#(gratuitous picture of baby)

[bulkyphrase]

[subbmissivesuccubus]

Bully- Part 1

Summary: Your bully's, Gojo and Geto, find out an embarrassing secret of yours and will never let you live it down. But maybe, you don't want them to.

Disclaimer: 18+ fic. Gojo X Fem reader X Geto. Humiliation kink. Free use kink. Gojo and Geto being mean. Bully Geto and Gojo. Dub-con warning. It is subtly implied that reader wants and enjoys what's happening to her, but the boys don't care to ask for consent.

a/n: Sorry it took so long wah but here's part one to the series. I plan to write many more cause damn it is so fun haha. I promise, the next part will have all the gratuitous smut and ruthless fucking this premise deserves. Consider this an appetizer <3

Taglist: @bisexuawolfsalt @candycandy00 @nekonanamii @sirimiripetrichor @collectionofdolls @dreamsxmerci

You sighed as you walked towards your classroom, dragging your feet, knowing full well what was waiting for you. It was the end of the day and it was your turn to clean up the classroom and just your luck- you were paired up with the two people you couldn't stand.

Gojo and Geto. The two 'strongest' sorcerers of your school. Their reputation preceded them. One of them was the prodigal son of a famous family with a deadly technique while the other had an incredibly useful and powerful skill as well. Everyone disliked them to some extent, but nobody could deny that the Jujutsu world would be worse without them.

Which is why it always confused you as to why these two powerful men seemed to love bullying you.

They were never malicious but damn if they weren't annoying. They loved to tease and prank you, joking about how weak you were and how you couldn't do anything by yourself. Forget the fact that you were actually quite strong and capable- but compared to them- everyone was weak.

But they seemed to enjoy bullying you especially even if there were classmates who were of lower grade than you. Stealing your drink right before you were going to take it from the vending machine, taking unflattering pictures of you and distributing it, embarrassing you in front of strangers by treating you like a dumb baby in front of them, making loud sex noises if you were on the phone with someone, tossing away your books and stealing your money-

Gojo spanking your ass casually a few times, Geto licking off some chocolate that was smeared next to your lips like it was a normal thing to do and even that one time when they cornered you in the hallway and convinced you to let them grope your boobs:

"If you let us squeeze your tits, we'll leave you alone for a week~" Gojo had said, wangling his fingers comically as they both stared at your chest like perverts. The offer was too good to give up which led to them squeezing your clothed tits for ten second each before they left, laughing at how easy it was to use you. And of course, they continued to bother you anyway.

You could have made a complaint to the higher ups about their behavior, something your friends have told you to do but you refused. You didn't want to be the wuss who was running to the elders over something so childish when everyone has an important job to do. Dealing with some bullying was easy compared to fighting to the death with some curses.

Besides, if you reported on them...

You steeled yourself before opening to the door to the classroom, met with the sight you expected: Gojo and Geto, lounging around, not doing any work as they waited for you to do it for them because, in their words: 'the weaklings need to put in more effort'.

But what you were not expecting to see was your phone in Gojo's hand using earplugs that he had connected to the device. You knew you left your phone in the locker assigned to you in the hallways which meant these two managed to pick the lock and take it. But the anger over that was dwarfed by your sudden realization:

The way they were looking at you as you closed the door, giving you a shocked look but you could tell there was an underlying hint of pure glee.

Uh oh.

"Give me back my-"

You yelped as Geto suddenly grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him, barely giving you a second to collect yourself before he wrapped his arms around your neck, catching you in a choke-hold. Before you could even react, he pulled your back against him and manhandled you as he sat on a classroom bench and forced you to sit between his legs, wrapping said legs around you. You were completely caught, your nails doing nothing even as you dug it into his arms.

"Holy fuck!" Gojo explained, eyes wide and a huge grin on his face as he continued to listen to the audio on your phone, looking over at you and Geto opposite of the table he was sitting on, "You're a perverted freak, aren't you?"

"Give it back!" you snapped, grunting in annoyance as you tried to break out of Geto's hold but the man simply laughed as he held you tighter, his legs not budging.

"This is some nasty stuff!" Gojo continued, "Who knew a weakling like you would be such a masochistic slut~" he removed the earbuds from the socket and increased the volume as he confirmed what you had feared:

"Yeah? you like that don't you? Little slut~" a man's voice echoed throughout the room from your phone speakers, "Everybody looking at you as I fuck this sloppy little pussy~ Oh this cunt is dripping for me- did you like being spanked in front of them so much?"

It was an erotic audio you had saved on your phone, one of many that you enjoyed in private. You had even saved it under non-suspicious names which meant that the boys were digging through your files to find something- and they did.

"This isn't even the only one we heard, you know." Gojo explained as he dangled the phone in front of you mockingly, "What was it again? A girl getting humiliated by her teacher in front of her classmates-"

"A girl getting groped by her boyfriend on a crowded train." Geto recollected, his lips so close to your ear you could feel his hot breath dance against your skin.

"Being used as a free-use toy by a group of guys~" Gojo said, a giant shit eating grin on his face, "Seems like this one has a humiliation kink~"

"I'm not surprised." Geto said, leaning into your ear and blowing into it, making you gasp and jump, "No wonder she never reported us to the principle for all the times we preyed on her. She was probably enjoying it."

"Oh!" Gojo said like he just realized it, "Was that why? Was your pussy growing wet every time we bullied you, little slut?"

"Fuck you." you spat out, both of the men laughing in response.

"Yeah, I bet you wanted us to fuck you." Geto growled into your ear, your shiver not going unnoticed by him, "You're fucking loving this~"

"Why don't we check?" Gojo suggested, cutting off anything you might have said, his hands inching towards your belt, a dangerous gleam in his eyes, "Let's see for ourselves if we made your pussy wet~"

"Gojo-"

"That's a great plan!" Geto interrupted, laughing as he tightened his hold your your neck, making you gasp, "Take those pants off. So baggy and loose- what a waste of a nice ass."

"I agree." Gojo said, finger now running over the metal of your belt, "it hides so much. With what I felt everytime I've spanked you- your pants do you no favors."

"Don't you- fucking dare!" You choked out, face turning slightly red from the lack of air and from Gojo slowly starting to fiddle with your belt.

"Oh, what are you gonna do about it, little slut?" Gojo teased, licking his lips as his long, lithe fingers started to tug at the leather of your belt, "Look at your fucking face- that look in your eyes? You're loving this."

"No- I'm not- fuck-" you sputtered out, failing to convey your frustrations. You couldn't stand these two assholes. Constantly picking on you and thinking they were so high and mighty- treating you like a bug on their path. So smug and narcissistic and not caring about anyone but themselves-

But as much as you'd hate to admit it, you couldn't deny that your body was throbbing. Everytime they bullied you, you felt that heat. Your heart-rate quickened and your pussy would grow wet, leaving you a confused mess every-time you got bullied. When it first happened, you didn't understand what was happening. Through some internet searching, you found those audios and realized you weren't the only one out there.

A masochist with a humiliation kink.

And without them knowing, the two guys you hate were fulfilling those fantasies for you.

Well now, they were more than aware.

"Come on, little bitch~" Geto cooed into your ear, his silky voice making you shudder, "Why settle with these audios when you can experience the real thing?"

"I...I..." you panted, heat rushing to your face and your heart pounding in your chest. You could feel your pussy dampen and had no doubt that if Gojo actually took your pants off, they'd see you be wet and needy.

"Too slow~" Gojo suddenly said, unbuckling your belt in a matter of seconds before ripping it off of you just as fast, throwing it aside. You yelped as you instinctively struggled, Geto laughing behind you as he tightened his hold on you even more, rendering you helpless. Gojo laughed as well, his bright blue eyes peeking from behind his glasses as you could see the gleam of excitement in them.

"You excited, little bitch?" Gojo cooed, licking his lips as his hands started trailing up your leg, running over the fabric of your pants as he inched up higher and higher. Everywhere he touched felt like it was on fire, a rush of heat coursing through you.

"He asked you a question." Geto said, clicking his tongue as you refused to say anything, "Weren't you taught any manners?"

"Fucking- i'll kill you-" you gasped out, face growing redder as you heard Geto's growl of annoyance, feeling the vibration of his chest against your back. "Don't worry about it, Suguru." Gojo said, smirking as he started undoing the buttons of your pants, "We can punish her later for her disrespect. For now, I just want to get at this pussy~"

With a big grin, Gojo ripped your pants off of you in one fell swoop, making you squeal as he tossed it away. You shivered as your bare legs were exposed to the evening air as well as their lecherous stares. You could see Gojo's eyes trail up your legs before zoning in on your clothed pussy, the man letting out a snort as he took in your panties.

"Pink with a bow on? Really?" he joked, "how plain and not sexy."

"I think they're cute." Geto chimed in, also shamelessly staring down at your clothed cunt, "But it doesn't matter. It's not going to be on her for long, anyway."

"True." Gojo said with a nod as he hooked his finger into the waistband of your panties and pulled it out before letting go, allowing the elastic to slap back against you, "but next time, wear something sexier."

"I hate you- so much!" you snarled, face bright red, biting your lower lip as the white haired man looped his fingers back into the waistband of your panties, this time, very obviously wanting to get it off of you. You gasped, unable to stop your shivers as Gojo leaned forward and placed a kiss on your tummy, his tongue peeking out to lick at your skin as he slowly starting pulling your panties down. He laughed as you tried to squiggle out but your movements only made the slide of your panties all the more easier for him.

"Look at that~" Gojo gasped as your cunt got exposed, practically drooling as he stared like a pervert, a twinkle behind his blue eyes, "You might be a weakling but atleast you have a pretty pussy."

"Atleast she's good for something~" Geto teased, shuffling behind you and in that moment, you felt it. Something long, hard and thick pressed up against your back and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what that was. You gulped as you felt the imprint of Geto's cock against you, unable to help yourself as your eyes darted towards the front of Gojo's pants and sure enough: His erection was straining against it.

They were too focused on your cunt to notice where you were looking and you were too focused on their dicks to notice that your panties were now completely off and that Gojo had tossed the fabric aside. Geto immediately hooked his legs over your own before forcefully spreading them apart, leaving you wide and exposed to their perverted gazes. Gojo let out a whistle as he dragged a chair over before sitting on it, his face now right across your bare cunt.

"Fuck- fuck you- fuck you!" you gasped out and cursed, feeling lightheaded from the situation. "How does she look?" Geto asked, both of them ignoring you and you could hear the hunger in his voice and the sensation of his cock twitching against you. "Oh, she's perfect~" Gojo responded and you knew they were referring to your pussy as its own person- somehow giving it more praise and respect than they've ever given you, "And oh so wet~"

"I want to see." Geto demanded, not having the same view as Gojo, "Can't let you have all the fun."

"Sure thing, pal." Gojo said, not taking his eyes off of your pussy as he continued to stare, hand reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. "Gojo- don't you dare-" You barked out, understanding what he was going to do- but what you hoped sounded aggressive came out soft and subservient. The man simply snorted in response, ignoring your pleas as he opened up his phone camera and started taking pictures of your pussy. You shut your eyes and squealed everytime you heard the shutter of the camera, trembling body still held tightly in Geto's arms.

"Her hole clenches every-time I take a picture~" Gojo cooed, bringing a hand up to thumb at your pussy lips before spreading them apart even more, making your back arch against Geto, "And look at this little clit! So fucking cute!"

"Just show it to me already!" Geto snarled, impatient. "Alright, alright." Gojo responded with a roll of his eyes, standing up before turning the phone towards the two of you, a shot of your spread pussy on screen. You turned your head away and closed your eyes, ears ringing at how humiliated you felt-

and pussy dripping at how good it was.

"Oh, she does look delicious!" Geto praised, gripping your chin as he forced you to turn your head back towards the phone, making you look at the picture, "You have such a pretty cunt and you hid it from us for so long?"

You whined cutely as you looked at the picture- a closeup shot of your spread cunt with a clear view of your clit and hole, your cunt glistening with slick.

"Seriously!" Gojo barked as he started swiping, showing off the various photos of your pussy that were now in his possession, "If we knew all you wanted was some fucking, we'd have pounded this pussy ages ago! I've always wanted a sex toy."

"Don't you have like a dozen already?"

"Yeah, but I'm sure this bitch's cunt will feel way better than some silicone~"

"I hate you-" you gasped out, any and all fight leaving your bones (not that there was much to begin with) as you leaned your head against Geto's shoulder, "I hate you both- so much-"

"Yeah?" Geto asked, the tone in his voice clearly indicating that he wasn't taking you seriously, "Well, this pussy says otherwise."

He let go of your chin and snaked his hand down quickly to cup your pussy, making you yelp. You didn't know if what you felt was shame or relief that there was finally a hand on your cunt- finally some friction against your dripping womanhood. You tossed your head back, eyebrows furrowed and lip trapped under your teeth as Geto's long fingers started gliding through your pussy lips. The slick sound of him rubbing circles over your hole and collecting your wetness echoed through the room, the sound making your ears burn and your chest feel like it was on fire.

This is was so...so...

so fucking fun...

"She's loving this~" Gojo predicted accurately, eyes darting between your blissful expression and Geto's fingers toying with your body, "Fucking whore- slutty bitch- oh, we are going to have fun with you~"

"Her pussy is growing wetter by the second." Geto noted, cock fully erect and throbbing against you, his other arm slowly letting go of the hold around your neck, confident that you were going to stay right there like a good little girl. You gasped as the head spinning pressure was finally off of you, taking in a few deep breaths but choking on it just as quickly as the man started using his slick covered fingers to run circles over your clit.

"You're dripping all over the table, little bitch~" Gojo teased, taking a couple more pictures before pocketing it, "Fuck- let me feel too- or- actually-"

He sat back on the chair, pulling it closer before gripping your thighs, an eager grin on his face:

"I'm gonna eat~"

"Get used to this, little bitch." Geto growled into your ear, pulling his hand away from your cunt and snickering at your whine of disappointment, "You're our toy now and we are going to do whatever we want to you, understand?"

His hands came upto your chest, lithe fingers starting to undo the buttons of your shirt one by one, revealing a patch of skin before the peeks of your bra. Gojo licked his lips and moved forward, his hot breath fanning against your slick cunt.

"Whatever. We. Want."

[syd-djarin]

private eyes - jack daniels x private investigator!f!reader (18+ MDNI)

this is for @iamasaddie little lady kinky may challenge! congrats on 2.5k! <333 I was paired with Jack / Voyeurism.

banner by: @cafekitsune

tags: voyeurism (reader watches jack), masturbation (m & f), reader is a private investigator, gratuitous descriptions of my fav cowboy stroking his big cock, dub-con a little? reader masturbates in her car but there isn't anyone around so public but private

a/n: this is the first fic I've completed in months. it's short and to the point, idk how i feel about it but it pushed me out of my writing slump! kinda want to do a part 2 for this, what do y'all think 👀

wc: ~1.6k

smut below the cut

 “I want you to catch that son of a bitch in the act.”

The visibly scorned woman, Camilla, sitting across from you asks through tears, ones that she hasn’t allowed to escape down her cheeks; catching them right at the waterline with an overused tissue.

This isn’t the first time a disgruntled, mistreated, or betrayed lover has sought out your services — no shortage of shitty men leaving trails of destruction while they pillage and greedily chase their own interests. She’s no different, seeking closure from the broken-off engagement from her now ex-fiancée, Jack Daniels. The pair had been together for a year, engaged for three months and one day, out of the blue, Jack broke it off. According to her, he didn’t give a concrete reason, something vague about being consumed with his job and that “she deserved a better life than that”. 

Of course you get paid a pretty penny for your work, but you take great pleasure in catching a man in the act. Whether the woman needs proof for divorce settlements, custody battles, or to just have leverage. Whatever the case may be, you find a gratification you don’t get anywhere else; the upheaval of a man trying to have his cake and eat it too. 

The conventionally attractive woman you couldn’t pick out of a line-up slides her homemade dossier across the coffee shop table, tacky & sticky from previous patrons. You flip through the information presented to you, taking mental notes as you go. You can’t deny the heat that rises up your face as you study the picture of your next target. The deep sable eyes resembling a baby calf’s are staring at you through the glossy photo paper. He’s sporting a mustache reminiscent of Burt Reynolds that is calling your name. His smirk is laced with a charming cockiness. 

“He’s quite the looker, I know. Hell of a lay, too,” her words snap you out of your daydream. Her words feel hollow, his looks are the only attributes she’s mentioned during the duration of the consultation. You're not getting paid for moral judgements and you remind yourself you don’t know the whole story. 

“Which is why I want to know who he’s fucking. I know there’s another woman, or maybe even a guy… he’d answer calls in the middle of the night and step into another room and I swear I could hear a woman’s voice on the other end, he’d tell me he’s going on work trips… he works at a whiskey distillery, why the hell does he need to go on all these trips?” She explains, putting air quotes around ‘trips’ with her dainty, well-manicured hands, “he’d stay late at work a few nights a week, and then it turned into a nightly thing… Anyways, you come highly recommended, so I’m trusting you won’t let me down,” she adds. You’re not a fan of the passive aggressive, back-handed compliment she gives you, but ultimately you give her an understanding smile as you both rise from the table. 

“I’ll be in touch,” you tell her, as you exit. As cliche as that line is, you love saying it every time. 

Days of following Jack around have proven to be fruitless. The man has a simple routine: wakes up at six, traipses to the bathroom to begin his morning regimen of a showering, shaving and grooming his beloved mustache, and to conclude,  adorns his body in his tight denim jeans, a crisp button-down, a cowboy hat, and boots to match. You hate to admit it, and someone would have to waterboard this information out of you, but the hat is doing something for him. 

Or you. 

Whatever. 

He shops weekly on Wednesdays (he always puts the cart back inside the store, not the cart returns in the parking lot), takes the same route home everyday, watches Jeopardy while he eats dinner – you caught on quickly that he cooks during Wheel of Fortune, it appears he isn’t a big fan of Pat and Vanna, dishes promptly following Final Jeopardy and bed by nine. In three weeks Jack hasn’t had a single visitor, of any gender, leaves work at five like everyone else, the man isn’t adding up to be a cheating womanizer like Camilla had set him out to be. Not to say that he isn’t, but you’re not finding any evidence to support that claim. You’ve actually found yourself developing a crush on the man. He’s undoubtedly handsome, seemingly laid back despite his strict routine, and there’s something mysterious that lies beneath that you’re itching to unearth.

You’re parked discreetly across the street from his house. It’s a nice quiet street, with only two lamps to illuminate the surrounding neighborhoods, allowing you to stay shrouded in the night. 

You’re about to call it a night, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, when you notice a lamp turned on in the living room. Fortunately, the window faces the street, making your job that much easier for you. You pick up your binoculars to peer in, adjusting the focus for your prying eyes. Thank the universe he left his blinds open. 

He sits on the couch with his back facing you. It looks like he’s reaching for the remote, like maybe he’s having trouble sleeping, but when he settles back into the couch, you notice he’s butt ass naked, in all his glory. Even through the binoculars, you can see how big his cock is. Your mouth salivates at the sight, wanting to feel the stretch of him in all your holes. 

You’re not supposed to see this. Not at all. Usually in your assignments, you don’t get the full X-rated view, just the PG-13 suggestive one, and you are more than grateful for that. 

But not now.

You’re getting your own private peep show from the man you’re getting paid to spy on. You’re feeling like a grade-A pervert right about now but the sight is too glorious to look away. He spits on his hand, and languidly begins stroking his cock. He runs his other hand through his hair, his toned arms flexing with his movements, his chest heaving. 

It shouldn’t turn you on like it does. For one, it’s highly unprofessional. Secondly, he’s unaware he’s got an audience. Morally speaking, it’s definitely not your shining moment. But it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, watching him tease and work himself up. You couldn’t pry your eyes away if you wanted to. 

Jack’s not the only one getting worked up; your clit throbs so hard you feel like it’ll go numb. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears thump-thump thump-thump. You let out a whine when Jack massages his tip, precum dribbling out like a sweet nectar you’d like to feast on. He continues his slow movements, dragging out his pleasure at a delicious and excruciating pace. Somehow, this makes the whole scene that much hotter; the display of restraint and discipline. You wonder if he does that with his lovers. Teasing, teasing, teasing, giving just enough to drive you insane before slowing almost to a stop. 

Possessed by desire, you haphazardly look for any lingering people outside before unbuttoning your pants to shove your hand to where it's needed most. You gasp at the cool air hitting your thinly clothed pussy, you can smell your own arousal seeped into your panties and it spurs you on further. You mirror Jack’s pace - teasing your lips with a featherlight touch, inching closer and closer to your needy clit, stopping just shy of it, to tease yourself more. It’s agonizing in the best way, taking your time like this. Normally, you like efficiency when making yourself come, rarely going the extra mile to turn the pleasure dial up, but this makes you question why you’re ever in a hurry. 

You reach your clit, going in gentle circles to match Jack’s unhurried pace. You wish you could hear the sounds he’s making, all the grunts and whimpers escaping his plush lips. 

He speeds up his strokes, now ravenous for his delayed release and so are you. Overtaken by the need to come, you drop the binoculars, letting them fall to the floorboard. You’re not even watching him anymore, having seen more than enough to commit to your spank bank. With your eyes closed and head pushing into the headrest, your mind is flooded with images of Jack fucking you slow, hard and deep, absolutely destroying your pussy – legs over his shoulders, hitting the spot that makes you scream and cry in euphoria. The image of him spilling into you, filling you up with his come is what tips you over the edge, your body shivers in bliss and you rock against your hand to ride out the high, feeling faint from the intensity. 

After you’ve recovered and fumbled your chance of ever seeing The Pearly Gates, you dare to look back to his house, to find all the lights back off. It’s a bit of a relief, feeling less shameful of what you’ve done now that you can’t see him at the moment. 

You button your pants backup and lean over to retrieve the forgotten binoculars from the floorboard, as your fingers grab them you hear a knock on the window. The sudden rap on the glass makes you flinch, feeling your skeleton attempt to flee from your corporeal body. Your heart drops to your stomach when you see Jack standing outside your car, leaning one forearm against the body so his face is level with yours. Fuck fuck fuck. You’ve been caught. Dizziness and nausea war within you as you roll down the window. You open your mouth to explain the situation, but words never escape your mouth. 

“You like watchin’ people don’t ya?” he asks, his tone is dark, but not angry. No, it’s something else entirely. 

“I–”

“‘S’alright. Caught onto ya pretty quick. A pretty face like yours ain’t hard to miss.”

“I– i’m sorry, um,” you scramble to find words, any words but Jack interjects again. 

“You like watchin’, but darlin’ I want to know, do ya like bein’ watched?”

[tieronecrush]

BNBG (brand new baby girl)

frankie morales x curvy OF/cam girl f!reader

summary: frankie has been needing distractions from a hurdle in his sobriety, so he ventures to his frequented subscription service platform to take his mind off things. he sees the title of your page, intrigued immediately, and dives deep into your content. catching your attention on a livestream with his confident commands, frankie becomes infatuated with you and an avid viewer before he decides to DM you one day...and then ends up with a brand new baby girl.

wc: 11k

rating: E (very)

warnings: daddy kink!! **cover does not depict anything about the reader, simply vibes of softness**, vague descriptions of reader's body (plush, thick, curves, soft, etc. no definite descriptors used otherwise. picture her as you want but she is mid to plus size in my head 🫶), no age specified (only that reader started out of college, no specifications of when she went to school), discussions of addiction & drug use, childless frankie au, sex work, sex livestream, consumption of porn, unestablished relationship, online relationship, pet names (conejita, baby, babygirl, pequeña, bunny, etc.), gratuitous descriptions of frankie's dick, SMUT, male masturbation, female masterbation, sex toys, both frankie & reader have thoughts about the other (unprotected piv, fingering, oral, etc.), major dirty talk, d/s dynamics, some fluff sprinkled in <3, this might be lowkey problematic that frankie uses porn to cope (esp reader's porn) buuuuut hopefully it's hot

a/n: cover design & dividers by me 💋 this is an unhinged daydream of mine, hope y'all enjoy! huge thank you to my besties @kiwisbell and @northernbluess for beta-reading 💓

The time on Frankie’s phone screen turns over to well past midnight. Bedroom pitched black save for the blue light illuminating his face as he scrolls on Instagram, unable to fall asleep from thoughts stirring. He wants to scratch the itch — to pick at the scab that’s been growing in his brain for over a year. Temptation runs hot in his veins. A craving, deep in his gut. A strong inhale or the rub of his fingertip against his gums. It would be fast.  And it would only last less than half an hour — he could manage it one more time, he was sober enough for that, wasn’t he? He indulges himself in other aspects now: drinking, food, lax with his once regimented workout routine.

Frankie can hear the voice of his sponsor, the one he listens to speak at his weekly meetings in the musty church hall. Sure, his sponsor’s got valuable advice for him, having been sober for decades now, but he can’t relate to Frankie. Not really. He doesn’t know the level of temptation he’s consistently faced with, doesn’t know the fucked up shit he’s seen that got him into the substance in the first place.

His sponsor tells him to get into meditation. That it helps him turn his brain off when he has a craving, redirecting the energy into himself and crushing the aching want for it. Or some spiritual bullshit that Frankie doesn’t understand.

And besides, he’s found his own means of meditation.

Exiting the social media app, he opens his browser and types in the website. The light of the phone illuminates his face enough for his saved login to work, bringing him into his plane of piety. Where he escapes at least three times a week, late nights like now and the occasional mid-afternoon or morning on his desperate days off. When the urge is too strong. When he’s formulating a plan of how to get his hands on a tiny baggie, he loses himself — distracts his brain here.

Scrolling through his usual subscriptions, nothing seems to be hitting the spot. One hand grips his phone, thumb gliding along the screen, while the other cups his hard-on through his boxers, palming himself as he searches for something to get off to.

That’s when he sees it — the perfect combination of words that draws him in by the title. Clicking the page, he’s quick to pledge his monthly amount, eager to get access to all that lies beyond the paywall. And what he’s greeted with, pulls a sigh from his lips in the quiet room, his large hand squeezing his cock through the thin fabric elasticated around his waist. 

“Fuck…” he mumbles to himself when he sees that there’s a live stream happening. A cosmic intervention for him, he thinks, a sign that he’s meant to satiate his vices with this.

With you.

The screen changes to a vertical view of you in front of the camera, iPhone seemingly propped up against something while you sit on your mattress. It’s so…delicate and soft. Those are the words he can think of to describe the backdrop that he takes in quickly. Billowing white comforter on your bed, pillows surrounding you. The first thought he has is that it looks like a bed he could easily sleep in — much more inviting than his. There are touches of blush pink, sky blue, and more. A complete rainbow of desaturated colors.

It all compliments you. Centered in the frame, the next sound you make drags his eyes back to your form as you move around. Another squeeze to his cock draws a longer sigh from his lips as he combs across the view of your body, scantily clad in a thong and a bra covered in cherries. The cups of the bra push up the weight of your breasts, spilling over the edge. His tongue runs across his lips to wet them, a new craving ravaging his mouth as he wonders what you would taste like with the skin of your tits dampened by his saliva.

The rest of your body is as softly lined and curving as your chest, waist swooping into your hips as you sit on your knees in front of the camera. Thick thighs spread with the press of your calves into the back of them, the inside of them meeting at the apex and providing cover for what he so badly wants to be shown. There’s a line of your stomach above the waist of your panties, supple skin glistening. Delicious, is all he can think to himself. You look so fucking delicious that it floods his mouth with saliva, enough that he feels the overwhelming need to push his boxers down, freeing his hard cock to rest against his stomach until he’s spitting into his palm and starting a slow, languid pace.

The grain of his palm drags against the length of his cock as he keeps a steady flick of his wrist. Not too fast, but not achingly slow. Enough to start stoking the burning coals in the pit of his stomach as he watches you on the small rectangular screen. Puffs of hot air leave his mouth, his jaw hanging open while he watches you shift to reach for something out of frame, the first look at your ass gifted to him. Rounded swell of curves with the fabric of your thong dipping between them. The slight jiggle of your cheeks makes Frankie moan quietly, taking the briefest moment to picture that same ripple in your skin from him fucking you from behind.

“Shit…” he grumbles under his breath, minorly increasing the pressure of his grip to squeeze his cock as his hand moves, desperate to mimic the feeling of someone — apparently you, despite not knowing anything close to your name.

Skin on skin catches on the base of his dick and he exhales sharply with his teeth bared, opening his palm to spit once again. It’s not enough, but he continues the slide of his wrist as he sets his phone down on the mattress briefly, reaching over to his nightstand, pausing once again to dispense a pump of lotion into the palm of his right hand. Wrapping the moistened hand around his cock again, he starts a faster pace before slowing down to drag out his pleasure longer.

Returning into the frame fully, he sees your face for the first time and coughs as his open-mouthed inhale seizes in his throat. His fingers circle the base of his cock, squeezing hard as he takes in your face. Perfectly primped with a layer of makeup, but he can tell you’ve got the kind of beauty that wouldn’t ever need changing or enhancing — effortless. Velvety skin, as silky as the rest of your body but with an added glow. Bright eyes that are shining with mischief and want, and a smirk that’s as playful; he finds himself shutting his eyes again, for a few lazy strokes as he pictures that face, and your plush, pliable body, on your knees in front of him. Eagerly awaiting his cock to fill your mouth.

Fuck, you’re really doing a number on him tonight. He needed this. His desperation for a high of any kind coats his open mouth with each labored breath.

Focused back on his phone, you show off the treasure that you dug for off-camera. A lilac vibrator, one that fits the length of your hand, with a swell of size rounded off at the tip and tapered in at the end. Leaning closer to your camera, Frankie groans when your tits bounce, spilling out of your bra with a tiny nip slip that he catches immediately. And it only makes him want to see more.

“Mm, c’mon, pretty girl, show me something here. M’fuckin’ dying…Necesito la distracción (I need the distraction),” Frankie speaks toward the screen, feeling pathetic as he barters with you in the one-way system.

As if you heard his pleas, you adjust your position, laying back on the mountain of pillows to prop yourself up and letting one leg fall open. Even in the lowered lighting of the room you’re in, presumably your bedroom, he can make out the wet patch covering your folds. He finds himself wondering if the act of getting off in front of a camera, in front of people watching live, is what gets you wet. Or if you have a fluffer like he’s heard they do in porn.

He’d wanna be your fluffer.

Or maybe he’d want to be the one to fuck you in the porno. At least both of you’d get to finish then.

“Think I need someone who knows better than me to tell me what they wanna see.” Your voice is saccharine, the slight fry in your voice jolts his hips into his hand, mumbles of curses slipping from his lips. “Anybody have any suggestions for me, chat?”

A low hum starts when you press the button of the vibrator in your hand, spreading your knees further to open your core to the view of the camera completely. Your opposite hand to the toy hooks into the crotch of your thong, pulling the small bit of fabric, practically a string with the amount it’s covering.

Frankie’s mouth waters as the speed of his hand picks up, the grip of his fingers not nearly as satisfying as the clench of a pussy, but he’ll make do. He has been for a year; you know what they say, no relationships for the first year sober. That, and he couldn’t find anyone that could take his mind off of coke long enough for him to get it up. So eventually he just let it be.

Now, though, he’s painfully hard. The quick movements of his hand send a shock of pleasure up to his brain, veins contracting with the extra effort to keep the blood supply to his cock. Thumb brushes over his tip, mixing in his precum with the other lubrication, a hiss from behind his teeth shot out from the stimulation. His gaze is glued onto his rectangular screen, huffing out deep breaths while you press the vibrator against your clit. There’s a quiver in your thighs that he notices, as if this is your first touch after teasing yourself, or someone else teasing you. Sensitive already.

Biting your lip, your eyes scan the screen as you read aloud, “FiveFingersAtFreddys said ‘Take your bra off please.’ Well, actually he said ‘Take your tits out’ but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, dude, and say that you actually do have good manners.”

He laughs, and it’s a first for him. Laughing at someone’s jokes as he jerks off, alone.

You comply with the request, taking the vibrator away from your clit to reach around and unclasp your bra. Tossing the material aside, you lean back into the pillows again and the next sight nearly makes Frankie come right then and there until he takes his hand away completely. Laid out, legs open and fingers pulling your panties aside, vibrator pushing into your clit and driving a high-pitched moan from your lips. All while you're bare from the waist up, cushioned torso melting into your heavy tits, pert nipples bringing them to a point. The form of a Greek classics statue, one with fleshy outlines carved impeccably from marble.

“La obra maestra (A masterpiece)…” Frankie whispers to himself, the squelch of his lotioned hand working his hard length bringing him back into his body, a moan slipping from his mouth.

“I think I need someone else to tell me how I should play with myself. M’so wet, jus’ wanna touch myself but I don’t know where to start. All seems like—like it’s going to feel so good,” you stutter out when your hips buck against the vibrator, a whimper echoing from your chest as you turn your attention to the chat again, awaiting intriguing instructions.

Maybe it’s sexual frustration, maybe it’s pathetic. Maybe it’s the intense fucking craving to replace his need for coke high with a need for an orgasm, but for whatever reason chosen, Frankie finds himself clicking on the comment box with his thumb, typing wildly with one finger. He takes a second to read it for spelling errors before he presses send. Too lost in it all now to care.

Your eyes perk up, smirk growing on your face when you read the influx of chat replies. One must have caught your eye because the vibrator is being left to the side again. Fingers hook into the waist of your panties, slowly pulling them off as you read aloud the comment that caught your attention.

“There’s a new name I see here…Maybe we should do what you want, Mr. FlyingFish. Consider it a welcome gift from me to you.” His heart is pounding in his chest, hand gripping tighter and twisting around his dick as he fucks his fist, mumbles of curses spilling out as he listens to you repeat what he desperately typed not a minute prior. It sounds dirtier coming from you, despite his best efforts at politeness, “You said ‘Please show off how many of your little fingers fit into your pretty pussy. Think a pretty girl like you deserves to fuck her fingers…’ Alright, FlyingFish, you’ve got me blushin’ from that request and that is difficult to do, sir. Thank you for calling me a pretty girl. I promise I’m smart, too. I’ll be sure to count ‘em for you.”

One finger slips into your dripping entrance easily, the other hand reaching for the vibrator and replacing it at your clit while your finger starts to fuck shallowly, “One finger…”

Whines of frustration crack over his small speakers before a bigger moan falls from your lips, a second finger slid into you alongside the first, “Oh, fuck…That’s two. Mm, how am I doin’? FlyingFish, d’you think I can get another?”

Frankie’s wrist flicks rapidly now, the direct address to him driving him mad as the sounds of his arm slapping against his stomach and thigh clap in his room and cut into the sounds your pussy is making as you get yourself off. He types as quickly as he can, strings of curses flowing from his mouth as the heat of his desire burns red hot inside of him. He’s so fucking close but he wants to watch you fall apart at the same time. Wants to be the reason you come.

“Oh, shit—you’ve got a mouth, FlyingFish. ‘I’d hope you can take another, otherwise, you couldn’t take my cock.’ Is that a promise, Fish? You saying you got a big dick for me to take?” 

You whimper and he’s edging himself, squeezing hard to stay together when you inadvertently use his call sign. The closest thing you have to his name, and all he can think about is you screaming it while he’s fucking you. He wants to tell you it’s a promise only if you follow through, indulging in the fantasy of actually getting to touch you only for a moment. But instead, his attention is completely drawn to a third finger stretching your cunt in full view of the camera, your wanton moans popping in his speakers and driving his forearm to burn with the strain of muscle as he attempts to fist his cock even harder.

“Fuckfuckfuck…Come for me, baby, please fucking come on those fingers,” he begs no one but himself, a blinding white heat licking the entire inside of his body as he balances on the edge. Waiting for you to fall first.

“Oh my god, fuck…” The last word is drawn out, pitching up at the end as your fingers fuck faster, squelching sounds of your wetness flooding his mouth as his brain pleads for a taste of your cunt. “I don’t think—I don’t think I can get a fourth. M’gonna fucking come—ah! Oh, fuck me, Fish…”

You barely whisper his name, or at least what is his name to you, but it’s singlehandedly what punches out his guttural moan, ropes of warm, sticking spend coating his hand as he keeps moving and spilling onto his stomach. It’s prolonged, the tension in his calves relaxing after he spills the most come he has in a while.

Airy, light, a rush of blood back to his head has his whole body tingling with a high. Satiating his cravings from earlier, dissolving the want, the need, for anything of the sort. Instead, it’s replaced with thoughts of you — the image of you laying fucked out on his phone, adding his own touch of imagination when he closes his eyes to see you as you are but covered with his come the same way he is. Normally, this is when the smallest bit of shame crawls up his spine and sits at the nape of his neck, but instead, he melts into warmth. Faced with your smile as you sit up and lean over toward the camera again, laughing to yourself as you end the live.

“Um, if you’re still here, thanks for that FlyingFish. Felt fucking good…And to everyone else, I’ll stream again on Monday night, same time as always. Night, everyone. Have a good weekend.” All he hears before the sound cuts out is your excited giggles, the brightness of your post-orgasm joy stretching a smile across your face. He’s faced with a black screen, staring back at himself in the reflection with the shit-eating, smug grin he has on his face.

Now he’s got plans for Monday night.

Frankie hasn’t been able to get you out of his head. He’s hooked. Images of your sloping curves flash behind his eyes on the days when you’re not available to watch, his hips fucking his fist in bed, the shower, even on his couch with the blinds all open because he was that needy. Thoughts of you replaced his thoughts of the white powder, chasing after the different high he’s gifted by your voice, your body — all through a screen.

He’s caught himself rasping affections as he pictures you, hissed compliments as he comes and imagining what he’d say if you were in front of him. Letting him use your mouth or your cunt. He’s even gotten into a habit of imagining his head between your legs; the hardest he came is the one time he pictured you sitting on his face and all of the pretty sounds you’d make for him. Fuck, cariño, that’s so good. Mm, bonita, you’re such a good girl. Love doin’ what you’re told, don’t you, baby?

The fact that he doesn’t even know your name but is this infatuated isn’t lost on him. He knows he has an addictive personality, but this feels different. Like he was meant to find you for some reason. His sponsor would tell him it’s a call from the universe that this is all part of his ‘journey to sobriety’, but really, he just thinks that you’re fucking hot. And the tiniest part of him thinks you might like him watching too, even though you have no idea who he is.

Each time he watches you live, his thumb taps across the keyboard, responding to your requests and even adding in some encouragement. Virtually having conversations with you, he quickly became a frequent flyer (your joke, not his). You listen to him. Like the sweet girl that you are. Taking his suggestions — his demands when you beg — and showing off for him, a whimpering mess when he’s done with you.

At times, it feels like he’s the only one watching, or at least the only one that matters to you. With the amount of times his username falls from your lips, it’s easy to fall into a bubble of you and him. You’ve picked up the habit of referring to him as ‘Fish’ and it’s driven him mad, the closest thing to his name that he’ll hear you say. You give him material to think back about for days after. I love a man that knows what he wants, Fish. You can boss me around, Fishie. I always know what you tell me to do is gonna feel so fucking good.

All of this over the last few weeks has built up his courage, which is why he finds himself sitting on his couch with your profile open, the sun barely set outside. A random baseball game plays on his TV, but his focus is completely on his phone, writing and deleting a DM to you about ten times.

It has to be right. Friendly, but not stalker-ish. Flirty, but not creepy. Commanding enough to get your attention among what he imagines are countless messages in your inbox.

After another good ten minutes drafting a message, his thumb hovers over the ‘Send’ button for a few seconds. Squeezing his eyes closed, he lowers his finger and hits the button, anxiety washing over him as he opens his eyes to stare at the blue bubble.

No going back now.

Standing at the stove, water boils over the side of the pot while you pour in the uncooked pasta noodles. A few drops hit your skin, mumbles of curses leaving your lips, “Fucking shit!”

You stir the pasta before reaching for the nearest kitchen towel to wipe the once-scalding water off of your hand. A deep sigh exhales, relaxing your shoulders as the ding of a notification draws your attention to your phone lying on the marble countertop next to you.

What you find on your lock screen sends a shock of excitement down your spine, the warmth of anticipation radiating around your body to tingle your fingers and toes.

[Direct Message:] FlyingFish

Quick to swipe up, the device unlocks with a scan of your face and opens a new notification when you click on it with your thumb. Subconsciously, your opposite thumb has ended up between your teeth, biting down on the skin as you hold back an eager grin while you wait for his message to load.

You’ve never had this reaction to a message before, actually, it was usually the opposite. Rolling your eyes, ignoring the men until the last moment. Only responding to keep them enticed and subscribed — all of which keeps more money in your pocket. That’s really why you started this whole thing anyway.

FlyingFish:

Hey

A puff of air exhales through your nose, a chuckle cutting the otherwise silent kitchen. Shaking your head to yourself, you can’t help but smile at your screen. Heartbeat fluttering, you internally kick yourself for having such a reaction to such a simple message. Not even knowing who this person is, you find yourself typing back a response.

Hey there Fish

Guess I never actually asked if I could call you that

You turn back to your task at hand, continuing to cook your dinner and attempting to put out of your mind all of your assumptions about this person messaging you. You’d guess it’s a guy, an educated inference based on the demographics of your audience, but everything else is a complete mystery. The one time he insinuated he had a big dick stuck in your mind, and based on his behavior, you’d like to assume he isn’t lying. An image of a man sticks out to you each time you whimper his nickname, on camera and that handful of times off camera and alone: tall, solid, and strong. Brunette, only because that’s your type. Rough hands and commanding touches. Someone to bend your stubborn will into submission. He’s confident, at least through the chat, and he seems to know what he’s talking about. Each time you see his username pop up, you can feel yourself start to get wetter. Since you started this whole gig, there hasn’t been anyone quite like him. It’s always people asking for more for them — Show us your tits. Say my name. Turn around so we can see your ass.

But with him, it’s the opposite. He asks for more for you, which you guess is what he gets off to, not that you mind. Bet one more finger would feel even better for you, baby. Curl your fingers, cariño. You reaching that special spot? Gotta get deeper for me, baby. Rub slower, drag it out. Promise it’ll be even sweeter at the end. 

Always polite but stern in his demands. Never too much, mostly not enough for your taste. He’s built up an appetite in you that you haven’t had before, a desire to please and to be good for him. All of it doesn’t feel like performing when he’s telling you what to do, it feels like he’s there, deep rasp in your ears as you picture thick fingers in place of yours and tight grips on your plush curves. Fingerprint-shaped bruises left behind and sore muscles in your thighs from holding yourself up as he asks you to come for him over and over and over.

A vibration against the hard surface of the countertop refocuses your gaze from a thousand yards away. Turning to grab your cell, you rub your thighs together in hopes of relenting the ache between them from your daydreams. Wet panties get caught in your folds, discomfort only momentary before you lean over the counter and open your legs, reading the mystery man’s response.

You can call me anything you want bonita

But I will tell you that Fish is pretty close to my name

Fish is close to your name?

What is it? Bass? Salmon? Trout?

Funny

Fish is short for Catfish which was my call sign with my Special Ops team

Ahhh a military man. You know I like a man in uniform

Oh really? :)

Don’t wear it anymore but does it still count if I was once a man in uniform?

Hmm

:( please?

I wanna be liked by you

Showing your cards there Fishie

Not trying to play it cool?

Once you get to know me baby you’ll come to find out that me and cool don’t really go together.

I doubt that’s true

So Catfish is your call sign? Who came up with that?

My buddies on my team

Said I couldn’t grow a beard for shit and that it looked like I had whiskers

So Catfish

Well I don’t wanna call you Fish if it’s mean like that :(

What’s your real name? If you wanna tell me

Are you gonna sell my identity and let someone tank my credit score?

Never

It wouldn’t benefit me much if your card gets declined every month

I appreciate the honesty baby haha

My name’s Frankie

I like your name Frankie :)

It’s nearly an hour of messaging back and forth, flirting intermingled with genuine curiosity about the other’s life, history and background. Frankie learns that you were struggling to find a job straight out of university and needed to make rent, so you figured it couldn’t hurt to try out selling content. You detailed briefly the time that you grew your following, telling him about your Instagram too, which he follows in that instant. The notification makes you laugh and you follow him back despite the profile being completely empty of any information besides his name. Not even a profile picture. He learns that you don’t speak much to your parents anymore, that your siblings live across the country so you don’t get to see them much.

He tells you about his family — no siblings, parents that live in another part of the state and refuse to visit him in the city — and his chosen family, the Special Ops guys. Laughter hiccups from your chest when he recalls a few of the better stories from them, telling you about each other them as if he was preparing you to actually meet them. He has that thought, briefly, about all of you out for drinks. How they would probably like you as much as he does; your charm and sincerity would hook them all just as it has for him. Frankie tells you all about his current hobby, fixing up an old, cherry red 1978 Jeep Cherokee. How the only other time he spends online is searching for car parts, watching Youtube as he works on the vehicle in his garage.

You make a cheeky comment that he must be good with his hands before sending another message immediately:

Would you wanna actually talk? Like on Facetime maybe

Frankie stares at the message, blinking slowly as if it will disappear. You’re asking to talk to him? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? I mean, if he knew that was an option he would have asked himself…

He wouldn’t and he knows he wouldn’t based on the way his stomach has dropped to his feet, his hands have gone clammy and his throat tightened. Swallowing hard, he whispers a small pep talk to himself to work up the nerve to say yes. He wants to see you, he always wants to see more of you, but the fact that you’d see him as well…he can’t cope.

Heat trickles across the back of his neck and up his cheeks, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as his brain completely wipes any thought to respond. Dropping his phone into his lap, both of his hands reach up, one grabbing the brim of his cap and lifting it from his head while the other runs through his hair to push it back away from his face. In the corner of his eye, he catches his left knee bouncing. Lips press together in a thin line, rolling the flesh between his teeth before he picks up his phone again and sends a message back to you with just his phone number.

Not even a minute later, his screen lights up with a list of digits strung together in an unfamiliar order. As if it were possible, he felt his stomach drop lower than his feet, deep into the ground below and burrowing away along with his confidence.

Shit, this was a stupid idea. He’s going to make a fool of himself and you’ll lose interest and he’ll have to think about you every day for the rest of his life and wonder what you’re doing, how you’re doing, even what your name is—

Fuck, he’s gonna miss the call.

Frankie decides that it is much more embarrassing to miss the call he just sent his phone number for than to potentially come off as uncool, so his finger swipes to the right to answer. Quickly, he turns off his camera before you notice, opting for the level of anonymity to remain.

“Hi, Frankie…” Your candied voice drips with sweetness around his name. He’s been imagining you saying it, trying to get it right in his mind over the past few weeks, but hearing it now he relishes in the fact that none of them were right. None of them sounded like spun sugar, like it did just now.

You fill the frame from your shoulders up, the same bright smile on your face that he’s seen at the end of each live, after he’s had his fun with you, but looking completely different out of that context. It’s a bit shy, demure in the way you're resting in your bed against your pillows, t-shirt on and fresh-faced. You look beautiful. And it makes him feel a bit silly that you can’t see his reaction.

“Hey, bonita. M’sorry I don’t have my camera on, jus’ nervous. Didn’t want you to hang up right away gettin’ a look at this mug,” he says with self-deprecating laughter at the end, watching as your brows knit together with a pout on your lips.

“You don’t have to apologize, Frankie. M’happy to do whatever you’re comfortable with. Besides, if your voice gives me any indication of your looks, you’d probably be making me way more nervous.” Teeth bite into your bottom lip as you hold in a grin, a hand coming into view to nudge at your nose. He’s seen you do it a few times on live, whenever you’re waiting in anticipation. For him, he’d like to think.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” he teases, the smirk playing at his face evident in his flirty tone.

“You jus’ sound…nice.”

“Nice? That’s all? Why would that make you nervous, baby?”

A sigh slips from your lips, rolling your head back as he hears the smallest whine from you. His cock jumps in his sweats, already half hard from the flirty back and forth in your messages.

“God, you’re going to be a problem with all those pet names,” you say exasperated. Frankie laughs at his screen, feeling like an idiot sitting here alone and smiling like a fool. You’re cute when you’re mad.

“You can tell me your name and I can use that instead?” he propositions, licking his lips as he awaits the piece of information he’s been chomping at the bit to have.

“No! I mean, I’ll tell you my name, but…I like the nicknames. Keep them. Please.” Your words scramble out and it makes him grin wider, witnessing you as nervous as he’s feeling. When you give him your name, he repeats it a few times, rolling it around in his mouth, tasting the syllables on his tongue. Delicate, floral, sweet but a slight tang. Smooth as it rolls across his vocal cords, soothing the rising heat he’s feeling with a refreshing chill. Like peaches and cream.

The two of you chat back and forth for a while, pride swelling in his chest when you laugh at his stupid jokes or give him a compliment, despite being none-the-wiser to his looks. He’s quick to make you blush with his comments, telling you how beautiful he thinks you are. And Frankie’s thanking himself for keeping his camera off, because at times during the call, his eyes drift to your chest, blatantly staring at your perked up nipples through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. It grows his hard on, the softness of your breasts bouncing around as you restlessly squirm during the call enticing him to picture getting his mouth on them. He’d guess you’d taste the same as your name.

The next time you move, he watches your chest again before a sight in the background catches his eye, drawing a chuckle from his mouth. A stuffed bunny lays next to you in your bed, messy with age and love. A soft pink color with a red ribbon tied around its neck, he finds the need to ask about it prodding in his mind.

“Is that who films everything for you?” he jokes, watching your face twist with confusion before looking to your side and bursting out in a laugh. Returning your eyes to the camera, you shake your head timidly.

“No, unfortunately he’s pretty limited to cuddling.”

“He? Didn’t know you had a man in your life, baby. Feels like we shouldn’t be talking like this in front of him.” The sound of your laughter quickens his pulse, the melody trilling in his ears with comfort.

“Well, I guess if you could offer me more than cuddling, he could be demoted.”

“I think I can offer more, Conejita.” Frankie watches as something akin to excitement, but burning brighter, flashes in your eyes. You sit up more, one eyebrow raising in challenge.

“What could you offer me, Frankie?” It’s a loaded question. He could be polite, steer the conversation away from where he so desperately wants it to go, to be a gentleman. It would be easy to make a joke, to get you both to move on.

But he always wants to see where this could go. You’re the one who wanted to talk on the phone in the first place. And he would never suggest anything to make you uncomfortable, and he thinks that you know that. It’s like what the two of you do in your lives — a conversation, a back and forth that may end up benefitting both of you.

“Depends on what you’re lookin’ for, Conejita. I’m a man of many talents.” The words are slick on his tongue, silvery with enticement.

“Hm…” you ponder out loud, tapping your index finger against your bottom lip before turning back to the camera, “Can you cook?”

“Decently. Can’t claim I’m a chef, but I feed myself. And m’pretty good at a grill and makin’ some of my mamá’s recipes. Insisted on teaching them to me so they didn’t end with her.”

Grinning warmly, he feels his heartbeat kick up against his chest, thumping hard at the sight of you giving him that look. “That’s so sweet that she taught you. You can teach me, then someone else in the world will know her recipes too.”

Christ, you’re so fucking adorable. He doesn’t know what he wants more in the moment: to keep talking and simply listen to your voice, or to flirt his way into something more.

“She might be a better teacher than me, baby. Would probably be over the moon if you asked to learn since she had to force me a bit,” he laughs along with your quiet giggle, taking a deep breath when you bite down on your bottom lip.

“Are you a good teacher of other things?”

“I’d like to think so. Haven’t I taught you new things already, Conejita?”

There goes his heartbeat when you look away from the camera, smirk lifting your cheekbones as your demeanor goes shy, shrugging your shoulders as you lay back again, shifting to get comfortable.

“You have…And now I’ve learned how sexy your voice is, too. I’ll be picturing everything you type now to be said in your voice.”

Frankie breathes out a chuckle, a heat burning the nap of his neck, trickling down his back. He feels the effects of his blood rushing below his belt, ever-so-slightly lightheaded as he quietly palms his bulge in his sweatpants.

“My voice is sexy?”

“Um, duh. Are you kidding me? You sound all…rugged and raspy and deep. Like you could manhandle me easily,” you admit your thoughts easily, and he sighs quietly at the thought of having you in front of him to throw around his bed and mold you into the positions he dreams of getting you into.

“No tienes ni idea de lo que haría contigo (You've got no idea what I would do with you)...” he mumbles under his breath, hearing a soft whimper from you. One of your arms is slung across your front, pressing your breast into the other and he can take a guess as to what your hand is up to. “You want some help, baby? I bet you’re jus’ feeling so needy, aren’t you? Listening to my voice got you that worked up?”

“Mhmm…I need it, Frankie…” Your voice has the edge of a whine and he exhales slowly as he hears you beg for him. Not his call sign or a username. His name. Him. There’s no one else who’s making you feel this way, no one else striving for attention.

He pushes his pants down, pulling his hard cock out to start slowly stroking. You’ve left him aching, dripping precum that his fingers smear around his length to lubricate as he moves up and down in a teasing pace.

“Use your manners, Conejita. What d’you say?”

“Please. Please, Frankie. I wanna hear your voice, I want you to tell me what to do.” He hisses from behind his teeth as he squeezes his cock at the base, leaning his head back against his headboard before his focus zeroes in on you on his screen, asking for his guidance, his control to get you off. No one else privy to the sights he’s seeing.

“Good girl. Such a good girl for me, baby. Why don’t you take off your shirt for me? Let me see you, bonita.” Wetting his lips with his tongue when you move to prop your phone up on your mattress, an expert at framing yourself perfectly. The thin, worn fabric of your sleep shirt slips over your head, leaving you on full display for him — already pantyless. Whether you started the call with any on is a mystery to him, but now, he settles back to tell you exactly what he wants from you…what he knows will feel good for his conejita.

“Okay, bunny, lean back for me…That’s it, get comfortable. Good girl.” Looking into your camera to your side, a nervous smile plays at your lips, shyness overcoming you as you wait with bated breath for Frankie, who’s still a mystery to you, to instruct you. It’s driving him mad, how trusting you are of him without ever seeing his face. Such a sweet girl. His sweet girl.

“Show me how you like to play when no one’s watching.”

When his phone dings one evening a few weeks later, Frankie pulls himself out from under the hood of his project car. A familiar fizz bubbles over his body, a Pavlovian response that’s been built over the last few weeks he’s been talking to you. There have been text chains, full of flirty sincerity, and more phone calls, all with his camera off but not all ending like that first one. There have been times when the two of you have had long conversations, full of laughter and learning about the other. A few calls have ended with you falling asleep, stuffed bunny tucked under your chin and pillowy lips parted slightly with deep, even breaths.

Admittedly, he’s grown attached. Maybe a bit much for…whatever this relationship or friendship is, but he can’t help the teenage giddiness he’s felt with every text chime, ringtone, or dial that he’s found you on the other end of.

He’s got a crush.

So immediately at the peal of his cell, he’s reaching for the rag on his workbench, wiping his hands clean of grease before reading over your message.

Conejita:

Hiii 😚

Are you busy?​

Grinning like a fool at the gray bubble, Frankie begins to type out a response before abandoning the message and clicking the phone button at the top of your name instead. Pressing the speaker to his ear, he runs a thumb across his bottom lip while he listens to the trill of the dial tone. Steps pace him across the garage, counting them in his head as he waits for an answer.

“Hey, stranger.” The line clicks on and your voice immediately draws a smile across Frankie’s face, hearing one of yours in your upbeat tone.

“Hey, Conejita. What’s up with you?” Even your presence over the phone calms his nerves, sparking kindling low in his gut that spreads down to his toes and up to the back of his neck. Frankie tucks his phone between his ear and shoulder as he wanders back over to the carhood, shutting it carefully. He retreats inside, washing his hands as he listens to you recount your day.

“...So then I got pissed off and left ‘cause she was being so unreasonable. And then I wanted to talk to you ‘cause, I dunno.” The intensity in your cadence slows down toward the tailend of your story of an argument with a friend of yours; Frankie chuckles, biting his tongue while you sigh deeply and he dries his hands off on a kitchen towel.

“You don’t know why you wanted to talk to me? Don’t get all shy on me now, cariño,” he teases you, receiving a frustrated huff on the other end. “Well, for what it’s worth, I agree with you. She sounds like she has a stick up her ass. And m’glad you wanted to call me, Conejita.”

“D’you wanna switch to Facetime?”

“‘Course, I do. Always wanna see your face, jus’ one sec…” Frankie climbs his stairs two at a time, reaching the landing as his screen lights up with the Facetime request from you. He answers it, camera off, while he changes out of dirty clothes and listens to you chatting about plans for the weekend. He mentions going out with the guys tomorrow night, and you make a jest that gets him laughing, both of you bantering back and forth before he settles back on his bed.

“Y’know, I am content to chat with you like this, Frankie. But I keep wondering what you look like…” In the small rectangle of his screen, you lean forward to fill more of it, cleavage exposed in your bralette. He’s been waiting for this to be brought up again, and feeling so much more comfortable with you, he can’t admit he hasn’t thought about it. But with that stronger connection comes the anxieties. What if he isn’t what you pictured? What if he isn’t your type? What if you don’t like him anymore?

Frankie thinks he’s decent looking enough — he hasn’t had much trouble pulling girls since he was a teenager, but not being the most commanding or charismatic in the room, he has had his bouts of struggle in the relationship department.

“Please, Frankie. S’not fair I get to hear your sexy voice and not know what you look like. Pretty please, I’ll give you something special if you do,” you bargain with a pout on your face, bottom lip protruding and puffy. He wants to kiss it away, bite down on the glossy flesh, work away your frowning moue with his own mouth. Wonderings of what you taste like.

Coming back into himself, he wears a proud, intrigued smirk that you’re blind to except for the way his words curl around his slick, silvery tongue, “Oh, is that right, bunny? What if I wanna know what the something special is to decide?”

“Not how it works, silly. Either you want something special or you don’t.” A stern shake of the head, sitting up straight as you raise an eyebrow at him.

He sits with it for a moment, thoughts warring on the inside. In the end, his realistic side barters that either way could end badly: he doesn’t turn the camera on and you get frustrated, ending it, or he does turn the camera on and you don’t like the look of him, ending it. A phantom whisper of your voice, bubbly and bright, reminds him that it could make everything even better, and that ultimately is what convinces him.

“Alright, alright. You make a convincing argument, Conejita.”

A beaming smile stretches across your face as you draw a leg up to your chest, resting your head on your kneecap while you hold back your excitement and anticipation. Frankie takes in the sight of you, astir on tenterhooks.

“Here goes nothing,” he mumbles to himself before his thumb is pressing the camera button, illuminating himself on your screen. He sees himself in the smaller rectangle in the corner, grimacing before he laughs softly and grins, awaiting your reaction with waves of solicitude raging inside.

You see him, your Frankie. Filling your phone screen. Finally.

A nearly inaudible gasp leaves your lips, blocked from the mic by your knee. Studying his face, you witness the lines next to his eyes deepening as he laughs, his shy smile growing on his face. Big brown eyes strike your chest, their sincere softness making you want to fall into their warmth and stay there forever. Like the comforting heat of a mug of coffee on a chilly morning. You note that your visualizations were correct, mostly. Brown hair, curling out from under the cap branded with Standard Oil that sits on his head. Wide set shoulders that extend out of frame, a build to him that screams he most definitely can manhandle you around in bed. His call sign makes a bit more sense to you, seeing patches in his short beard, admiring the one on his left cheek that is shaped like a heart. Simply endearing. The image of him in front of you sends a shock to your core, wet spot in your panties growing as you begin to imagine what the rest of him looks like.

Hot is all you can think. Frankie is fucking hot.

His voice cuts through your trails of admiration, joking around to break the silent tension, “So are you gonna ask me to keep my camera off now?”

As you swallow to recover some of your composure, shaking your head back and forth quickly before a genuinely eager smile paints your expression. Leaning closer to see more of his details, freckles across his neck and where his shirt exposes a sliver of his chest, the peak of his cupid’s bow shaded by his mustache, long eyelashes that reach toward his eyebrows. You drop your knee from in front of you, leaning an elbow on the surface of your desk and resting your shin in your palm.

“Frankie, respectfully, what the fuck? You’re so hot.”

A boisterous laugh rolls from his chest, the same shy smile returning with a blush across his cheeks, “Conejita, you’re the hot one between us.”

“No, no, I’m being serious. You’re like — Damn. Your smile. And you have pretty eyes, Frankie. And you’re just like…really fucking hot. I can’t even think of another word. You should be the one doing what I’m doing.”

“Oh, c’mon, you’re only seeing my face, baby.”

“Yeah, and? It’s a pretty face…Wanna sit on it.” Your giggle cuts through his speakers, and Frankie groans at the comment. Saliva coats your mouth as you watch the muscles in his neck tense, licking your chops like a prowling lion. If only he was in front of you right now…

“Diablita…eres una problema. (Little devil…you’re a problem.) Do I get my special something now?”

Another giggle and a mischievous smirk make Frankie’s brows stitch together in frustration, your shoulders shrugging as you toy with the strap of your bra, hooked under your index finger, “Actually, I think I wanna move the goalpost. Will you show me what I’m missin’, Frankie? I wanna see more.”

Desire burns bright and wild inside of you, ache building between your legs as your arousal drips from your panties and onto your thighs. You’d been picturing him — all of him — for weeks. Ever since that first message. But now, seeing him on your phone screen, your imagination is running wild with newfound information and attempting to fill in the blanks. He has to be big, thickness would be just right. He’s the quiet type, unassuming in his own looks, which means he has to have a virtually perfect dick. It's the rules of the universe. Undecided if he’s cut or not, but regardless, picturing your manicured fingers wrapped around it and tongue licking at his tip. Watching him come undone from you. Stomach tensing, those long fingers that you sneak a peek of when he adjusts his hat wrapped up in your hair. Rasping moans. What would he taste like?

Frankie shakes his head, a quick tsking drawing your attention back to the moment as he looks on with a teasing expression, “Conejita, I don’t think it works like that.”

“Okay, then no special something for you. Your choice, Francisco.”

He watches as you move the strap back up your shoulder, the soft snap of the elastic against your skin. Huffing out a frustrated breath, he mumbles, “No serías tan valiente si estuvieras aquí conmigo, mocosa. (You wouldn’t be so brave if you were here with me, brat.)”

Uncaring in whatever annoyances he was airing with you, you watch him sit up further in the frame, knocking off his cap and reaching for the hem of his shirt. Despite his words, he lifts his shirt over his head, looking back at the camera, bare shoulders and chest on display, “This is what you get for now, bunny.”

Satisfaction glows from your smile, biting hard into your bottom lip while Frankie watches your eyes search everywhere on your screen besides his own. A stern clearing of his throat breaks your trance, a commanding expression on Frankie’s face.

“You promised me something, Conejita.”

A deep pout replaces your grin, huffing in defiance as you slip your bra straps from your shoulders, “Can’t you please take the rest off? Show me what I wanna see, Frankie. Please.”

“Nah uh. Quit demanding, baby. Y’know that’s my job. Now tell me, what are you gonna do for me to get what you want?” His unwavering voice surprises you, despite hearing it for weeks. With the added heat factor of his looks, you crumble a bit quicker, clenching your thighs as you sigh and nod obediently.

“I’ll do anything, Frankie. Jus’ tell me what to do, I wanna make you happy.”

He grins on the screen, sincere softness peeking out, “Oh, baby, y’know it’s easy to make me happy. Jus’ gotta be a good little bunny, yeah?” He hums, licking his lips as he ponders what he wants from you tonight, a night he wants to fill with another milestone for the two of you. He’s only seen you use a small vibrator or your fingers on the phone with you, but he knows what else you have. He’s watched the video of you using it on your profile only about ten times.

“Get your pretty pink toy for me, Conejita. Y’know the one. And then get on the floor and you’re going to show me exactly how you use it.”

There’s rustling as you follow his instructions, stripping bare and suctioning the toy to your hardwood floors, propping the phone up for him to see it all. The hot pink dildo bobbles from you moving around it, glistening with lube that you applied — even though with one glance at your cunt, both you and Frankie know you wouldn’t need it. Straddling over the silicone, you slowly tease your entrance with it, whining before you make one more attempt to Frankie watching you with a smugness in his smirk.

“Please, Frankie, can’t you please show me your cock? I wanna picture it while I fuck myself. Wanna know if it’s how I imagined…Dream about it a lot.” He can read right through your tactics, but his dick can’t. It strains against his zippered jeans, throbbing under the fabric for some sort of relief. He squeezes his palm over it once, exhaling as he shakes his head, strong in his convictions.

“Be a good girl, and I’ll show you what you wanna see.” No more room for negotiations.

“Yes’sir.”

Frankie’s mouth hangs ajar while his focus trains on the apex of your thighs. Watching you slowly sink down, the bright pink rubbery toy disappears inside of you. Whimpers slip from your lips as you brace your hands on your thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin. Need burns brightly in his chest and below his belt, clenching his jaw while he imagines biting the meaty part of you, leaving teeth marks in his wake before settling his mouth at your entrance.

Your hips set a quick pace, desperate for the high you’ve been dripping for since getting on the phone with Frankie. A low growl followed with a disapproving tut clicks over the speakers of your phone.

“Slow down, baby girl. Not a race…” Frankie corrects, and the only response you have is a frantic nod, turning your movements to a drag. The toy fills you up, stretches you the most that you have ever been. Pain heats your feelings of pleasure, intensifying it all in the lightness of your limbs and head. The ridges of the faux veins of the fake cock impress into your walls, the tip of it notching at the spot inside of you that Frankie taught you to reach. It only skates by it, whines accompanying your frustrations.

Frankie, on the other end, listens to the squelch of your pussy around the silicone. The sound drives him to fully cup his erection through his pants, palming himself with heady breaths as your own moans for him drive the iron hot brand of need deeper into his skin. He can see your need for a change, your need to be given permission to chase that feeling that’s within reach.

“Lean back, little bunny. Sit back on your hands and use your hips…Show me more of that pretty pussy,” he instructs, cool and confident while his hips buck up into his hand. Being his perfect girl, you do as he says and change positions, gasping when you sink down onto the toy. Your cunt clenches around it, a satisfied smirk painting Frankie’s face. He knows he’s gotten you to hit that special spot. With the grip your entrance has around the base of the dildo, he wonders if you’ll pop it off of the floor on your next thrust.

“Oh, fuck…Frankie, wish you were here. Tell me—tell me what you’d do to me if you were here,” you beg, your hips still dragging at the new angle.

A groan escapes Frankie at your request, biting down hard on his lip and taking his hand away from his lap to deny himself the temptation.

“You love hearing me say all the dirty things to you, huh Conejita?” Without waiting for an answer, he continues, “If I were there with you, I’d would be—shit—I’d be devouring you right now. Fucking you with my tongue and my fingers, making you squeeze me and getting your come all over my face. Gotta get you ready for me, bunny. After, I’d flip you over. Get your pretty ass up for me, and I’d fuck you senseless. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Turn it all off up there and just let me take care of you…”

Nodding, your hips start to move faster as Frankie speaks to you. He doesn’t have the heart to tease you anymore, letting you start to take what you want for a bit. Your moans pitch up, tits bouncing with your nipples pebbled and the rest of your soft curves twisting as you rock back and forth on the toy.

“Yes, please. I want that,” you mewl, heavy breaths erratic.

“That’s right. My baby deserves it all,” he says with a sigh, his large palm squeezing his hard cock again, slowly unzipping his jeans and slipping his hand into his boxers to grip himself at the base. “I’d fuck you until that pretty little brain of yours was filled up only with thoughts of how good I make you feel. How good you are for me, pretty girl…Look at you go, bouncing on that toy. Rub your clit, Conejita. Slow, at least for right now.”

You follow his orders, supporting yourself on one arm. Slow circles against your clit have you shuddering with pleasure, a twitch of your tummy as you moan. Your eyes flutter shut, face twisting with overwhelming need. Frankie drinks in the sight, indulging himself in a few long strokes of his cock before he hears it.

“Daddy…” you breathe, near a whisper, but it’s audible to him. Lost in yourself, you don’t even notice you’ve let it slip until it comes again, “Oh my god, Daddy.”

The surprise of it shocks your eyes open, stuttering your hips as you narrow in on your screen. Frankie’s eyes grow dark, licking his lips as he holds in a loud moan. His fingers grip the base of his aching cock, holding off at the edge. So close to coming when he heard that word drip from your mouth like melted sugar.

He can tell you’re attempting to gauge his reaction, nervous settling in as you attempt to move on from it and continue fucking yourself closer to finishing. Frankie’s eager to take it in stride, clearing his throat before he gives it right back to you, opening that door that he knows won’t be shut any time soon. At least not by him.

“Yeah, that’s right, baby. Let Daddy tell you what you need, yeah?” He chuckles darkly, satisfaction thumping in his veins while you nod and whimper yes yes yes back to him, “Y’know, if you like that lil’ toy, baby, Daddy’s cock will feel even better. S’bigger than that fucking thing.”

“Oh, fuck, I need to—I need you, Daddy, please!”

“I know, Conejita, I know. Poor little thing jus’ needs Daddy to be filling her up, huh? You wanna know what my cock feels like inside of you, don’t you, pequeña?” He hisses with a buck of his hips into his fist, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief second.

“Yes, yes, please, Daddy! Please,” you choke on a breath and Frankie can see you twitch at your inner thighs from the full-on view of your pussy, your tell-tale sign that you’re about to come.

“Y’know the rules, Conejita. Better ask before you come.”

“Please, please may I come?” you moan, rubbing faster circles against your clit and grinding down on your toy.

“Oh, bunny, you can ask nicer than that. May I come…?” he leads, smirking devilishly when you nearly squeal from the way he’s holding you out on the edge. Teetering on the verge of that high that he knows well, he can see your legs faltering with a cramp.

“Please may I come, Daddy?” Your eyes open, heavy-lidded and lips parted with shallow breathing. Frankie gets lost in the sight, wrecked from his direction, his words, a sheen of sweat over your skin and the arousal coating your thighs. A fucking dream.

“Mm, come for Daddy, baby girl—” he’s interrupt as you erupt in a high-pitched moan, mouth wide open as you string together mumblings Oh fuck, Daddy, feels so good. Need you so bad…

“Good girl.”

Frankie hums contently, chuckling as a dopey grin finds your face, blinking through the orgasmic haze. Laying back, you slip the toy out of your pussy, leaving it to wobble in place and spreading your legs around it. One arm comes to rest against your forehead, breasts rising and falling with deep, recovering breaths. He’s blocked of the view that would make this moment even sweeter, licking his lips before he speaks up.

“Lemme see that fucked cunt of yours, bunny. Let Daddy see what belongs to him.” You sit up again, popping the toy off of the floor and laying it to the side to be cleaned later. Frankie hums as you part your legs more, the glittering of your come dripping on your thighs and across your swollen pussy. “Eres un buen oyente, pequeña. (You’re a good listener, little one.)”

“What’s that mean?” you ask, a long exhale punctuating the question.

“You’re a good listener, little one.” Frankie grins when you grow shy, inching your legs together before he tsks again, one hand coming into frame to motion for your lower limbs to part again.

“Y’know, it would look even prettier with my come dripping out of ya, baby.”

“Please.”

“What, Conejita?”

“Don’t tease me anymore…Can’t take it, Daddy.” You lips push out in a pout, subtle but he can catch the change in expression.

“Nah uh, no pouting, bunny. Who said that I was teasing? I’m going to make it happen.”

Sweetness slips from your lips in a giggle, leaning over to pick up your phone and hold him closer to your face.

“So, if I was a good girl, doesn’t that mean I get to see what I asked for before?” Wiggling in eagerness, Frankie feigns ignorance, scratching at his beard as he shrugs, acting as if he didn’t nearly come in his pants multiple times in the last few minutes.

“I dunno, Conejita. What did you ask me for? Gonna have to remind me.”

“Your cock. I wanna see it.” Your pout sneaks back, biting your lip. “May I please see your cock, Daddy?”

“I think I could do that for you, baby. Asking so nicely. Such a good girl for Daddy, yeah?”

“Always.” A giggle bubbles up from your tummy, biting down on your lip as Frankie takes you in, shaking his head in subtle disbelief. How the hell did clicking for one subscription get him here, having Facetime sex with you?

He obliges your original requests, moving to prop his phone up in front of him, stripping down his jeans first. The sight of his bulge waters your mouth, pupils widening in want at the outline of his cock. No tricks of the light, no chance of manipulation like some men in your DMs do. All natural.

And Frankie wasn’t lying. He’s big.

The reveal comes when he tugs his boxers down to his ankles, settling in front of the camera again. His heavy length rests against his lower stomach, precum dripping into his dark happy trail. Your eyes drag over the veins ribbing him, leading down to show off that he’s tastefully groomed. Swallowing saliva, you lick your lips as his large hand wraps around, slow strokes that gently shift the foreskin away from his tip. The end of his cock glistens with pebbles of precum, red and aching. Frankie hisses at the contact, the veins in his neck straining against his skin while he starts to fuck his fist.

“You look so pretty, Daddy,” you compliment sweetly, grinning at him as he laughs quietly back at you.

“Such a sweet little bunny. You think you can take me in your tight little cunt?” A long exhales concaves his chest, quiet moans as his hand picks up pace. 

You return his regular favor of talking him through it, detailing how good of a girl you’d be for him, telling him all that he would be allowed to do to you. The sounds Frankie makes has you dripping again, getting his permission to fuck your fingers, both of you driving each other to a peak, your second one taking the breath from your lungs as Frankie comes at the same time. Whimpers escape your mouth as you envy his hand and stomach being covered in his release, biting your tongue and crowding the screen as he shows off how much you made him come.

“Wish I was there to clean you up, Daddy.”

“Right back at you, Conejita.”

A few days later, Frankie calls you after one of your livestreams, grinning like a schoolboy when you answer in only your underwear. You laugh as you set your phone down on the surface of your dressing, his childish smirk turning to a pout as he stares at your white painted ceiling. Calling out to him, you ask for one second while you tug a sweatshirt over your head, shuffling around before grabbing the device and relaxing back on your bed, bunny in your lap.

“Hi, baby,” Frankie coos, one side of his mouth lifting in a smile as he drinks in your cozy, drowsy demeanor. Cuddling with the toy against your chest, you grin back at him, curling up onto your side like a cat.

“Hi, Frankie,” you mumble back, exhaustion heavy in your eyes.

“You sleepy, little bunny?” A slow nod answers his question. “Alright, I won’t keep you up for long then. Just had a question for you.”

The vague proposition piques your interest, your eyes shooting open and the camera being brought closer to your face, “What’s your question?”

Frankie works his lips between his teeth, nerves crackling over his entire body. Realistically, he knows you’ll say yes, but there’s still that chance for rejection in the moment. His left leg bounces against his couch, hand running over his face as he takes a deep breath in, “I was wondering if you’d wanna come visit me here in Florida? If you don’t have time—”

“I would love to come visit, Frankie,” you agree immediately, a sincere smile growing on your face. Frankie mirrors your excitement with a goofy grin, the creases next to his eyes deepening and his dimple cratoring his cheek. “I’ll even book my flight right now, that’s how eager I am.”

Shaking his head furiously, he clicks his tongue in a tut, scolding you playfully, “Hey, hey. No, none of that. I’m not letting my baby pay, I’m the one who asked you to come.”

“But—”

“Nope, no buts. Except yours getting onto a plane and coming to see me,” Frankie laughs at his own joke, earning a playful eye roll as you hold back your own chuckle. “Oh, c’mon, that was funny, Conejita. I can tell you want to laugh.”

The two of you go back and forth while he books your flight on his laptop, showing off the confirmation number once it’s all gone through. Both of you wear shit-eating grins on your faces, sitting in disbelief.

Frankie can’t help the rush of anxiety, unable to tell if it’s solely from his excitement. All he can think about is having you in front of him, in the flesh, in person. No screens between the two of you, no broken signals or shitty wifi interruptions. Hearing your voice without the strain of speakers, getting to touch you, taste you, hear you, feel you all over him. There’s the flash of a vision of you laid out underneath him, making your little sounds that drive him crazy and digging your nails into his back…

“Gonna let Daddy spoil you while you’re down here, baby girl?” Frankie smirks as you stretch sleepily, biting down on your lip.

“You’re flying me out, isn’t that spoiling me enough? Shouldn’t it be my turn to spoil you then?”

“Think you know the answer to that, baby. Having you in front of me is spoiling me enough, I jus’ wanna take care of you.” 

The simple statement brings a smile to your face, shyly tucking your face into your pillow. The rest of the call relaxes you back to near sleep, listening as Frankie tells you all about what he’ll take you to do. Your drowsiness catches up with you, drifting off on the phone. Frankie chuckles quietly to himself, sitting with you for a moment silently before he goes to hang up.

“Night, Conejita. Can’t wait to see you.”

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[fuckyeahdindjarin]

IV ║ Notch

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Part III: Edgestitch | Behind the Seams: Part IV | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E, but not that explicit

Summary: While Ellie works her first shift at the Outfitters, Joel drops by yours to return the blouse you left behind at the baby shower. Turns out, there's plenty around the house to keep him occupied until the teenager clocks off.

Warnings: Sexual tension, body insecurity, some language, inaccurate descriptions of gardening, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, undervest supremacy, flirting, dry humping, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!domestic!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 8.9k

Notes: Once I started writing this chapter in earnest, it came together a bit more quickly than I expected! It's extremely self-indulgent, with plenty of white undervest and belly action because you guys deserve all of that goodness for being the most patient, loving readers a writer could hope for 🥹 Thank you, I love you all! ❤️

Notch – diamond shaped marks that stick out beyond the edge of the pattern to line up all the pieces when sewing the garment. They come in pairs to be matched up.

Joel is sleeping - which is not something that could be said until a couple of months ago.

After the outbreak, sleep as a concept ceased to exist. What took its place is literal ‘shuteye’, either engineered by pills knocked back with moonshine, or a preventative shutdown by his body to avoid total failure, having pushed his physical form to the living limit.

It’s the kind of sleep that is destitute and provides no relief. It keeps the cogs turning just enough that he doesn’t expire, standing in his boots - which, on most days, are not the only things held together by duct tape.

But after the hospital, even that turned out to be too much to ask for. Some nights, the itch for chemical-induced relief got so bad that Joel entertained the thought of asking Tommy for illicit pills, ready to crawl on all fours to his brother’s house two streets down because he was shaking so hard he couldn’t lock his knees. But he didn’t trust him not to tell Maria, and with Ellie in the picture, he wasn’t about to tempt fate.

So instead, he asked Maria to assign him to night patrols. She hmmm’d at his request like she knew something he didn’t, but she humoured him, letting him take the graveyard shift for a couple of weeks straight. She didn’t have to tell him that she could see the way he tripped over his own feet and hear the slur in his voice. She’s too sharp not to notice.

But she didn’t say anything.

What she did do though, was not so subtly wean him off the late-night patrols. It started with a couple of random, last-minute changes, and then the next thing he knew, he was working morning shifts exclusively. When he tried covertly swapping stints with another guy, he showed up at the guard tower at midnight to find his sister-in-law standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her pregnant belly. 

As he trudged home begrudgingly with his head down and her stern reprimand in his ears, he couldn’t help a chuckle. Gotta hand it to her. 

Banished back to his bed, Joel went back to staring owlishly at the ceiling, watching the moonlight slide across the plaster until he knew all the cracks in it with his eyes closed (metaphorically). He’d listen to Ellie snoring away two doors down and marvel at the fact that she somehow still slept like the dead, even after… all that.

And then, one night, it happened for him too.

Admittedly, he ate a bit too much at Tommy and Maria’s - on top of running the town like a well-oiled machine, she makes a mean chicken fried steak - and Ellie had not so subtly plonked a second helping on his plate without asking. He was lying in bed, steeling himself for another long night, when his eyes drooped. The motion was so alien that it jolted him wide awake, but he couldn’t shake the weight that clung to the seams of his lashes. The next time he opened his eyes, it was morning.

Turns out you can teach an old dog new tricks. 

It’s nowhere near consistent, and more often than not he wakes up in a cold sweat in the small hours, but in between, he’s sleeping. For once, he’s feeling rested. And it’s a nice fucking break from the relentless exhaustion that he’s convinced is fused into his bones.

He always wakes up earlier than Ellie though. She never stomps down the stairs until he’s already had breakfast, and hers has gone cold.

So on the Saturday morning following the baby shower, with his face plastered into the mattress, body curled around a pillow - old habits die hard - Joel nearly falls out of bed at the banging on his door.

‘Joel! Get the fuck up!’

For one disconcerting moment between sleep and wake, he’s in his bedroom back in Texas. He half expects to look up to see the posters on the wall and the perpetually overflowing laundry basket at the foot of his bed.

Blinking through the urge to close his eyes, the colours fade and he stares blearily at the digital clock on his bedside table. 

7:30.

What the fuck? More often than not he has to drag the teenager out of bed by the ankles, kicking and swearing, at 7:50 to get to school at 8:00.

His knees groan as he staggers onto his feet, grabbing yesterday’s jeans from the floor and pulling them on. He finds a passably clean shirt about five deep on a chair, which he shrugs on over his white undervest. With a grunt, he yanks open the door and heads downstairs on bare feet, frowning at unfamiliar sounds coming from the kitchen.

Joel pauses in the doorway, hands on hips. ‘What do you think you’re doin’?’

Deeming his question unworthy of a response, Ellie tosses him a roll of her eyes over her shoulder and resolutely ignores him.

Shuffling closer, he asks, ‘Are you - cookin’?’

Brandishing the spatula at him, she snarls, ‘What does it look like I’m doing?’

He goads her with a smirk. ‘To be honest, it looks like you threw up in the pan.’

Ellie elbows him hard in the stomach. ‘Fuck you, man!’

He grins. There’s nothing like winding her up first thing in the morning. Grabbing the pan, he bins the ruined eggs, scraping off the burnt bits stuck to the bottom. ‘Crack some more eggs, I’ll make ‘em.’

Ten minutes later, in their usual seats at the kitchen table, they tuck into scrambled eggs and buttered toast.

‘Slow down,’ warns Joel as Ellie wolfs down hers. ‘You’re gonna choke.’

‘You hurry up! Can’t be late for my first day,’ she garbles through a mouthful of food.

‘Why can’t you be like this about school?’ he grumbles, then he winces as his teeth catch something crunchy. Picking it out, he gives her a pointed look. ‘Eggshell.’

‘Calcium,’ she shoots back without even looking up, too busy shoving the rest of her breakfast into her mouth, stuffing her cheeks like a chipmunk.

That one word stops Joel in his tracks and hurls him twenty years back in time.

But then Ellie is jumping up and practically throwing her empty plate into the sink, sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor as she dashes out of the kitchen. ‘C’mon, old man!’

Joel smiles, the memory warm like sun on his face. 

He shakes his head, slowly finishing his breakfast - like he wishes he did that day.

They turn out to be fifteen minutes early. 

To his chagrin, Ellie admits freely that she lied about the time so they wouldn’t be late. He’s a punctual guy, thank you very much. He certainly doesn’t need to be schooled by the little brat. 

Joel sits on the stairs, while Ellie has her face squished up against the door, unabashedly leaving smudges on the glass panels as she keeps up an uninterrupted running commentary on every last piece of clothing she can see.

He tunes her out easily, shifting in his seat so that his right ear is to the door. In his hands is the blouse that you left behind at Tommy and Maria’s at the baby shower. He’s been meaning to return it to you, but the week got away from him, and there’s no time like the present.

Considering the state of his knees, he impresses himself with the speed at which he stands at the sound of footsteps on the otherwise quiet main street. Squaring his shoulders, he discreetly pulls on his shirt, suddenly seeing wrinkles everywhere in the fabric, and runs his fingers through his hair, wishing he’d taken another look in the mirror before he left the house -

But it’s Lucy who appears at the bottom of the stairs with her unfailingly sunny smile.

‘Hi, you must be Ellie,’ she chirps.

She eyes Lucy cautiously, lips pinched to one side. ‘Where’s Pin?’

Joel growls. ‘Manners.’

Ellie puts her hands up in surrender. ‘Sorry. I meant - nice to meet you, where’s Pin?’

Lucy beams good-naturedly and fiddles with the lock. ‘She’s off today, and it’s all my fault because I made her work three weekends in a row. You’ll be helping me in the front anyway, so I’ll show you the ropes.’ Stepping aside and swinging the door open, she prompts, ‘In you go now, hon.’

Ellie doesn’t even look back at him, rushing into the shop like a thoroughbred fresh out of the starting gates.

Pocketing the keys, Lucy smiles. ‘Hi Joel.’

‘Hey,’ he nods back. ‘Sorry about Ellie.’

‘Don’t be, I was exactly like her when I was younger. Still am sometimes,’ she jokes. Then with a sly side eye, she remarks, ‘And honestly, you look more disappointed that I showed up than she does.’

He splutters, ‘Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.’ 

She smirks knowingly, gesturing at the blouse clutched tightly in his left fist. ‘I can pass that to Pin for ya.’

Joel hesitates for just a second, and Lucy bursts into laughter, elbowing him teasingly. ‘The way your face fell! I’m joking, Miller. Relax.’

He shakes his head. ‘It’s fine, guess I’ll give it to her next time she’s ‘round.’

Just then, from the depths of the shop, Ellie gasps dramatically and yells at the top of her lungs, ‘I want thissssssss one!’ 

Meeting Lucy’s eyes, Joel asks, ‘Sure you gonna be ok left alone with her?’

She shrugs. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

He flashes her a thumbs up. ‘I’ll pick her up at three then.’

He’s about to walk away from the Outfitters when Lucy’s voice stops him. ‘Hey, Joel!’

Looking up at the wraparound porch, he raises an eyebrow in a silent question.

‘She lives in the yellow cottage on the same street as the shoe shop. Keep going north, you can’t miss it,’ she says with a two-finger salute and a parting line that he’s heard before. ‘Say hi to Pin for me!’

You’ve always had a soft spot for the turn of the season, when late spring blooms graciously give way to summer buds. The grass smells greener, and the air is pregnant with pollen and nectar. It’s not overly warm yet, but you can feel the intensity in the sunlight, muted only by the early hour. Good thing you’re starting early.

It’s unseasonably warm for June, and the vegetable patch on the far end of your garden has suddenly burst into life. The cauliflower has finally come through after two failed crops in a row, and both the tomato vines and pepper plants are thriving. Closer to the ground, the onion and garlic shoots are patiently waiting to be pulled, and asparagus shoots spear through the earth in tidy lines one after another.

Pulling on a hat and gloves, you get to work.

You’re halfway through the second row of onions when there’s a faint knock on the front door. Even though you’ve only been in the sun for a little while, the coolness inside the house feels like a balm to your skin as you pad inside, peeling off your gloves before reaching for the door. 

Swinging it open, you’re stumped by the sight of Joel Miller on your doorstep.

You haven’t seen him since the party, where you’d agreed on a start date and time for Ellie’s first shift, and -

Since the kiss. 

You’ve felt his absence keenly. You’ve caught yourself loitering on street corners, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, knowing you’ll be able to spot him just by the way his shoulders swing with his long strides. You’ve kept an ear out for the southern lilt that has chased goosebumps across your skin, or any mention of his name, but all in vain.

Jackson has a habit of growing in size, usually in direct proportion to one’s desperation.

Now that he’s somehow here, you’re aware you’re gaping at him, so broad that his shoulders are blocking out the daylight. Too many years out of practice to count, you have no idea what the protocol is when you next see the man who literally made your knees buckle with just his lips and nothing else.

‘Mornin’, he finally says with a small smile. 

You stammer. ‘H-hello. What, um, I mean, how -’

‘I dropped off Ellie at the shop and Lucy told me where you live,’ he explains, shaking out the blouse in his hands. ‘Thought I’d come ‘round and return this.’

Your palm twitches with the urge to smack yourself on the forehead. Of course that’s why he’s here. 

Taking the top from him, you smile back gratefully. ‘Thank you. And of course, it’s Ellie’s first day. I’m sorry I can’t be there, but I’ve been subbing for Lucy on the weekends for a month straight and I needed a break.’

He waves away your apology. ‘Count yourself lucky. She was just ‘bout bouncin’ off the walls.’

‘Bless her heart,’ you chuckle, breaking off when his eyes flicker over you, as if he’s just registered your very minimalist ensemble of a white cotton tank top and denim cut-offs. Your skin prickles under his scrutiny, flattery winning out against self-consciousness at the deliberate drag of his gaze over you, a thoughtful weight behind it. 

That is until something catches his attention, and you flinch when he peers under the brim of your hat. ‘What -’

Before you can even articulate your question, he’s taken one step towards you, his work boots heavy on your creaky wooden porch. His voice is low but rough around the edges, just the way you like it. 

‘You got some dirt -’ he swipes his index finger firmly on the end of your nose. ‘Right here.’

Your jaw hangs open, then clamps shut, in quick succession, the shell of your ears burning hot at his fleeting touch. Throat suddenly dry, you barely manage to squeak, ‘Thanks.’ 

One day, you will at least try and keep your cool around this man. But alas, it is not this day.

Rearranging himself, Joel leans on the doorframe with his arms crossed and remarks conversationally, ‘You look outdoorsy this mornin’.’

Flashing the soil-stained gloves at him, you try to keep your voice steady. ‘I’m just doing some gardening out back. The vegetable patch needs harvesting.’

He purses his lips at that. ‘Didn’t peg you as the gardenin’ type.’

You don’t know where the bravado comes from, but you swat him on the arm with the gloves and quip, ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me.’

‘You got me there,’ he huffs a laugh and gestures towards the back of the house. ‘Anythin’ I can do to help?’

The refusal is on the tip of your tongue. You don’t say yes to a whole lot nowadays, other than when Lucy makes you. But then you hear yourself ask, a challenge in your voice that you didn’t know you had. ‘I don’t know. Are you any good with your hands, Joel Miller?’

At the boldness in your words, which you don’t take back, Joel’s eyebrows reach for his hairline. Biting your lip but standing your ground, you watch him grind his jaw as he considers his response. 

‘Why don’t you try me, sweetheart?’

‘Like this?’

‘Wait - slow down.’

A shuffle of hands. ‘How about now?’

‘That’s it. Yes, that’s good. Keep going.’

A raspy grunt. ‘I think I’m almost there.’

‘Yeah, that’s right, don’t stop -’

‘Alright, you ready?’

‘Come on, Joel -’

With one last flick, the knife slices clean through the base of the stalk, and Joel plucks the cauliflower head out of its leafy cradle with a triumphant grin.

‘How’s that for good hands, huh?’ he crows. 

‘I’ll get back to you in the fall when we see if the cauliflower grows back,’ you tease. 

He huffs, squinting up at you through the sun. ‘You’re hard to please, sweetheart.’

You preen at the playful turn of the conversation. If you were a little braver, you’d give him a mischievous wink - but for now, you gesture at the patch. ‘Can you handle the rest? I’ll get started on the peppers.’

He nods. ‘Leave ‘em with me.’

The pepper plants are having a great season, standing at four feet tall and heaving with fruits. You’ve left them alone on the vine for the last three weeks to sweeten, and they have dutifully ripened into a beautiful red. Settling onto your knees, you methodologically comb through the peppers from top to bottom, cutting off each one by the stalks.

It’s a big harvest, half of which you plan on giving away to your neighbours in exchange for their berries and lemons. Some you will cook. Lucy is due to come over for dinner, and she loves your stuffed pepper recipe. The rest you’ll have to find time to roast, skin, deseed and preserve in oil, which will last the rest of the year -

A shadow falls over you, stilling your hands and drawing your eyes upwards.

The sight is familiar - feet planted shoulder-wide by your knees, chin tucked in as he stares down at you, your nose level with the front of the jeans that you picked out for him - you’ve seen it all before, except for one small detail.

Joel is sweating. A lot.

His thin plaid shirt - you’re not sure if you’ve seen him in anything else yet - is sticking to him like a second skin, clinging to the solid outline of his biceps as he holds onto the basket full of cauliflower heads. The sunlight glances off the perspiration dotting his hairline, and the wispy grays that normally curl away from his face have wilted in the humidity. 

There’s a flush under his skin as he swipes at his forehead with his shirt sleeve, and your gaze follows a bead of sweat dripping down the prominent vein on the side of his neck, and into the deep V of his shirt - wait, is that the outline of an undervest that you can just make out underneath -

‘Should I take the cauliflower in?’

‘Um -’ you stammer to a halt, eyes still plastered to the front of his chest, just like his shirt.

He clearly mistakes your gawking for something else, flashing you an apologetic smile at his state. ‘Sorry, I work up a sweat real easy.’

Oh, come on. Now all you’re thinking about is how else he works up a sweat -

Seized by the sudden need to get out of the heat in more than one sense of the word, you rip the basket from his grasp and turn on your heels to sprint into the house with a choked, ‘I’ll be right back!’

You nearly trip over your own feet running into the kitchen, your heart thumping so loudly in its ribcage it feels like the whole house is shaking to the beat. 

And all that man has done is sweat in front of you.

‘Pull yourself together, Pin,’ you mutter to yourself as you tip the cauliflower heads onto the kitchen table. Grabbing a jug from the cupboard, you put it in the sink and turn on the faucet. Watching the trickle of water, you make yourself take three deep breaths. 

Joel’s kind enough to do you a favour, you could at least have the courtesy to not perv on him while he helps you out.

Nodding determinedly to yourself, you pluck two glasses from the drying rack, putting them inside the empty basket that you hook on your elbow, and march back outside -

Only to almost swallow your tongue and drop the full jug of water right at your feet.

Joel’s sweat-soaked shirt is now hanging on your washing line like a white flag, having surrendered to the heat. And just like that, the very image that has been inconveniently seared into the back of your eyes since the party is suddenly before you in all its glory, in the morning sun, out in the open air.

The white undervest stretches over the breadth of him, and if he didn’t look so good in it, you would’ve laughed at the comical way the flimsy straps are clinging onto his shoulders for dear life. Then he bends over to inspect the tomato vines, the bottom of his vest riding up with the movement, teasing a flash of skin above the waistline of the jeans pulled tight over his behind. One big hand reaches out, the outline of his arm flexing as he does, and he palms the bottom of one tomato, testing if it’s ripe for the picking. 

Except in your head, it’s something else he’s cupping with such rapturous attention. 

He doesn’t notice you until he stands up with a low grunt of effort. Pointing an apologetic finger at his shirt, he says, ‘I hope you don’t mind, I’m sweatin’ right through it like nobody’s business.’

You make a noise in your throat that you pass off as an answer, and with shaky hands, pour him a full glass of water which you shove in his direction.

‘Appreciate it, sweetheart.’ He salutes you and takes a long drag, tipping his head back. You watch, transfixed, as the sunlight bounces off the lines of sweat criss-crossing down the strong column of his neck, and the hard bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

Suddenly, you’re parched. But you don’t trust yourself to stay upright, let alone pour yourself a drink.

‘It’s hot today,’ Joel breaks the loaded silence, though it’s possible that it’s unilaterally so on your side.

‘Uh-huh,’ you croak, still holding onto the water jug like a shield.

He peers at you with a touch of mischief. ‘You ain’t gonna swoon or anythin’ are you?’

Probably. And definitely not for the reason he has in mind. 

You attempt a weak smile that may have come off as a grimace. ‘I’ll try not to.’

Reassured, he nods towards the garlic patch. ‘C’mon. Let’s get our hands dirty, sweetheart.’

By the time the vegetable patch has been thoroughly picked and the baskets crammed full, the sun is high in the sky, the morning clouds burned off with the heat.

Joel isn’t the only one who’s sweating through his clothes - your light cotton top is now clinging uncomfortably to your skin, sweat dripping down your sternum and dampening the cups of your bra. You heave a sigh of relief when he helps you move the haul to a shaded corner near the porch where you have an outdoor sink and wheel hose installed.

Emptying the root vegetables into the sink, Joel steps back and casts a critical eye over the rain gutters that line the eaves of your house. Fingers spread over one jutting hip, he leans his weight on his right leg, the stance creating all kinds of angles that are completely unnecessary in this kind of heat.

He points at the leaves and branches that are clearly sticking out from the channels, but you’re only really interested in studying his large hands. The bumps and veins on the back of them, the watch with the broken face on his left wrist, the dirt coating his thick fingers, pushed under tidily trimmed nails. The logical thought that follows is how he would leave dark streaks on your white top when he pulls you in by the waist - 

‘Looks like the gutters need cleanin’,’ Joel declares. 

Well, the gutter your head is currently dunked in can certainly do with a good scrub.

‘Rainy season doesn’t start for another few months, they can wait.’

He uh-uh's sternly. ‘I’ve heard that before. Do you have a ladder?’

‘You really don’t have to -’ you protest, but he won’t hear it.

‘It’s no big deal, I’m sweaty anyway,’ he replies. ‘Besides, you’ll be doing me a favour keepin’ me occupied. I don’t pick Ellie up till three.’

You bite your lip. ‘But I feel bad working you so hard.’

Without skipping a beat, he winks. ‘Don’t worry your pretty head, sweetheart - I like workin’ for it.’

Jesus Christ. This man needs to be locked up and the key thrown to a colony of clickers.

The inner contractor in Joel comes out to play as he climbs deftly up the extension ladder propped up against the eaves, gloves on and a tarp bag tied to the top rung for collecting the debris. Discreetly, you shuffle around the freestanding sink so that you have a clear view of him as you turn on the water and start washing the dirt off the onions.

He’s starting close by, just a couple of feet away from you, patiently scooping out the dead leaves and twigs by the handful. Up on the ladder with his side to you, you’re eye level with the swell of his belly, which stretches the seams of the vest, and the underside of it peeks out every time he reaches up for the gutters. Your cheeks warm with the memory of how the soft folds felt against you, so warm and solid that you ache to reach out, push the flimsy vest up and nuzzle the tender skin with your nose -

It takes you a couple of minutes to realise that you’re not even pretending to be washing the onions anymore, the hose running in your idle grasp as you stare, head cocked to one side.

You don’t hear him when he turns to you. ‘Can pass me the hose?’

You stare dumbly back at him. ‘Huh?’

‘The hose, Pin,’ he repeats, a playful condescension in his smirk, like he knows exactly what you’ve been looking at. ‘That onion looks sparkly clean.’

You’re not sure what happened. One second you’re holding onto the hose with the intention of turning off the water before passing it to Joel, but your brain skips that crucial first step, and the next thing you know, you’re pointing it straight at him, spraying him in water from face to chest.

As he splutters, you shove the hose into the sink and screech, mortified. ‘Oh my god! I’m so sorry!’

You watch in horror as the water trickles from his hair, down his stubbled chin and onto his chest - okay, that’s a lie. It’s definitely not horror that’s twisting in your tummy and then much, much lower between your thighs.

And if you thought this man looked good sweaty, well - you’ve seen nothing yet.

He might as well put you out of your misery and take off his undervest right about now. It’s completely see-through, pebbled nipples and the firm ridges of his pecs showing through the wet fabric, rounded out by the endearing soft pouch of his belly. 

He wears the early summer tan so well, and for the first time since the outbreak, you think about the swim club in your old neighbourhood. Watching the water drip off his skin, it’s not a stretch to imagine this man pulling himself out of the pool after a quick dip to cool down, before stretching out on a sunlounger to dry in the sun - all in slow motion, set to the track of a corny sax riff.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say on reflex, but the apology rings hollow with the way your gaze lingers over his chest, and he notices.

He chuckles, carding one hand through his wet hair to slick it back, standing taller under your eyes. ‘As I said - never a dull moment with you, sweetheart.’ 

Joel takes his time, clearing out all the blockages and hosing the gutters clean so that you don’t have to worry about them for another six months. He dumps the leaves and sticks in the compost post, rinses the soiled gloves and his hands clean, before taking his shirt off the washing line and heading into the blessed shade.

He finds you in the kitchen, back to the door, putting away clean plates and cutlery from the drying rack, porcelain knocking together and metal clanging.

This is the most he’s seen of you, in a tank top and shorts, bathed in light spilling in from the large windows that open out into the backyard. He sees touches of your workshop right here in the kitchen - dried herbs and seasoning in mismatched but tidy boxes on the shelves, knives organised by size on a magnetic knife block, plates and bowls arranged in neat stacks behind glass cabinets.

Not wanting to alarm you, he deliberately scrapes his shoe on the tiled floor to make his presence known.

Whipping around - and just a touch startled - you smile with a quiet hey, and Joel’s not sure if he’ll ever get over how the sweet shyness still clings to the curve of your lips despite the fact that he’s kissed you right there.

He stays by the door for now and says, ‘I put the ladder back, and the gutters are all done, but I spotted some shingles missing on the roof while I was up there. I’ll come back to fix ‘em some other time.’

‘Thank you so much Joel, but really, don’t worry about the roof. You’ve done enough.’

‘You basically got Ellie outta my hair every Saturday for the next few months, so I’ll have plenty of time to kill,’ he half-jokes.

A comfortable lull sets in, and he looks up at the ticking clock, surprised that it’s almost noon. Shifting his feet, he opens his mouth and is about to excuse himself when you blurt out, ‘I’m sorry I soaked you.’

The jury's out on who's more taken aback by your phrasing. Exasperated, you groan, ‘I did not mean to say that.’

Joel’s kept a respectful distance since he arrived at the house, the pliant weight of you in his arms and your taste on his tongue kept firmly at bay in the back of his mind, not wanting to bring up anything that would make you uncomfortable in the light of day. But now, he pushes himself off the threshold of the door and crosses the cosy kitchen, pleased that you stay put when he plants himself in front of you, toe to toe.

Brushing a finger under your chin so that you’re staring up at him, he deliberately pitches his voice low and gruff, the double entendre almost crude in its delivery. ‘Just so we’re clear, you can soak me any time, sweetheart, in any way you want.’

Your lips part and your gaze darkens, and he feels his body instinctively react, invisible threads reeling him bodily into you. When you speak, your voice quivers, his name at once a single-worded reprimand and a needy whine that takes him right back to his brother’s spare bedroom. ‘Joel -’

‘Yes, Pin?’ he baits you playfully, just like he did that night, taking one last step so that you’re crowded against the countertop, bookending you with his palms planted on the wooden surface.

Finally shedding that last bit of shyness holding you back, you retort with no real bite, ‘You’re such a tease, Miller.’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it,’ he quips easily, his attention on your mouth. He hears your shaky intake of air, the whole moment suspended on tenterhooks as you skirt each other on the brink -

Just then, a breeze drifts in from the open window above the sink, providing instant relief from the humidity that hangs heavy in the air. All of a sudden, he’s acutely aware of the fact that he’s sweaty all over, so much so that he might actually smell. 

Self-conscious, he clears his throat and murmurs ‘I should probably go, I need a shower and a change of clothes -’

‘You can shower here,’ you interrupt, stumbling over your words in your haste. ‘I have a spare shirt somewhere.’

You don’t need to ask him twice. 

He smiles. ‘Sounds good, sweetheart.’

Your ensuite bathroom, like what he has seen of your house, is clean and organised. There’s a neat stockpile of soap bars in the cupboard, and he spots the familiar bottles of regulation shampoo and toothpaste that the town mass produces.

The water is plenty hot as he efficiently lathers himself top to bottom and front to back, but the pressure is a bit weak for his liking and can be easily fixed. Something else to add to the list.

The towel you left on the rack is soft and smells like the sun. Patting himself dry and rubbing it through his hair, he wipes away the condensation off the mirror above the sink. He peers at his reflection, ruminating that it’s time for a shave, and pushes back his wet hair so the strands don’t get in his eyes.

Out of his clothes, only his jeans are passably dry, so he forgoes his boxers and pulls them on, carefully doing up the zipper. Using his shirt as a sling, he bundles up all the dirty clothes and opens the bathroom door.

He catches you coming into the bedroom as he steps out, and your jaw drops at the sight of him in just his jeans before you slap your palms dramatically over your eyes, the tshirt you’re holding onto covering your whole face and muffling your voice. ‘I’m so sorry! I should’ve knocked!’

Joel chuckles at your reaction. ‘Sweetheart, it's your house. And I’m not exactly naked.’

Lowering your hands sheepishly, you still clutch the tshirt to your chest like a security blanket, admitting, ‘Sorry, I just - I just realised I’ve never had a man in here before.’

Something wraps itself around his stomach and pulls, and it takes him a beat to put a name to it because it’s been so long. It’s possessiveness that rushes through his veins and goes straight to his head, and he has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep his voice from wavering. He demands, ‘Never?’

‘Never.’

He lets the word wash over him, appeasing the beast in him for now. With a slow nod, he takes three measured steps towards you, stopping just an arm’s length away. Gently coaxing you to let go of the purple tshirt, he snorts at the huge Lakers logo blazoned across the front. 

He quips, ‘I’m more of a Longhorns fan myself, actually.’

The tension cracks, and you grin back, ‘Well, not anymore.’

After your confession, it’s probably redundant, but he wants to hear you say it. Flashing the tshirt at you, he asks, ‘Old boyfriend’s?’

It’s the most personal question that’s been exchanged between you so far by a mile, and it’s probably none of his business, but you can’t explain why your pulse spikes at the way his normally warm gaze hardens with something unfamiliar.

‘No,’ you answer. ‘I keep some of the stock here when there’s not enough room at the shop, that’s all.’

Joel rasps, ‘Good.’

With that one syllable, his shoulders visibly relax, suddenly drawing your attention to his topless form, which you’ve been too mortified to actually look at. It’s a lot to take in, and even though you’ve seen most of him already, there is one conspicuous part that you haven’t yet -

But before your eyes can trail that low, Joel turns. ‘Thanks, I appreciate it. I’ll just -’

You’re slow to catch onto why he trails off in the middle of the sentence, still far too distracted by his general state of undress to notice until he’s already made his way to the top of your neatly made bed. And then you see it…

The flannel peeking out from underneath the duvet.

Oh. Fuck.

With an almost flippant flick of his wrist, Joel peels back the corner of the bedspread. Wordlessly, he stares down at the red plaid shirt he lent you at the baby shower, tucked snugly in your bed, buried half under your pillow. 

He stares at it for so long that you interrupt the silence for once.

‘I’ve been meaning to return it,’ you squeak, hands flailing awkwardly, desperately wanting something to hold onto. ‘I just - forgot.’

Joel half-turns to you, arching an eyebrow. ‘You’ve been keepin’ it in your bed?’

Backed into a corner - and you’re not proud of it - you lie. Outrageously. ‘I don’t know how it got in there.'

He picks up the shirt by the collar. It’s wrinkled all over and obviously worn in. He smirks, ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

You’re this close to swivelling around and making a break for it, but as soon as your axis of balance tilts backwards, Joel grabs you by the wrist and pulls you in, hauling you firmly into his bare chest.

‘You’ve been wearin’ it to sleep, haven’t you?’ he asks in a tone that brooks no argument. 

Your fingers curl into his chest, his skin blazing warm under your palms. There’s no point fibbing anymore, and you admit, ‘Yes.’

His voice is hoarse when he asks, ‘You wear anythin’ underneath it, sweetheart?’

You hold your breath for one long moment, the tension in the room swelling so quickly that your ears pop. Eventually, under his patient yet heated stare, you shake your head, lips sealed.

His pupils dilate and his nostrils flare, and you feel his grip on your hips tighten.

‘No bra?’ he prompts.

‘No bra,’ you parrot back.

His jaw clenches so tightly that you’re surprised he manages to articulate his next question. ‘No panties?’

‘No panties -’

You barely get the word out before Joel is kissing you, pushing the syllables right back into your mouth until you swallow them with a whimper.

And then he’s pulling back, growling against yours, ‘And what do you do naked in my shirt, hmm?’

You stutter, ‘I - I think about you -’

An undignified squeal escapes you when he suddenly spins you around, your back hitting the bed, denying you the chance to catch your breath. The ceiling fan turns directly above you, but it does nothing to quell the heat between your bodies as Joel clambers over you on his hands and knees, sliding his mouth over yours again in a hard kiss.

You always thought your bed was a decent size, but now, with the bulk of this man hovering over you, you’re not so sure anymore. His ridiculously wide shoulders fill your entire field of vision, and even though he’s holding himself up with his forearms by your ears, you can almost feel the full weight of him through sheer anticipation of his touch. 

His heated words brush by your ear, making you shudder. ‘Tell me what you think about, sweetheart.’

‘Your arms, your shoulders -’ you hesitate, dropping your voice shyly. ‘Your belly.’

Joel looks taken aback. ‘My belly?’

You duck your head almost guiltily. ‘Yes.’

His brows draw together in an endearingly confused frown. ‘Why?’

‘That time in the workshop, when we met, you were sucking it in so hard you could hardly breathe - but you don’t anymore.’

The dots connect, and his lips part in an oh. ‘I didn’t even realise.’

‘I know. That’s why it’s sexy,’ you point out.

He looks at you incredulously, as if you’ve lost your mind. ‘My belly is sexy?’

You grin. ‘Yes, and your confidence. You walk differently now, you know.’

He makes a noise at the back of his throat, a self-satisfied smirk tilting his lips upwards. ‘You been watchin’ me?’

‘Maybe,’ you tease.

You exhale long and heavy through your nose when he sucks delicately on your bottom lip, opening you up so that he can dip inside, stealing a taste of your tongue with his. 

‘Been thinkin’ about you all week, sweetheart,’ he whispers, trailing fire across your cheek and the hollow behind your ear. 

‘I haven’t seen you around at all,’ you whine, tipping your head back as he nudges the tip of his proud nose down your throat.

‘I know, it took three fuckin’ days to clean up after the party,’ he complains, his disgruntled tone prompting a giggle from you. ‘Never again.’

‘I’m not so sure about that. There will be plenty of birthday parties to look forward to, Uncle Joel -’

An open-mouthed kiss on the side of your neck catches you off guard, the unfamiliar texture of the wet suction and scrape of his teeth jolts you clean off the mattress, sending you body slamming into his ribcage.

Joel hums, pleased at your reaction. ‘So sensitive. I’ve barely touched you yet, sweetheart.’

It’s immediate, the shame that burns under your skin at his remark despite knowing he doesn’t mean anything by it, and Joel frowns at the way you stiffen under him. Regret colours his words as he cups your cheek. ‘Pin, I’m sorry, that came out wrong -’

‘No, that’s the thing. You’re not wrong,’ you interrupt with a shake of your head. There’s no point denying it - you’re a grown woman, and there’s something fundamentally embarrassing about losing touch with that part of yourself over the years. ‘I - it’s been so long, I don’t even know my own body anymore.’

His eyes dip downwards and slowly, over the curve of your breasts and the arch of your back. With an encouraging smile, he argues, ‘I’m not sure about that. Looks like your body’s reactin’ perfectly to me.’

Your lips twitch despite yourself. ‘You’re just saying that to get into my pants.’

He takes the unexpected turn in the conversation in stride and runs with it. ‘Trust me, sweetheart, if I were tryin’, I’d already be in them.’

‘You’re such an ass, Joel Miller.’

His roguish grin has you squirming and fisting the sheets underneath you. ‘I dunno. Somethin’ tells me you like it.’

Wrapping one palm on the back of his neck, you drag him into you again, relishing in the weight of him as he pins you to the bed with the broad frame of his shoulders. He moans into your mouth, claiming it with deep strokes of his tongue, while his calloused palms sneak under the hem of your shirt and pull you into him by the small of your back.

Even as your hips buck, begging for friction, Joel holds back, propping himself up on his knees to keep a tenuous grip on his self-control. Pulling back from your lips with a wet pop, he assures you through heavy breaths, ‘We can stop any time, sweetheart. Just say the word.’

Your response comes fast and sure, but he can read the hesitance between the lines, ‘I - I don’t want to stop.’

He presses a patient kiss to your lips, but backs away before you can deepen it. ‘How about this - we’ll flip you over so that you’re on top, and you decide what you want to do. Is that ok?’

You pause to consider his proposal, sliding your tongue over your bottom lip - he’s this close to kissing you right there and then. You ask shyly, ‘And it’s ok if we - you know, just make out?’

He smiles. ‘I can do with some good old-fashioned neckin’.’

‘Ok then -’

You yelp when Joel turns you over without warning, the sudden movement making your head spin. Sitting up against the headboard, he drags you in his lap and asks, ‘Alright?’

You nod with a nervous smile. It’s intimidating, being so close to him that there’s nowhere else to look but into his thoughtful eyes that are watching you for any signs of discomfort. Catching your breath, you settle into the moment and realise that you’re straddling him, hands clinging onto his shoulders, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. His belly is warm and soft where he’s pressed up against you, but lower, nudging insistently between your legs -

Joel is hard.

The revelation robs you of air, want and need rushing like blood to your head, and you stiffen, not knowing what to do.

Joel catches on - you’re beginning to think that nothing ever escapes him - and he reminds you, ‘Just kissin’, ok, sweetheart?’

Snapping out of your freeze frame, you nod, ‘Yes. Ok.’

Giving you somewhere to start, he prompts, ‘Where do you want my hands?’

Tugging on his wrists, you watch his jaw go slack when you place his palms squarely on your ass, where your denim shorts hardly cover the top of your thighs. He lets out a lewd moan at the way your soft curves fill his hands, fingers squeezing and kneading greedily, and you push your hips back into his contact. 

‘Not so shy after all, hmm?’ he rasps.

You preen at his praise, and riding the wave of boldness, you tip forward and press your lips to Joel’s before you could overthink it. Over the roar of blood in your ears, you hear him suck in a shaky breath, and you feel the deep groan in his throat taper into a whimper when you swipe your tongue into his mouth.

You’re completely unprepared for the power the sound unleashes in you.

Somewhere in your consciousness, a door is cracked open, and memory crackles at the edges of your mind. Each shuddered breath shared, every slide of skin on skin, brings to the surface what you thought you’d forgotten. 

Your fingers burrow into the still wet locks at his nape, earning a loud moan from Joel when you pull on the grays that have distracted you on more than one occasion. He nips his way sloppily down your neck, trailing spit and beard burn as he goes, while your palms skate over his chest and down, down, down until your fingernails drag over the pliant folds of his tummy, hanging over the waistband of his jeans.

‘Sweetheart,’ he groans brokenly at the contact, forehead knocking into yours.

Spreading your fingers over soft flesh, you choke on an inhale when he bodily rocks into your palms. Your thumb catches the hollow of his belly button, fingers tenderly squeezing the creases and dimples of his belly. His eyes crack open under tightly knitted eyebrows, vulnerability etched in every line on his face.

Something shifts - something that neither of you can take back. And suddenly, it’s not just kissing anymore.

Caught somewhere between writhing instinctively under his touch and a deliberate pursuit of friction, your hips find a rhythm that has the seat of your panties quickly twisting and dampening as you grind on the erection straining against the zipper of his jeans.

Blunt nails bite into your thighs as Joel growls, ‘Shit, sweetheart. That’s it.’

You want to bury your face in his neck, feeling too wanton in the way you’re panting in needy whimpers, but he preempts that on no uncertain terms. ‘I want to see everythin’. Look at me.’

You do just that - you can’t deny this man even if you tried - watching him watch you with his pupils blown wide and wild, wetting his bottom lip the same time his eyes drop to your tits, as if he can see right through the thin fabric. He doesn’t touch you anywhere else though, his hands staying where you put them. You can feel his grip dig harder and harder into the swell of your ass, but he doesn’t try to change your rhythm, giving you free rein to ride him any way you need.

When your peripheral vision starts to go, you know it’s not a coincidence that your thoroughly soaked panties shift and strain against your clit, pinching it just so that you cry out, hips faltering.

Joel bares his teeth, and you feel his hips rut upwards into you, his restraint slipping. ‘There you go. You’re close, aren’t you?’

You can only nod, frantically grinding into him now, your whole mind narrowing until the only thought that remains is chasing that high that you can almost taste. Everything swells, electricity fills the air, his name a sacred chant on your tongue as you claw at his back, teetering precariously on the brink of something that promises to devastate you.

‘Joel, Joel, Joel -’

He catches you when you break - you fling yourself at him, knocking into him so hard that the back of his head hits the wall, but he doesn’t even flinch. Tucked safely into the crook of his neck, you whine and wail as you thrash in his hold, and his nostrils flare at your scent. He can smell you, he can smell the slick leaking from your pussy, humid and heady in the air between you, making his mouth water as he aches to taste you - all of you. 

One day.

Right now, the hinge of his jaw almost cracks as you milk the last remnants of your orgasm with a needy swivel of your hips, rubbing against his cock at an angle that makes his vision swim, and he knows he’s too far gone. His control slips like shifting sands, and a primal instinct takes over as he bucks roughly into you, fingertips leaving imprints in your skin that you will feel for days after.

‘Oh fuck, sweetheart, wait, I’m - shit, I’m gonna -’

When it hits him, it’s fucking relentless - he cums and cums until his voice goes hoarse with your name, until it feels like his abdomen would cave in and collapse, spurting and spilling until it feels like he’s turned inside out. It goes everywhere, thick, milky strands filling the gaps in his jeans and sliding down his legs in a sticky mess, and he slumps bonelessly into the headboard, panting against your lips as he catches his breath.

Sweetly, gently, he tilts his chin up just enough to kiss you, his nose nudging your cheek intimately when he pulls away, his lungs too deprived of air to keep going. He winces when you shift above him, knowing that you can feel the wet spot pooling under your bare thighs.

Joel breaks the sluggish silence first, cracking a grin. ‘So much for just makin’ out.’

You clumsily climb off his lap and crash land sideways onto the mattress. ‘Is that a complaint, Joel Miller?’

He drapes a heavy arm over you and pulls back you flush into him. ‘Well, these jeans are fuckin’ ruined. I want a refund.’

‘I’m afraid we don’t accept cum-stained returns. Store policy.’

He pffts. ‘Damnit. Should’ve read the fine print.’

You grin. ‘Well, at least there's something deeply poetic about cumming in the jeans that I picked out for you.’

‘Touché, sweetheart,’ he grunts and presses a kiss to your forehead. Glancing down at the unmistakable wet patch on the denim, he asks hopefully, ‘Any chance you got some pants I can borrow?’

Ellie bounces her leg irritably, hunched over on the stairs exactly where Joel was sitting this morning. Where the fuck is he? He’s twenty minutes late, and he had the nerve to get all huffy when she lied about the start time today. Unbelievable.

Moodily looking left and right, there’s still no sign of him. She’s about to give up and wait for him at home when something conspicuously purple comes to a stop in front of her. 

Her jaw hits the floor.

‘Oh. My. God.’

She’s never been high before, but she’s pretty sure this is the stuff hallucinations are made of.

This being Joel Miller in a purple tshirt with a tacky logo she doesn’t recognise printed on the front and khaki cargo shorts that cut off at the knees, holding a basket of vegetables that she’s pretty sure he doesn’t eat.

With a roll of his eyes, he snaps, ‘Shut your mouth, you’re trappin’ flies.’

Pasting on the most obnoxious grin she can muster, Ellie croons, ‘Man, don’t you look pretty.’

Turning on his heel, Joel starts walking without looking back. ‘Shut up.’

Jogging to keep up, she cackles, ‘Hey, did you fall into a wormhole and went shopping at a farmer’s market in 1999?’

‘Shut up.’

‘You really should wear shorts more often, y’know, show off those knees. And purple really is your colour, Barney!’

Joel frowns, shooting her a sidelong glare. ‘How the hell do you know who Barney is?’

Ellie shrugs. ‘What do you think they teach us at school?’

He’s the one who starts it. The quake in his shoulders would have been imperceptible to anyone else, but nowadays, there’s not much that he can hide from her. As usual, she giggles first, which trails into a squeal when Joel gives her a shove on the back, sending her stumbling over her shoes.

‘Fuck you, man!’ she snickers and basically rugby tackles him, but he barely budges, lips pulling back into a toothy grin. 

Across the street, unbeknownst to the pair, Tommy smiles to himself as he watches his big brother laugh, really laugh - the kind that has him doubling over and gasping for air through watery eyes. For the first time since the world ended, he looks up at the sky with a reassuring nod, and he knows deep down - Joel will be just fine.

Notes: You guys continue to blow me away with your support - I cannot be more grateful for all the reblogs, asks and interaction with my silly Behind the Seams posts and random updates. Thank you so so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I can't wait to hear what you think ❤️

I will be having a think over the next few weeks about where Seams will go from here. This chapter wraps up the first mini story arc, and I'll be dedicating August to wrapping up my Palomino series, so it will give me some time and distance to mull over what's next for Joel and Pin. I'm also a few followers away from a big milestone, so I might have something fun planned! 🥰

[kissitbttr]

Hiiiiiiiiiiiiii Ana I love ur work

So we know cheerleader!reader sends frat!Miguel photos of her, right? What about when she gets photos of him? Where’s the dick print pics? The gratuitous sweaty shirtless post workout selfies that every man takes?

Also because I must know….does frat!miguel like to get pegged? Because big buff football boy liking it up the ass is delicious

Thank you sayang! Kisses 😘

-🫦

sayaaang akuuu!!! omg i do need miguel’s thirst traps😔😔 we all do

-

her: where are you

her: i’m waiting

her: all naked and for nothing

she taps on her phone, anxiously waiting for a reply. not even ten seconds in, her phone dings,

miguel: i’m at the gym, baby. glen needs a spotter for the bench so i’m waiting for him to finish his set then i’m all yours yeah? xx

miguel: also… pics or it didn’t happen👀

she rolls her eyes at that but smiles anyways before typing a reply,

her: no, you’ve received too much

her: what about mine?!

her: i want to see my man all sweaty and shit

her: send me somethinggggg!!

miguel: *pic sent*

miguel: good enough, muñeca?

she sits up straight before tapping the attachment picture and fuck she almost loses it,

the picture is a bit blurry, she imagines him taking it with his hand a bit shaky. but fuck, it’s clear enough to make her drool,

miguel has no shirt on. giving her a delicious view of his chest and six pack glistening with sweat. his sweatpants hanging loosely around his hips, showcasing a bit of the v line and his happy trail,

her: babyyyy you look so yummy!!💦💦

miguel: ☺️☺️

her: but pull the pants up a bit

her: I don’t want anyone accidentally seeing your dick

her: not even glen. he’d turn gay for you

miguel: roger that, muñeca 😘

her: i’ll do five positions for you once you get here xx

miguel: on my way

-

as for pegginggg, hmmm miguel is not entirely interested tbh lmaooo. i do think his girl loves to bring that up every once in a while to fuck around with him a bit,

“just this once! we don’t have to do it again if you don’t like it!” she tries to suggest the idea, following him from behind,

he shakes his head, looking at her as if she’s weird for even thinking about it,

“no, muñeca. I don’t have to try it. that shits weird. no one’s touching my butthole except me. not even you, I don’t care how much i love you.”

“but you have a cute one though!” she pouts. “give me fifteen seconds tops”

again, he shakes his head. “stay away from my butthole, y/n”

LMAOOOOO

[anonimusunnoaniswriting]

ℭ𝔲𝔯𝔰𝔢𝔡!𝔗𝔬𝔧𝔦 𝔵 ℭ𝔲𝔯𝔰𝔢 𝔘𝔰𝔢𝔯!ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯

𝑴𝑫𝑵𝑰 🎀Age in bio or blocked🎀

Summary: When Toji is contracted to kill you, he doesn't expect this to be how the situation turns out. He really should have read your file before the hunt...

Warnings: gratuitous smut, no real plot, porn without plot, toji is whipped for reader, mentions of murder, toji is contracted to kill reader.

A/N: In the words of the great poetess Megan Thee Stallion, "Men are objects to me."

Thank you to @ominouslywritinginmyhead for doing such a quick job of proofing this.

As always likes and reblogs are appreciated 🩷

Toji couldn’t remember how many times he had come close to the edge only to be harshly pulled back from it again. 

He had been chased by a curse while trying to hunt you down. A curse that zapped him of his strength and rendered him unable to move. Unable to use his weapons to, not only defend himself but also to attack and kill you. 

You, more beautiful than he’d expected – the pictures shown to him didn’t do you justice. You, more dangerous than he’d expected – the file he hadn’t read about you not properly disclosing your abilities. You. 

Now you sat above him, skirt bunched around your waist, pumping your swollen pussy onto him, over and over as he pleaded and whimpered.

“Please doll, don’t. Please let me come this time…Fuck–” 

But all you did was smirk at him and continue, slowly drawing out each movement, each slow thrust. 

“Didn’t you say you wanted me to do whatever I liked with you, Toji?” you quipped back. 

Toji felt lost. You had both his arms pinned above his head with just one of yours. Your cursed technique that had made him kneel in front of you and beg for his life hadn’t done this. No, this was all you. Your scent, your eyes, your gorgeous body. Toji felt like he had never seen a woman so alluring. And here you were, on top of him. Doing exactly what he’d begged you to. 

Your full plump lips parted and he watched as they formed words that he couldn’t understand, his ears instead, filled with the sound of his rushing blood. “You promise, right? You won't come after me again if I let you finish?” 

“Fuck—please doll, I need you…” 

But you pouted and stilled your hips. “I need to hear you, Toji...I need you to promise.” Toji desperately bucked his hips up, trying to create any stimulation that would help him reach his climax, but you were too strong, slamming him down with your own thrust. “Promise me, Toji.” 

“Fuck, woman – you’re killing me.” But all the man could do was moan under you, tiny tears squeezing out of his closed eyes. Your small hands pinned him down with ease. You kissed his forehead, deliberately pushing your breasts into his face and driving him wild. 

“Tojiiii…” You drawled. “I’m not fucking you properly until you promise me…” As if to make your point, you leaned forward on his chest, just about rubbing your clit against the base of his dick. 

Toji could have cried. His arms didn’t work anymore, so no matter how much he wanted to lift you and slam you onto his cock, he couldn’t. His legs felt so wobbly that even if he wanted to pin you against a wall and take you like a virgin, he was convinced they would give out. “Fuck you, demon woman! Fine. I promise…I’m not going to kill you! I don’t care how much they offer me, just please help me cum!” 

Your pussy was wet and weeping now. The stimulation from just rubbing your clit against him had done wonders for you. You raised your torso off him with a giggle and said, “See, now that wasn’t so hard!” Toji could only grunt in reply before you pumped his cock, pussy holding him in a vice-like grip despite the ample lubrication dripping from it. 

“’M gonna come, doll,” he groaned, hips thrusting up to meet yours in a wet slap. 

Your hand cupped his cheek. “I think I’m close too. Will you come with me, Toji?”  He nodded. “Fuck– just a little more, Toji… Good boy. Fuck– come with me!”

“Shit, baby, I’m coming. Fuck, take my cock like that-god.” His release painted your insides as he came with a cry. You collapsed onto his torso, the two of you slowly riding out your highs, both coming down gently, feather-like. 

When you looked up, Toji was smiling at you half dazed. His chest lifted you with each deep breath. You quickly pulled yourself off him, leaving a little kiss on the scar at the edge of his mouth. Your panties were ruined…he’d torn them apart when he’d initially thrust into you, so you smoothened out your skirt and turned to him – still lying on the forest floor where you had first caught him – and said, “Well, I’ll be off then! See you around Toji – or better yet, not!”

“Wait!” he yelled, “At least undo the fucking curse you put on me, you minx! I can’t move!” 

“Oh, that?” You giggled, “The effects of my curse only last for about five minutes, Toji.”

AN: I just wanna make mean man cry ok. :)

[maryangelex]

Never Let Me Go (Pt. 5)

John Price x f!Reader

(Part 6)

Summary: After weeks away, Price comes back from deployment to a warm welcome.

warnings: nsfw!!, cumshots, praising, pulling out, p in v sex, fingering, some overstimulating

a/n: this is very much not as proofread as I’d like it to be but that’s what a 1 am burst of horniness creativity does

songs for this chapter are Kerosene by Yves Tumor but also Burning Desire by Lana!!!

Three weeks passed since then. John had let you know he'd be back home sometime soon if everything went as planned. During these last four weeks, you and he had remained in consistent contact, growing more and more comfortable with each other.  

At first, you had been hesitant to send him more pictures of yourself donning the few other pieces of lingerie you owned, but John made sure you knew just how much he enjoyed you taking his mind off his current situation.

He didn't pressure you, he never would be capable of doing so, but he did encourage you by sending you messages that let you know when he was in need of you, when he couldn't get you out of his mind, when he was desperate for you to ease his mind off work.

You, being your gratuitous self, never denied him that pleasure; you got to the point that you were beyond comfortable with letting John see your body, nearly every bit of it that wasn't clothed by the sheer lace fabric of your garments. Eventually, it was even he who wired you money for you to 'get yourself something pretty' for him, as he said. 

And you did just that by buying yourself sets you thought he'd enjoy seeing; teddies, rompers, garter belts, babydolls, everything you thought John would appreciate his money going to. You felt like his sugar baby, but you absolutely didn't mind, in a way you were flattered. 

You'd make sure to model every single new piece and John made sure to praise you and commend you for picking out something so perfect for him. 

And throughout all this time of waiting and being restricted to receiving John's affection through your phone screen, you couldn't help but count the days, the hours until he'd come back home. 

But you also couldn't help but wonder what this, between you and John, could be labeled as, what he considered this thing between the two of you to be? Surely it had escalated beyond a friendship, that line had been crossed a long time ago past the point of no return. John seemed like a serious man, and you knew he was much older than you to be doing situationships or anything of the sort.

You guessed you'd enjoy it for the time being, whatever this was, even though deep within you the long talks on the phone, the attention, his praises and affection, the way he showed you how much he wanted you, all of that was getting to you. 

You were in the cafe this Saturday morning, and it was a busy shift for once; plenty of people decided that breakfast at your and your cousin's cozy little cafe would be ideal, for finding a cozy, warm place to hide away from the weather that got colder and gloomier each day.   

Your cousin had made her best efforts to not pry into your little fling with John but she could only do so much. You had kept some mystery to it, but of course, it was difficult to contain the exhilaration of your escapades with the stunning man you had eating out of the palm of your hand. Still, you didn't want to give too much away. As far as she knew, you two were just texting and calling while he was away every now and then. 

The two of you were hard at work today, though, not much talk was being had except for the few jokes you two exchanged every now and then to take the weight of work off your shoulders, to alleviate the few entitled customers that walked in throughout the day. 

One of them really got under your skin, though. A middle-aged woman with a sour face had walked in to order a latte, and even though you had done your job and fulfilled her order, she still had something to say. She decided that she no longer wanted oat milk and instead wanted soy milk, demanding that you remake her drink, then deciding it was still not fit for her to pay you, and of course, deciding to insult you before being on her way. 

You were enraged at that, and that was your cousin's cue to tell you to take a break and go do some grocery shopping at the shops next door. With an exasperated sigh, you grabbed your purse and coat and stomped out of the cafe, repeating a mantra in your head to keep cool and not let some bitter bitch ruin your day.

You checked your phone briefly as you walked down the street, hoping to see a text from John, something that would cheer you up. But to your misfortune, there was nothing today yet. You thought about how much better your day would be if you had him around, even if it was just through a short text. Another heavy sigh left you, this one more mournful than irritated. 

You walked into the small family-owned grocery shop that was a few blocks from your cafe, your mind already starting to ease away from the negativity of that interaction as you wandered around. You and your cousin frequented this place to buy ingredients for the cafe, and for your personal shopping as well.

As you walked around collecting the items on your mental list, you felt your phone vibrate twice in your pocket. When you reached in to look at your screen you saw your beacon of hope; John had texted you. 

The first one was his usual morning greeting, followed by a second one that made your heart jump. 

"Coming back home on Sunday. Dinner?" 

You held back a squeal when you bit your smiling lip, biting the glove off your hand to be able to respond to him as quickly as you could. 

"My place at 8, don't be late", you replied, adding a few emojis to decorate your invitation to John. 

You thought about just how easily the man could single-handedly turn your shitty day around. Your shopping list just became longer as you sought out the proper ingredients for John's homecoming dinner.  

When Sunday rolled around you were off work, so you dedicated the entire day just to prep for your dinner. You had a whole menu prepared in your mind, even went to buy wine that didn't cost only £10. And something had possessed you to be John's perfect housewife and slave away at making him a Sunday roast. 

It was nearly 6 by now, and while you let the meat roast in the oven you hurried to get yourself ready. You showered with diligence, scrubbing the smell of cooking off your skin and hair. All you could feel was a mix of nerves and excitement to see him again. The thought of John's hands on you again, in the comfort of your own home where the two of you couldn't possibly have any disruptions, made your heart skip a beat. 

You shook the thought away as you threw on the dress you had picked out, one that hung on your body in every perfect way possible. When you got back to cooking it was nearly 7:30, so you checked your phone for any sign of John being on his way, or worse, for any sign of him not being able to make it. 

But you were pleasantly surprised when you saw a message from him letting you know he was in a cab on his way to you. Another moment of your heart fluttering. Now you were counting down the seconds till 8, not knowing what to do with yourself as you waited for the roast to reach its perfect temperature. Your mind was racing; you wanted everything to be perfect for John, you wanted to be perfect for John. 

Twenty minutes passed of you pacing around your flat, fluffing cushions that didn't need fluffing, biting your fingernails, dusting surfaces that didn't need dusting, and moving items centimeters in the same spot. 

You were snapped out of your fit of perfectionism by the sound of three knocks at your door, the sound of knuckles striking the old wood made you jump. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding before striding to open the door, and when you did so he was standing there like an apparition. 

That kind smile you hadn't seen in a month was flashing at you, tugging at bearded cheeks and crinkling the sides of deep blue eyes. You gawked at John like it was the first time you had seen him, the realization that he was real and at your doorstep dawned on you and you couldn't help the stupid smile that cut across your own face. 

"John," was all you could muster, and the chuckle that rumbled from his chest as he stepped closer to you made you realize that he was real, that he was really back, that he was just inches from you. 

John's hands cupped the sides of your face as he planted a kiss on the apple of your cheek. You held your hands over his own, feeling the man's rough skin in comparison to your supple, delicate fingertips that had never known labor like his. 

"Miss me, dove?" he asked, voice husky. Of course, you did, you thought, swooning at the sound of his voice, your eyes locking with his. How you missed those ocean eyes of his. You nodded in his grasp, your hands migrating to his shoulders as you stepped forward to place a soft kiss on his lips. Your pecks were gentle, shy even, as if the distance and time apart had you both starting back at square one. 

"I missed you too, sweetheart," he said against your lips, to which you giggled and gave him a chaste kiss before pulling back to lead him inside. 

"I hope you're hungry," you smiled. 

John let out a sigh, "Starving," he confessed. He entered your flat and you noticed he was still lugging his backpack with him. Your face dropped; did he come straight to you?  

John had a gift for reading your thoughts through just your expression, "Didn't wanna waste any time getting to you, dove," he said, gesturing to the backpack in his hand before setting it aside at your entryway. 

Fuck, his dedication to you never ceased to amaze you. The fact that he had gone out of his way to get to you the second he got off the plane ride home had you feeling some sort of way like you were the most important person in the world, a feeling John never failed to elicit in you. 

"You didn't have to, John, I could've waited for you," you gave him an apologetic smile. 

"I couldn't," he quipped, flirty bastard as always. You rolled your eyes, pretending like his courting didn't affect you. 

You took hold of his hand, bringing him along with you with a light "c'mere," as a command to follow you to the kitchen. John let you guide him, and when he caught a whiff of the cozy smell in the kitchen he practically melted. His expression was a mix of impressed yet embarrassed at the realization that you made all of this for him; you could see the blush painting his cheeks.

You urged him to sit at the table where you had set everything out for him, grabbing his plate to serve him the Sunday roast you had put your heart into making for him. He insisted on opening the wine bottle for you, it was the least he could do. 

"Fuckin' hell, love, I should've at least brought you flowers," he cursed, a scowl pulling at his lips in dissatisfaction with himself. 

"Well I'll give you a second chance for you to do so," you chuckled lightheartedly, already planning on this being a Sunday habit for the two of you. He liked your remark, evident by the approving hum he let out. 

You sat next to him at the table and the two of you shared the meal. It felt like this wasn't the first time, more so it felt like this was customary for you two; for you to welcome him with a home-cooked meal and a pristine house like you were his wife waiting for him to come back home. You basked in the feeling of it, completely ignoring the doubt that had lingered in the back of your mind.

John was none the wiser, he was enjoying himself thoroughly. You think he felt the same way; he looked content and delighted by the food and company, his hand never leaving yours throughout dinner, making sure he was holding you or touching you in any way as if to not let you go again, to not drift off you like a log in a river's current. 

There was a glow to him now that he was with you, it was almost angelic. And the way that he looked at you made you feel enveloped with endearment. 

When you were finished, and John looked like he was about to enter a food coma from how much he'd indulged in your delicious food, you felt more than satisfied with yourself as you rose from your seat to collect the plates. Immediately, John got up from his seat to help you; you knew he was unable to be a bystander when it came to you doing absolutely anything, the man couldn't live with himself if he did. 

He helped you carry nearly everything to the sink and insisted he did the dishes for you. The domesticity of it all made you feel warm inside. When you came back to the table to wipe it clean and put anything remaining away, you felt John's presence behind you, the heat of his body radiating against your back as he inched closer. 

You felt his large hands on your hips, stilling yourself as you revel in his touch. His hands scaled up your body, massaging the tender flesh of your hips and waist, feeling the plumpness and curves of your frame like you were clay on a potter's wheel. He hummed to himself and you felt the wetness pooling between your thighs. One of John's hands migrated up to your hair, gently adjusting it over your shoulder to expose your back in the strappy dress you wore. Your body was filled with goosebumps when the hairs of his mustache tickled your bare skin, peppering warm kisses on your shoulder blades. 

"Can't believe you made all of this f'me, sweetheart," his voice vibrated against your skin as he spoke between kisses. The hand remaining on your waist was sprawled on your lower tummy, pressing your ass flush against him. You could feel the hard mass of muscle behind you, the bulge of his crotch poking against you. 

"My sweet girl, so carin'...so stunnin' in this dress," his hand on your belly pet the silky fabric, while the other caressed up your arm, up to your shoulder, your collarbone, and finally stroking down your sternum between your breasts. His mouth occupied itself with the exposed skin of your neck now, his velvety lips gently pressing against it. 

The sound of him calling you his ringed in your ears, and you couldn't hold back the whine that brewed in your throat. 

"I wouldn't mind comin' home to this every day f'the rest of my life," he professed, and now you really were a wreck between your legs, all for this man's simple words. You wiggled your hips against his crotch, feeling the hardness that was confined in his jeans. That was signal enough for him; a sign that you were just as needy for him as he was for you. 

"Remember everythin' I said I'd do to you over the phone, love?" 

You nodded as your head lolled to the side, John's lips scaling up your neck and up to your jaw. His hands were now firmly holding your breasts, fondling the soft mounds of flesh. 

"Been thinkin' 'bout it all this time... thinkin' 'bout how good 'm gonna fuck you tonight, dove." 

Maybe it was all the wine you two consumed throughout your dinner, maybe it was the dizzying effect John's presence had on you, but without even realizing it you wound up in your room with him tearing your dress off between panting breaths and sloppy kisses. His hands desperately and messily scoured your now bare body, making sure to not leave an inch without being touched. 

Your hands got to work as well, clumsily working at the buttons of his shirt; he chuckled lightly at your nervousness and gently assisted you until you finally tore off the pesky shirt. Your tipsy mind took a moment to admire the man before you; burly physique with a comforting layer of fat adorning the taut muscles his career had provided him. Your hands caressed his hairy chest, thick and lush, and trailed down to his abdomen following the treasure trail of hair that trailed down his waistband. 

John's rumbling chuckle interrupted your gawking before helping you take off his trousers but staying in his underwear.

He gently guided you to your bed, his lips against yours whispering for you to lay down for him, and you complied, sprawled out on your bedsheets like a work of art made just for his eyes. He sat between your legs, looking down at your naked form and swallowing you whole, wide pupils burning a hole through you. You could see the way his cock twitched in the confines of his boxers as he eyed you, letting you know the sight of you like this was a delight to him. 

He dipped down to press his lips over yours, hands tracing the sides of your body down to take a handful of your hips and drag you down closer to him. You took a fistful of the hair at the back of his head as you kissed him deeper, your hips rolling up to find his clothed erection to rub on for some relief, but his grip only tightened on your hips and pressed you still on the mattress. 

"Needy girl," he whispered, giving your bottom lip a light tug with his teeth. Your response was a whiny moan and all he did was smile at your evident impatience. 

One of his hands scaled up your body, taking one of your breasts and giving it a squeeze before toying with the sensitive pebble. His mouth followed suit, popping the other unattended one into his mouth and sucking on it, making another pathetic sound come from you. 

He nipped your tits lightly, scattering bites and kisses alternating between the two while his fingers trailed down the center of your abdomen and down to between your legs. You absentmindedly spread them wider for him, the coldness of the room only making your drenched pussy more sensitive before he swiped a finger between your folds. The contact made you shudder, and John feeling your wetness made him growl a gravelly moan in his throat. 

"Like this for me already, sweetheart?" you nodded your head pitifully which only riled him up even more. The rough fingerpads of his ring and middle fingers applied pressure on your clit, rubbing tight circles on it. John propped himself on his free arm as he watched the way your mouth fell agape in silent moans and as you squirmed at the way he treated your delicate pussy. 

"P-please," you started, your legs spreading impossibly farther apart. 

"Please what, love?" 

"Need you, John," your nails dug into his shoulders. "Want you...so bad." 

John was too good of a man to deny his pretty girl anything, so of course he moved his fingers and slowly dipped them into your aching entrance, painfully slowly. A mewl came from your parted lips as you felt the pressure of his only the first knuckle of fingers inside of you. If just his fingers were this thick and invasive in your pussy you couldn't imaginejust how much his cock would split you open.

His eyes were fixated on watching the way your face contorted as he pressed further in, so so so slowly penetrating you, until his fingers bottomed out inside of you. And then a beat later, you practically sobbed when you felt the digits curl inside of you, seeking out the spongy, sensitive spot inside your walls.

Your hands gripped John's biceps to ground yourself as he fucked you with his fingers, alternating between curling inside and pumping in and out of you. His thumb joined in to rub at your throbbing clit, and his mouth busied itself with one of your breasts once again. You threw your head back and just about fell apart, hips rolling to match his movements as you selfishly got off on his fingers. 

"Fuck, doll...love how I make you sound," John cursed under his breath, mouth never leaving your tit as he lapped his tongue and tenderly bit the soft flesh. His cock was throbbing and leaking pre in his boxers, the impossible hardness of it almost made him lightheaded. 

His mouth moved to your neck now, lips sucking on your skin to make sure when you went out everyone knew you were not to be claimed by anyone else but him. 

"J-John," you sobbed, feeling the tightness in your stomach that was only rising further the more his fingers fucked you. 

"I know, baby, I know," he cooed, "be good and cum for me, yeah?" 

You nodded your head desperately, a hand reaching to tug his hair once again, peeling him away from your neck to crash his lips against yours. But he resisted, opting to keep his gaze on your teary-eyed face, his pace never faltering as he knew you were almost at the edge of the precipice. 

"Uh-uh, doll...wanna see your pretty face when you cum." 

With only a few more pumps of his fingers, your walls were clamping around the digits, your legs spasming and your moans being sobbed out as you came on John's hand. His rhythm slowed down, his thumb on your clit being the only thing moving and overstimulating your abused clit as you rode out your orgasm. Your ears were practically ringing and your mind was in a haze as you climaxed.

John's piercing blue eyes took in the sight of you cumming from just his fingers which were now completely saturated in your slick. He whispered praises as you came down from your high, breathless and sensitive. His fingers retracted from your pussy, collecting the juices that were oozing from you, that had now covered the inside of your thighs. 

"Good girl," he purred, "so fuckin' good... look at you, sweetheart."

He brought his fingers to his lips, sucking on them and closing his eyes as a delighted hum came from him at the taste of you. "Taste so fuckin' good...missed how this pussy tastes so much." 

You whined at his words and at the view of him tasting you on his fingers. Your hand weakly reached for his boxers, tugging on the waistband in a silent request for him to finally take them off. 

He looked at you and chuckled, "So greedy...want my cock even after I just made you cum?" 

"Need it, John," you said shamelessly, your eyes pleading for him innocently. 

He sat back on his haunches, tugging down his boxers with his clean hand while the other reached to stroke his aching cock, coating it in the mix of his spit and your juices. He moaned lewdly at the contact, slowly jerking himself off in front of you for a moment, lubing up his cock and preparing it for you.

You watched just how pretty he was in his hand, how he sat heavily on the palm of his hand, flushed red tip and veiny, with a hefty girth that you knew would tear you open. 

You watched him intently and your desperation for him was anew; arousal and neediness for him overcoming you again. You weren't going to be satisfied until John's cock was in you. 

"I did promise to properly fuck you," his unoccupied hand stroked your cheek and you melted in his touch, your sweaty skin felt like it was on fire.

"And I keep my promises, love." he purred, aligning his cock with your socked entrance that he had just so generously prepared. When he pressed inside you felt his girth stretch you wide, feeling the sting of the intrusion despite his prep-work; and yet, he fit so perfectly in you, like the last piece of a puzzle.  You gasped in unison as he buried himself into you to the hilt. He took a moment to savor the feeling of you wrapped around his cock, like a perfect mold cast precisely for him. Your walls fluttered around him, begging for him to move.  And after a beat, he rolled his hips, slipping his shaft out of you until only the tip was kissing your entrance, before slowly sliding back into you. He kept this pace, pulling out entirely just to bottom out to the point you felt the mound of hair at his base phantom over your skin.  You choked on your moans, nails digging at John’s shoulder blades as he pistoned his hips into you. His pace hastened and the sound of skin slapping against skin filled your home. 

John’s hand was cupping your jaw, holding eye contact with you as he bullied his cock into you. Those crystal eyes watched your tear-filled ones, watched the way you lost yourself at the feeling of his tip punishing that sweet spot inside of you. 

The way he fucked you was becoming more and more primal each thrust. John was at the verge of giving into every ounce of desire that he’d had pent up since the moment he walked into your cafe. Since the moment he’d tasted you. You felt the way his thrusts became harsher, the squelching sound of your pussy was lewd and sinful as you took every inch of him.  He held you impossibly close, his thrusts were shorter but impossibly deeper, making his pelvis rub against your needy clit. 

His breathing was ragged, huffing past his parted lips. 

“Fuck, baby…been wanting you like this…so fuckin’ long, so fuckin’ bad,” he tucked your sweat-damp hair behind your ear before lightly wrapping his hand over your neck, just to feel your pulse, feel that you’re really there, “you’re fuckin’ perfect, n’ you’re mine.” 

Now he slammed his hips into yours, thrusting with reckless abandon, losing himself in you. You let out a cry and tears rolled down your cheeks. A hand gripped at the tufts of hair in the nape of his head and his forehead rested against yours.  You were his, since the moment he walked through the door you knew you would be. And here you were, your heart racing and your pussy enamored by the way he fucked you and claimed you as his. 

You babbled mindlessly about how you were his, about how you wanted him to use you, how you wanted to cum so bad around his cock. So shameless you wouldn’t recognize yourself if you really heard what you were professing. You only heard a groan come from John and a string of curses as he fucked you impossibly deeper and harder, any further and you two would merge into one. 

One of John’s hands slipped between the two of you to rub at your clit. His mouth clashed against yours, swallowing the moans that were flying out of you at the added pleasure, before encouraging to be his good girl and cum for him a second time. 

“I can feel you so close, baby, so fuckin’ close,” he growled, lips still against yours, “let go, baby, be good and cum for me again, yeah?”  

And it was like his word was your command. John’s thrusts and the feeling of his fingers rubbing your clit made you cum once more. Your back arched off the mattress and you gave another sob as you clenched around the wide girth of his cock, body convulsing as euphoria consumed you, burning every single one of your senses. 

“That’s it, baby, that’s it.” 

John didn’t stop fucking into you, though. He slowed down momentarily to let you come down from your high. 

But then his pace picked up and became sloppier as he chased his own high, pounding into you to reach his own climax. 

“Please, John,” you mumbled drunkenly “Want you— want you to cum, too.” Your body went limp like a rag doll sprawled on the bed, arms falling over your head on the mattress, letting him use you as he pleased. 

John let out a growl as he leaned back, holding your hips in place so he could relentlessly fuck you to his heart’s desire. Huffing breaths and grunts escaped him, chest puffed proudly as he took you and used you like you asked him to. 

And soon enough, he pulled out of you, spurting ropes of cum onto your lower belly and pussy. He grunted as his hips faltered, cock pulsating as he painted your abdomen and entrance with his seed.  You moaned at the sight of him coming undone, at the feeling of his hot cum all over you. 

John supported himself on his arm beside you, panting breathlessly as every drop of him was let out onto you. You tiredly embraced him as he came down from his high, planting lazy kisses on his sweaty face. He gave you an appreciative hum as he slowly let himself lay beside you. 

The two of you lay on your bed exhausted, messy and in a haze but basking in the afterglow. 

After a moment, John reached for the box of tissues you had on your nightstand and cleaned up the mess of himself that coated your skin. You let him and gave him a smile that conveyed how out of it you still were, to which he chuckled pleased with himself. 

Once finished, he wrapped his arms around you, lifting your tired body to lay on top of his hairy chest. You were both sticky with sweat, but you were too drained to care as you lay on top of him, absorbing his musk and heat of his body. You felt his lips give a chaste kiss to the crown of your head before your lids started closing. 

John’s fingertips raked over the expanse of your back as you drifted asleep, the last thing you gave him was content sigh. 

He chuckled to himself, inhaling the scent at the top of your head before he let himself doze off with the weight of your body on him. 

That night you didn’t dream. Your body gave out completely. You had nothing to dream about since all you wanted was lying under you in the comfort of your bedsheets.

[hearts-hunger]

can i keep coming back to you? || danny wagner x reader

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: Danny comes home to you after a long day, and you show him the decorating you've been doing. | Standalone in the Four Weddings universe

Pairings: Danny x Reader | Genre: domestic fluff | Word Count: 2k | Warnings: none!

A/N: Besties, I admit this fic is 100% gratuitous self-indulgent fluff. I just want to decorate my house for Halloween in August, and I want to do it with Danny. Enjoy! ♡

“Don’t get scared, sunny.”

You turned, careful to put one hand on the bookshelf to keep your balance, and saw Danny coming in the door.

“What do you mean?” you asked. From your vantage point perched atop one of your dining room chairs, you looked around for something he might be hiding. “Scared of what?”

He smiled. “I just meant don’t get scared of me coming in,” he said. “I didn’t want to startle you and make you lose your balance.”

“Oh,” you said with a laugh. “Thanks.” You turned back to the shelf you were decorating, straightening a picture frame once you had the little pumpkin lights arranged just so. “Don’t you love this picture?”

He crossed to stand by your chair, looking for a long moment at the picture of the two of you from your trip to the beach in the spring. His hair was longer in the picture, tangled by the breeze, and his smile was big and bright as you kissed his cheek.

“Yeah,” he said fondly. “I do love that picture.” He put his arm around your waist and looked up at you. “Doing some redecorating, sweet sunny?”

You gave him a bashful smile and draped your arms over his shoulders. “Yeah, well, I know it’s not even September, but... I went a little crazy in the Halloween section at TJ Maxx.”

He chuckled. “I kinda figured from all the pictures you sent me. Did you end up getting the sheets with the skeletons and pumpkins and whatnot?”

“Yes!” you gushed. “And I got a blanket to match. You’re gonna love it.”

“I'm sure I will, sweetheart.”

“Do you want to see all the other stuff I got?” you asked, already knowing the answer. You were very grateful for the way Danny so generously indulged your love of decorating; no matter the holiday, you were given free rein to decorate anything and everything in your house, and Danny always complimented the changes you’d made with genuine interest and sincerity.

He smiled. “Of course I do.” He looked up at you with a tired sort of patience and affection, and you put your hands on either side of his face.

“I haven’t even said hi to you,” you scolded yourself. You gave him a kiss. “Hi, baby. I’m glad you’re home.”

He smiled against your mouth. “Me too.” He hugged you and rested his head on your chest as you gently ran your fingers through his hair.

“Long day?” you asked.

He hummed in agreement. “Your boys couldn’t quit fighting long enough to play through a whole song. We didn’t get anything done.”

You huffed a laugh, thinking of ‘your boys’ and how every once in a while, they’d get into a mood where they couldn’t seem to do anything but bicker.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Hopefully everybody just needs a good night’s sleep. You guys have been burning the candle at both ends lately.”

You brushed your fingers over his necklace, the permanent chain that apparently would stay on until the day he died, or the day you went crazy for him and found a way to get it off.

“This still isn’t driving you up the wall, huh?”

He looked up at you with a grin. “No, but I think it might be driving you up the wall. You don’t like it?”

“I like it just fine on you,” you said. “But say the word and I’ll get a pair of bolt cutters and take it off for you.”

He laughed. “That seems excessive, but I appreciate it.”

You cradled his face and kissed his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose, enjoying the novelty of being taller than him for a moment.

“You look tired, sweetheart,” you said gently.

He nodded. “I am tired,” he admitted. “But I still want to see all your new Halloween trinkets.”

You gave him a beaming smile. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sunny.” He scooped you up to carry you, and you giggled as you put your arms around his neck. “Where to?”

“Depends,” you said. “Are you going straight to bed, or do you want some dinner first?”

“Dinner,” he agreed.

“To the kitchen, then.”

He carried you in and set you on the counter, right next to the candle holder with four little ghost candles perched atop it.

“Hey, those are cute,” he said.

You sighed. “Here’s my dilemma with them.” You picked one up and ran your thumb over the waxy surface. “They’re candles, obviously, but when I got them all set up — ”

“You didn’t want to burn them,” he said with a smile. “Isn’t that right?”

“Oh, I just couldn’t.” You held it out to him, and he held it for a moment in his big palm. “They’re just so cute! I couldn’t melt them.”

He chuckled and put the ghost back with its companions. “I understand, sweetheart.”

He patted your thigh before he went to the fridge and pulled out a Corona. “You want one?”

“Sure.” You hopped down from the counter and started to get things set out for dinner. “I tried a new crock-pot recipe, so I hope it’s not awful. It’s some kind of chicken taco casserole something or other.”

He lifted the lid of the crock-pot. “It smells good,” he said agreeably. “I’m sure it’ll be great, honey.”

You were too distracted to respond, trying to figure out how to get the plates you wanted from the top shelf. You knew you could just ask Danny and he’d happily get them for you, but you didn’t want to bother him, and you stood on tiptoes and tried to reach them.

He gave a soft laugh. “Sunny,” he scolded lightly. He handed you your beer and reached above you to take down the plates.

“You know you have a really tall boyfriend to get things off a high shelf for you,” he said. “You ought to put these long limbs to use.”

You smiled. “Thank you. I just didn’t want to bother you.”

“Helping you is never a bother, sunny.” He kissed your nose. “Now tell me what else I can do to help you, please.”

You enjoyed the bashful butterflies he still gave you as he followed your directions on setting up for dinner, and the two of you sat catty corner at the table for a long time after you finished eating and talked about how your days had been. After dinner, Danny washed and you dried, and you shared a bowl of ice cream at the counter.

“Are you at the studio all day tomorrow?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said, and his tone was apologetic. “I know you had some errands you wanted to do together, but...” He absently toyed with one of the ghost candles, distracted and tired. “If those errands can wait until this weekend, I’ll just move my golf thing and we can do them then.”

He looked over at you. “Unless they can’t wait until the weekend. Then I’ll ask the guys if I can step out for a little while to get them done.”

You brushed a few curls from his face. “They can wait, but I don’t want you to have to cancel with your dad.” He and his dad had planned to golf together on Saturday, and you knew Danny had been looking forward to it.

“I’ll just go tomorrow by myself,” you said. You didn’t really need Danny to go with you, but both of you preferred to do boring errands with each other to make them less boring.

“Are you sure?” he asked. He washed your ice cream bowl and set it to dry. “I can talk to the guys, see if I can leave for an hour or so. Maybe we can get coffee or something.”

“I’d love that,” you said. You laced your fingers with his as he came back over to you. “We’ll figure it out. I just feel like I haven’t seen you a lot this week.”

“Yeah, me too. I miss you, sunny.”

You smiled. “Aw, honey. I miss you too.” You tilted your face up for a kiss, and he leaned close and obliged you.

“Come in the shower with me,” he said, kissing the corner of your mouth.

You grinned. “Okay, but only so I can show you the new shower curtain I got.”

He chuckled. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

He did end up liking the shower curtain with pumpkins and black cats on it, but you guessed he probably would have been happy with any kind of shower curtain just so long as you were behind it with him. He wasn’t interested in showering as much as he was interested in simply being close to you, and you happily indulged his desire for long, slow kisses and gentle touches. You washed his hair for him and enjoyed the way he relaxed under your hands as you washed the worries of his day away in a soft lather.

He was a little more energized after your shower, and when both of you were in your pajamas with your hair bushed and your skincare done, he sat on the bed and waited for you to show him all the things you’d bought. He put on some music, and you hummed along to First Aid Kit while you fished your trinkets and tchotchkes out of their bags.

“Look at this guy,” you said, holding up a little cauldron with moons and stars around the rim.

“Candy bowl,” he guessed.

You laughed. “Yeah, candy for one person, maybe.”

He looked thoughtful as he wrapped your new pink Halloween blanket around his shoulders. “Um... we could use it as a bowl to hold keys and stuff on the table by the door.”

“That’s actually a great idea,” you said. “Okay. Key bowl.”

You held up the next thing, a light up crystal ball held in gold skeleton hands.

“Okay, that’s cool,” he said. “We should just keep that out all year round.”

You hid a smile at his real interest in this particular decoration. You knew he didn’t mind all the things you’d picked out, but he was sort of indifferent to them; mostly, he was just happy to enjoy them if they made you happy. Every once in a while, though, you’d find something that really sparked his decorative interest, and it seemed like you’d hit the nail on the head with this one.

“Watch,” you said, and you flipped the switch at the bottom that made the crystal ball light up and swirl with glitter.

His eyes widened. “Dang, sunny. You should go to TJ Maxx more often.” He took it when you offered it to him, watching it like a kid with a shiny new toy. “This is some real wizard shit. We should get one for Jake. He’d love it.”

“Okay, but fair warning — if you let me go back, I’m gonna end up getting more decorations we don’t need.”

He smiled and handed the crystal ball back to you so you could put it on the dresser. “I like it when you go shopping for stuff like this.” He nodded to the bags you still had at your feet. “What else did you get?”

When you’d given him a show of the rest of your baubles, he convinced you to leave them strewn about your room in a state of disarray with the promise of helping you set them up later. When he opened up his blanket cape and invited you in for a hug, you gladly accepted, and he held you in his lap all cuddly and snug.

“You were right,” he said. “I do like this blanket. You’re a genius.”

You giggled as he hugged you tighter and made sure you were wrapped in the blanket with him.

“My sweet sunny,” he said, resting his head against yours. “You’re so good at making our house cosy and fun and beautiful. Thank you for making it a home.”

Your heart wobbled. “I’m glad you like it, Dan.” You pulled back just enough to see his face. “It’s all for you, honey.”

He smiled. “Thank you. And thank you for sharing it with me.” He kissed you and snuggled you close, rocking you gently to the music. 

“Did I ever show you this album?” he asked.

You smiled. “We listened to it the day it came out,” you reminded him. “We went on a drive and listened to it all the way through.”

“We sure did,” he agreed. “I remember.” He was quiet for a moment, thinking of that early-morning drive with the cool breeze and one hand on the steering wheel with the other hand in yours.

“That was a pretty good date,” he said. “Don’t you think?”

You smiled. “Yeah, I do. We should do it again sometime.”

He hummed along to the song for a moment. “This song makes me think of you.”

You didn’t know it well enough to know the lyrics, but you knew it was a compliment. “Oh yeah?”

He hummed in agreement. “I’m gonna love you ‘til the moon don’t shine,” he sang. “I’m gonna love you ‘til the waters run dry. Oh, you, can I keep coming back to you?”

His voice got a little muffled towards the end as you pulled him down for a kiss, and he smiled as he tried to keep singing and kissing you at the same time.

“Can I keep coming back to you, sunny?” he asked.

“You are simply not allowed to go anywhere else,” you replied.

He laughed and kissed you again. “Yes ma’am.”

danny taglist:@tearsofbri@busybeingtrash@myway-late@gotavansleep@gretavanbri@stardustchxrds@pxppylove @bajabule69 @radmads-gvf@sunnykiszka@audgeppp @ageoffleeet @stardustjake

gvf taglist:@malany-gvf@spark-my-nature@eearevee@madneedshelp@demonrat444@josh-iamyour-mama @honeyandsweettae @mydarlingdanny@gretavandann@sacredjake@myleftsock@joshskittytickler21@hellowgoodbye@watchingovergvf2@fearfulspirit@mywaysoon@carbondancingthroughtime@caprisunsister @eraofstardustchords @sacredthefran@shesawomaninadream @serendipiti @demonrat444@wildflowerxx-x @tearsofdanny @iluvjoshkiszka @jordie-gvf-admin @demolitionndann

@gvfrry@ohhey1293@the-chaotic-cow@mountain-in-springtime@xserenax-13@stardustjtk @brooke-gvf@weightofdreams-gvf@jakeydoesit@gretasmokerising@hayley1623@doodle417@finestoflines@brokenbellz@bowievanfleet@s0livagant@strugglingtodoshit@s-u-t@kay-jordan@gretavanfleas@jakeyboiiiiiii@gretavansteph@gretavanbitches@myownparadise96@luverleaver@weightofdreamz@greatervanfleet@maedesculpaeusoubi@jakekiszkasbestie@pineapple-photographer@baguettejuliette@alexxavicry@levi-wants-ur-bones@carlybubs@cowboysamkiszka@dannyandthekiszkas@jordierama@slutforsteve@starshine-wagner@quartzzzzzzz@edgeofdreams@writingcold @lostoverseer @catharu77 @mackalah@jaketlove @haileygvf @blacksoul-27 @ur-m0ms-blog

sorry if tumblr didn’t tag you — it’s stupid sometimes. but i’m real thankful for you, sweet peaches! and if you’re a new bestie and would like to be added to my taglist, check out the form right here! ♡

[gg-pedro]

can you hear the music (ch. 4) - joel miller x reader

masterlist

summary: everyone in jackson is trying to distract themselves from something. you teach ellie piano and find yourself trying to help more than one miller settle into their new world.

chapter 4: joel asks for a blessing. in the end, you aren't sure if he gets it.

warnings: post outbreak!joel, jackson!era, joel x reader, AFAB!reader, platonic!ellie x reader, protective!joel, implied age gap, brief smut (p in v), mentions of blood, non-gratuitous descriptions of a wound, alcohol consumption, gun violence, rampage!joel, angst, and more angst.

words: 3.5k

a/n: sorry in advance! alternate title: waiting room.

-

Joel apologized to you second.

You woke up to Joel draping a throw blanket around you and the sound of mugs being set on the coffee table. When you opened your eyes to see him sitting on the edge of the couch next to you, you worried.

He looked ill. The pallor of his face clashed with the peaceful resolve that was mixed into his expression. When you sat up, he took your hands into his, and his eyes were pleading with you to stay.

“I’m sorry for makin’ so much trouble for you. Last night… that wasn’t right. I didn’t want you to have to– y’know, have to deal with shit that should be mine.”

You shook your head. “It’s–”

He cut you off. “Don’t say anything yet. I’m gonna tell you a few things first.”

Joel had woken up before the sun that morning with you curled up on his chest and a 50 pound weight on his shoulders. He slipped off the couch, trying his hardest not to disturb you, and walked by the light of the moon back to his and Ellie’s place.

She was asleep in her bedroom, a comic book spread open on her chest and her blanket twisted up near her feet. He straightened out her duvet over her and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

In his bedroom, he dug the framed photograph of him and Sarah from his pack. He apologized to her first. He held the picture in both hands, stared at it for a long time, and asked for her forgiveness. And for a blessing– he told her about you, the girl that he was seeing and wanted to be with, for however long time would allow. 

And maybe a sign, too. Just to know that she was still there.

Now, dipping his head down as he gripped your hands in his, he would apologize to you.

Joel told you a lot of things. Some of it vague, some of it not. Mostly about how he couldn’t save his daughter. You were feeling lots of different things. Mostly, you just felt sorry for him. Entirely winded by the pain he experienced. It was like that old adage– you get to know someone so well that you end up on the other side of them. 

At the end of it, still gripping your hands, he looked into your eyes again. “I know you’re gonna see me differently now. That’s fine, I’ve done things I’m not proud of. Real, real bad things. And if you don’t wanna do this anymore, that’s fine too. Or if–”

“Joel,” you said quietly. “There’s not a single skeleton in your closet that would make me feel any differently about you. Because the you that I know?” 

You brought your hands up to cradle his face. “You've got a heart of gold, baby. And if I can say that now, after all this– I know it isn’t going anywhere.” You brushed tears away from the hollows of his cheeks. “Neither am I.”

Joel just nodded. He didn’t say anything, not even if he believed you, but you already knew he did. For the first time, he held you in his arms and it didn’t feel like he was waiting for you to crumble into dust. 

Tommy was third. It wasn’t much of an apology, though. The whole recanting of the situation in the bar the night before brought Tommy to tears from how much he was laughing. 

“Wasn’t expecting that this would be so amusing to you,” Joel grumbled.

Tommy, wiping his eyes, said, “You swing and you miss sometimes, brother. But fuck, I ain’t ever lettin’ you live this down.”

That made Joel laugh too, which made everything less heavy. As collateral for Tommy not mentioning any of this to Maria, he made Joel promise to take his night patrols for the next two weeks. That was the deal, and that was good enough for him.

He had a memory come to mind of him sitting in church once, staring at a vaulted wooden ceiling and wondering how many confessions it would take to wash his hands clean of sin. It was a lifetime’s worth, even back then. Now, though, he was starting to think it would take a whole lot less.

-

Joel and Tommy’s deal was a just punishment. He could stand the lack of sleep, the chill that the early spring’s night air carried. But it meant he couldn’t spend every night of the week with you. 

The two of you were in his bed this time, fresh out of a warm shower. Joel tried to convince you that it was practical, saving the commune on hot water, but you realized that was a farce the second you undressed and his hands started roaming.

He wanted you to be his. Grabbing you by the back of your thighs, he lifted you up and pressed you against the tile wall. He sucked and bit the slick skin of your neck and shoulders in a way that made your senses fuzzy with desire. You wrapped your legs around him, whining and needy until he gave you what you really wanted.

He fucked you then and there, bodies tangled together between light and water. You could moan and beg as loud as you needed to on his right side. Still, he’d complain, telling you to use his good ear to cry out his name. Wanna hear how much you want me, pretty girl.

As you laid in his bed afterwards, him tracing circles up and down your arm, he startled suddenly.

“Time is it?”

You strained to read the time on the alarm clock. “Half past midnight.”

“Damnnit, I’m late,” he hissed. 

You watched as he got up, pulling on a pair of jeans and a white tee shirt. “Can I come?”

He gave you a pointed look, one that clearly said over my dead body. “No.”

“Joel,” you began, sitting up in bed. “I’m getting tired of this– living the same day over and over again. Besides the kids, you’re the only thing that I look forward to anymore.”

Buttoning a flannel up almost all the way, he shook his head. “Good. Means you’re safe. Better bored than dead or infected,” he said. “Going out there ain’t gonna fix anything for you.”

“You think I can’t handle myself,” you said. “I’ve gotten this far. I got here alone.”

Joel sat on the bed next to you and took your hand into his. “I know, baby. But I can’t. Can’t risk you,” he said quietly. “Stay here tonight. Stay with Ellie. I’ll be back by dawn.”

That was the end of that conversation. But you kept asking, and asking, and apparently you passed his ‘show-me-how-you-hold-a-gun’ test, so he relented. He relented, and he shouldn’t have.

You took the same mare that you did on the previous trip, arms wrapped tightly around Joel’s middle and the cool metal of his shotgun pressing against your chest at the same time. There were three other pairs out there with the two of you, covering the east, west, and south while you and Joel took the north edges. 

It was the dead of night outside those walls, and winter had melted away even further since the last time you’d seen it. Still, the exposure left you shivering, and the wind still howled in the trees like it was coming from the bitter north. 

“This ain’t all for fun. You keep your eyes open. infected, hunters, camps, anything you see. That means tracks, smoke from fires, noises– anything. You got that gun ready, too?”

You reached into the holster on your side that he’d lended you, fingers gliding over cool metal. “Mhm. Ready to shoot off some heads,” you joked.

He huffed. “Yeah. Hilarious.”

He led you northward and you wondered how he did this so often. You weren’t sure if he was actually fearless to a degree or if he just had a constant sense of duty inside of him that he felt the need to fulfill. You get so used to putting your life on the line for others that eventually, you feel useless when you aren't. You just assumed it kept him going in a way you couldn’t understand.

“I wanna show you something,” he said after a long lapse of silence. “You gonna be awake for it?”

He must’ve been able to tell with the way you had your face slumped against his back that you were trying hard to fend off sleep. “Tell me what it is first?”

“That ruins the surprise, baby doll,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. 

He let you doze off for a while, but the uneven motion from the horse walking up an incline roused you again. Your eyes quickly adjusted to the blue dawn and sitting there in the foreground, like you were seeing a mirage, was a white farmhouse. 

It could’ve been sitting on three acres of cleared land. A few hundred yards away from you was a barn and a silo to go along with it. Dead moss and other foliage had twisted its way up around its sides, creeping into broken windows and cracks in the wooden planks that made up the facade. The roof sagged inwards and the door seemed to have vanished from the hinges. It was beautiful anyway. 

“Me and Tommy found this place a while back. We were thinking of how nice we could fix it up. In another life, maybe,” he said musingly. “You like it?”

You rested your chin on his shoulder and rubbed his arm with a gloved hand. “I love it. Feels like I’ve dreamt about a place like this.”

“Me too,” he agreed. “Just needs a big ol’ fence around the whole thing.”

You laughed and leaned over to kiss the shell of his ear. “I think that’d ruin it, Joel.”

He scoffed at you. “No. Can’t live here if it’s all out in the fuckin’ open.”

“I thought this was a hypothetical. And it doesn’t even have a door– I think it needs more than just a fence.”

“Well no shit. In my hypothetical, it’s all fixed up.” He waved a hand out in front of him. “New paint, big shutters on those windows. Slate roof. Maybe a blue door. Then I’d put up a fence. That make you happy?”

“In my hypothetical, there’d be no need for a fence. No infected, no hunters, no raiders. Just us. Dream bigger, Miller.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded. “But if I’m bein’ honest, there’s no hypothetical where I would wanna live in the middle-of-fuckin’-nowhere Wyoming.”

Still with your head on his shoulder, you watched the sunlight crest through the valley and light up the peak of the farmhouse in a warm glow. You dreamt of what could have been. What life would be like with Joel in the big white house of your dreams. In another life.

But if you were being honest, you wouldn’t have gotten to meet him in this one if the world hadn’t fallen apart. 

“Yeah, alright. You win,” you replied quietly. 

“I’m never wrong, hon.”

“Mhm. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

-

You headed back south from the farmhouse, traveling across a slight ridge that overlooked an open field. About a mile out, you could see Jackson’s walls in the morning light. A sudden gasp from you made Joel pull at the reins and stop the horse in its tracks. 

“Oh, look,” you said, throwing a leg over to the other side and sliding off to get a closer look. “Wild poppies. I thought it’d be too early for flowers.” You crouched next to them and felt the warm soil beneath your fingertips. 

“Flowers? Get back over here. I’m serious, you’re already too far,” Joel called, staring at you from two yards away. 

“Oh, fuck off. Let me enjoy myself before we have to go back,” you yelled back behind you.

You were grateful for your life in Jackson. Beyond content there. It made you restless, too. As if it was some utopia that shouldn’t exist because the world had fallen apart. You had a home, you had your people, you got to show kids music, for fuck’s sake. 

You didn’t know what was missing. Maybe it was just the mourning of the life you could’ve had that never really went away. There was more, though. There was something. 

Joel slid off the horse after you, jogging to catch up. “I said I ain’t kiddin’, get back from the fuckin’ led–”

Joel barely had his hand on your shoulder when the distinct crack of a shotgun being fired rang out through the still forest. He grabbed you as quickly as he could, trying to cover your body with his, but he wasn’t fast enough. A strangled sob still wrenched itself from deep inside of you.

Joel paled. No. No. No. No. No. Baby. Baby. No. Please. Please, baby. Please.

Your knees buckled, and you would’ve sank to the ground if not for Joel’s hands around your waist, pulling you up against gravity. You pressed your hand against your upper arm, hot and sticky. When you pulled away, blood was left smeared across your palm and dripping between your fingers.

Dizzy and still reeling, you fought against his grasp and dropped to your knees. Joel went with you, grabbing your arm to assess the damage. You cried out, trying to pull it back from him, but he ignored your protests.

“You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay, sweetheart, you’re okay.” He repeated it over and over again, probably trying to convince himself more than you. “It just grazed you, baby. I know, I know, it hurts, you gotta let me, though–”

He stripped off your coat and pulled your sleeve up. A remarkable chunk was missing from your arm, replaced by a red massacre of blood and flesh. Joel tore off a strip of his flannel and tied it tight around the wound as a makeshift tourniquet. 

Just then, hurried footsteps approached the two of you. A lone man with his hands raised up in the air and a rifle strapped to his back. Joel drew his pistol, getting up to stand between you and the hunter.

“I’m so sorry,” he began, breathless. “I thought– I thought I saw a deer. I have medical supplies at my camp, I could treat that–”

The man was cut off by being promptly shot in the foot. He screamed in response, the sound full of shock and confusion, before crumbling to the ground. 

“You thought. You fuckin’ thought? Oh, I bet you did. You fucked up. You really, really fucked up.” 

Joel grabbed the man by his hair and smashed his fist into his face, over and over again, until even the poppies a few feet away had crimson blood spattered on them.

And you, you couldn’t even hear the man’s sobbing and pleading. You were hearing symphonies ringing through the woods. You were so sure you heard music, flowing and crescendoing with every throb of pain that shot through your arm. You wanted to shut your eyes and lean into it completely. 

Still, you knew you were yelling. Trying to, anyway. Screaming at Joel to stop. It was a mistake. That man hadn’t meant to shoot anyone. 

Joel, with his field of vision entirely red, watched the man look at clear blue sky and utter his last words to God–

Joel. Joel. Joel, Stop it, fucking don't, please, don’t–

And Joel, like the executioner he had been molded into, put a bullet straight through the other man’s skull. 

The music pounding in your ears faded, vision dipping into cloudy darkness, and the last thing you felt was Joel’s arms catching you before your body hit the ground. 

-

Your consciousness was spotty the entire ride back to the city. You knew you were in Joel’s one free arm, tucked in close to his chest, while he controlled the reins of the horse with the other. 

“It ain’t so bad… you’re gonna make it. Can y’hear me, baby? Talk to me, please.”

You mumbled something into his skin and groaned. The adrenaline coursing through your body was making you shiver, and every slight movement sent waves of pain through your arm.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” He repeated, grip tightening around you. 

You heard him yelling to the guards at the front gates before your senses dulled to static black.

-

Oh, you wished you would’ve stayed unconscious.

In the clinic, there were multiple people pinning you down. Someone forced whiskey down your throat as they debrided the wound. You choked on it initially, but as they sewed the hole in your arm shut, you were screaming for more. 

The bullet should’ve gone right through you– it was centimeters away from it. You were told that it should have. You almost wished it did. But the hunter was a poor shot, and now both of you were suffering for it.

After passing out from drinking more than half a bottle of bootleg whiskey, you woke again when it was dark outside with a hangover and a dull throbbing in your arm. 

Ellie was there. 

She perked up a little when she saw that you were aware. “Oh, hey. Let me go g–”

“–don’t get Joel. Please.”

“Oh,” she said again. “He didn’t shoot you, right? He’s telling everyone that he didn’t, but–”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and cut her off. “No, no, he didn’t– fuck… where is he?”

“At the house. Maria made him. I wanted to stay. Make sure you didn’t die or some shit while everyone was gone,” she said.

You sat up more fully from the cot you’d been sleeping on. Half of it had pools of dry blood on it, overlapping. “Mmh. Thanks, Ellie.”

“Don’t mention it.” 

You stared down at your hands clasped in your lap. You swallowed. “Did they say when I could go home?”

“Dunno. I think Joel said he was ‘gonna be the one to decide’,” She told you, imitating his low southern drawl. “You wanna play cards? This weird kid at school taught me how to play Euchre.”

You agreed, of course. You and Ellie sat together on the bed, both trying to ignore the way it was splotched with red. Halfway through the second round of her kicking your ass, you popped open the decanter at your bedside and choked down the rest of the alcohol.

-

You sat awake long after Ellie had left. She beat you five times in a row until you played Go Fish and finally won a round. Tommy came to walk her back home, informing you that you should stay there for the night. He didn’t mention Joel.

You were drunk, definitely. Half your bloodstream was probably alcohol. But it made you woozy and it blurred the pain, so who were you to complain.

Joel came to you a quarter after midnight. He just stood at the door, staring at you as you stared back. 

“You shot him,” you stated.

A long pause. “He shot you.”

“You didn’t have to, Joel. I didn’t want you to.”

You could see him biting the inside of his cheek. He looked like a complete mess, not having slept in at least a day.

You sucked in a breath. “It was my fault and you know it.”

He didn’t reply. He approached you, picking up the empty bottle of whiskey before setting it down again. He sat down on the edge of the bed and let his head drop into his hands.

“I did what I thought I had to do. All I could do. Someone hurt you, and I– baby, listen to me.”

I ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to you. D’you understand that? Nothin’. I’m gonna take care of you. Keep you safe. Keep you happy.

“I know it scared you. I’m so, so sorry. Nothin’ was your fault. Don’t think you got any blood on your hands,” he said. “It was my choice. You gotta understand… I couldn’t just let someone hurt you and walk away clean.”

I will. You just gotta let me.

You thought of the big white farmhouse. Out in the middle of nowhere with nobody trying to burn it down or hurt it. You thought of a different life. One with him. One where he’d never have to think about the trigger of a gun ever again. 

You pushed it away. You’d ruin the memory if you ever touched it again. 

Tears pooling in your eyes, he pulled you into his arms and held you. He rocked you back and forth, pressed so close to his chest that it was difficult to breathe.

“I know, baby doll, I know. It’s for the better. It’s for the better.”

You shook your head and gripped him tightly. “I’m scared. It hurts, Joel.”

He shushed you and ran his hand up and down your back. “I know. It’s gonna be alright. I’m gonna take good care of you. I just– I couldn’t let it happen again. Not to you.”

Maybe it was for the better. He kept you safe. He had shown that he’d go to any length for you. Not that you had doubts about that before. 

But he didn’t kill that man for you. He did it for himself.

-

[eye-of-yelough]

okay. new ocs, the trio of cunts. info.

pedophilia mentions incoming

first guy: (Jordan Seamus) Turner. picture a teddy bear, that’s what he looks like. he has a daughter, Lola. he was 15 when he got her mama pregnant. Jacqueline Corbin. she was… older. you should know: this was a nonwhite teen boy in the 80s, he didn’t even process what happened as rape until months later, and once he did, he knew no one would care. they stayed together, left their small midwestern town with a couple of thousand from his parents’ savings account, and travelled bonny and clyde style, weighed down by a baby bump, and then an actual baby, and shitloads of drugs and mutual cheating, and terrible, terrible fights.

as soon as she crossed the line the last time, Turner finally executed his plan to ditch Jacqueline - in the middle of their next stick up job. and down she went to the clink for armed robbery. she got out early on good behaviour, she went back in before she could track them down. framed this time, Turner had been counting down the days, he was ready for her.

this is all backstory, btw. prologue stuff. the story begins when Lola is 15, and Turner is 30. 1999. he is, somewhat ironically, a bounty hunter now, although he spends more time in the business side of things than in the field. this 🤏 close to starting his own agency.

on one of his rare field excursions, he meets our third cunt. Vivien “Skin” Guerrero. 22, firstborn son of a hispanic cartel family and older brother of Monroe, both belonging to @stabknives :) Skin fucked off, not necessarily to get away from the crime, but to carve his own bloody fortune, arrogant cunt that he is. totally not a daddy issues thing. he’s doing just fine, thank you. ignore that he can never keep anyone around. or alive. it’s fine. home always felt too crowded and he was a bit of a black sheep anyway. lone wolf isn’t too far of a jump for him. he always liked animals. Turner and Skin end up chasing the same bail jumper. Skin isn’t a bounty hunter he just wants this guy dead real bad. although it’s acceptable in the bounty hunting business, sometimes unavoidable, Turner prides himself on never having eliminated a target. awkward.

how this becomes a fucked up sort-of love story, who knows. they don’t. in my head i’m picturing this like a film. maybe 2 or 3 films. bring back late 90s-early 2000s movie trilogies! genre wise it’s sort of a pulpy spaghetti western but, darker, i guess.

and with gratuitous violence and sex, of course.

[soooliviane]

My theory about Bella Goth's disappearance

Oh hell no, I can't see my wife while my eyes are closed…

Recently, I thought about numerous theories about why Bella Goth disappeared of Strangetown, and I actually have my own, let me tell ya.

First, i found 2 pretty famous theories:

- Bella Goth was abducted by aliens, under the order of the Caliente sisters and Don Lothario, was released in Strangetown, ran away to Lunar Lakes (Sims 3), had a girl there and died of old age.

- @alexplayssimsnstuff's post, here's the link

According to me, there are truths and wrongs in both theories. Let me start to explain.

About Morty and Bella

APS said that things were not going well between Mortimer and Bella because she was unfaithful (romance asp), because they can't belong together if we try to get Bella back, and because he quickly started to date Dina Caliente. Another thing, in the PSP game, Bella tells us that she married Morty only for his money and she stayed for free television (i don't know how to traduce that, in french we say "câble gratuit", she can watch premium channels on TV, for free).

I don't think so.

First, if she was unfaithful, Morty would have memories about it. If they were separated, Cassandra would remember this. I think Bella's romance aspiration should be interpreted as she is not interested in seduction but she loves her husband (look, she refused Don Lothario !)

About the whole "fighting" thing between them, I could have an explanation. I was inspired by the Deathly Hallows in HP, and particularly by the resurrection stone. The story says that when the sorcerer used the stone to bring back his loved one, she was there but distant, cold, because even if she was materially there, she wasn't belonging to the living ones' world. I think this could be the same for Bella. She is there, but her relationship with Morty is not anymore, and she can't rebound because she is not totally alive. The tombstone of L&D isn't a conventional way to resurrect sims. As you could read, I mean that Bella is dead.

Rare picture of Bella enjoying her "câble gratuit".

What about the "I married Morty for money and TV" thing ? Well, I can't believe that it's true. Remember that they were really friends since they were kiddos, they had so much in common like being paranormal lovers or their Hot Topic vibes. Let's look at the context of the revelation, she is horrified, she wants desperately to leave the city. She is even ready to give you a whole house for a few bucks ! Guys, she's not in her right mind, and I think we all would be like this if we were abducted by aliens, released in an unknown place where there are ghosts, monsters, zombies, a neighbour who kills her husband without being bothered and this freaking cop who eats trashy donuts.

So what about Nina, Dina and Don ?

Ding dong, here come the taxes !

The story of Dina and Nina calling their alien mates to get rid of Bella so Dina can seduce Morty and take all his money is extremely known by Sims 2 players. Buuut, there's something wrong in this theory. Yes, Dina and Nina are 25% aliens since their dad is born from an alien abduction. But the dad is actually more human than alien, and since he never met aliens again, how the girls are supposed to contact aliens ? Moreover, why would aliens keep contact with like ALL OF THEIR HYBRID BABIES ? Of course Dina is a fortune asp girlie but I don't think she could plot a way to get rid of Bella. Nah, I think it's just a matter of life in which Dina saw a good opportunity to earn more money (I don't think also that she killed Michael Bachelor, even if she cheated on him with Don, she was in love with him). My theory about that is that she was stucked with a lot of debts, and right after she heard about Bella's disappearance (according to me, this would not take long, even if Bella's brother is dead, she still is the only relative alive for the Goth family), she moved in Pleasantview, like a nasty parasite attracted by the smell of fresh flesh… 😈

POV : You're Don Lothario and you kinda miss your maid's work

What about Donnie, uh ? Well, let's take a look at his situation. Don work in medecine career as an intern (pray for every poor girl this gross man was "treating"…), so he makes almost 600§ a day. He is NOT poor at all. And since he doesn't aspire to money but romance, why would he marry a rich girl just for the money and make more difficult for himself to hook up around ? Being engaged to Cassie is literally a bad memory !! So why did he proposed ? Well, you can see that dear Donnie and Cassie haven't ever "played doctors", surely because Cassie wants to wait for after marriage, and Don is bitchy enough to marry Sandra, or just engage, just to put her in his hunting table.

Soo, what i'm tryna say is that Dina and Don (yep, because Nina has nothing to gain from this so i don't think she's involved), at the beginning, didn't have any intention of hurting Bella. But, now that they are into their own plans, Bella reappearing would be catastrophic for them. Not only because she would return to her place in her household and in Morty's heart, but also because she could ruin Don's relationship with Cassie with these few words : "He tried to F me first". In conclusion, if Bella returned to Pleasantview, Donnie and Dina would seriously have to get rid of her immediately.

If the guilty isn't Morty, Don or Dina, who abducted Bella ??

Easy question, I'll give an answer very quickly : Aliens

Aah, the sweet taste of deception, but wait, the tea is boiling.

But let's take things as they are. Bella was fascinated by paranormal since her childhood. And fun fact, with Sims 3 Generation, if we try to ask her to go to prom with her, she can refuse, saying that aliens may abduct her.

Bella is a very gorgeous, smart and charismatic woman, it's totally understandable that aliens would want to abduct her and mix their genes with her perfect ones. If I was an alien I would totally want to abduct her (yep, she was one of my first lesbian character crush, who else ??). So, that night Bella disappeared, she was just looking at the stars with Don's telescope and *BAMF* alien abduction, babe ✨

If she was simply abducted by aliens, why she can't go back? Why she is in Strangetown? Why the hell did you say that she's dead ?

Well, you know that there are actually two Bella Goth. One from Pleasantview that is missing. AND one in Strangetown, as a townie, and quite different than the first one.

Indeed, this one has no memories, a different face AND a mess around her name.

If in the original version and a lot of traductions, Pleasantview Bella and Strangetown Bella both share the same name, there are 3 versions where her identity is changed.

- In French, where Pleasantview Bella Goth is "Sonia Gothik", Strangetown Bella Goth is named "Kathy Lalouche" (French version of Kitty Curious, the mother of Pascal, Vidcund and Lazlo). Same thing in Thaï.

- In simplified Chinese, they kept Pleasantview Bella's first name for Strangetown Bella's but changed her last name for the Curious equivalent. Lot of simmers say that it's a mistake made by traducers. But with the same Curious family? And when we are checking ST Bella's datas, we can see that she recognises Vidcund as her sibling, and Jill and John Smith (Jenny Curious/Smith's kids) as her nephews. Vidcund and Jenny also consider her as a sibling. So now you can understand that this name thing is not a random fact. And this plus physical differences, we can conclude that these women are not the same.

What happened to Bella?

Since we can meet real Bella in Strangetown on PSP, we can assume that she ACTUALLY WAS in Strangetown. But what we forgot is that she is alone, no Curious family around her, and more important : she wants to leave the town.

I think that's the last time we have news about her.

Yep, in Sims 3 Ambitions' time travel machine, we can learn that Bella Goth became an alien queen in the future. But sorry not sorry, that's not our Bella. Why would she become a queen of people that traumatized her?

We also learn in Sims 3 world Lunar Lakes that she died there of old age. But it doesn't make sense for two reasons:

- I think that Lunar Lakes is like a very far future. Yep, she could have drank youth serum AGAIN, but where would she find this in freaking Strangetown desert, far from her scientist husband ?

- Why THE HELL would she travel to the FREAKING MOON, when she could just go back to her family and live a kind of normal life far from paranormal and alien things. Little reminder, Strangetown is on Earth, since as a player, we can go into and out of this city, Bella could totally take a bus, or ask tourists to transport her back to "civilization".

SO, FINALLY, HERE IS WHAT HAPPENED TO BELLA AFTER HER ABDUCTION.

Two Bella were released in Strangetown. One is our Bella. She immediately left the Curious' spaceship area, found an abandoned house where to live and lived on the money she had in her pockets (I refuse to assume that a rich lady like her doesn't go out of her house without cash or credit card, idk) and maybe work. But quickly, she found out about Strangetown's weird things and ran away. She met our character at Mambo Loa's Market, sold us her house for all of our money and left, using the money to buy a ticket bus or just ask gently to kind tourists. After a loooong journey, she finally came back to Pleasantview, all happy with the idea of seeing her husband and her children back aaand met Dina and Don, who got rid of her immediately. That's how she died. And since she died in secret, Grim Reaper can't resurrect her, and when we try to invoke her by Tombstone of L&D, she acts so weirdly. Here is the tragic end of Bella Goth.

And what about "Bella Curious" ? Well, she is a clone of Bella Goth, made by aliens and released in Curious' house/spaceship area. Because they are kinda friends with aliens. They "raised" her and treated her like family, in a alien lover's environment.

But why would aliens do that ?

There is this theory that I love very much from Gonz, I'm sharing his Tik Tok down this paragraph. But it basically says that Sims games take place at different periods of time, on a same timeline (Sims 4 doesn't count, EA ruined everything 🤢), and this timeline lands on a tragic end : a doomed future, where aliens have invaded Earth.

But with this theory on mind, don't you wonder how they took power on Earth?

And don't you wonder how "Bella Goth" became Queen of Aliens ?

What if "Bella Curious" had a task on earth, being a kind of a spy for aliens. And since she is beautiful, charismatic and very intelligent, people would just bend the knee in front of her (Actually I, would bend the knee for her…) She filled her mission successfully, and since alien people owe this extraordinary human clone everything, they made her their queen. And, why not, took her to the Moon where she could live her old days peacefully and die of old age.

[tieronecrush]

BNBG (brand new baby girl) masterlist

frankie x curvy OF/cam girl f!reader

summary: frankie has been needing distractions from a hurdle in his sobriety, so he ventures to his frequented subscription service platform to take his mind off things. he sees the title of your page, intrigued immediately, and dives deep into your content. catching your attention on a livestream with his confident commands, frankie becomes infatuated with you and an avid viewer before he decides to DM you one day...and then ends up with a brand new baby girl.

rating: E (very)

warnings: daddy kink!! **cover does not depict anything about the reader, simply vibes of softness**, vague descriptions of reader's body (plush, thick, curves, soft, etc. no definite descriptors used otherwise. picture her as you want but she is mid to plus size in my head, hence the tag 🫶), no age specified (only that reader started out of college, no specifications of when she went to school), discussions of addiction & drug use, childless frankie au, sex work, sex livestream, consumption of porn, unestablished relationship, online relationship, pet names (conejita, baby, babygirl, pequeña, bunny, etc.), gratuitous descriptions of frankie's dick, SMUT, male masturbation, female masterbation, sex toys, both frankie & reader have thoughts about the other (unprotected piv, fingering, oral, etc.), major dirty talk, d/s dynamics, some fluff sprinkled in <3, this might be lowkey problematic that frankie uses porn to cope (esp reader's porn) buuuuut hopefully it's hot

part 1

part 2

part 3

[spurgie-cousin]

ok my mom understandably had to go to bed (very late here in her time zone, and it's even an hour later in the one I'm used to) but I'm a mental masochist so I will trudge on until I can't physically watch Shiny Happy People anymore (and I'm just going to edit my comments instead of reblog bc so far there's really not a lot most of us aren't aware of):

- firstly, I knew Deanna was raised Christian but I didn't know she was raised VERY conservative Christian. Per Deanna, this is the reason Amy was allowed so much freedom; she didn't want to limit her as a female in any of the ways she was

- going off of that, I can see how that foundation would open Jim Bob up to a religion that is so insanely misogynistic

- I know it's a thing all of us who've been around a while have known, but it's all but explicitly said that the Duggar kids had any steal of rebellious beat out of them. By Michelle, regardless of what she sounds like.

- I can't help but wonder if this is the reason Michelle sticks so closely to this faith, even after all that's happened. Even as her own children have expressed how abusive their upbringing was. Leaving the ideology means admitting you were an abuser and not an educator.

- Jill felt like she lied in the Megyn Kelly interview. She didn't want to do it and said she wouldn't have without her parents urging, and she felt obligated to protect her family. She didn't want to do this interview, but didn't trust anyone else to tell the truth which, given her upbringing, I totally get.

- the interviews with other ex-IBLP kids are just as fascinating to listen to as Jill's (if not more bc a lot of them WANT to be there). Tia Levings in particular is so incredibly brave and wonderful, please follow her your preferred platform ❤️

- Mike Huckabee is an accomplice to abuse and ped*philia at best

- I know Derick can be insufferable but I promise he's worth listening to in this doc, at least so far (I'm halfway through episode 3). And he's a very serious Jill advocate, which I feel like all the Duggar girls need so badly.

- Jill didn't want anyone at her birth because SHE DIDN'T WANT TOO GO THROUGH WHAT ANNA WENT THROUGH. She agreed to a diary cam at most.

- For that work they did during their babies birth, the Dillards requested not a full paycheck, but a small health insurance renumeration fee from TLC, who asked them to do this work. TLC informed then that they had already paid all sums to Jim Bob.

- Jill has never received any amount of payment from TLC for all the time and work she had given them. Neither had Derick.

- this is probably a NO DUH for us around here, but here is a short list of IBLP/ATI approved lives of training, especially for minors who are doing work for free for other members of the organization (i believe the Bates kids are included in some of the pictures accompanyingthis part):

1. CoNSTrUCTioN!!!

2. Cosmetology (women only of course)

3. Ministry

4. Business?

5. Healthcare consultant

6. ALERT counselor

Secular college courses so not apply to accreditation in these fields

- other ex-IBLP members confirm that children were trained in construction trades and child labor was used gratuitously in the organization, for anything from repairs, to setting up conferences, to building actual buildings. And it was all, of course, free.

- ALERT confirmed as a purposeful paramilitary organization

- am ex-IBLP woman who was sent to ALERT states that they took tampons away from her, as they were a form of purity violation (she says they said she had purposefully taken her own virginity by using them).

- a woman raised in IBLP recounts a story at a conference in Oklahoma City where her roommate almost slit her throat with a knife over being a 'glutton'. Essentially, a teenage girl almost killed herself over not being thin enough to be 'godly'.

- David Green, the CEO of Hobby Lobby, is STILL IBLP's biggest donor. Don't fucking shop there!!!!

- a purposefully sanitized version of Bill Gothard's teachings have been and might still be used in elementary schools, prisons, police and military units as a way of indoctrinating those in attendance to be more open to absolute authority.

- All of the kids besides Jill & Derick might've very well signed a very lengthy contract that extends at least a decade. The Dillards didn't, and have received extreme yet Christian-flavored threats over it???

- The Dillards were using a food bank even after they asked Jim Bob for the most basic payment for their services to the show

- Jill, Derick, and others all agree tha Journey To The Heart was a vetting mechanism for Gothard's abuse victims

[33-screaming-frogs-also]

For you page simulator:

Cat. Reblogged. Cat. Reblogged. Long text post about something only this person cares about. Blocked. Reposted art. Blocked. Reposted art. Blocked. Disgusting ad for a puzzle game. Reported. Someone's boring blazed selfie. Blocked. The most beautiful painting you've ever seen and it's lesbians. Followed. Porn bot. Reported. Porn bot. Reported. Scam post asking if you want to work for fedex. Reported. Cat. Reblogged. Puppy video. Reblogged. Picture of a seal. Horrible ad for a puzzle game. Gratuitous pictures of that pygmy hippo baby. Reblogged. Some fandom shit you dont care about. Blocked. Someone's american cartoon fetish art. Blocked. Beautiful drawing of your faves. Like, reblog, follow. Super horny art of your fave. Like, follow, reblog 10 times. Abhorrent ad for puzzle game. Reported. Blazed porn bot. Reported. Shitty reposted meme. Blocked. Fandom drama for people who dont touch grass. Blocked. Adorable kitty video. Reblogged. Cool indie game. Downloaded. Mutual reblogging pathetic meow meow old man. Reblog in solidarity.

[luckycharms1701]

🥑🏜️🐝🌸🎨 and 🧩 perhaps?

of course, of course! 😊

🥑 ⇢ you accidentally killed somebody, which mutual(s) do you text for help? lmao sam. roomie, bestie, and also physically the closest to me and therefore most able to help

🏜️ ⇢ what's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work? like i said, any type of comment is going to make me happy. i do enjoy the ones that ask or theorize about parts of the fic, love talking about my work lol

🐝 ⇢ tag your biggest supporter(s) and say one nice thing about them @desceros @justalotoffanfiction sam makes me laugh like nobody else, they’re so funny at all times. spoon is like the strongest person i know.

🌸 ⇢ do you have any pets? if you do, post some pictures of them this is my baby, apricot!

🎨 ⇢ link your favourite piece of fanart and explain why you like it hands down yorsh's bay mikey design. honestly the one she did for my birthday is my favorite but that's not publicly available (is for me! 😜). but this one is my profile picture for a reason. i love the colors. the expression on his face makes me cry if i look at it too long. the flower tattoos! i've waxed eloquent about them before. the stickers are the cutest thing. the butterfly in particular has personal meaning for me and so is my favorite. i could go on and on. i just love everything about it

🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately? gratuitous angst is the first thing that comes to mind. there had better be a reason i’m wading through this sadness