."

"Oh, ye of little faith..." Olivia admonishes, stepping over to the photographer.

He shrinks instantly back from her.

My brows shoot skywards. "Jesus Christ... What did you do to him?"

"Nothing," she shrugs. "Yet..."

A chill runs down my spine. Apparently, Olivia's reputation is more than well deserved...

"I presume you know who we are?" she asks Dion levelly, coming to a stop in front of him.

The man nods tightly, brows bunched together beneath the line of his baseball cap.

"And your current circumstances leave you under no illusions as to the lengths we're willing to go to obtain — by force, or otherwise — the clear and unvarnished truth?"

His gaze slips to meet mine for a second before sliding back to Olivia's to give her the barest of nods.

"Good," she smiles, reaching towards him. "Then this will go that much faster."

In one quick motion, she yanks the scrunched-up handkerchief from the photographer's mouth, making him wheeze.

"Sa mère la pute de—"

"Who are you working for?" Olivia demands, folding her arms.

Dion spits on the floor next to her feet. "I'm a freelancer. I work for—"

"We know who you are," Olivia interjects with a wave of her hand. "You're a lowlife slug who's willing to do anything to make a name for himself. You demonstrated as much when you sold compromising photos of my friend here to the press. The question is, who hired you?"

Dion scoffs. "Nobody hired me. I work for myself! That is what I've been trying to—!"

"Liar," Olivia accuses. "We know you didn't just stumble upon this by yourself. Who's your client?"

"Nom de dieu..." he disparages under his breath. "I told you already, I—"

Olivia is suddenly up in his face, knife pressed to his throat. "And I didn't like your answer."

Dion jerks back instinctively. "Your petite friend is correct... You are going to jail..."

"They'll have to find your body first," she tells him silkily. "What little will be left of it, anyway... Because no one here is going to the police. And I'm sure that your so-called friends out the front will secretly be glad for your unexplained loss. The freelance photography business is oh-so cutthroat, after all..."

"Tu es une salle grace..." he snarls through clenched teeth.

Olivia presses the knife tighter. "Then you should know that it's not in your interest to test what's left of my patience..."

Dion laughs bitterly. "À quoi ça rime? You say already that you will just—"

"What if we paid you?" I interject, stepping forward.

Olivia's head snaps angrily around. "Harper, stay out of—!"

"Paid me?" the photographer cuts in, eyes swirling to meet mine with interest.

"To give us the information we're after... voluntarily," I clarify, in a bid to avoid the impending bloodshed. "And to sell us the photos from Applewood."

Dion frowns. "I already sold the pictures to the papers..."

"Not all of them," I correct, hoping against hope that my gut instinct is correct and I haven't just torpedoed Olivia's interrogation for nothing. "You only sold the ones you were told to sell — the ones that fit your client's narrative."

Dion seems to assess me in a new light. "You come prepared... Fine. I'll do as you ask... for five million."

"Ducats?" asks Olivia.

"Euros."

I very narrowly catch my jaw from falling to the floor at the sound of the obscene price tag.

"You've been paid once already," counters Olivia. "The highest we can go is one million."

"Four," insists Dion, somehow managing to find the balls to negotiate even with a knife pressed to his throat. "There are a lot of pictures."

"Which no one else is willing to buy, so two is our best and final offer."

"Three," declares Dion. "And I'll forget this conversation ever happened."

Olivia purses her lips for a moment, before whipping the knife away with a flourish. "Fine. Start talking."

Dion lets out a low exhale. "I received a call some days before the Jamboree. The person had a tip on one of the Prince's suitors, and said it would make big news if it got out. Naturally, I was interested."

"Who was this person?" I ask.

"I don't have a name," he replies. "The tip was anonymous, and the call came from a hidden number."

"Was it a man or a woman?" Olivia queries.

"A man."

Olivia and I exchange a glance. Tariq or Godfrey.

"How did you get into Applewood?" I ask, turning back to Dion.

"A security pass was delivered to my apartment. No return address," he adds before either of us can ask.

"And that didn't seem suspicious?" I press.

"Demoiselle," he scoffs. "I am a paparazzo. I am not going to... How you Américans say? Count the teeth of a dog?"

"Look a gift horse in the mouth..." I correct dryly.

"Once on the estate, I took some pictures of the Jamboree — in the event, you know... nothing came of the tip — but then I received a message on my phone that the suitor in question was on her way back to her room with her paramour, andI should make myself ready."

"How did you know which room to go to?" I cut in.

"There was a blueprint of the manor included in the same envelope that provided me my security pass," Dion explains. "It was your room that was marked."

His words hit me like a kick to the guts.

It's been clear for a while that my run-in with Tariq has been anything but chance. But to learn the malicious extent of the planning that had gone into setting it up makes me want to actually puke.

Who was sick enough to even think up something so twisted?

"What then?" asks Olivia, diverting Dion's attention from my momentary muteness.

He shrugs. "I took the photos, and left."

"How?" I croak in disbelief. "How could you just stand there while—?"

"I am a journalist," he shrugs apathetically. "My business is to be impartial..."

"You watched me get assaulted," I hiss through trembling lips. "There is nothing impartial about that!"

He shrugs again. "Affairs are messy. Maybe you should choose your lovers more carefully."

I feel my fists clench at my sides as I take a step forward. "He is not—"

Olivia's hand pulls me back. "How did you deliver the photos?"

"There was no delivery," Dion counters with the same level of nonchalance that he's exhibited since he started talking. "I selected the best pictures and put them out to offer to the newspapers. The Sun offered the most for them, so I sold to them the exclusive rights to publish."

"That's it?" queries Olivia. "No one else was given copies?"

Dion scoffs. "Absolutement pas! Selling copies to anyone else would violate the license agreement with the most influential tabloid newspaper in the country! Why would I put myself out of business? I am not an idiot..."

"You didn't send any samples to the person who tipped you off?" I press, having finally managed to regain my composure somewhat.

"Non," he insists. "I said before — he was not a client. I have no obligation for him. And even if I did, I have no way to contact him because—"

"—the conversations were anonymous," I finish wearily.

Apart from lending credence to our suspicions that Godfrey may have had a hand in the set-up, this conversation has confirmed literally nothing.

The people involved in the plot have been too careful in covering up their tracks.

Which means that all our hopes now rest with Tariq... and Drake's ability to find him.

Dion nods. "C'est correct. And I told you everything you asked. We still have a deal, yes?"

"On the condition that you hand over all the remaining photographs — including any digital and backup copies — and disappear off to a godforsaken island somewhere," Olivia clarifies.

Dion nods eagerly. "Naturellement. I always desired early retirement."

"Good," she approves, cutting the bonds from his wrists with a cold smile. "Otherwise I will personally ensure that you don't live to spend a single Euro of your newly acquired millions."

The flash of the wicked-looking blade so close to his groin causes the photographer to blanch involuntarily. "Je le jure."

Olivia flashes him a cold smile. "We'll be in touch..."

"You're just letting him go?" I hiss into Olivia's ear as Dion pushes himself up.

"Unless you would prefer to dump him in the Tiber?"

I reel back. "What! No! I just—"

"Your instinct was right," she advises softly, as Dion gathers his bag and Allard escorts him back out. "He is an opportunistic shark. He just had to be made to believe that he was fleecing us."

My eyes widen. "So, you played bad cop deliberately."

"As you said, this is my area of expertise," she smirks. "And I knew you would not be able to keep your sentimentality at the door."

"Umm, thanks... I think..." I mutter. "But where are we supposed to get three million Euros from? We may both be aristos, but neither of us is Jeff Bezos..."

"The Palace has a designated slush fund set aside for these sorts of expenditures," Olivia assures me breezily, slotting her knife away. "Since you are now a member of the royal family, we'll just send the bill to Jonathan."

I slant her a wry look. "I'm pretty sure that's not what either he or Christian had in mind when they decided to clean up my image..."

"Oh, please!" she admonishes, stepping back out into the corridor as well. "As recently as last year, Constantine was authorising expenditures of five to ten million Euros to stop pictures of Leo shagging B-list actresses on top of various vehicles making it onto the front pages. Three million Euros is trump change for the Rys."

"If you say so," I concede, my mind still reeling from astronomical sums of money that had been so casually bandied about. "Let's just hope Dion doesn't screw us over..."

"He won't," she assures me. "Nobody is stupid enough to cross a Nevrakis."

"The people who blackmailed you did..." I remind her cautiously.

Olivia's mouth tightens as we reach the end of the corridor. "Which was their first mistake. And one that they will pay for dearly."

"You never actually told me what they threatened you with on the night of the Coronation Ball..."

Olivia glances at me sharply. "The less you know the better."

"But—"

"It is for your own protection," she insists. "You haven't played this game long enough to know how to handle something so... explosive."

My eyes widen. "What? More explosive than—?"

Olivia clamps her hand over my mouth. "What did I tell you on the plane?"

"Sorry..." I mumble through her fingers.

She withdraws her hand. "If — on the very slim chance — I require assistance, I'll ask for it. In the meantime, you should rejoin the bridal parade."

"Why? Where are you going?" I ask as Olivia moves towards the back loading doors.

"None of your business," she ripostes, disappearing outside.

"Bye to you, too..." I snip as the door slams closed in her wake.

Olivia may now be on my side, but she is still as caustic as ever.

Turning back towards the main part of the boutique. I barely make it four steps before Madeleine's shrieks of outrage — and the sound of breaking glass — echo down the hallway.

"How many times do I have to tell you, no thongs! They are ribald and tasteless!"

"Yeah, no..." I mutter under my breath as I promptly spin on my heel to head back towards the rear of the store.

I don't care what Kiara may have said earlier; I have no interest in spending the rest of the morning being trapped in a bridal boutique, being screamed at by Madeleine. I have much better things to do with my time... and sanity, especially given that I'm still trying to mentally and emotionally process what the photographer had said. And after everything else that's happened in the past twenty-four hours, a small break would definitely go a long way in diffusing my pent-up stress.

Admittedly, a part of me feels bad for leaving Hana behind to suffer the full brunt of Madeleine's tirade, but trying to pull her away as well would only jeopardise my chances of making a successful getaway. I'll just have to think of some other way to make it up to her.

Not wanting her to get into any unwarranted trouble on my account, I decide to pull out my phone to send her a quick text letting her know that I'm not feeling well, and that I'll hopefully see her at the opera in the evening.

Slotting my phone back into my clutch, I push the back doors of the boutique open with a decisive shove, and step out into the sunshine.

Letting my eyes adjust to the brightness outside, I find myself in a small courtyard. On a whim, I turn back towards my Guards.

"Which way to the Trevi Fountain?" I ask, pulling my sunglasses back down over my face.

Allard and Schweitzer trade glances, clearly uneasy with this request.

"Demoiselle, that is not a prudent—"

"—way to get lost in the crowd?" I counter. "I can't think of a better one. If I don't advertise myself, no one will know I'm even there. Especially while the paps are tied up on the other side of the building."

My Guards don't seem convinced. "Commandant Walker left specific instructions to—"

"I'm not planning on disappearing on you," I assure them. "I just want to make a quick detour to grab some pastries, and check out the fountain. So, which way is it?"

Perhaps seeing that I'm not going to be swayed by any cautionary counter-argument, Schweitzer gives Allard a one-shouldered shrug of acquiescence.

Allard pulls a face before finally resigning himself as well. "Par ici," he says, indicating the far side of the courtyard.

"Thanks," I chirp with a smile, setting out across the cobblestones...

...and promptly get the heel of my stiletto pumps stuck in a crack between the stones.

"Eugh," I grumble, as I manage to wrench myself free after a brief battle. "I really didn't think this through..."

"Would Demoiselle require a taxi?" asks Schweitzer as he helps steady me from behind.

"I was hoping to walk..." I admit sheepishly.

"Via Borgognona is nearby," Allard suggests. "It is a well-known shopping street, though quieter than the more famous Via Condotti. Demoiselle might find more... comfortable footwear there."

"Not to mention some more appropriate clothes in general," I gripe, already feeling the tight fabric of my pencil dress start to stick to me. "How far away is it?"

"Just around the corner."

I flash him a bright smile. "Perfect!"

With Allard leading the way, and Schweitzer holding my hand, we manage to cross the courtyard without further incident, and sneak past the paps still thronging the front of the bridal boutique without getting spotted.

Crossing the pedestrianised thoroughfare, my Guards usher me down a narrower street that is lined on either side by cream-coloured buildings casting some welcome shade in the midday heat.

We pass a smattering of tourists and locals, but luckily everyone seems to be too absorbed in their phones or personal conversations to pay any specific attention to me.

And — more importantly — as Allard promised, the street is composed entirely of fashionable-looking independent boutiques.

"Let's try this one," I suggest, indicating the arched entryway of a store with an Italian name that I do not recognise, but which nevertheless seems to have several options for sandals on offer. And — given the scalding nature of the weather — an open-toe option is definitely appealing right now!

Stepping into the air-conditioned entranceway, I am immediately greeted by an immaculately made up woman with a severe ponytail, who starts questioning me in rapid-fire Italian.

"Umm..."

Luckily, I am saved from the embarrassment of trying to cobble together some kind of inappropriate response with the very limited — and wholly unhelpful — Italian that Bertrand had managed to teach me on the plane by Allard, who steps deftly up to my side.

"Lei è alla ricerca di alcune nuove scarpe."

"Che tipo de scarpe?"

"Sandals," I say, having understood the gist of the question. "No heel."

"Prego," the assistant says, flicking her hand towards some minimalist shelving.

"Gracia," I acknowledge with a smile.

Moving over to the indicated section, I quickly assess the options...

...and nearly die when I lay eyes on the price tags.

"Almost a thousand Euros...?" I gripe under my breath "For a few scraps of leather...?"

But then my eyes land on a pair bejewelled, gladiator-style sandals.

Given my limited window of opportunity to sneak in some sight-seeing before people start to question my absence, I don't have the luxury of being able to hunt for a bargain. And if I'm going to end up forking out this much money on a pair of shoes, I'm at least going to spend it on something that I like the look of.

And these sandals definitely fit the bill.

Decision made, I pull out my phone to quickly find out how my normal US shoe size converts to the vastly different European sizing, and turn back to the patiently waiting assistant.

"Size 36, please."

With a nod, she disappears 'round the back.

While she's gone, I take the opportunity to look up the location of the little pastry shop that the President had mentioned.

Since I'm heading towards the Trevi Fountain anyway, and Madeleine had pulled us out of this morning's meeting before the refreshments could be served, I had been serious when I told my Guards of my intent to tackle two birds with one stone. Especially since it's nearly lunchtime, and chances are I won't otherwise see food until the opera this evening.

The assistant reappears with my selection, and after a quick try-on, I give her a nod to ring up the extortionate purchase, being excessively grateful that I still have cash left in my US account, given that I don't actually have access to my new Cordonian accounts yet.

Stepping back out onto the street, I change out my shoes, slotting my pumps away into the high-end bag that I've been given, and dumping the shoebox in a nearby trash can.

My toes flex gratefully in their newfound freedom as I cross the street to the clothing boutique, wondering how much a top and pair of jean shorts is going to set me back...

In the end, however, I am pleasantly surprised to emerge back onto the street in a simple, white wrap-dress, a straw Panama hat, and a matching straw bucket bag in which I've stowed my old dress and shoes, all for under two hundred Euros, which means I was able to make recourse to the money Drake had given me, and still have plenty of cash left over for other potential emergencies.

"Thanks for the suggestion," I tell Allard sincerely. "It has definitely saved me from melting into the pavement!"

"De rien, Demoiselle," he acknowledges with a smile. "Are you ready to continue?"

"Lead the way, Monsieur!" I tell him with a grin.

Taking up poll position with a scoff — with Schweitzer bringing up the rear — Allard takes us left at the next intersection to zig-zag us down various side streets, presumably in a bid to avoid both the ferocity of the midday sun, and the chances of me being recognised on the busier avenues.

But, the back route pays off, and within ten minutes, I find myself standing on the edge of the crowded plaza that serves as the gateway to the romantic monument.

"Wow..." I breathe, taking it all in. "It sure is busy!"

Allard and Schweitzer exchange a tense look, no doubt worried about the prospect of being able to keep tabs on me in the press.

"I'll be fine," I assure them. "Just a quick peek and then we can get moving."

Neither of them look convinced, but they don't try to dissuade me as I plunge into the crowd.

Skirting around wedding parties, tour groups, and other miscellaneous sightseers, I manage to work my way to the front of the throng, and my mouth parts with a gasp at the sight spread out before me.

The four-storey monument rises up from the base of the fountain, framing the dynamically positioned statues from under whose feet the water gushes into the aquamarine pool.

It's like a Renaissance painting brought to life.

But, while I'm glad to have made the trip out here to see it in person, I can't help but feel my chest tighten morosely as I gaze up at the beauty of the world-famous landmark.

I didn't necessarily realise it at the time, but part of the reason why I enjoyed my outing in the Cordonian capital so much was because I had Drake to share the adventure with. And it was the same in Avignon — his wry quips and local knowledge had definitely brought the whole experience to life, making me see the city through different eyes than I probably would have had I been by myself... like I am now.

Eugh... I miss him...

Reaching for the ties of my bag on impulse, I pull the fastenings apart just enough to plunge my hand inside. Finding my purse, I snap it open and extract a Euro from the coin pouch.

Squeezing my fingers 'round the warmth of the metal, I clench my eyes shut with a heartfelt wish as I turn back towards the fountain...

...before sending the coin flipping through the air to land in the water before me with a soft plop.

Blinking my eyes open, I am somewhat disappointed to find myself still standing solo by the railing, and Drake has not magically appeared before me like the hot Italian guy did in The Lizzy McGuire Movie.

"Worth a shot..." I console myself somewhat dejectedly as I reach back into my bag to extract my phone so I could snap a couple of pictures to send to my mom.

Mission accomplished, I turn away from the fountain to make my way back to the edge of the square, Allard and Schweitzer falling into step behind me as I scan the various store-fronts clustered around the fountain, searching for the bakery with the pistachio croissants.

My eyes suddenly land on something in one of the window displays...

...and without really thinking about it, I let my feet carry me inside.

The little brass bell above the door jingles as I step into the cramped confines of what appears to be a shop selling a motley collection of antiques and touristy knick-knacks. A wizened old man sporting glasses and a thick head of white hair looks up at the sound of my arrival.

"Buon pomeriggio, signorina," he greets. "Posso aiutarla a cercare?"

"Umm... sì," I say hesitantly. "Hai avo... in the window?" I point at the item that had caught my eye with an embarrassed flush.

The man's face cracks into a grin. "Ah, certamente!"

Stepping out from behind the counter, he ambles his way over to the window display, to pull back the protective glass. Reaching in, he lifts up the silver chain and holds it out to me.

I run the tip of my finger across the edge of the pendant with a smile. "It's perfect."

"For you?" he asks, lifting the chain up to my neck indicatively.

"No," I laugh. "It's a present... Por mi amore?"

His eyes light up. "Ah, bellissimo! Lo avvolgerò in su per voi!"

"Gracia," I say as he scuttles excitedly back behind the counter in search of a box.

Pulling one out with a conspiratorial flourish, he sets about packaging up the piece as if he were swaddling a precious child for a hazardous journey, even managing to dig out a slightly dusty ribbon to tie on top.

"Cento euro," he declares, presenting the completed ensemble to me.

Pulling my wallet out, I extract my card. "Visa?"

"Sì! Ovviamente!" he proclaims, slapping a brand new Square card machine onto the counter, that was starkly at odds with the otherwise Ollivander-esque décor of the place.

Slotting my card into the reader, I complete the purchase, and am just about to reach for the box to stow it away in my bag when I feel a sudden presence behind me.

"This is becoming a bad habit with you..."

I freeze at the sound of the familiar voice.

No way...

The story continues in Chapter 20 (Coming Soon!)

A/N: As per usual, translations below:

At the bridal boutique: Contessa! Contessa Maddalena! Quaggiù, per favore! - Countess! Countess! Over here, please!

Nous vous tienons, Demoiselle - We got you, m'lady

Certainement. Vous allez bien? - Certainly. Are you alright?

C'est le bordel! Qu'est-ce qu'elle croyait?" - What mess! What was she thinking?

Sa mère la pute de— - Your mother is a whore of a—

Nom de dieu - Oh, my God!

Tu es une salle grace - You're a real bitch

Absolutement pas! - Absolutely not!

Je le jure - I swear

Out and About Par ici - This way

Lei è alla ricerca di alcune nuove scarpe - She is looking for some new shoes.

Che tipo de scarpe? - What kind of shoes?

Prego - Please

Gracia - Thanks

De rien, Demoiselle - No problem, m'lady

Buon pomeriggio, signorina. Posso aiutarla a cercare? - Good afternoon, miss. Can I help you find anything?

Por mi amore?* - For my love? *This is a completely butchered attempt at Italian. The grammatically correct way to say it would be 'È per il mio amore'. However, Harper is improvising, so she's not going to get things completely correct 😇

Ah, bellissimo! Lo avvolgerò in su per voi! - Ah, lovely! I will wrap it up for you!

Cento euro - One hundred Euros

Sì! Ovviamente! - Yes! Of course!

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions only (let me know if you want to be added!)

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vendettaparker · 1 year

Text

Clear [E.M]

Summary: Eddie makes it clear that he is the one for you, but life has other plans.

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: smut, swearing, angst, possible typos, ex steve harrington

a/n: third and final part to the complex mini series

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Eddie comes home that night high off his ass. You can smell it on him the minute you greet him at the front door at three in the morning. His eyes are red and bleary, and he’s squinting far too much for your liking.

“Hey, baby,” he breathes out, “missed you.” He pulls you in for a hug, despite the disgusted look on your face.

You knew Eddie was a dealer and you didn’t mind at all. It was his way of making money and he enjoyed partaking as well, so who were you to tell him what he could and couldn't do? But you never picked up the habit. You tried smoking with him once but ended up coughing it all back up into his face. He ended up shotgunning some of the smoke into your mouth, and you quite enjoyed that actually. That of course led to the first time you ever had sex high, which was an indescribable experience, to say the least. But still, you didn’t really like smoking the way Eddie did. You always had trouble getting the smoke in your lungs on your own, and you always ended up in coughing fits or burning your throat. Not the mention the smell, which always seemed to give you a headache. The first shit you took after getting high with Eddie, strangely enough, smelled like weed. Safe to say, that ruined the whole thing for you.

“You smell,” you scrunch your nose up at him.

“I know, ‘m sorry,” Eddie rests his head atop yours, his eyes drooping. “I would’ve headed back home but I missed you too much.”

“That’s sweet,” you smile, “but still, you stink. Can I please run you a bath?”

“Only if you join me,” Eddie says. You nod and lead in back into the house, “and rub my back for me?”

“Sure, you big baby,” you chuckle.

Eddie hums as he sinks into the hot water. You sit across from him in the tub, legs entangled considering the tight quarters. You wet a rag and soap it up before running it over Eddie’s shoulders. You let the suds run down his whole body, not missing the way they collect in the divots of his muscles.

Eddie had a soft body. He wasn't as sculpted or hard as Steve. His body reflected him as a person perfectly. Soft, gentle, loving. That’s how you’d describe it.

“How was the rest of the party?” you ask, dipping the rag back into the water before repeating.

“So much fun,” Eddie smiles, “I’ve never seen Steve get so fucked up.” Eddie laughs, remembering the slurred rant Steve went on after two joints and four beers.

“What’d he do?”

“Oh, he was just being—I don’t know,” Eddie’s head lulls to the side, “just being a prick about something. It was funny though—how red his face got and stuff.”

“Did he say anything?”

Eddie shrugs, humming out something that you don’t quite catch. You don’t mind though—it’s probably best that you don’t know all about Steve’s ramblings anyways after what you had said to him. And besides, you were starting to get pruny.

“Okay, well, come on, big guy,” you say, standing up, “let’s go to bed.”

You wrap Eddie in a towel, not unlike you would a child, and rub his upper arms, making sure he’s nice and dry.

“It’s c-cold,” he complains quietly.

“Yeah,” you nod, “it’s December so…”

“R-Right,” Eddie shivers.

You put him in a t-shirt you stole from him and a pair of sweats that may have also come from his closet—though, there was also a good chance they were Steve’s.

Once you’re in bed, you wrap your comforter over him, pressing your body close to his and tucking the comforter on the other side of yourself, trapping the two of you in a burrito of warmth.

“Better?” you ask, breath fanning over his face.

“Mhm,” Eddie nods, “warm.”

“Yeah,” you give him a small smile. “I’ll see you in the morning, kay?”

“Mhm,” Eddie nods, eyes already closed. He was asleep in minutes.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Eddie’s favorite movie, surprisingly enough, was Dirty Dancing. You also frequently rented the movie from Family Video, but less because you actually enjoy it and more so for the fact that you thought Patrick Swayze was the hottest man in existence. So, every couple of weeks, when there was nothing new or exciting to watch, you would just rent Dirty Dancing again for you and Eddie.

You walk into the Family Video looking down at your keys, hitting the lock button twice until you hear the beep of your car. “Hey Robin, anything new to—” You stop in your tracks after looking up and seeing Steve there, muscles practically bulging out of his polo with the way he has his arms folded, instead of Robin, who you were positive was working today. “Where’s Robin? It’s Saturday,” you ask, alluding to the fact that Robin’s set schedule always had her on Saturdays.

“Stomach bug,” Steve says with a shrug, “what do you need?”

“Just wanted to see if there was anything new,” you say, walking up to the counter, “but if not, I’ll take Dirty Dancing.”

“Again?” Steve chuckles, “That’s the third time this month.”

“Eddie likes it.”

Steve’s smile falls before he nods and grabs the tape from a pile behind the counter. “Yeah, it’s a good pick and I don’t really have anything new. We don’t get new inventory until next week.” He places the film on the counter and scans it.

“That’s fine. Dirty Dancing’s our favorite,” you nod, playing with the keys in your hand awkwardly.

Steve nods and presses a few buttons on the computer. “That’ll be four dollars.”

You reach into your purse and pull out a five. You had it to him with a tight-lipped smile. “Keep the change.”

“You sure?” Steve asks, taking the five and putting them in the register.

“Mhm,” you nod, picking up the tape, “thanks.”

“No problem.”

“So, um, bye,” you wave before turning around.

Steve watches you go, not saying anything until your hand touches the glass. “So, you’re really happy with Eddie?” he asks.

You turned around to face him, hand resting on the glass door. “Yeah, I am,” you nod.

“That’s good,” Steve says, “I mean, that’s great. It’s wonderful even—I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” you give him a tight-lipped smile. Steve just nods back. “Um, bye” you wave again.

“Wait,” Steve stops you, coming out from behind the counter to talk to you, “how are, uh, your classes?”

“We’re still on break,” you say, “but I ended the semester in a good place.”

“That’s great,” Steve nods, “when do you go back?”

“Not until next week.”

“Cool, cool.”

“Yup.”

“I still have the loan papers,” Steve says, “if you want them, that is.”

“Actually, I have thought about it,” you say, “and I think I may have taken your offer the wrong way. So, if it’s okay with you, I think I will accept the money.”

“Yeah, of course, of course.” Steve nods, “I can drop it off to you after work?”

“Sure,” you nod, “I’ll be at Eddie’s.”

“Right. So, I guess I’ll see you later?”

“Mhm. Bye,” you wave again, pressing on the glass your hand had been resting patiently on and opening the door to slip out of.

“Wait,” Steve stops you again, making you turn back into the store with a small huff, “just out of curiosity,” he says, “did you mean what you said? When I dropped you off the other night? Or were you just trying to hurt me?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug with a sigh. And in truth, you really didn’t know. Of course, you wanted to hurt Steve, but at the end of the day, you couldn’t really bring yourself to paint him as the villain. You’d once thought that nobody could hold a candle to him. Everyone used to pale in comparison. That type of obsessive love doesn’t just go away. “I guess both.” Steve raises his eyebrows prompting you to explain further. “I did want to hurt you, but I guess I also don’t really feel anything.” You started to walk out the door again, before stopping once more and turning back around. “And even if I did,” you went on, “y’know, if I did still have feelings for you, it wouldn’t really matter,” you shook your head, “I’m with Eddie and I really like him. And, you only like me now because you can’t have me.”

Steve was prepared to protest, but deep down, he knew that his constant switching up was confusing and unfair to you. So he bit his tongue and simply nodded, “Yeah, I’m just glad you’re happy.”

“You are?”

“Of course I am, (Y/N).” Steve says sincerely, “We were friends for years before we even started hooking up.”

“Yeah, we were,” you smile, “and we still are, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve nods, throwing his signature smile right back at you.

“Cool,” you nod, turning around again, “I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, I’ll stop by with the papers.”

“Okay,” you say, finally slipping out the door and returning to your car. Once you’re settled in the driver's seat, key in the ignition gears set to drive, you look up and see Steve, standing at the window of the Family Video, giving you a final wave. That’s when you start to feel the butterflies again, eating away at your insides.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Maybe it's the fact that you’re ovulating, or maybe it’s the fact that Eddie looks so good in his Hell Fire t-shirt and black jeans, or maybe it’s the fact—the very real fact—that you feel guilty for letting Steve Harrington make your heart do leaps again. It doesn't matter the reason though, because it ends with Eddie’s cock pounding into you wildly while you moan wantonly, not unlike those porn stars you’ve seen on those tapes Steve kept in the back room of Family Video.

“Fuck, Eddie!” you nearly cry at how deep he is. His hands are on your hips, moving you up and down his length. His grunts and groans are muffled as he bites his lips, eyes focused hazily on the way his cock looks entering you. “Harder! Fuck me harder!”

Your hands are on his biceps, nails digging into him. Your legs are both over his shoulders, forcing his tip to kiss your cervix with each thrust. Eddie obliges, hips slapping loudly into yours. “Fuck, you’re so tight. Fucking perfect pussy,” Eddie pants. You can see the sweat on his brow threatening to seep into his eye. He clenches his eyes shut, “I gotta slow down, fuck, (Y/N), I-I’m gonna cum.”

“Do it,” you beg, “it’s okay, cum all in me, Eddie. Please please please—” your pleas are cut off by the moan Eddie lets out as his hot cum squirts into you, painting your walls white.

“Fuck,” Eddie pants, sitting up to let your legs fall off his shoulders. The second he knows he won’t crush you in half, he flops on top of you, laying his sweaty head on your similarly slick chest. “Did you, uh—”

You shook your head, making him frown. “It’s okay though,” you assure him.

“Are you sure?” Eddie asks, “If you give me a few minutes I can keep going.”

“It’s fine—” You’re cut off by the sound of knocking on the trailer door.

Eddie groans, but hauls himself off you anyway, dropping to the floor to pick up his clothes to put back on. You sit up and lift your hands over your head to stretch, the position Eddie had you in left a crick in your back.

The knocking comes again as you pull one of Eddie’s t-shirts over your head. “I’m coming!” Eddie yells, fumbling with his pants as he hops down the hall, only one leg in his sweats. You walk in to see Eddie standing with Steve at the door. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Hey,” Steve says, “just came to drop this off for (Y/N),” he holds out the envelope to you.

You walk over and take it. “Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve nods before turning his attention to Eddie, “are those my sweats? How’d you get them?”

“These?” Eddie looks down, “No, I got these from (Y/N)’s…place…” he looks over at you, “Are these Steve’s?”

“Um,” you look down at the sweatpants, now noticing the signature Tommy Hilfiger logo on the waistband. There was no point in denying it—since when did Eddie ever wear name brands? “Yeah, I guess they are.”

“How did they end up at your house?” Eddie asks.

“Um,” you look between the boys, trying to find the best way to explain this, “he, uh, left them there.”

“When?” Eddie frowns, looking between you and Steve now.

“Oh, right,” Steve snaps, “I left them there after we went swimming over the summer. I totally forgot about them. You can keep them tho, Eds. They fit you better anyway,” his smile is tight and forced as he looks at the sweats he used to love to see you in. It hurt him even more, seeing your messy hair and the fact that you didn’t even bother to put pants on, knowing that you and Eddie probably weren’t just laying down to watch Dirty Dancing. And now, Eddie’s wet dick was in his sweatpants.

“Oh, okay. Sorry about that,” Eddie tries to laugh it off, but you can see clear as day the suspicion in his eyes. Steve wasn’t known for his ability to lie. “I can wash ‘em and run them by sometime.”

“Yeah, sure, don’t stress about it,” Steve says, backing up towards the door, “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Bye,” you wave as he walks out the door. Eddie closes it behind him before turning back to you.

“These aren’t from when you went swimming, are they?” He says, motioning down to the sweats.

“No,” you shake your head, “they aren’t.” You didn’t want to lie to Eddie. It was clear he already didn’t believe Steve’s story, and for you to lie to him would just make it worse.

Eddie nods before letting out a sigh. “Okay then.”

“It’s not what you think, though,” you stop Eddie, putting your hand on his chest to stop him from walking past you, “really.”

“What is it then?” Eddie asks pointedly, pushing away from you.“Because, honestly, it really looks like you’ve been sleeping with him.”

“I’m not,” you say, grabbing his arm, “I swear, Eds. I’d never do that to you.”

Eddie shakes his head. “I want to believe you, (Y/N), but I just—it would explain why you two have been acting so weird.”

“What do you mean?”

“Before Steve left for California you guys seemed fine—normal and shit, but the second he comes back, you’re all dark and twisty around him.” Eddie explains, “It makes sense now. You’re trying to seem distant from him so I wouldn’t suspect that you guys are sleeping together.” Eddie has this look on his face—an almost satisfied look as if something just became crystal clear to him and he just cracked a case.

You want to laugh. You really do at Eddie’s poor assessment of the situation. And although you know that it’ll make things worse, you let a little chuckle slip through.

“Oh, so this is funny now?” Eddie scoffs.

“No, no,” you shake your head, trying to wipe the smile from your face, “you just couldn’t be more wrong.”

“I think you should go.” Eddie tries to pull away.

“No,” you squeeze his arm tighter, “you’re not even going to hear me out?”

“What is it then?” Eddie snaps, “Spit it out!”

“I…” you hesitate, “I’m not sleeping with Steve…anymore.”

“But you were?” You nod, tears brimming in your eyes now from Eddie’s harsh tone and the defeated look on his face. “Okay,” Eddie sighs.

“Are you mad at me?”

“No—yes—I-I don’t know.” Eddie says, rubbing his face, “I think you should still go.”

“I’m really sorry,” you try, “but you have to understand, I care about you so much, Eds—”

“But you don’t love me,” Eddie points out.

“What? H-How could you say that?”

“You never say it! I’ve said I love you so many times now—you still haven’t even said it back once.”

“I—”

“(Y/N), I love you. I really do, but I just feel like you’re not there with me.”

“I am, Eddie,” you assure him, “I am. It just—I’m just taking my time.”

“Why?” Eddie asks.

“Because I don’t want to get hurt again.” You admit.

That’s when it clicks for Eddie. The tears in your eyes now shoot him back to a time, not so long ago, when he saw the same look on your face. The night he played your night in shining armor and took you to get ice cream. The night of your first kiss, when he metaphorically and physically, wiped the tears from your eyes with his affection.

“It was Steve,” he says knowingly, “Steve was the reason you were crying that night.”

You nod, tears falling down your cheeks, “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, but he was your friend and I didn’t want to make things weird or something between you two—”

“No, no,” Eddie shushed you and takes you in his arms, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t being fair. You have every right to keep your past relationships to yourself. And Steve—fuck, he’s such an ass for doing that to you, baby.”

“It’s okay,” you sniffle, “really, it’s in the past—”

“It’s not okay,” Eddie shakes his head, “not at all. I’d never hurt you like that.”

“I know,” you nod, cupping Eddie’s face. “but my past relationships don’t matter, Eds,” you say, looking into his eyes and running your thumbs across his cheeks. “I have you and that’s all that matters. I love you. I really do.”

Eddie squeezes you tighter, “I love you too, (Y/N).”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Eddie was acting weird. You assumed it was because of the recent revelation he had discovering your and Steve’s history, so you didn’t question it. He had every right to be a little cold and distant. Besides, when school started back up the two of you were too busy anyway. You didn’t have nearly as much time to spend at Eddie’s trailer, watching movies and having sex. Your second-semester classes kept you more than well-occupied.

But, as the month went by, you had to acknowledge how strange Eddie’s behavior was. He would ignore you for days, and then he’d lovebomb you like crazy. He’s go cold and quiet, right before attaching himself to your hip for hours on end. There were times when you didn’t even know what he was up to, but then there were times when you kind of wished he’d find something else to do, rather than sit there and watch you do homework.

“Don’t you have school today?” you eye him suspiciously as he follows you to your car. It was Eddie’s final attempt to pass senior year.

“Well, yeah, but this is my year, baby,” Eddie assures, “I’m getting that diploma.”

“Not if you skip class, you aren’t,” you raise your eyebrows.

“Come on,” Eddie whines, “I just wanna spend the day with you.”

“It’ll be boring,” you warn him, “art history isn’t nearly as riveting as it sounds.”

“You’re the only work of art I need to keep entertained,” Eddie says with a smile.

“Yeah, I don’t think I can spend a day with you like this,” you joke, opening the driver’s side door and getting in. You close the door and roll down the window to say goodbye to Eddie.

“Please,” Eddie begs, putting his hand on the edge of the opened car window.

“Eds,” you coo, “go to school. You’re gonna be late.”

“I told you, babe, I can afford to miss a day.”

“And I told you,” you say with a sympathetic smile, “you need to go to your classes. It’s an important habit to make—colleges won’t be on top of it as much so you really have to take your learning into your own hands.”

“Yeah, okay,” Edie hangs his head sadly, “can we at least get dinner tonight?”

“Of course,” you place your hand over his, giving him a gentle squeeze before starting the car, “I’ll be done by three, okay?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods.

“Do you have Hellfire tonight?”

“Yeah, but I’m gonna let Garth lead,” Eddie says.

“What? But you never miss,” you frown, “are you sure?”

“I want to spend more time with you,” Eddie explains.

“We have all the time in the world, Eds,” you chuckle, “just go to the meeting. I’m sure Dustin would much rather have you as Dungeon Leader or whatever.”

“Dungeon Master,” Eddie corrects.

“That’s what I said,”

“Okay, sure,” Eddie smiles.

“I gotta get going or I’ll be late,” you sigh. “See you tonight—” Your parting is cut off by Eddie’s lips pressing against yours through the car window. He bends down low, placing his hand on your jaw as he wiggles his tongue past your lips. You pull away with a smile, “that’s one way to say goodbye.”

“Mhm,” Eddie hums, his head pressed against your forehead.

“But really, Eds, I gotta go.”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods sadly. “See ya.”

You drive off, thinking about the sad look on Eddie’s face you left him with. You can’t possibly understand why Eddie would be so solemn all of the sudden. Of course, you felt bad for not letting him go to class with you, but his education was important. He’d been going on and on all year, even from before the two of you started dating, about how this was his year. Last year’s students all had to repeat the year due to some unforeseen circumstances, and with last year being Eddie’s closest year to getting his diploma, he was determined to get it this year. He was so close he could practically feel the paper in his hands.

You would have loved to spend the day with Eddie, but you wanted him to stay focused on school as much as he could right now. But that was strange for him, Eddie used to skip out on class all the time. It kind of made sense actually that after not missing a day yet this year, he’d be feeling a little burnout. It was strange, however, how adamant he was about missing Hellfire. He never missed Hellfire. Even when he had food poisoning from eating expired Spaghetti-Os, he still managed to pull himself together by three. He kept a bin by his chair the whole time.

You spend the whole lecture thinking about Eddie’s strange behavior. The only thing to pull you from your thoughts is a hand tapping your shoulder.

“Hey, (Y/N),” the girl behind you whispers.

Her name is Chloe. You remember her from high school, as well as the fact that you’d been in the same lecture all year and you even had some projects together. Her dad was the assistant principal of Hawkins.

“Hey, what’s up?” you whisper back with a smile.

“I just wanted to see if you’d congratulate Eddie for me,” she says, “I mean, a scholarship, that’s a huge deal. My whole family is super proud of him.”

“A scholarship?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Chloe nods, “he didn’t tell you about it?”

“Must’ve slipped his mind,” you shrug off, “but of course, I’ll let him know. Thanks!”

Eddie hadn’t said anything about a scholarship. You were nearing Spring break already and he hadn’t mentioned anything about his plans for after high school. Honestly, you assumed he would just go straight to work like Steve did, or maybe even just go to the community college like you.

Eddie was a smart guy though, he just lacked the motivation. Hence why it took him multiple times to get through his senior year. It was also the reason why he was sat in his English class, staring at the clock until it was over.

“Mr. Munson,” his teacher calls from the front of the room, “just because you got into college doesn’t mean you can start goofing off again. Now, can you explain to me Hemingway’s unique style of writing?”

Eddie twiddles with his pencil, all eyes on him. Nobody expects him to know the answer, and if it were any other year, he’d just shrug and say he doesn’t know. But this year was his year.

“Hemingway writes in short, straight to the point, sentences. He doesn’t have a lot of dialogue or descriptions in his writing, and most of his works are boring because of this.”

The class snickers at his final comment and even the teacher lets a small smile slip. “Correct,” she says, turning back around to the board, “but next time, please keep your opinions to yourself, no matter how true they might be.”

Eddie nods and turns his attention back to the clock, waiting for the final bell to ring so he can race out of class to see you.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“So…” you look up from your plate after poking around at your pasta with your fork, “anything new going on with you?” Your subtlety could use some work.

Eddie shrugs. “I got a B on my science project. Same one from last year, but I got a better grade this time.”

“That’s great,” you smile at him. Of course, you were proud of him no matter what, but that wasn’t quite what you were trying to get at. “Is there anything else? Like maybe… anything that has to do with college?”

Eddie stops cutting up his chicken. All his movements falter for a moment before he shakes his head. “Nope.”

You drop your fork on your plate with a sigh. “Eddie.” He looks up at you, seeing the warm smile on your face. “I know about the scholarship.”

“You do? How? I didn’t say anything to anyone—”

“Chloe Barker, the assistant principal's daughter, is in my art history class,” you explain. “Why wouldn’t you tell me? I’m so so proud of you, Eds.”

“I—I just didn’t want you to be upset,” Eddie lets a breath, “because I’m not accepting it.”

“What? Why? This is a great opportunity for you—”

“The scholarship is for the University of Washington,” Eddie says, “I—I can’t just leave you.”

You’re taken aback by the news, but overall, you know that you need to be supportive. Eddie could finally get out of this town and start anew. He could finally go somewhere else and start making new friends. He could finally live in a place where he’d e accepted. It would be unfair of you to make this about you. You’d only been dating for a few months—way less than a year. You couldn’t get hurt over this.

“T-That’s great,” you muster up a bright smile, “really, Eddie. You did it.” You reach for his hand and give it a squeeze. “I’m so proud of you, Eds, and I-I think you should go.”

“But…I’d have to leave.”

“That’s okay,” you assure him, “I mean, this is your education. It’s your future. You have to do what’s best for you.”

“Even if it means we aren’t together?” Eddie frowns.

“We can try long distance,” you offer, though deep down you know it’s a losing battle, “I could come there for the summers and you could come back here for Christmas, o-or we could just call. We’ll call all the time.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” Eddie shakes his head, “I really really don’t.”

“I know,” you nod, “I don’t want you to leave either, but you need to do this. Don’t let me keep you here, Eddie. It’s not worth it.”

“You’re worth it.”

“Eddie,” you pull your hand away from him, “you need to go.”

“But—”

“I love you so much,” you assure him, “I love you because you’re kind and funny and you’re such a good person, Eds. But I also love you because you’re so smart—way more than you ever get credit for. You need to do this for yourself.”

The tears in Eddie’s eyes shine under the soft lights in Enzo’s. He sniffles, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “It’s four years, (Y/N). What if we can’t do long distance for four years?”

“Then you’ll find someone else,” you say sadly, “and she’ll be just as good for you as I am.”

It took convincing, not just from you but from all his friends. It took months of convincing even. Eddie didn’t fully commit until June. That summer was the best of your life though. Maybe it was because you knew your time was limited, so you ended up just appreciating every single moment that much more.

The day you said goodbye to Eddie at the airport was one of the hardest days of your life.

“Do you have everything?” you ask, walking hand in hand with him to the security station, where you wouldn’t be allowed to pass.

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, “I shipped all my clothes there last week, I got my guitar, my albums, my deodorant—I didn’t bring any soap, d’you think they’ll have soap there?”

“Im sure they’ll have soap there,” you chuckle as you approach security. You stop and give Eddie’s hand a squeeze, “so… this is as far as I can go.”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, looking down at your intertwined fingers. The melancholy look on his face was not missed by you. He wore it ever since he said goodbye to everyone at Steve’s house. His last going-away party was bittersweet, to say the least.

“Hey,” you brought a hand to his chin, urging him to look at you, “you’ll be okay.”

“I know, I’m just gonna miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” you smiled sadly, “so much, but this is good for you.”

“I hate change.”

“This is good change,” you promised him, “you’ll love it.”

“Not loving it so much right now,” Eddie chuckled sadly, tears glistening in his eye.

“Yeah, me neither.” You admitted, wiping the stray tears from his cheeks.

“Boarding for flight 271 to Seattle, Washington will begin in ten minutes.”

“That’s you,” you say, playing with the strings on Eddie’s hoodie. He nods but makes no effort to remove himself from you. “You’ll call me when you land?”

“Mhm,” he hums, knowing that if he tried to talk it’d only come out in a broken sob.

“Okay,” you nod, tears making their way to your eyes now as well. “Give me a kiss before you go.”

Eddie doesn’t hesitate, pulling you in and smashing his mouth against yours. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was trying to consume you—in a way, he was. In fact, he had. He had consumed you, mind, body, and soul. He took your broken heart and mended it himself. He stitched up each piece every so carefully, taking care so as to not hurt you further. He was everything you could have ever asked for in a person. And for a time, he was yours.

“Eddie,” you pulled away, tears sticky on your cheeks, “you have to go.”

He nods, walking away, keeping your hand in his. Only when you are an arm's length away and he can no longer hold you, does he let go. He doesn’t even look back.

You walk back to your car with your head hung low. You could still feel the ghost of Eddie’s lips on your own.

“Hey,” a voice pulls you out of your stupor. You look up to see Steve, leaning against your car.

“What’re you doing here?” you ask, wiping the tears from your eyes.

“Eddie asked me to make sure you got home okay.”

“He did?”

Steve opens the car door for you. “Yeah, he figured you be too sad to drive.”

You chuckle, hopping into the passenger seat. “Yeah, I am. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Steve says, shutting the door before getting into the driver's side.

The car ride is silent, save for Steve tapping on the steering wheel at every red light. You look out the window and watch the scenery whizz by on the freeway until you see the familiar Hawkins exit sign.

“Want to grab a burger?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, that’d be really great actually.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

A/N: that’s it for this mini series/three-shot! the ending is kind of open for interpretation... maybe reader ends up back in steve’s arms while eddie is away, or maybe she ends up moving to washington to be with him... that’s completely up to you! i had so much fun writing this little story and i definitely will be dipping my feet into the more stranger things fics! also... for those in the comments asking to join the taglist... please click the link provided in my taglist reblog! it has certain specifications you need to make to make sure you get on the correct list!

#steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson angst #steve harrington angst #stranger things fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you

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twola · 1 year

Text

Seven Deadly Sins - VI

PAIRING: low to mid honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Because if one thing is true, it is that Arthur Morgan is a sinner. Pure, organic, non-GMO smut. A continuing series.

Warnings: Smut, Violence, Low to Medium Honor Arthur (and all that entails)

Sloth: disinclination to action or labor.

➵ AO3 Link

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A rooster crows distantly, its call reverberating through the valley as the sun rises in pink-purple hues.

Strawberry is a sleepy town, quiet in its solitude and tranquility in the mountains. The Welcome Center looms large in the center of town, providing rooms to weary travelers and vacationers alike.

Or recovering outlaws.

In a room upstairs, dirty boots are scattered on the wooden floorboards, mud caked on their soles near the door.

A shotgun lies propped against the fireplace, which has long gone cold from the night.

A gun belt is slung over a nightstand, gleaming revolvers tucked into the leather holsters.

Various items of clothing are scattered throughout the room, a bloodstained shirt hung over the mirror, a pair of pants in a pile on the floor. A blouse, also covered in blood, strewn haphazardly over a chair.

A chemise on the floor.

Arthur Morgan awakens with the morning light, blinking as his eyes get used to the room. For the first time in a very long time, he wakes up rested in a large bed.

He wipes down his face with his free hand, working his jaw slightly as he stares at the ceiling, mind at work already on the job he had been putting off.

A soft sound draws him back. The warmth of skin on skin lulls him into a sense of security. You’re tucked into his embrace, possessive in your sleep, not allowing him to get up.

Arthur draws lazy circles on your lower back, barely touching your skin, as you continue to doze against him. Curled against his body, your head is pillowed on his chest, your hand resting gently on his ribcage.

He could stay here forever. You’re both stripped of everything, skin salty with dried sweat from overnight. Laying tangled up in each other in a bed, nude and satiated, a luxury that you hadn’t been able to have yet.

The sheet is balled up by his feet, but he’s warm enough in the room with you pressed against him, his arm wrapped around your frame.

Arthur peers down at your temple, shrouded by your loose hair, and very softly moves his hand up to tuck your hair behind your ears, inspecting the wound he cleaned last night. The skin is red and irritated, but dry. His hand moves down again to rest on the curve of your hip, as he closes his eyes to sleep again.

Arthur tosses an extra coin at the bewildered attendant as the young man looks the two of you up and down.

You could hardly blame his shock, this poor boy, the overnight attendant in the sleepy Welcome Center.

You’re both covered in blood.

His shirt, normally blue and usually dirty, is stained nearly black up the sleeves as if he were skinning a wolf. Dried blood cakes the side of your face, dripping down from the wound on your temple. Arthur snatches the key from the desk and mutters a quick thanks before placing his hand on your lower back and urging you up the stairs. His brown leather jacket is pulled over your shoulders, and you grasp it tighter to yourself as you slowly make your way up the stairs.

He unlocks the door and pushes into the room, letting you step in before closing it behind him. You let the jacket fall from your shoulders and toss it over a side table, stepping toward the large mirror to inspect the damage to your person.

“Lemme see your head.”

You scowl into the reflection, making eye contact with Arthur behind you as he pulls his hat from his head, tossing it over his jacket on the table.

“ ‘M fine.” Your eyes return to the reflection, your fingers moving toward the gash at your hairline. You wince as you touch it gingerly.

“Come here, woman.” Arthur’s voice is low, and you can tell, he’s not politely asking.

“Ain’t yours to order around, Arthur.” You snidely retort, still aggravated from earlier in the night.

His eyebrows furrow, nostrils flaring as he turns around, walking with heavy steps toward a side table where a pitcher and bowl of water rest. He dips one of the white cloths folded on the table into the water and wrings it out gently before stepping back toward you.

"Knock it off.” You push his hand away as he reaches toward your head, and he returns your scowl.

“Stop fussin’. Let me clean y’ up.” Arthur pushes his hand back toward your head, and again, you bat it away.

“Don’t-”

“Look, if y’ want to fight me, fine, but I’m warnin’ you, pretty sure I can hold you down just fine.” Arthur overrules you, grabbing your hand with his free one, holding it down as he presses the damp cloth to your cheek.

You simmer, chastened, and allow him to gently wipe the crusted blood from the side of your face.

“No, you ain’t mine to order around. Knowing you, you’ll never be anyone’s to order around.”

His other hand lets your wrist go and moves up, up to gently tug at your chin, forcing you to look at him, “But I do want y’ to be mine.”

Your eyes dart downward as he presses the cloth to your cheek again. “My cunt’s already yours.” You mumble.

His finger nudges under your chin, making you catch his eyes again.

“That ain’t what I want.”

You raise your eyebrow, he gently pulls your hair back to look at the cut that produced all of the blood. Pressing the damp cloth to it, he pulls it back and inspects it, pleased when it does not come back bloodstained.

“Well,” he coughs lightly, clearing his throat, “That ain’t all I want.”

“Then what do you want?” You ask, voice low enough that it’s nearly a whisper.

He presses his lips, rough and chapped, against your forehead.

“Wanna sit ‘round the fire with you on my knee.”

His lips move to your brow bone. One of his hands grasps your skirt at your waist and the fabric bunches between his fingers.

“Wanna be able to kiss you whenever the hell I want.”

He leans down and presses his lips to yours, hard, and needy, and his beard scratches against the skin of your chin. Arthur’s hands move lower, lower, and clenches on your rear roughly. You yelp as your hands fly to his chest to steady yourself.

“Wanna be able to touch you whenever the hell I want.”

His hands move up your back, and he’s unlacing the ties of your skirt at your waist. The heavy cotton falls to the floor. You can’t do anything but stare into the deep blue of his eyes, ensnared by the rough timbre of his voice.

“Don’t want to hide you anymore.”

You let him unbutton your blouse, and shrug your shoulders to help him peel it down your arms, and it too joins your skirt piled on the floor. Callused fingers dust up your arms to the straps of your chemise, all that hides you from him.

“Want you in my bed every night.”

Your chemise flutters to the floor. You are bare in the dim light of the room. Your breath hitches as he moves his lips to yours, and he nips at your bottom one.

“ ‘Nd I wanna wake up with you naked in my arms every mornin’.”

You moan, unabashedly, and throw your arms around his neck, pressing your mouth to his and your tongue presses against the seam of his lips.

“Arthur,” you gasp into his mouth as his arms wrap around your back, “Take me to bed.”

He grunts in approval, his large hands move over your hips and rear to the backs of your thighs, and he heaves you up. Your legs immediately wrap around his waist as you whine into the warm skin of his neck. It feels so unlike your first impassioned rendezvous, outside of Clemens Point weeks and weeks ago.

He carries you, sure-footed and strong, to the bed, and gently lies you down on the soft mattress, your arms and legs unwind from him and he presses his mouth to yours again as he leans over you.

Arthur’s hands move back to his body, and he’s furiously pushing the buttons of his shirt through their eyelets. He pulls his suspenders down and they swing loosely near his hips as he unbuttons his pants. He shucks the clothes from his body and lets them crumple on the floor as he climbs on top of you in the bed.

You open your legs as he slots his hips between them, pressing against you as he places his elbows on either side of your head, bracketing you securely beneath him.

His cock parts your folds, and with a roll of hips, his shaft fits snugly along the length of the seam of your body. He kisses you, tongue dancing in your mouth against your own, and gently thrusts his hips back and forth, his cockhead rubbing against your clit.

You moan into his mouth, your arms slung round his neck, and meet his thrusts with the rolling of your hips. After several moments, his shaft is coated in your slick, and he moans back at you before drawing himself up on his knees.

With one hand, he grasps the base of his cock, stroking it a few times before he looks back at you, spread beneath him, open and wet and waiting to be filled.

“Do you wanna be mine, sweet girl?”

You sit up to lean on your elbows, and he leans over you, one hand back to the bed to keep him upright.

“I’m already yours, Arthur,” you smile before reaching up to kiss him, “Just was hopin’ you’d ask.”

Arthur rolls his hips once more, catching your entrance with the weeping head of his cock, he slowly, gently presses inside.

He keeps his eyes trained on yours, and his mouth falls open with each passing inch of himself that he slides into your warmth. A flighty moan escapes your mouth as he seats himself fully within you, and he has to close his eyes to the feeling.

“God, woman, I always wanna be inside you.” He grits out, lowering himself to his elbows as you wrap your open legs around his hips.

“Good thing ‘m yours then, 'cause you can be inside me whenever you want.” You smile as you catch his jaw with an open-mouthed kiss.

“Shouldn’t say that, how am I gonna get any work done if I’m always in ya?” He rolls his hips slowly, and gently, and you murmur a soft sound of delight.

“Mm- Arthur-” You moan out as he presses slowly back into you, and you can feel the ghost of his smile against your temple.

“Always wanna hear you say my name like that.” He whispers, and when he draws his cock back, he presses forward faster, harder, and you’re beyond the point of continuing the conversation.

Frankly, he is past that point as well, and the room is filled with the cacophony of sex - the slap of skin on skin, the whine of the bed frame as he presses you into the mattress. The high mewls from your throat and the low groans from his.

The careening of the human body toward its ultimate pleasure: La petit mort, the French call it. Or whatever the hell Chatenay said in Saint Denis.

Hands everywhere, hips rolling against each other. Sweet nothings whispered in ears and names gasped in cloying breaths.

It’s different, this time, he knows. You know. It’s not the frantic, hurried dalliances you usually share. It’s a slower, fuller rhythm that he grinds you into the mattress. Your hips rock against his every stroke, and he pulls his cock nearly out of you before pushing all the way back in.

Your orgasm surprises you, cresting the wave as Arthur continues to thrust slowly into you, his rasping voice in your ear as you whine out your pleasure.

He stills, sliding his hips against yours as far as they can go. His breath hitches as you feel his cock twitch, and he floods your cunt with his warm spend. The feeling sends you over the edge as well, and your nails dig lines into his back as your hips seize in pleasure.

You both come down from your highs, entangled in limbs and skin and refusing to break the connection between you. Arthur is draped over you, his elbows and knees keeping the bulk of his weight off of you.

His lips touch your forehead gently as you unwind your legs from crossing over his hips, letting them fall open on either side of him.

One of your hands moves to cup his cheek, and with that crooked smile you find yourself falling in love with, he leans down and opens his lips to yours. For a moment- actually- many moments, you kiss, safe and secure underneath him, in this bed in a low-lit room in the middle of the night.

His cock remains buried within you, and neither one of you is eager to lose that connection.

Sunlight pours in through the linen curtains, the morning light finally causes you to wake. You stretch, arching your back as you awaken, pushing your front against the solid form of Arthur next to you.

“Mmph.” You moan into his skin, waking yourself up little by little.

Arthur presses his lips against the crown of your head as your fingers press against his sternum, “Mornin’ there, sunshine.”

“Mornin’ cowboy.” You lean into him happily.

“Whatcha doin’ there?” Arthur says with a sly drawl as your fingers dust through the wiry hair of his chest.

“Just admiring the scenery.” You reply, as your hand moves down over his belly, down the hard line of his muscles toward where his hips narrow.

Your fingers weave through the coarse curls above his pelvis, pressing against the skin underneath, not moving any further downwards, not touching his straining cock as it hardens, so close, but yet so far away for him.

“Look at you, gettin’ so excited and I’m not even touching your cock.”

He grunts in response, his hips flexing upward as he squeezes his eyes shut tightly. His right hand clenches the sheet of the bed for dear life, his left grasping the globe of your rear hard enough to leave a mark.

“Mm, what do you want, sweetheart?” You purr, enjoying thoroughly the control you have over this situation, “You want my little fingers around all of this?”

“Darlin’- please-” he groans, a look of pure desperation on his face.

You continue to card through his pubic hair, but press your whole body against him, your lips hovering next to his ear.

“Say it again,” you whisper.

“ Mmph-” he grunts, his hips straining upward, “Say what-”

“Call me darlin’.”

He turns his head towards you and presses his lips against yours as he groans. As he pulls back slightly, his eyes flutter open.

“ Darlin’ ,” he breathes, “ My darlin’ girl-”

His words melt into a needy sound as your fingers finally wrap around his cock.

“That’s it, c’mon sweetheart…” you whisper in his ear as you twist your hand slightly as you pump his considerable length. Your hips rock in a little bucking movement against him, and each sound you’re able to wrench from the mountain of this man going straight to your core.

“Lemme… lemme-” he reaches his free hand toward your hip, your aching cunt his obvious destination.

“Nu-uh.” You whisper, stroking him faster, and a grunt tumbles out of his mouth when he can’t finish his sentence.

You lean over him, slotting one of your legs over his thigh, and gently press your lips to his cheek before moving down toward his ear.

“I want you to come for me.” You whisper as you roll your hips against his thigh, and squeeze tighter around his straining cock.

His eyes shut tightly as his hips buck into your touch, “Darl- fuck - I’m comin’, I’m comin’ ”, he grits into your ear and your fingers are covered in thick spend as he does just that.

Arthur is gasping, breathless, as you slowly stroke his cock through the end of his orgasm. It takes him a moment to open his eyes again, but he slowly does, turning his head toward you as his breathing slows.

“Jesus, sweet thing. You’re gonna kill me one of these days.”

You smile, tucking your hair behind your ear as you sit up, taking in his sated form, reclined on the bed. He looks happy. He looks calm. The workhorse of this gang, always moving, always working, always stealing and robbing and shooting. For once, he looks like the weight of the world was not on his shoulders. The crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes seem not to look as severe.

He runs his hands through his hair, pushing the ends of it from his forehead. His eyes trail from your hand, covered in his milky spend, back down to his cock, softening and also covered in his spend. He frowns and scrunches his nose as you laugh, moving off the bed and over toward the pitcher of water. You pour water into the bowl, and take a fresh towel, wetting it before wiping your hand clean. Dipping the cloth back into the bowl and wringing it out, you toss it at Arthur, who catches it to start cleaning himself.

“We should probably get up and back to camp.” You start to gather your unbound hair over your shoulder, trying to tame it from the muss of sex and sleep.

“Paid for the room another day.”

“Oh really? That’s pretty convenient..”

“You ain’t gettin’ out this bed, woman. Get back o’er here.”

Hours pass. Maybe. Time is of no meaning locked away in this room, where Arthur keeps to his word, you do not get out of bed. The morning bleeds into the afternoon and into the golden-hued beckoning of the evening.

Time is punctuated by hours of sleep and wakefulness.

And sex, of course.

“Mm- keep goin’.”

You whine softly into the crown of his head, your fingers digging into his back as he grunts into your skin, closing his lips over one of your hardened nipples, sucking on it gently. His hand kneads your other breast slowly, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

You feel him harden against your thigh, his torso splayed over you as he suckles at your breasts, his mouth moving around your pale skin and leaving red-purple marks upon your chest.

His fingers splay over your belly as his hand moves lower, lower, and you recognize the game he’s playing as his hand stops over your mound, fingers running through the thatch of dark hair there.

“Maybe a little payback, you little minx.” He chuckles as his fingers weave through your pubic hair, not moving any closer to where you throb.

All you can do is whine as he kisses up your chest and your neck.

“Oh, my girl, I ain’t a cruel man. Not nearly as cruel as you.”

He slides his pointer finger between your folds, brushing up against the little nub of your pleasure before pressing into your weeping cunt, and your hips buck up to chase the feeling further.

“A-Arthur, please- please-” your begging is cut off as he starts to thrust that finger back and forth, leaving you mewling into the skin of his shoulder.

“I’ll give ya everythin’ you want, darlin’.” He grunts into your ear as you can feel him press his hardening cock against your thigh. His middle finger slips inside your cunt as his thumb presses on your clit, and your head falls back against the pillow as you keen.

Arthur presses his cock against the side of your hip, “ Fuck , ‘nd everything I want too.”

“H-how do you want me?” You sigh breathily, as he removes his glistening fingers from your body.

He sucks your slick off of his fingers before returning to lean over you. You moan as you watch him.

“On yer hands and knees, beautiful.”

You scramble up to your knees in front of him, and with a sly, seductive smile, you turn around and shimmy your hips as you lean down on your hands, your rear on display for his greedy eyes.

“That’s it.”

His palms fan out on your lower back as he pulls you closer gently. You press up on the bed, steadying your hands and knees. You feel one of Arthur’s hands leave your back as the other one rounds your hip.

He grunts softly as he pumps his cock several times before he aligns his hips with yours and presses the head of his cock into your folds. You mewl piteously as he slides in, slowly, until his pelvis is pressed against your rear.

He starts to move, his hands guiding your hips back to meet his thrusts. Arthur finds a punishing rhythm and you bury your face in the pillow as he fucks you into a moaning mess.

One of his large arms settles next to your shoulder, and he’s leaning over your back, covering you with himself, his head turned in toward yours as he nips at your ear. The other hand swings beneath both of your hips to press against that spot of your pleasure while his cock is pressed into you as far as he can go.

He gently pinches your nub between his fingers and your arms fail you, you sink into the pillow with your hips raised, legs spread on either side of him. You groan loudly into the cotton.

“Oh, my girl-”

You can do nothing but whine in response as he starts to rub at your clit as he gently presses his hips back and forth into you, remaining spread out on top of you.

Oh god, it’s so much. You’re going to die, you’re going to have a heart attack, every muscle in your body is going to wring inside out. You’re gasping like a fish out of water, whining high-pitched, needy sounds against the cotton of the pillowcase.

“Oh god-” you’re able to gasp out, begging for mercy because your body is clenching and you’re definitely coming and he’s not stopping. You're stretched taut around his length, buried deep in your core, as he rubs roughly at your clit, “Stop, stop, I’m gonna-”

“Gimme more, c’mon-” he rumbles, his breath hot in your ear, “I know you got more-”

You cry out, loudly , and it feels like your body is bursting at the seams. A gushing wetness covers his cock within you and he grunts happily as it seeps out, covering his balls and thighs and your rear in your slick.

“Tha’s it, oh darlin’-”

You’re crying, the overstimulation is too much . Arthur blessedly pulls his hand away from your clit, pushing himself up and grasping your hips again. He starts thrusting into you, his cock steel-hard.

You whine, “G-give it to me-”

A grunt of satisfaction spills from his throat, as he grips your hips hard, a wild pace that is obviously close to a stuttering end.

“Yer so good- Christ , god- you’re so good, my darlin’, my girl-”, his thrusts punctuate the words spilling from his mouth, “Gonna give you everythin’, gonna give you all of m-me.”

Everything is so wet, so slick and his glides so smooth as he pounds into you. After your blinding orgasm, your body feels boneless, and you’re helpless to do anything but let him use you for his own satisfaction. The outlaw groans his stuttering end with a final thrust into your hips, his fingers digging into your skin.

You collapse onto the bed, laying on your stomach as he gently extricates himself from your hips, leaning back on his knees as he catches his breath.

You vaguely feel the bed creak under shifting weight and hear his footsteps pad toward the side table with the pitcher and bowl of water. You murmur softly as you feel the cool brush of linen on your back. He gently wipes the washcloth over your thighs, cleaning it of your slick as he leans over and kisses your shoulder blade. Arthur steps back, moving back toward the side table, and cleaning himself with the washcloth.

You stretch your legs out in the bed a bit while you watch him, unabashed in his nakedness, as he squeezes out the cloth into the bowl before draping it over the side to dry out.

You smile to yourself as your gaze scans his skin, his back pale where the collar of his shirt begins. Red-pink lines sweep across his freckled skin, and a wave of joyful possessiveness flows through you as you recognize those lines coming from your blunt nails in the throes of passion.

Arthur turns back toward you, and the crooked smile he gives makes your heart flutter.

“Are we heading back?” You ask, arching your back slightly as you continue to stretch your body out. Laying on your belly, you prop your chin up on your forearms.

“Tomorrow,” Arthur replies as he gets back into the bed, pulling you into his embrace again.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow sounds good.

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