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alltheirdamn · 8 months ago

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Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 4: Lost In Moonlight

Chp. 4 Summary: You couldn't deny Joel any longer. You needed him. Rating: Explicit 18+ MDNI Word Count: 7.8k Warnings: SMUT (finally), unprotected piv sex, nipple play, cock riding, cum eating, creampie, oral (f receiving), fingering, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names (baby, good girl), aftercare, heavy kissing, mentions of past emotional abuse, soft!joel, so much FLUFF!!! A/N: I know this is what y'all have been waiting for, so I hope I did this moment justice :') I'm putting together a lil playlist for this fic, so please lmk if you're interested in seeing it! xoxo <3

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Flower petals were strewn across the entryway as you and Joel staggered through the dark house. You couldn’t find the time—or care—to flick on the lights, too busy finding Joel’s mouth in the darkness. His hands caressed every curve of your body, fingers reaching under the seam of your sweatshirt to press against your warm skin. You tried blindly guiding him toward your room, only to awkwardly bump into corners and walls in the search, leaving you giggling and Joel cursing. You were nearly at the door when he stopped short, pinning you to the wall of the hallway so that he could devour your mouth once more. Helpless moans left your lips as he coaxed your mouth open wider, his hands roaming down your lower back. You pressed yourself closer to his chest, the outline of his hardened cock rubbing against your upper thigh. Joel pulled away from your mouth, his breath ragged as he palmed your ass with his large hands.

“I don’t want you regrettin’ this in the mornin’ if it’s not what you want,” he panted.

“Don’t try and tell me what I want, Joel,” you whispered, kissing down the base of his neck.

He let out a shaky breath, his hands squeezing you harder. By the night's end, not a single inch of you would be left untouched. You raised your mouth to his ear, grazing over the shell of it with the tip of your tongue.

“I’m sick of pretending like I don’t want you.”

“You’re killin’ me, baby,” he groaned.

You searched for his hand through the blanket of darkness around you, guiding him to your bedroom. You counted the steps in your head until the back of your knees hit the mattress, and you were falling back. Joel tumbled over you, one knee propped up beside your waist while his other leg was wedged between your thighs. His hands pulled at the hem of your sweatshirt, tugging it up your body until you took control and stripped it off in one fluid motion. It barely hit the ground before his hands were all over you, the touch of his skin on yours electrifying you beyond words. Every touch was soft…so fucking soft. It was dizzying to be handled so gently and with such determined intensity. Where you struggled for words, Joel responded with another caress, another kiss, another praise of adoration.

The pads of his fingers began tracing down your sternum, working at the material of your bra.

“Can I?” he asked, reaching behind your back.

“Yes,” you exhaled.

His fingers made easy work of the clasp, freeing you of your bra in record time. Even if you were drenched in shadows, you knew Joel’s eyes were washing over your body with rapt attention.

“Jesus Christ, you’re fuckin’ beautiful,” he muttered as he leaned back over you.

His mouth was hot against your collarbone as he worked his way down your chest. Peppered kisses trailed over the swell of your breasts, and you arched into his gentle touch as he swirled his tongue around your hardened nipples. His tongue flicked at the sensitive skin, forcing a breathy whine to escape your lips. Joel’s teeth grazed over the soft skin of your breast before dipping his head lower and scattering your navel with soft kisses.

“Joel,” you whimpered, carding your hands through his hair.

A thin sheen of sweat hung on the curls, forcing them to stick against his temples and forehead. You raked your nails over his scalp, earning a deep groan that rumbled through his chest. He pulled himself up so that he stood over you, and as your vision adjusted to the darkness, you watched as his hands worked at tugging his shirt over his neck and shoulders. Fuck, you wished the lights were on so you could catalog every part of his body. You sat up on the bed, craning your neck back as you traced your fingers over the soft skin of his stomach and up his chest. The hair spattering his chest tickled your fingertips as you crept higher, your hands caressing the thick muscles on his shoulders. Joel’s hands reached to cover yours, halting your blind exploration of his body.

“We should stop,” he said, strained.

You cringed as he said those three words, letting your hands drop and wrap around your bare chest. You knew it was too good to be true; he didn’t want you. Even if every atom of his being called out to yours, like some prayer for divinity, he wanted to stop.

“I—I understand,” you hesitated.

You didn’t know where to go, with him still looming over you, so you shuffled your body up the bed, trying to find the edge of your comforter so you could bury yourself in the deepest part of your mattress and disappear entirely. Joel’s hand shot out to grab your ankle, tugging you back to the edge of the bed, and you raised yourself on your forearms, staring at him confused.

“We should stop,” he started. “Because I don’t have a condom.”

“I haven’t been with anyone in two years,” you confessed, adding, “I’m on birth control, too.”

“Are y’sure?”

You hooked a leg around his waist, tugging him closer until he was falling forward and caging you between his arms. You craned your head to capture his lips in a hungry kiss, holding him firm against you.

“I want this, Joel. I’m sure.”

That was all Joel needed to hear before he lost all semblance of control. His restraint was replaced with this frantic urgency as his fingers worked at the button and zipper of your jeans, yanking them down your thighs and leaving you exposed to the cool air circling your room. His pants were shed less than a minute later, and now you were both only separated by thin pieces of fabric that covered your lower halves. The press of Joel’s hardened cock against your thigh ignited a fire within your stomach, and your underwear dampened through at the thought of what he could do with it. Having sex with Bennett always felt like an obligation—a chore. But with Joel, you craved it beyond understanding. You needed to put emotions into action and feel how he thought about you. Every ounce of your resolve and control were far gone now, left somewhere between the front door and the bed beneath you. The second Joel had kissed you, you knew you’d never say ‘no’ to him again. He was a weakness you couldn’t control, and you were so tired of trying to keep him at a distance.

Joel’s hands worked at your underwear, and you let out a giggle when he tossed them carelessly across the room along with his own. Your heart pounded in your chest as he lifted your leg by the back of your knee, propping it over his broad shoulder. He angled the head of his cock against your slick entrance, coating it in your wetness before pushing in slowly. Your head fell back against the bed as he broke you open inch by inch. The agonizing stretch to adjust to him faded away, and you both moaned in unison as he bottomed out, filling you completely.

“S’fuckin’ tight, baby,” Joel cursed. “Feels fuckin’ amazing.”

He started moving, his hips rocking against you at a tender pace as you squirmed under his body. Each thrust amplified the coiling warmth, creating an unbearable furnace inside you. You needed more; you needed to feel everything and forget every lingering emotion crawling through your mind.

“Harder,” you begged.

“Yeah?” Joel panted, driving into you with such force your body shoved up the bed. “Like that, baby?”

Your only response was a vigorous nod of your head and an outward cry as he plunged deeper with each snap of his hips. Sounds of your bodies slapping together, your endless cries of pleasure, and his ragged breath became a cacophony floating through the air around you.

A car drove past your house, the headlights streaming through the blinds, drenching Joel’s silhouette for a fleeting moment. At that moment, you could see the flex of his arms, the pinch of his brows, and the slight tug of his lips upwards as he continued wrecking into you. Rewashed in darkness, you ached to see how his pupils blew wide as he gazed down on you.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ perfect,” Joel muttered, squeezing your hips to anchor you against his body. Perfect. There was that word again, sounding so simple when he said it like it wasn’t a lie. Like he meant it. And every action he showed you proved he not only meant it but believed it.

You chased the warmth that unfurled through your muscles, the pleasure building higher and higher until you could barely contain it. Joel must have felt it, too, because as your eyes scrunched tight, Joel’s fingers found the sensitive bud at the apex of your sex and drew long, tantalizing circles. That touch was all you needed to come undone completely; your body was paralyzed as the orgasm wracked through you with such intensity you lost all breath inside your lungs.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Joel hummed. “Let go, baby. Gimmie more.”

Bennett had never spoken to you this way, nor did he praise you when you came—which was rare with him. He barely did anything but grunt once in a while, but this? Hearing Joel talk you through every thrust, every ripple of your orgasm, only spurred you on more. You clung onto every word he spoke, like a moth to the flame, and his mouth was a forest fire.

Joel bent forward, wrapping a strong arm around your back and hauling you over until you were perched on top of him. From this angle, his cock felt so much bigger, stretching you wider until your thighs ached. He sprawled back against the comforter; his hands splayed against your hips to guide you in fluid motions above him.

“Joel…” you exhaled, grinding your hips down against him.

“Talk to me, baby. Tell me what you need,” he urged.

You lifted your hips, sinking back down onto him, finding the perfect rhythm that rendered you speechless. You couldn’t form words or think of anything else but his name.

“C’mon, baby. I know y’can use your words. I wanna hear you.”

“It’s just—.” You heaved in a breath as he rocked up into you. “You feel so fucking good, Joel. Your cock…”

“Keep talkin’,” he moaned.

Shuffling his knees up, Joel started pistoning into you hard, making it impossible to form coherent sentences. How were you to speak when his cock was driving into you so hard your vision was blurring? Joel gritted out your name, coaxing you from your chaotic thoughts.

“Never.” You gasped. “Been fucked this good.” Another gasp. “Need this all the time. Need—you. Fuck… Joel…”

“I got you, baby. Ain’t gonna let you go.”

You whispered his name like a cantation, each syllable a broken prayer leaving your lips. Another orgasm throbbed inside your core, and you snaked your hand to rub circles against your swollen clit, trying to alleviate that growing ache throbbing in your veins. Joel’s pace was unrelenting as you toppled closer to the edge, a cry escaping your mouth as you felt your body seize up. The clench of your sex around his cock was enough to force him to the edge, too, and as you hit your climax, his release exploded inside you, with your name falling off his tongue.

Joel lifted himself, molding your bodies together in his firm grip, your lips crushing together as he swallowed the tiny sounds still finding their way up your throat. Your hands clasped around the sides of his neck, keeping his mouth locked with yours until you felt his cock soften inside you. With a roll of his hips, Joel had you pinned to the mattress once more, his cock slipping free as he worked his mouth down your body. You tensed as his mouth grew closer to your navel, embarrassment forcing your spine to stiffen.

“Joel,” you cautioned. “You—you don’t have to do that.”

His nose brushed over your stomach, his hands working in tandem to pry your legs apart. With a dip of his head, he placed a gentle kiss on each thigh, humming in satisfaction.

“Y’want me to stop, baby?” He asked, his warm mouth hovering over your sensitive clit.

“I just—.” You were flustered. “I’ve never had someone…”

His fingers flexed and tightened around the supple skin of your hips, and you could see his dark eyes peering up at you with confusion as his brows knit together.

“Don’t you dare tell me you ain’t ever had a man eat your pussy,” he warned.

You bit your lip and gave him a single nod of your head. Bennett never went down on you, always making some sort of excuse. “You wouldn’t like it.” “I’m too tired, honey.” “Maybe next time.” He never offered, and eventually, you gave up asking. You could hardly count any guy before him since most had been careless hookups and one-night stands—most of them leaving you to chase your orgasm after they left. You couldn’t even count on two hands the times Bennett actually made you cum, and now Joel was setting himself up to do it again…for the third time.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, covering your face to hide the shame that burned under your cheeks.

“Baby, don’t do that,” Joel pleaded. “S’nothin’ to be sorry for, okay?”

“But you just…” You could feel his cum leaking out of you, still. Was he seriously considering this right now?

“I don’t care. I wanna taste us together, baby. Let me show you how good it can feel.”

You inhaled sharply, only responding with another tilt of your head. Joel’s mouth hovered over your slick entrance, his eyes still trained on you.

“Gimmie words, baby,” he said. “I need to hear you say ‘yes’.”

“Yes, Joel,” you whispered.

“Y’want my tongue?”

When you didn’t respond, he teased you with a sharp flick of his tongue against your clit, forcing a cry to erupt from your mouth. Joel groaned at your responsiveness to his touch, awarding you with a thick swipe of his tongue over your slick entrance. He worked at you like he was a dying man, and you were the last drop of water in an empty desert, lapping at every drop of cum dripping down your sex. You glanced at him, meeting his piercing stare between your legs. Rough fingers massaged your sore thighs while his tongue dove into you with such desperation you couldn’t tell if he was pleasuring you or if you were pleasuring him. Euphoria sparked in your veins, overwhelming you to the point of tears. Snaking a hand under your thigh, Joel worked two thick fingers inside you, prying you open and coaxing a sob from your throat.

“Right there, oh my god. Joel, don’t stop,” you choked, gasping for air.

His fingers and tongue worked at you in tandem, the orgasm surging inside you becoming all-consuming. It thrashed inside your veins and tore through you forcefully and without warning. You slumped against the comforter as your soul floated above your body. Was delirium a real thing? Because if it was, this was the precipice of madness. Joel swept a soft kiss over your aching clit before crawling on top of you again. Tangling his hand in the hair at the base of your neck, he brought his wet lips to yours until your lips parted, allowing his tongue to slip inside.

“Taste yourself, baby,” Joel moaned into your open mouth. “Don’t we taste so fuckin’ good?”

“Mhmm,” you whimpered.

Joel kissed you fervently; each stroke of his tongue against yours was purposeful and searing, a blistering admission of devotion and admiration. You still felt undeserving of it all: his patience, tenderness, and kindness… but maybe this was a start. Maybe he was worth letting it.

As the kisses slowed and your bodies begged to be unstuck from one another, you found a stream of tears rolling down your cheeks. Fuck. The euphoria you had been sucked into was fading into the distance, and you were overly aware of the emotions crashing at the surface. Your voice was hoarse as you mumbled his name, breaking away from his embrace.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffled, turning your head into the pillows.

Joel hushed your cries, dragging his thumb over your cheek to collect your tears.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He asked. “Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

“No, no,” you said, voice muffled. “I’m okay. Everything was great.”

“Then why’re you cryin’?”

You turned your head back to face him, catching the furrow of his brows through bleary eyes.

“It’s stupid,” you muttered.

“Talk to me, please.”

You curled into his arms, burrowing your head into the crook of his neck. The smell of sex and sweat wafted off of him, mixing with the lingering warm cologne wafting off his skin. You never wanted to leave this moment. You never wanted to be untangled from his limbs. It was a terrifying realization; this was something you wanted.

“You’re just—not what I expected.” It came out as a mixture of a laugh and cry, leaving you gasping for breath. “I haven’t been the easiest person to get to know, and I haven’t been the kindest, but you… you haven’t left. I don’t understand why you haven’t left.”

“Hey, hey… oh, baby,” Joel crooned. “Look at me.”

Joel’s fingers slid under your chin, fighting against your reluctance as you met his shadowed gaze. In the sunlight, you could see the unmistakable flecks of amber and gold swirling in his eyes, but in the darkness, they were nearly black—but just as soft and ardent.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, okay? There ain’t a single thing that’s gonna change my mind about you. I know you’re worried about all this stuff happenin’ between us, but we can take things as slow as you want, baby. You call the shots from now on, and whatever you wanna do, I’ll be here,” he said.

“I’m not worth—.”

“Don’t,” he interrupted. “You are worth it. I’ll spend every day provin’ it if that’s what it takes.”

You didn’t know what to say when all you could cling to were the lingering memories of Bennett and the words he had once said. Yes, you loved him at one point, but there were so many reasons to hate him. The constant fights, the constant feeling of never being enough, the constant silence. The silence. Bennett’s silence was a weapon he used to pacify you. You learned over time that speaking up and communicating your feelings was unimportant to Bennett; if anything, it was an opportunity to minimize your voice and keep you docile. You became the smallest version of yourself in his shadow, clawing for scraps of his attention to try and keep the relationship afloat. You tried so hard to keep him happy until it came at the cost of losing yourself entirely. You didn’t recognize yourself anymore.

“What can I do right now?” Joel asked, his voice swimming upstream against the thoughts that drowned you. “D’you wanna take a shower and sleep? Sarah’s at a sleepover tonight, so I ain’t got nowhere to be but here with you.”

You exhaled a heavy sigh, nodding your head at his offer. Joel unwound his limbs from yours, pulling you to your aching legs and letting you take the lead toward your ensuite. With a shaky hand, you flicked on the lights, your eyes squinting to adjust to the harshness of color that washed over the room. A quick look in the mirror told you everything you needed to know; you were thoroughly fucked and completely strung out. Your hair was a tangled mess hanging over your shoulders, your lips fuller and swollen from kissing, yet your eyes were hollow and glossy. Joel’s tall frame came into view behind you, his tanned arms snaking around your middle and tugging you back against his chest. Through the mirrored reflection, he held your gaze with an unwavering kindness that tore through every self-deprecating voice in your head. With his hand splayed over the expanse of your stomach, Joel dipped his head lower, his mouth hot against your ear.

“Look how beautiful y’are, baby,” he praised.

“Joel,” you whimpered, clenching your thighs together to quell the slow ache pulsating inside you again.

You wanted so badly to see what he saw, but all you saw was the lingering handprints of the past plastered over your skin. The places Bennett had touched and kissed before, the echoed arguments that deafened your ears, every inch of you was left tainted. They say it takes the body seven years to replace its cells—seven years to be a new person from the inside out. You were hardly on the cusp of three years since Bennett last touched you, but you desperately wanted to be shed of every fiber that still clung to his memory. You couldn’t speed up the process; it was out of your control, but Joel touched you like he sought to do it himself. Inch by inch, your body would forget Bennett’s touch. It was your heart that needed to follow the same path.

Joel’s deep voice whispering your name roused you from your thoughts, and your eyes snapped up to meet his through the mirrored reflection. Everything fell away, and you lost yourself again in the simplicity of being in the moment with him.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he urged, his hand coming down to palm your ass before delivering a light slap.

You let out a startled laugh, forcing your legs to move and start up a warm shower. The second you both stepped under the blazing warmth of the spray, Joel had you pinned to the wall. You yelped at the startling cold of the tiles that pressed into your spine, but Joel’s hungry mouth swallowed every noise you made. Droplets of water fell off his damp curls, settling on your open mouth as he intertwined his tongue with yours.

“C’mere,” he whispered, tugging you back under the pelting rain of the showerhead.

You leaned your head back under the water, letting the water rush over your skin and drench your hair. Joel’s fingers twisted their way up the wet tendrils, gingerly massaging your scalp until a satisfied moan escaped your lips. He worked at lathering shampoo into your hair, scraping his nails across your scalp with each drag of his fingers.

“This feels nice,” you muttered, your voice lost in the downpour of water above you.

The resounding hum from Joel’s chest was all you heard as he washed your hair, his hands never leaving your body, even after the suds began to float down the drain. You lifted yourself on your toes to bring your mouth to his, not trusting yourself with words. For once in your life, you were speechless.

Time slipped away, and it wasn’t until you noticed your fingertips had pruned and the water ran cold that Joel finally tugged you out of the shower. You searched for two towels in your cabinets, watching as his hands worked the fabric over the low taper of his hips. Water droplets clung to the dark hair covering his chest, the muscles of his torso rising and falling with each breath. Your eyes wandered up to his face and settled on the natural upturn of his lips. You tried to fight the smile forming on your lips, but denying the emotions spreading through your body was practically impossible.

You were happy.

“I don’t like when you’re this quiet,” Joel chuckled softly. “I’m so used to you talkin’ or arguin’ with me.”

You blinked up at him, watching the crease form between his brows. It was the first time someone had an issue with you being quiet.

“I’m sorry,” you said. It was your default response to everything. You were sorry for talking too much; you were sorry for not talking enough… you were just sorry.

Joel’s hands came up to cup your face, leaving you with no choice but to look into his tired eyes.

“I hate that you always say that,” he confessed. “I’m gonna make sure y’learn not to always say 'sorry'.”

“You’re gonna teach the teacher?” You lifted a brow.

He chuckled and lifted his lips to press a gentle kiss against your forehead.

“There she is,” he muttered against your skin. “Now, c’mon. You tired me out, and I can’t sleep without hearin’ your voice.”

“Oh, really?” You teased, peering up at him.

“Yeah, really,” he smiled. “So, let’s get our asses in bed, and y’can talk my ear off ‘til we fall asleep.”

And that’s exactly what you did. Hidden under the sanctuary of your comforter and pulled tight against Joel’s chest, you talked until the hours grew late. You told him about your childhood and how you failed math in sixth grade. You told him about your rebellious teen years, divulging the horrendous stories of how you and Beth would sneak out to parties together. He asked about college, and you told him what you could without including Bennett in the story. Occasionally, he would chime in to ask another question, and the conversation would keep rolling, suspending you both in time as you remained wrapped up in one another's embrace. Every doubt had faded, but as your eyes drifted shut, you hoped your guard would start fading, too.

Morning sunlight streamed through the blinds that fluttered against your bedroom window, drenching the room in the warm colors of sunrise. You burrowed deeper into Joel’s body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat matching yours as he kept your back flush to his chest. His fingers flexed against your hips, tugging you closer—if that was even possible.

“Mornin’, baby,” Joel said, his voice gravelly from sleep.

“Good morning, Mr. Miller,” you yawned, shimming your body back against his, awarded with the hard press of his cock at the seam of your ass.

“Oh, don’t start with that shit again,” he groaned, rolling you onto your back.

A laugh bubbled out of you as he framed you between two large arms. Craning your neck, you met his tired eyes and saw the laugh lines creasing the corners. This was how Joel looked in the morning, happy. With his curls untamed and that lopsided grin, he looked happy…with you.

“I’m only teasing,” you laughed as his mouth worked its way down your neck.

“Fuckin’ better be,” he muttered in between each kiss. “I just got you sayin’ my name, so y’ better not take it back.”

“Oh, does me calling you Mr. Miller not turn you on?” You quipped.

“Trust me, baby, everything you do turns me on,” Joel growled.

“I don’t believe you.”

Joel’s mouth traveled down your chest, sucking marks into the skin of your breasts. You careened into his touch, moaning as his teeth grazed over a peaked nipple.

“When I saw you for that first time,” he started, his mouth still hot against your skin. “That fuckin’ dress you wore at the dance…I knew I was a goner. Looked so fuckin’ beautiful.”

“Yeah?” Your voice was ragged as he continued moving lower.

“I still think about how you teased me at the bar,” he said. “It drove me crazy, I swear.”

He had your legs spread open now, his nose pressed into your inner thigh. Arousal pooled between your legs, and you stole a glance at Joel’s eyes, connecting your slick entrance. Even though he fucked you sore last night, your body was addicted, so devastatingly responsive to every word he said.

“And when you yelled at me? Fuck, somethin’ about seeing you all riled up. You don’t know how many times I’ve thought ‘bout you with my hand around my cock. I can’t get enough of you, baby,” Joel whispered.

“You’ve thought about me like that?” You exhaled.

“Ain’t nothin’ professional ‘bout the way I think about you.”

“Keep talking, Joel,” you begged. You were drunk on his words, completely and utterly wasted on every admission he made.

“Thought ‘bout you spread out like this for me.” He flattened his tongue against your entrance, lapping at the juices leaking out of you. “Dreamt ‘bout how sweet you’d taste and how you’d look when you cum.” His eyes snapped up to meet yours, holding your focus as he repeated the motion with his tongue. “Y’taste better than I ever expected.”

“Fuck,” you groaned, your eyes rolling back.

Joel’s lips suctioned around your clit, his tongue flicking at the sensitive bud in a steady rhythm. You bucked against his mouth, chasing the orgasm that snaked its way through your stomach. He released you with a loud pop, his tongue tracing over your folds and dragging out the pleasure that swelled inside your core. He was teasing you, controlling your pleasure until it became tortuous. You cried out in frustration, bucking against his mouth, trying to find release.

“Be patient for me, baby,” Joel whispered, ghosting his tongue over your clit again.

“Please, Joel,” you begged. Your fingers twisted into the bedsheets, your nails digging into the fabric to keep you grounded.

Joel’s tongue teased your entrance, barely dipping into you—enough to make you curse under your breath. The longer he teased you, the stronger the need for release became. All you wanted was to fall apart, to feel the orgasm vibrate your nerves and relieve your heart from its erratic beating. You could hardly contain it any longer.

“I—I need…” You were blubbering nonsense, your thighs shaking around his head.

“I know what ya’ need, baby. Just a lil’ bit more.”

Then he was assaulting you with his tongue, drawing circles over your throbbing clit until every muscle in your body tensed and trembled. Your vision blurred as everything rushed to the surface, your thighs squeezing around Joel’s head as the pleasure liquified inside you. You screamed out his name as your orgasm crescendoed and crashed hard. You clawed at the bed, your body seizing up with the final aftershocks rocking through you.

“I could do this for hours,” Joel hummed, nudging your throbbing clit with the tip of his nose.

You squirmed under him, trying to shove yourself up the bed and away from him. You were overstimulated and exhausted, your body still recovering from last night… and this.

“What? Torture me?” You grumbled.

Joel chuckled, smirking at you. He rolled onto his back, keeping his arm wrapped around your thigh. His finger massaged circles into the sore muscles, another groan leaving your lips.

“Make you cum, baby,” Joel said. “Anythin’ you want, I’d do it.”

“How about you make me a coffee, Mr. Miller,” you sighed. “You’ve exhausted me.”

“And how do you like your coffee, Miss Smith?” He tossed back.

“Guess.”

Joel tilted his head back to look at you, his brown eyes glowing in the morning sun. He pursed his lips, studying you as he thought up an answer.

“I’m guessin’ you like it strong,” he mused. “Maybe a lil’ dash of cream, but definitely no sugar.”

You let out an exaggerated gasp that turned into a fit of laughter. Joel raised an eyebrow at your response, rolling onto his stomach to watch you as you continued laughing. How did he read you so well? Even if it was just something as simple as coffee.

“What’s so funny, huh?”

“It’s just crazy how well you know me, that’s all,” you giggled.

“Wait, I guessed right?” He gaped.

“Mhmm, right on the nose.”

“Well, c’mon, baby. Let’s get you that strong cup of coffee.”

Joel tapped your leg before offering a hand to lift you from the bed. You scoured the floor for your underwear, finding them hidden under your nightstand alongside Joel’s boxers. With half your bodies clothed, you led Joel to the kitchen, the natural light reflecting off the marble countertops. It felt strange having someone in the house; you hadn’t brought anyone over since before Bennett left. You had grown so accustomed to your daily routine that including Joel in it felt unnatural…but also so normal.

“Make yourself comfy,” Joel urged, motioning to the barstools at the end of the counter.

You shimmed yourself onto the seat and watched him navigate around your kitchen. Your small pour-over sat in the corner beside the stove, which Joel quickly figured out.

“Mugs?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Top right cabinet,” you said, pointing toward it.

Joel’s back muscles flexed as he reached to grab two mismatched mugs, and you leaned forward to watch him so relaxed in your home. His presence filled all the empty spaces you had hidden within the last two years.

“I made coffee,” Bennett called from the kitchen.

You dragged yourself out of bed, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders as you shuffled down the hallway. The house smelt of coffee and pancakes, and the morning was off to a good start. After a late night of arguing, you hoped a shared breakfast together would at least minimize the hostility between the both of you.

Bennett slid a mug across the counter, your hands wrapping around the hot ceramic and inhaling the steam that floated above the liquid. You muttered a soft ‘thank you’ before taking a sip, instantly scrunching your nose in disgust.

“Did you put sugar in this?” You asked, setting the mug down.

Bennett shrugged, sipping from his mug, unphased by your complaint. His hair was messy from sleep, the blonde strands sticking up at odd angles. He had slept on the couch for the night, which clearly didn’t do him well.

“You always have sugar in your coffee,” he glared at you.

“Bennett, when have you ever seen me put sugar in my coffee?”

“I don’t know,” he huffed. “Figured you liked it. Don’t all girls like sugar in their coffee?”

You scoffed at his words, shoving away from the counter and slipping off the barstool. Gripping the blanket tighter around your shoulders, you sulked into the living room, dropping yourself on the couch cushions.

“Here we go again,” Bennett grumbled, loud enough for you to hear.

Whipping your head back toward the kitchen, you jabbed a finger at him, a scowl twisting your lips upwards.

“Don’t you dare,” you warned.

“For fucks sake, it’s just coffee!” He yelled.

“It’s not just coffee,” you argued. “It’s you not knowing anything about me. It’s you not paying attention to me!”

Bennett slammed his mug onto the counter, rattling the ceramic. You jolted at the sound, shrinking further into the couch.

“I’m so sick and tired of hearing you bitch all the fucking time,” he snapped. “You always have something to complain about. Who cares if there’s sugar in it? I was trying to do something nice, but now you’re turning it into an argument. Like you always do. I can never do anything right, huh? It’s always my fault.”

His words were like a slap in the face, a knife to the open wound still bleeding from last night. You and Bennett had gone to dinner together, and he spent half the night complaining about work, never once letting you speak. When you tried explaining that you wanted to enjoy a nice dinner without discussing work, he unleashed a speech about how you were never happy with anything. The argument followed you home until you were both in a screaming match and eventually retiring separately for sleep—you in an empty bed and him on the couch. All you had wanted was a nice date night together, and it ended as it always did: you alone.

“I just wish you’d pay attention to me,” you muttered.

“Because everything is always about you, right? You’ve got to make everything about you. You can’t just say ‘thank you’ and move on.”

You sucked in a breath, trying to keep your anger at bay. Arguing with him was a losing battle; he would never admit his faults, even if it were something as simple as this. You were too exhausted to fight, so you only nodded and rewarded him with a tightlipped smile.

“Thank you for making coffee. I’m sorry for getting upset.”

Bennett rolled his eyes, dumping his coffee in the sink.

“Whatever. I gotta get ready for work.”

Then he was disappearing down the hall, slamming the door shut hard enough to knock a picture frame off the walls. You jumped at the sound and let the tears quietly fall as you sat in heavy silence.

“You alright?” Joel’s voice echoed around you.

You blinked rapidly, shoving down the memories and returning to the present. Joel had a hand extended to you, the mug piping hot and billowing with steam. You took it carefully, blowing on it before you took a cautious sip. Perfect. It was perfect, and it twisted something unpleasant inside you.

“I’m fine,” you lied, setting the mug down. You mindlessly traced circles around the brim, watching the bubbles around the edges pop against the heat.

“Am I that bad at makin’ coffee?” He frowned, leaning against your fridge.

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re thinkin’ about somethin’, huh?”

“Stop doing that,” you whispered, adverting your gaze toward the sliding doors leading to your backyard.

“Doin’ what?”

“Seeing right through me.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Joel moving through the kitchen, rounding the counter to stand in front of you. With a gentle hand under your chin, he drew your attention his way, a deep furrow between his brows.

“You wear your emotions on your face,” he said. “I can tell when you’re upset ‘bout something.”

“We don’t need to talk about it,” you sighed.

You didn’t like seeing Joel’s lips downturned; you missed the grin typically plastered on his face. You felt guilty for being the reason he looked so upset, and your knee-jerk apology was on the tip of your tongue. Joel bent down to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering an extra moment before he pulled away.

“What if I wanna talk about it?” He asked.

“I don’t think you do,” you laughed bitterly.

Joel crowded you, stepping into the space between your legs. You were at eye level with his chest, counting the constellations of freckles hidden under the hair covering his torso. You’d rather marvel over his broad frame than discuss the painful memories of your past. You didn’t want to ruin this moment together.

“It’s okay,” you insisted.

“Don’t shy away from me, baby. Y’can talk to me ‘bout anything.”

You hesitated a moment. Joel had you spread open on your bed only minutes ago, and now the topic of your past was about to be the morning discussion. You didn’t want to talk about Bennett after an amazing night together, but if you knew anything about Joel, he wasn’t letting you off the hook that easily. He always wanted to know more.

“You’re just different from what I’m used to,” you started. “Bennett, my ex, wasn’t like you. He didn’t pay attention to me the way you do.”

Something flashed over Joel’s eyes, a sudden flicker of anger as you spoke about Bennett. He gave you a moment to collect yourself before you continued.

“We were together for five years, and he didn’t even know how I liked my coffee,” you scoffed. “And you guessed it in two seconds. Two seconds, Joel. I don’t understand how you do that.”

“Do what, baby?”

“Pay attention. You notice all these stupid, little things about me and make it seem so easy.”

Joel cupped your face in his large hands, his thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones. You leaned into him, letting his touch ground you while your eyes fluttered shut.

“I pay attention ‘cause I wanna know everything about you. Every single lil’ thing. That’s what it’s supposed to be like in a relationship, baby. Y’learn everything about the other person, and you remember it. From what you’ve hinted ‘bout before, I take it this Bennett guy was a real piece of shit.”

“Yeah, that’s what everyone has told me.”

“Am I wrong, though?” Joel pressed.

“No,” you confessed. “He did treat me like shit. I wasn’t allowed to speak up for myself, or he got mad. He liked it when I was submissive and quiet, so that’s what I became.”

Joel’s fingers flexed against your face, his jaw clenching at every new admission. You had never admitted those things aloud, that Bennett forced you into this tiny box, making you become the perfect, obedient girlfriend. With an engagement ring on your finger, you were even more inclined to be whatever he wanted, just to know he wanted to marry you. Looking back, maybe the ring was less of a testament to his love and more of a muzzle on your outspokenness. Someone wanted to marry you, so that should make you quiet, right?

“I don’t want you quiet,” Joel whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “I want you to be yourself in every way.”

“I don’t know who I am anymore, Joel. I haven’t been that girl in years.”

Tears were spilling over your cheeks, soaking Joel’s fingers that still gripped your face. Why did you cry so much around him? You hated how emotional you were; you hated feeling weak and small. You couldn’t get through one fucking interaction with Joel without ending up a mess. Did Bennett ruin you entirely?

“I’m sorry,” you cried quietly. “You probably need to leave soon, huh? You said Sarah’s at a sleepover, so I’m sure you gotta go get her and—.”

Joel tugged you forward, fusing his lips with yours. The taste of coffee and sleep lingered on his tongue as he coaxed your mouth open, and you welcomed him without hesitation. He kissed you slowly, with deliberate determination. You responded the same, letting yourself grow limp in his arms.

Breaking away, Joel leveled you with a stern stare that didn’t quite reach his lips since they twitched into a smile.

“I’m gonna kiss you every time you apologize just to shut ya’ up,” he said.

“That doesn’t sound like a threat, Joel,” you smirked. “I’ll just apologize more.”

“Then I’ll figure out some other punishment.”

Your thighs clenched at his words, and your mind wandered to all the possibilities of what he could do. You hadn’t lied to him when you said you didn’t always like things ‘vanilla,’ but you hadn’t really dipped your toes into that area yet. You’d willingly explore it with him because if last night proved anything, it was that you trusted him more than anyone. He could do anything to you, and you knew you’d be safe.

“Got a dirty lil’ mind, huh?” Joel’s voice dropped lower.

“Oh, shut up.” You playfully shoved at his chest, shimming yourself off the barstool.

Joel wrapped a hand around your wrist, pulling you back into his arms.

“I’m serious, though, baby. It fuckin’ kills me to see you cry. I’m gonna fix that.”

“You don’t have to, Joel. I’ll be okay. I’ll work on it.”

“We are gonna work on it,” he corrected.

You swallowed thickly and nodded. You were in uncharted territory with him, afraid of the future but willing to see where it would go. You had fought against it for almost two months now, and you were tired of fighting. You’d take things slow and test the waters with him… and hope you wouldn’t come out the other side with a shattered heart.

After cleaning up the flower petals left in the entryway and redressing, you finally urged Joel to go home. It was mid-afternoon, and you knew Sarah would want time with her dad. You couldn’t selfishly keep him to yourself, but he made it very known how badly he wanted to stay. With his flannel in his hand and his hair slightly tamed, Joel lingered by the door, reluctant to leave. You had shrugged on a robe while he had dressed, already dreaming about the long bath you’d take when he left. Your muscles were screaming for release after last night and this morning.

“Y’sure I can’t stay a bit longer?” Joel pouted, his lips pushed out as he glanced at you.

You laughed at his demeanor, enjoying the playfulness he always exuded. You wanted to learn how to be like that, to shed the walls built up around you.

“Sarah’s going to want to spend the day with you,” you said. “We can plan another date soon.”

“Or…” Joel wagged his brows. “I could come back tonight.”

“Oh my god,” you laughed, rolling your eyes. “Go home, Mr. Miller, before I kick you out.”

Joel tugged the belt wrapped around your waist, hauling you closer until you were bumping into his chest. Dipping his head, he pressed a soft kiss against your lips. You could feel the smile forming on his lips as you nipped at his bottom lip.

“Have a good day, baby,” he grinned. “I’ll call ya’ tonight.”

“I’ll be waiting,” you exhaled.

You watched Joel until he got to his truck, his grin shining bright under the afternoon's clear skies. You waved at him as he drove off and closed your door with a heavy sigh. You needed to find your phone and make a very important phone call.

“You had sex with him, huh?” Beth asked, the phone barely reaching the second ring before she picked up.

You flopped onto the couch, your head hitting the cushions with a soft thud.

“I did,” you groaned.

“And?” She pressed.

“It was fucking amazing, Beth. I’m so screwed.”

“Why? Isn’t this a good thing? You finally hooked up!”

You grabbed a pillow to slap over your face, muffling a frustrated scream so that Beth wouldn’t hear.

“I’m scared, Beth.”

“Scared of falling in love?” Beth asked.

“Scared of getting hurt,” you sighed.

Beth was quiet for a moment, exhaling before gathering her thoughts and speaking her mind.

“You can’t let your past get in the way of this, sis,” she started. “Joel sounds like an amazing man, and he’s night and day different from Bennett. I get you’re scared of getting hurt, but I seriously doubt he would do anything to hurt you. Let him in, sis. Let him love you the way you deserve.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to reel in the tears… again. Beth was right, like always, but it didn’t make these feelings easier to battle. There was so much to lose.

“It’s obvious he likes me already, but I’m such a fucking mess. I—I feel so broken, still. What if he gets tired of me? What if he never feels anything more than this?”

“I think he’s already falling in love with you, sis.”

#joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel x f!reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x teacher!f!reader #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel tlou #tlou #joel miller pre outbreak #pre outbreak!joel #joel is the fluffiest man alive #so much fluff it's disgusting

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jolalibrary · 10 months ago

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5. pepper red

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter five of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 2.5k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] SMUT. p in v. dirty talk/mutual appreciation. minor competency. frankie is pretty, thick and sexy. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. you wear a date outfit but not specified. no use of y/n. an: if this was a sitcom episode, it wouldn't be allowed to be aired and also, i passed my exam, wahoo.

prev chapter | series masterlist

For some reason, it doesn’t surprise you that his bedroom is forest green. Or, that it’s accented by strong whites and similar dark woods as the living room. All earthy tones, him.

In the same way, it doesn’t surprise you that his skin is soft, all smooth as your fingers brush over his skin when you lift his t-shirt from his frame.

Because he looks as good as he did in those videos you’d watched over and over. Getting the chance to see if the silver scars were tricks of the light or stories he hadn’t shared. Your fingers discovered it was the latter.

“God, you look good, Frankie.”

He snorts, before sliding a thumb under your jaw, forcing you to confront big, doe brown eyes. Ones that you’d fall into if you could, especially as they pause, stare from one eye to the next, likely to see if there’s a lie there—a slither of untruth to your confession.

There isn’t.

A thing you ensure sits at the forefront, a silent plea for him to believe you. You suppose he must do when his mouth slides back over yours. Tongue pressing at your lower lip, seeking entry that you happily allow.

You lose yourself in it, him. How good it feels to have his lips on yours again. To have the added feel of purposeful and intentional fingers taking their sweet time to slide your outfit from you.

Because his hands trail over as much as they can. Doing so as though he’s busy carving a memory of you in his mind, making you real. A thing you won’t admit you’re doing too, too busy committing the way he feels, as you run your hands across his shoulders. Feel the expanse of them, the width, wondering—as his tongue swirls a shape on your neck—if yoga will really help you fit his broadness between your thighs.

Frankie must notice you’re drifting, thinking, because his mouth finds yours. A thing which cements you to the moment. Kissing you slowly, deliberately—a hint of mint amongst the drink he’d provided and you smirk, smiling against him.

Because he’s eaten a TicTac.

It mixes, fighting to refresh as though you hadn’t eaten and consumed the same fast food. But the act, the way his lips slide against yours, makes that joke melt as quickly as it appeared, because he’s completing his mission: the one to leave you breathless.

Tangling your fingers in his hair, you choose to pull him closer, deepening the kiss. Tongue sliding back behind his teeth as a soft moan escapes him; swallowed by your own as his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. The feel of him, hard and ready against you sends a thrill of anticipation darting through you.

It’s easy, simple, to allow the rhythm of your bodies to become a language all of its own. A two-way conversation being sketched out and written in sighs and moans, punctuated by the occasional gasp. A symphony of desire.

And then you make things shift. Change the tempo when your hand descends between the two of you. Feeling him, grasping his cock, taking note of the way he inhales at the feel of your fingers. For a moment, his mouth hovers over yours—both open, just breathing. His palms flat to your side—as you hold him, feel his cock twitch in your hand. Moving, slowly—almost torturously, but it’s actually with precision.

He’s so hard, thick. Your fingers tighten their hold, wrist moving more, palm sliding up and down as you taste the way he says fuck.

“Bed,” he groans, almost through gritted teeth.

Smirking, you bite his lower lip. Light. Not piercing or enough to leave an indent. “In a minute.”

And it leaves his tongue again. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, baby.

All you can think about is how good he sounds, looks—feels. His head tipped back, neck elongated—lips parting as each expletive lasts longer than the four letters that make it up. It’s cliché to say it’s never been like this, but a truth that personal isn’t always easy to confess.

“Not waited to do this right with you to come before you have, Rainy.”

His fingers, those calloused ones attached to those hard-working hands, wrap around your wrist. Light, but determined.

“Oh, Butterscotch,” you tease, mouth close to his. “You been thinking about this?”

He smirks, just as he clasps his other hand to your side—tugging, yanking you flush. Feeling him, all of him, as you’re guided, moved, backs of your legs meeting the well-made bed you’re about to mess up and ruin.

“Since the moment I heard you laugh.”

Your body falls back, the sheets cool, smooth, pressing against your bare spine, before his body comes up—caging you. Nudging your thighs apart with his knee.

“Just kept thinking, bet you make other pretty noises too.”

Lips parting, you knot your fingers in the curls at the base of his neck, letting his lips slide into his cheek. That dimple appearing. The one which tries to hide under wiry hair and shyness, but is deeper than ever now, nothing held back or hidden.

And you can’t help but watch, completely transfixed by the light from the lamp he'd flicked on. The one lighting up his face, making him appear golden, ethereal. Able to discern each of the shades that make up his eyes, the flecks within them, the different browns that make a colour you dream and think of constantly, but you’re not sure has any other name than Frankie.

“Can I touch you, baby?”

You find you can only nod.

Words failing, falling, simply replaced by a gasp as he slides them between your partly spread thighs—feeling it, how wet you are. How slick and desperate you are to have him. A mess, all for him, by him. It likely ruined the underwear you’d left on his floor and dampened the sheets under you.

“This all for me?”

The rasp of his voice only makes you ache more for him. Hips desperate to shift so his fingers do more than trace and tease, but plunge and curl.

“Yes,” you moan.

It's like he knows you. A thought that bubbles and bursts when your fingers grasp at his sheets, his two fingers feel so much different than your own; Than the toys you own that are shoved in protective bags inside your sock drawer. His seek, aiming to find that spot inside you, stretches you, making your toes curl and your knuckles ache from how tight they hold the sheets.

And he’s talking. A sea of things that you half-catch and miss the rest. That you look good, feel good, that he wants to watch you come apart before he even thinks about giving you his cock.

Words almost leave your mouth, but you’re barely present.

More electric than person; more liquid than solid. So fucking close already you can feel the tremors in your thighs from not rutting yourself against his hand when the base of his palm presses flat to your swollen nerves.

“Fuck, Frankie—”

“Do you like it when I talk, baby?” his voice becomes an anchor. Keeping you here, not allowing you to float too far as you nod, crinkled pillows sounding as you do. “I think you do. I think you like hearing how hard you make me, how much I think about you in this bedroom, in the shower—at work—“

You’re arching. Barely clinging to the present as your feet flatten to root you, to grip to reality as your ears ring and pleasure does more thrum, but builds and builds—all compressing, hot, closer to liquid fire.

“—look at me, baby.”

And you do.

Lids flipping open as you’re met with nothing but desire, lust and need. It pushes you, suddenly freefalling. Your throat aching, scratched with the syllables of his name as you dig fingers into his curls and curl your body as much against him as possible as he works you through it. Him coaxing, mouth on your collarbone as he licks and lathes as you moan, and pant.

It’s then you look at him again.

Bathed in a sandy glow, sweat peppered on his chest, glinting and glittering as you find his eyes on you, taking you in as you catch your breath.

He’s so handsome, beautiful. In a way that ruined you before, that made you think of nothing but him, which now devastates you—in a way you only want him to do over and over.

It’s easier to kiss him than say it.

To trace the words over his mouth as he hums, as the vibration tickles across your lips before you’re manoeuvring him. Only paused in doing so as he dragged his lips down your neck, the sound of a drawer opening, closing, hearing a wrapper crinkle.

It’s a blink and you’ll miss it moment when your hand snatches it from him, placing it between your teeth, trying as they do so easily in movies to lightly rip it over with your teeth. You struggle. Suddenly nervous about piercing it, mind in overdrive because what—

"Easy, baby. I've got it," he growls into your ear, taking it from you, opening it more with ease than you'd managed.

And it makes you crash your mouth back to his. Etching more things to his mouth, smudging them over his tongue. How much you want this, want him.

It’s why you’re grateful that Frankie moves with ease until he’s on his back and you’re on top of him. A hand finds a home on your back, once the empty wrapper is discarded, fingers spreading out, flowing warmth into your bones. Then the other begins aiding, lining himself up as the head presses against your opening.

When you take as much of him as you can, fingers soothing your hip at the stretch, the hiss drawn from your lips at the light sting, before your forehead meets his. It's a moment before you move again. His words are there, guiding, before the room is flooded with a moan that's unearthed from your soul. One that is almost smothered in his own, a groan that makes heat flood your ears and a smile grace your mouth.

“So good for me, feel so good—“

“Can take more,” you interrupt, breathless. Slowly moving again, lifting up before sliding back down his cock—walls welcoming him, stretching, taking him to the hilt. “Y’feel good, Frankie.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, you roll your hips slowly, torturously if anything. Still sensitive. Little gasps escape as you begin to find a rhythm, one that makes his teeth bite down on his lip.

Taking his hand, pulling it to your breast, wrapping around it as he cups it—as his groan stains the air between the two of you—you draw an O with your hips, feel that heat in your stomach.

“I like your hands, Frankie.”

A line appears, deep between his two brows. A look of shock, surprise—awe—spreads over his face like a sunny day suddenly appearing in a storm. Before, it’s slipping away, hiding, wriggling away to some depth of him you wish to call back.

“I like your voice, your smile—fuck, oh my god—and-and I like your thighs, and your…”

You continue, babbling, rambling as his hands find your hips, steadying, moving you, thrusting up into you as little spots appear in your vision, as your own voice becomes distant and easily forgettable.

But the look on his face is anything but the latter.

He’s spellbound, utterly captivated—appearing as though if his mind was a camera, he’d have filled up several memory cards with what he was trying to capture.

And it feels good.

A wanting so bad that it almost makes you snap there and then, more so as the head of his cock kisses that part of you once again, a whine coated in both a gasp and a moan—

“Put your hands on the headboard, baby.”

And you do, assisted by him moving you with him sheathed inside of you before palm after palm is placed. The fabric underneath is soft, almost like velvet—leaving marks of your touch behind in its wake as you feel his mouth on the underside of your breast.

“You look good like this,” he continues, mouth pressing kisses to your skin, “But then, you always do.”

Your eyes snap to his, finding nothing but hunger paddling in brown. You don't fight the heat that flares out to the last few places pleasure hasn’t touched. Where only compliments and adoration can kiss and warm.

Then he says your name.

Not baby, not Rainy, but the one you’d handed him in that paint aisle and set yourself on a course for unravelling. A thing you don’t regret, but rather wish had happened sooner.

Your name rasped in that deep way that echoes through the room long after the last letter is spoken, digging deep into your soul as it unlocks something. It makes every sound amplified; the rustle of sheets, the creak of the bed, the sound of skin meeting skin.

“Let me hear you, baby,” cuts through, slicing,

And you do.

Your whine shifts into a sob, almost choking on it as it snaps—as pleasure rips through you and drowns you in waves. There’s nothing but white, a much louder ringer, and the distant knowledge that you’re spraying his name across the room as your hips stutter and he thrusts up into you, twitching, fucking breathless from it.

His hands, large and holding tight, keep you rooted—slowly hearing him groaning, grunting, low hisses of your name and how good you feel tight around his cock.

His fingers dig into your skin when he follows you. When his eyes clench, and his mouth parts around your name, lighting it up, making it seem as special as he makes you feel.

You collapse fully against him, thighs still shaking, little tremors in your muscles as your fingers brush back his damp curls from his forehead. A smile easy to find, to let slide over your mouth as you kiss him.

The light from the lamp drapes over you—still sticky, a mess between your thighs as you kiss him again, bodies flush. More gentle, a light lick across his bottom lip as you feel him grin, hands roaming over your body, tracing the curve of your waist, the slope of your back

He murmurs your name, palm sliding up your cheek, tip of his nose brushing against yours. “Should clean you up.”

“Hmm…”

His thumb swipes, hearing him swallow as your eyes open and find his already on you. “Don’t go.”

"To clean up?"

"Tonight."

Biting your lip, you try to fight it—less a smile and more a grin. “Okay. I won’t.”

And his lips capture yours once more. A thing you relax into—easily. Just like you keep finding so effortless to do with him.

next chapter ->

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x reader smut #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #jo: dmy #francisco morales smut

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aggieharkness · 7 days ago

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Have I earned it, mother? Chp. 2

Pairing: Avis Amberg x reader

Summary: Avis has plans for the both of you, plans that change drastically when she finds you doing filthy things to yourself. She must punish you for that, mustn't she? Teach her dirty little girl a lesson.

Warnings: smut (+18), affair, swearing, oral (Avis receiving), fingering (Avis receiving), oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), mommy kink, praise kink, orgasm denial, edging, teasing, public sex, car sex, dom/sub, power play, pet names, tit play.

Authors note: you all seemed to like the first chapter, so I came up with this. The plot changed as I was writing, so I started with one idea and finished with this. I hope you all like it, be gentle but tell me If I need to be more graphic, if I'm lacking on something... I accept constructive criticism because it's very late once again and I don't know if this chapter is any good. If you want more, tell me. I am here for you, my dear people, I listen. Also available on Ao3. Finally, let's thank Patti Lupone for giving us Avis Amberg.

Chp. 1 Chp. 3

Word count: 13K (yes, it's even longer. I don't know what I'm doing)

Skirt up and knickers off

Breakfast seemed like it had been so long ago. The cup of tea that rested next to the turned off lamp, which you had barely touched since arriving at the office since the lights in that hallway seemed to always be on and blinding, had turned cold a while ago due to the fact that the pile of work on your desk was monumental and you needed to get through it before more documents showed up the next morning. With Mr. Amberg in some business trip all the way in Denmark you had to do Miss Kincaid’s work as well as his. Again. Honestly, this had to be a fucking joke. Miss Stinton recovers, comes back and leaves with her boss and half of the fucking studio on a trip in less than a day leaving you in charge when you had just got used to your tiny little office once again, with your tiny potted flowers and the window that you had never been able to open. Good things really didn’t last for you, well, some things did. Lifting you gaze from the contract of a camera man that you had never seen in your entire life, they glued to those big doors that separated your boss’s office from the hallway. What had transpired inside that room a merely few days ago had been marvellous, and the memories of it sent shivers down your entire body, heat rising under the collar of your dress. Who would have thought Avis Amberg was so talented with her tongue in the bedroom as much as she was out of it?

She had worked on you slowly, with a caring touch at first that had surprised you. Her fingertips had traced every curve of your body, they had massaged and pinched and simply caressed you as if you had been made out of gold, her mouth following the same rules, never nibbling, never biting. You had adored it, but after a while you had got needy, and you had begged. With her naked splendid body on top of yours you had begged her to be rough, that you could take it and holy fuck, she had really taken your word for it, slapping you then, a single eyebrow lifted and a smirk on her full lips. It had stung, but the pain had turned quickly into pleasure and even though you had the shape of her hand marked on your cheek, your knickers had been absolutely flooding. Avis had seen a side of you then that she had told you the both of you would explore on another occasion, because the well behaved Ace Studios employee that had just given her three orgasms on a row liked it rough and she was so turned on by the simple thought of leaving the shape of her palms on your body, of leaving you utterly destroyed that it had not been a promise, it had been a fact. She had forgone her caring touch from that instant onward. There had been moments when the pleasure had been so close to the line of agony, when her teeth had bitten down on your neck enough to practically draw out blood, when her nails had racked over your breasts, pinching your nipples to the point where you could not differentiate between what moans where from pleasure and which ones where from pain, that your heart had practically leaped out of your chest with how fucking aroused you had been and also by how panicked you had found yourself to be once or twice, but like the lady she was, she had never ever crossed the line. But she had offered you a taste of what things might be like when she had pulled you off the desk and instead had bent you over it, your ass up in the air while her right hand pulled your head back by your hair, whispering the filthiest things she could come up with in your ear.

-Look at you, dripping onto the carpet when I have barely touched you. You are such a slut.

It had sent a jolt of pleasure to your core, matching the way her hands had grabbed your ass, massaged it and then proceeded to slap both cheeks on quick succession, because she was in charge, and you were her puppet. Then without warning she had plunged two fingers into you, and you had been lost. Her pace had been even faster than yours, but then again, she was so turned on by her own actions that it was miracle she was not slamming you into the wood of the desk, not that the way her fingers felt as they curled and moved was bad at all. With her mouth she had began to kiss down your naked back, your breasts dangling, nipples brushing over the desk as she pushed you back down to gain better access to the shape of your spine, her hot tongue licking the layer of sweat that had begun to accumulate. Each lap of her tongue as it travelled down had made your walls clench around her fingers and then suddenly, she had pulled them out completely and had let go of your hair, your pants hard against the wooden surface. On shaky legs you had pushed yourself upward watching as she pulled her husband’s chair away from the desk before sitting on it, legs spread and her cunt glistening and dripping as much as yours, her red curls cascading and framing her gorgeous face. Her pupils had taken over her eyes once more as she had signalled for you to approach her, her hands grabbing your hips and sitting you down in between her legs as soon as you had been within range, your back pressed against her chest, her stiff nipples brushing on your skin. Her hands had traced the shape of your thighs as she had opened you up even further, swinging each leg over her own, leaving you completely exposed to the world.

-Look at you, showing your pretty cunt to the entire studio. Imagine it Y/N, everyone standing in this very room with their eyes on your body.

You had indeed imagined it. Mr. Amberg’s face contorted in anger, or perhaps passiveness as you had his wife behind you utterly naked, her salty taste still deep within your mouth. You had imagined everyone in that office staring dumbfounded, losing your train of thought for a moment as Avis squeezed your breasts before moving one hand back to your hair and the other between your legs not wasting a second before she was knuckle deep inside you again. Your head had lulled back of its own accord, eyes rolling to the back of your head as she moved them so expertly, so fast. Her lips latched onto your neck, which was absolutely bruised by then, listening to the squelching sounds that you both made as she fucked you. Your imagination only enhanced the experience, because now you could see your boss red with anger but unmoving, Dick, Richard, Ellen, everyone watching you both, so open, spread wide, and with one flick of her thumb over your clit you came crashing down, Avis’s name leaving your lips in a full-on scream. She had really worked you up; rather embarrassing for you to have cum so quickly when you had tried to prolong her pleasure for as long as you could. Her movements slowed down and you had been rather disappointed that she was not willing to give you the same treatment you had given her, pushing your body off of hers once you had come down from your high but honestly you should have known she was not done, alas your brain was still recovering from your orgasm and it did not click what she had planned next until she had sat you on her husband’s chair, kneeling before you.

Your walk down pornographic memory lane was disturbed, much to your dismay, by the phone ringing. Your eyes unglued themselves from the doors, but when you where about to move your right hand towards the receiver you felt it in between your legs. Looking down you saw your skirt slightly hunched above your thighs, underwear to the side and two of your own fingers knuckle deep inside you. Fuck, you really had been lost in your own filthy mind, but thankfully no one was in that hallway now that Mr. Amberg was on that trip. You had never done this in the office before, but then again you had never fucked Avis Amberg either, so there was definitely a first time for everything. You contemplated for a second whether you wanted to pull them out, the phone continuing to ring, before you decided that you very much didn’t and took the receiver with your left hand sounding as professional as ever, if only a little bit out of breath. The sound of your boss’s voice bombed on the other side, and you rolled your eyes in exasperation before you began to listen to his rambling. Yes Mr. Amberg, the contracts had arrived, yes Mr. Amberg production for “A kiss at Midnight” has been halted until your return, no Mr. Amberg the studio has not gone over budget on Miss Crandall’s movie. The frustration of his stupid words was mixing with the frustration of your fingers not moving, adding fuel to the possibility of you talking back to him if he didn’t shut up soon and let you finish, but he seemed to be talkative today, and you were too fucking turned on by the memory of his wife to wait until he hanged up.

You slid your fingers out before plunging them back in, curling them so the tips would brush over that sweet spot. You bit back a groan, trying to keep your noises down to a minimum, not that you thought Mr. Amberg would even realise what you were doing, because now you seemed to be like a fucking therapist, listening to all his problems and what not without the chance of getting a single word in. Your pace had been slow, careful at first, but soon you found a rhythm that you enjoyed very much, feeling a slight burn in your arm from the exertion, but you wouldn’t stop now that you could feel your orgasm properly building. Placing the receiver in between your shoulder and your ear you had your left hand doing you the service of rubbing your own clit, brushing and pinching and putting as much pressure on it as you could. Mr. Amberg never suspected anything, he carried on rambling about this and that, soft “yes Mr. Amberg, of course Mr. Amberg” leaving your lips to keep him content. Your movements got more erratic, and the sound of his voice travelled to the back of your head as his wife’s moans and whimpers filled your mind, fuelling your arousal even further. At last, you heard Mr. Samuels call for him and Mr. Amberg was quick to end the conversation and hang up even before you could say goodbye, and thank fucking God for it, because you were far too close to keep the conversation going. But of course, good things never last, and you heard the sound of the elevator, pulling both hands out from in between your legs as fast as you could, the skirt of your dress back over your thighs, a frustrated groan having escaped your lips as you had been forced to let your orgasm fade when you had been right there, almost reaching the peak.

Whoever was on that elevator was going to receive the worst treatment in the world. Or not. Placing the receiver back in place and pulling a handkerchief out of your pocket to clean your fingers you watched as Avis walk out, her red curls perfectly coiffed under a black wide rim hat with a veil wrapped under her chin, her frame dressed in a gorgeous light blue, perhaps even greyish, two-piece. Her bosom was beautifully wrapped in a top that presented ruffles at the bottom, a long skirt hiding her legs from your view, her dainty feet in five-inches heels that matched the colour of her clothes perfectly. Looking at the outfit as a whole you thought she could have got away with just wearing the top; sure, the bottom of her blouse would have ended around her thighs, the longest part could have even reached her knees, but it’s not as if that could ever be a bad thing. If you could feast on Avis’s legs the better the choice of clothes. Alas, she was a lady, and she would never wear something like that, in public anyway you suspected. Her hips swayed with each step she took, her signature red lips smiling up at you, her brown eyes surveying you through her long black eyelashes. Getting closer she noticed your dishevelled state, how your cheeks were flushed, your chest rising and falling rapidly, even a few random strands of your golden hair had escaped your ponytail. She raised an eyebrow at you, her sweet smile now a smirk.

-Good morning, Y/N. Have I interrupted something? – her voice was low and sweet as she reached your desk, your hands still holding onto the handkerchief. The sunlight that came through the window bathed her face so beautifully, like a halo of utter magnificence. Her eyes shone brightly, the deep oak-coloured orbs like molten chocolate over your body, her olive kissed skin glowing, calling out to you the same way her red lips were as she smiled, your eyes racking over them. But you were most taken by the way her usually deep red hair seemed to shine with ginger tones that complemented her features perfectly, like a field of oranges on the coast of Spain. Even her perfume this time seemed to be more citrusy. She basked in the way you were so taken with her, the way you could not take your eyes off of her body, not even for an instant. She chuckled as she bent forward a bit more, her gloved finger under your chin, forcing your eyes to gaze upon hers. – Answer the question doll.

-No, ma’am. – crap, you had forgotten to return your knickers to their usual position covering your cunt, and the fabric was digging onto your thigh as you pressed them together. Why couldn’t she have waited a few more minutes? Her eyes narrowed at your words, her forearms resting over the light wood giving you a perfect angle to see her full breasts through the top.

-I don’t like liars Y/N, so I’ll ask again, did I interrupt something?

-I… Yes. Why do you ask if you already know ma’am?

-Why wouldn’t I? Better yet, how couldn’t I? Seeing you so… horny right in front of me. Honestly girl, does that pretty mind of yours ever rest?

-No when you are in it, ma’am.

-Sweet talker. – she grabbed one of your hands, bringing your fingers to her lips, kissing the tips before putting them in her mouth, her tongue twirling around them, licking and sucking. She closed her eyes briefly, a quiet moan rumbling from her throat as she tasted you in your own fingers. When she popped them out, she simply mover her pinkie around her mouth to ensure her lipstick was still perfect as if she had not just done something so positively erotic that had you writhing in your seat dripping and boiling under your collar. It didn’t go unnoticed by her. – Did I come by too early and didn’t let you cum, doll? - You nodded at which she chuckled and moved her hand to grab your chin with a bruising strength. – Poor little Y/N. Do you want to? – you nodded once more.

-Please, mother. - You could literally spontaneously combust by how hot you were, it almost felt like you were scorching in your own skin, not to mention in between your legs and the way her body was just so fucking perfect and tempting under that outfit, her cleavage a most out of body experience as they nearly spilled out of the top from her position. Fuck you could come just be staring at them.

-Well, you can’t. Not until I say so and I have plans for you and me, so get that pretty ass of yours up from that chair and get your coat. - she had pushed her body off your desk, adjusting her gloves and hat, her hands roaming the sides of her body as her eyes locked with yours, her lips parting slightly as the tip of her tongue roamed over her teeth.

-But… Please…

-Are you trying to talk back to me, honey? – her entire demeanour changed, that playful banter she had had with you turned into a low dangerous tone that only worsened your state, her eyes staring at you hard, her palms firmly on your desk as she towered over you. – Let me remind you little girl that I am in charge here. You don’t get to plead or beg me to let you do anything, I give you permission when I see fit. Understood?

-Yes, mother.

-For what you just did I think a punishment is in order, wouldn’t you say?

-Ye… Yes, mother.

-Stand up and remove your underwear. Now.

Your legs were so shaky that you had to hold onto the edge of your desk as not to fall over, standing from your chair and lifting your skirt with your right hand, grabbing the waistband before pulling your white knickers down your legs letting the skirt fall back into place. Avis removed her gloves at the same time, freeing her slender fingers and veiny hands, those hands that you had fantasied about every time you had got in bed since Friday night. The feeling of the fabric of your dress on your bare ass was distracting, to say the least, but you had already angered Avis once and you didn’t want to make it worse. The flimsy garment was now around your fingers and unsure of what you were supposed to do with it you would have placed it on your desk if she had not extended her hand in a silent command for you to placed it on her palm. She took it, twirled it in between her fingers before she spread the garment open, thoroughly inspecting the ruined material before she turned her head towards you, still standing there waiting for her command. What an obedient little pet you could be. She brought the knickers to her face and licked them slowly, her eyes never breaking their gaze over yours, thriving on the fact that your eyes had dilated even further, and your breaths were coming in hurried puffs, your cheeks, and probably chest as well, blushing a deep red. Avis hummed deliciously as she tasted you, your legs pressed so hard together that every muscle on your thighs was absolutely tense beyond believe, the woman doing one more lap over your knickers with her tongue before she folded them and put them in a little pocket in her purse.

-If you are a good girl for mama, you will be thoroughly rewarded doll. Come and stand here, let mama see you.

Your right hand remained on the edge as you rounded the desk, coming to stand in front of her on your shaky legs. She circled you, taking in the pretty lilac dress you were wearing today, the zipper on the side she noticed as her fingers lingered a bit over your stomach, travelling around your frame, moving to your lower back, right above your buttocks but never really touching them. You smelled just delicious, her nose brushing your neck as she inhaled your essence. Each feathery touch of her fingers upon your skin left a trail of goosebumps, your nipples stiff and perky under your dress. Coming back to face you her finger traced the collar of your dress, tight around your neck, hooking it underneath the fabric and pulling you closer to her, her lips hoovering over yours. It was a miracle your feet hadn’t tripped in the foot and a half that had previously separated you.

-You should let all those marks I gave you see the sun, honey.

-What would people think, ma’am? – your voice wavered slightly, her minty breath warming your lips, her hand on your waist almost as if she knew you could collapse on her any minute, your own hand shooting to stabilise yourself on her forearm feeling her soft skin under your palm.

-That you have a very diligent partner. No need to tell them that partner is me.

She considered herself your partner. The words rang musically in your ears. One night between the two of you, a very good one if you were being honest, and she already considered herself to be that someone you would want to spend every hour of every day with. And damn, you did want her in such a way. You wanted to return home and see her sitting on the couch nursing one of her fancy martinis, the record player in the background resonating to something slow and beautiful, like her. You wanted to woo her, take her to dinner, dance with her, take her on picnics and trips to the South of Spain and every little village in Italy, to see her relaxing at the beach. You wanted to hold her hands and in the darkness of the night take her to bed, undress her, kiss every inch of her skin, to watch her sleep as the moonlight bathed her after midnight, to wake up to her sleepy grunts, watching the thin bedsheet slip off her body revealing her naked form to the gentle morning light. Your eyes locked with hers, drinking in her intense gaze, realising she might too want the same thing. Her fingers undid the first two buttons of your dress tracing the shape of your neck with her nails, smiling as your skin turned red.

-You and I are going to have so much fun today.

A yelp escaped your lips as her left hand spanked you through your dress, kneading the flesh of your ass as her right one travelled underneath the skirt, over your thigh and in between them. Your legs parted for her, her index finger sliding through your wet folds as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, hips buckling. That simple movement earned you another spank, harder than the previous one, her finger twirling around your clit for a few seconds, listening as your whimpers became more needy before pulling her hand away. You whined at the loss of contact, your peak right there, so close you could taste it but fading once more. Your eyes opened pleadingly, and you nearly begged her again, but the words never made it out through your lips as you watched her put her drenched finger in her mouth, sucking it before releasing it with a pop, grabbing her gloves from the desk. You wanted that finger in your mouth, in your cunt, you wanted to taste her all over and for her to taste you.

-Delicious. Grab your coat and put your hair in a braid, I don’t want you looking so dishevelled. Yet.

The way the material of the skirt moved around your bare flesh only fuelled your need for release, but you would not contradict Avis again. You wanted that tongue of hers on you and you would get it, even if you had to do questionable things to achieve it. Making your way to the coat rack you picked it up, throwing your arms in and tying it loosely around you before raising your arms to let your hair free before beginning to braid it. By then Avis had begun to walk towards the elevator without waiting for you, but you would not complain; her ass swayed deliciously under that tight skirt of hers and you knew she knew how much you loved it. You practically sprinted in her directions as the elevator’s doors opened, letting her enter it first and letting her exit before you as you finished tying your hair, throwing it over your shoulder, your frame always a couple of feet behind her as to not draw too much attention to you. If only the people you crossed paths with knew that you were commando under your dress because Avis Amberg had ordered you to remove your knickers, they would either faint or call you crazy, but what sweet madness it was knowing that it was true. Pushing the exit gates, you followed her into the bright sunny world outside that fucking building, because let’s be honest, it was shit having to miss such a beautiful day because one had to work, though you soon wished you had never left that fucking building. It was freezing, Avis had your knickers in her purse and your cunt would soon turn into a huge ass ice cube if you didn’t make it to her Cadillac soon.

The trek to the parking lot was both exhilarating for obvious reasons but also torture and you sighed in relief as that beautiful black car came into your plane of vision. Unlocking it Avis sat in her seat while you slipped right beside her, your arousal having diminished slightly, much to your dismay. From the corner of her eye Avis noticed that you were relaxed, far too relaxed for her liking, she had too many ideas in that pretty head of hers to have you grow cold on her, so after turning the ignition and reversing before shifting the vehicle into first gear, her hand shot out to grab your thigh, pulling your body closer to hers. Her fingers kneaded your flesh, drawing out sweet gasps from you, her voice ringing in your ears as she asked you for a cigarette. Your hands shook as you opened her purse, pulled one out and lighted it, handing it to her, but she did not take it, she smirked at you before raising an eyebrow, her silent command clicking in your brain after a moment. Your hand approached her mouth, the pads of your fingers touching her bright red lips as you placed the cigarette in between them, the carmine staining your skin as you pulled your hand back. She hummed in approval, rewarding you, or perhaps torturing you, when her hand slipped under your skirt and began to trace the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. It was positively hypnotising to see her take a drag before releasing the smoke around her gorgeous face, the cigarette resting in between two fingers of her left hand. The one under your skirt inched closer and closer to your cunt by the minute, your eyes moving from her face to her hand as if it were a tennis match. Avis’s brown eyes glanced at you every chance she could, listening to your gasps and moans.

Her own underwear was ruined already, but there would be plenty of time for you to take care of her once she had finished what she had planned for you, after all she had the house all to herself and she could do as she pleased in it. Signalling to turn left, her hand had to slip out from under your dress so she could swerve the Cadillac down Sunset Boulevard, the cigarette patiently waiting once more in between her lips, taking a long drag. The lack of her touch didn’t last for too long, as soon as the car glided down the road again, she placed her hand once more over your thigh and under the fabric. The grip you had on the seat had turned your knuckles white, eyes glued to her hand as it moved, her forearm bunching up the lilac material showing off your shapely legs until her fingers finally made contact with your dripping folds. The moan that escaped your throat was shameful, your head lulling back over the seats, but you didn’t care, not when they were moving up and down your slit slowly. Out of their own accord your legs spread to grant her better access, to which she chuckled, puffing the smoke of another drag in your direction never stopping her ministrations, quite the opposite. She gathered as much of your juices on her two fingers as she could before moving up to your clit, twirling it and rubbing it in short motions. You cursed, your breaths coming in short gasps and pants tasting the nicotine that floated in the air, eyes rolling when she pressed a little harder, grabbing her wrist to push her hand closer to you. Wrong move. Avis pulled her hand away with a disapproving hum before you could stop her, leaving you again close to the edge, refusing to touch you, not even planning on placing her hand on your thigh. Absolutely not; you thought you could tell her what to do, demanding her to please you? Then she would leave you wanting her until it drove you insane. Tears had begun to gather in the corner of your eyes at the frustration, but you would not cry because you honestly did not know whether she would like it or not. Perhaps she would end all this in an instant, and that you certainly did not want, so you swallowed thickly and closed your legs.

-I’m sorry mama. – you needed a distraction, not that the sound of her voice helped you feel any less aroused, not that the sight of her full lips wrapping around the cigarette wasn’t as erotic as she made it look, but perhaps starting a conversation could relax some of the tension in your body. - Where… Where are we going ma’am?

-I don’t want an apology Y/N. Don’t. Do. It. Again. – each word was accentuated by a hard glare your way, smoke escaping her mouth before she rolled the window down and flicked the butt out onto the road. She remained silent for a minute, ruminating in her head whether you deserved an answer to your question or not. Those pleading eyes and rosy cheek that were staring back at her were too adorable for her to keep you in the dark. Her tone wasn’t as commanding, but it definitely held an air of power that prevented you from interrupting her. - Ellen has told me that your car was beyond repair and that you have been using the bus to get to work since Saturday, so I’ve decided to do something about it.

-Som… Something about it? Avis, you are not suggesting what I think you are suggesting?

-Yes, I am. Honey, I’m rich, I can spend as much as I want on whatever I want, and I want to spend it on you.

-You don’t have to.

-I know, I just told you I want to Y/N. You have been working yourself to bone at the studio. You have done everything to please my husband with your brain and you have done everything to please me with your skills. Such devotion deserves recognition.

-The raise was enough, ma’am.

-And yet you take the bus with all those strangers gawking at you, probably fantasizing about your body, about how you might sound with that pretty mouth of yours around their cocks and I for one, don’t like to share. – she braked at a red light taking the opportunity to turn her head fully towards you, her right hand grabbing your face, her fingers still smelling of your arousal, your mind hazy and rushing. As if it had ever stopped. – I’m the only one with the privilege of hearing and watching you cum. No one else.

-Of course, mother.

-If I see you faulting yourself, flirting in any way, in front of any of those men, inside or outside the studio, your punishment will be so severe you’ll have to call in sick for a week. I will have to remind you that you are my good girl, my pretty, desperate and delicious, good girl. Do I need to make myself clearer, honey?

-No, mother. I would never do that to you.

-Still, had I taken the stairs instead of the elevator I would have found you with your own fingers deep inside your cunt, pleasuring yourself. Were you thinking of me?

-Every minute of every day, Avis.

-Had I waited one more minute would have I seen you dripping onto your own hands, head lulled back, arching off the chair while you moaned my name? – you felt the huskiness in her voice in every single cell of your body, her left hand grabbing your hip with such strength you were sure she would add to the bruises she had left there the other night. God, she was so close to you, you could feel the heat radiating off her body. Watching the way you breathed her in, Avis thought of how incredibly worked up she was already when in fact you hadn’t even touched her but the way you reacted to her every word was just too intoxicating. She wasn’t sure for how long she could keep this up before her need for you took over her completely.

-Yes.

-Yes, what?

-Yes, mother. – this red light was giving you life, lasting what seemed to be hours. -Please, do I have your permission to-

-You don’t get to do anything, not yet, but perhaps an incentive might help you be mommy’s good girl. Because you want mama to reward you, don’t you?

You nodded and in the cabin of her black Cadillac Avis crashed her lips onto yours. Her soft, plump mouth pressed against yours felt like a wave of relief to you, as if you had finally returned home, your hands resting on her cheeks without a second thought before they travelled down towards her breasts, squeezing lightly, your mouth opening and letting her tongue dart inside it. At the feeling of your hands she gasped, groaning as she traced the shape of your teeth, sucking on your tongue earning a moan from you that resonated inside her body, her lips only parting from yours to breath after pulling on your lower lip, biting gently with her teeth. Her lipstick was smudged, but she did not care, she could fix it, but the sight of you with her favourite colour adorning your swollen lips made her groan wantonly once more. So, she was just as aroused as you were, good. She pushed your hands from her body and like magic the instant she turned towards the front glass the light turned green, and she quickly put the car in first gear again, continuing to drive. She did not touch again, but it was alright, the feeling of her tits spilling from your hands even through her top and that kiss, that fucking amazing kiss, could hold you off for a bit as you licked your lips trying to still get a bit of that taste that was Avis. Nicotine with a touch of something spicy and probably alcoholic topped by the carmine of her lipstick. Two minutes later you were at Packard’s own dealership, Avis parking the car in a corner before pulling the mirror down and grabbing her purse.

-As much as I love to see you like that, wipe your mouth. – you grabbed the tissue she was handing you, removing the red colour until only your own rosy lips could be seen, your eyes taking in the way she carefully removed the lipstick before applying it again, wiping with her index and pinkie fingers anything that was not utterly perfect. You could spend all day looking at her applying her makeup. Happy with the finished product she threw the tissue back in her purse, offering her palm to you and putting yours next to hers before snapping her purse closed once again, lifting her head to look at you. Her voice was serious, as if she were discussing a very important contract for the studios and yet her pupils were dilated as she looked at you. – Now, there’s a few rules that I want you to follow, firstly so you can get a proper car and secondly so I will fuck your brains out in the end. First rule, you are not to speak unless I allow you to. If I grant you permission I will nod to you, if you break this rule, I will add an hour until you can cum. Second rule, I can touch you whenever and wherever I please, so you better keep your noises to a minimum, if you don’t, the punishment will be the same; another hour. Third rule, your hands cannot touch any part of your own body or mine unless I want you to, which brings me to rule number four. You can’t cum. If you break either of them, I will have to take you to my house, tie you to a chair and have you watch me pleasure myself until you are begging me to let you worship me. Do you agree to these rules, Y/N? If you don’t, I will still get you the car, so don’t feel pressured to please me, but if you do want me to fuck you, agree.

-I do want you, everything you are willing to offer. I agree, ma’am.

-Good girl. Let us get you a car then, honey.

Stepping out of the car, she turned and bent over to grab her dark stole from the back seat, her perfect round ass up in the air. Your eyes were glued, as if it was calling you with the way it swayed and moved, her left leg lifted off the floor, bent over her ass as she finally grabbed the accessory. She had not said anything about not gawking at her body, undressing her with your eyes. If one looked for them, you could find a loophole. Standing back up and throwing the stole over her shoulders she closed the door. The sound startled you and you fought to get out of the car for a moment, your hands shaking and a little bit sweaty, practically leaping out of it, letting Avis close it before she turned and began to walk into the building. A pang of sadness graced your heart watching her move away from you. You knew that she was way above your station, that she was rich, famous, glamorous and should be way out of your league, but it hurt to be reminded this way that you could never be equals, that you had to walk a few feet behind her like the subordinate you were. You only desired to hold her hand, sex aside. Almost as if she could feel your every emotion, she turned her head over her shoulder, her deep eyes observing you with curiosity, taking note of your cast down eyes as you stared back at her, through her thick eyelashes. That curiosity turned into worry and then into understanding, a kind smile gracing her lips as she motioned for you with a gentle sway of her head to walk beside her. Your cheeks hurt form the way you smiled brightly at her, rushing to her side like a child that had been offered a lollipop. Simply being next to her was enough reward to you, not that you would mind finishing the day with her on top of you.

-If you want something from me, ask. You can break the rules if you need me to answer a question, whatever it may be. This should be enjoyable to the both of us.

-Can I hold your hand, Avis? – the question was not asked huskily or in hopes that you could get your way, no, it was genuine care that made you say it, and the surprised expression on her face was a perfect indication that no one had asked her that in a long time. One point to you, as you had managed to make Avis blush with a such an innocent and yet daring question.

-Trust me, honey, I would love it, but I can’t have people asking questions. I don’t want you to get hurt by gossip. – her now gloved finger tapped the tip of your nose, her words tainted with a gentle sadness even though her lips were smiling at you. You didn’t want her to feel that way, you wanted happy Avis, angry Avis, mad with lust Avis but never ever sad Avis.

-I understand.

-I know, you are a smart girl. How about when we are done here, we go on a walk? A private garden, or perhaps a secluded spot on a park where you can hold my hand and every bit of me as well. – her finger moved over your lips, tracing your jaw and down your neck, stopping right before reaching the swell of your breasts. It was outstanding the speed with which she could move from such an emotional moment to having you burning with desire again. - Would you like that?

-Very much, Avis.

-Then behave while we are in there. I will not reward you if you upset mommy.

With that said she turned and began to walk, but this time her steps were slower as to make sure you were beside her at all times. It made you so fucking horny and giddy that she would do this for you. Opening the glass doors for her Avis stepped inside the dealership, her commanding presence turning every single head in that place as you let the door close on its own. Every man in that building practically glided towards her, smiling and greeting her with fake smiles and disgustingly sweet words, almost as if she were a stupid little woman. It made you raise an eyebrow at their behaviour. Avis was quick to cut them short though, a smile on her lips and her voice dropping to that sugary tone that both scared you and turned you on, her fingers running over the jacket lapels of a young boy as she told them that she was not there to be convinced to buy a car, that she had an appointment with a Mr. Russell. The boy was absolutely smitten with her, and that angered you beyond believe. This was Avis’s entire personality, flirtatious, domineering, you were not worried about her, not one bit, you were worried about the ten different men that were practically dreaming of touching her, their eyes disgustingly racking over her body. You had to do something before any of them got too close for your comfort and you broke their noses, so you simply cleared your throat drawing the attention of her and the boys. You were jealous, Avis could see it in the way you stared hard at the men around her, the way you clenched your fists and gave them all a fake smile while murdering them with your eyes. It incensed her to know that someone adored her so much that they would probably be willing to fight for her, sending a wave of pleasure and want down to her core. Patting the young boy’s cheek she had addressed earlier she made her way to you, placing her hand on your lower back while smirking, pushing your body close to hers, the heat that you were radiating seeping through your coat and onto her palm. At the sight of the delectable Avis Amberg around you all those fake smiles faltered slightly, the men finally scattering back to their desks, not without sending you murderous glares first though. You returned them. That jealousy of yours demanded a reward for how wanted and desired she felt and a punishment for having stepped a little bit out of line, not that you had broken a rule, she simply wanted to. The slap that she delivered upon your left ass cheek practically echoed, making you yelp quietly and jump on the spot, her hand soothing the sting by kneading the flesh, her face close to your ear as she whispered.

-That jealousy act made mama so very wet, doll.

Fuck. You bit back a groan at her words, fingers twitching with the need to touch her, but you were not going to disappoint her and break the rules, as much as you wanted to. Your face turned to look at her, but she had already untangled herself from you, walking in between the cars that were on display, looking around without really paying any attention to them. She was going to be the death of you. Her body swayed gracefully in between the multiple automobiles that filled the space, her hands running over the steel while glancing at your form over her shoulder. Following her around a Packard 120 she looked around, a naughty little idea taking form in her head, before resting her upper body on the trunk of the vehicle, motioning with her index finger for you to approach her. She was surely not suggestion what you though she was suggesting? True that in the secluded spot no one could see either of you, but she would not take the risk of getting caught, would she? Entering her personal space she grabbed your hands, bringing one to her face to kiss each of your fingers before licking its palm, the other one being placed on her left breast over the fabric of her top. The thrill of getting caught was utterly intoxicating and it made you even wetter; at this point you should be able to drown in your own arousal, your eyes glued to the way she was now sucking your index finger. You squeezed her breast, kneading, trying to find her nipple, but the fabric was too thick, and you could not feel her properly, so with a pleading look you moved your fingers to the hem of the neckline, asking her for permission without uttering a word. She nodded, moving your thumb into her hot mouth next, sucking and scrapping her teeth over your flesh. She gasped as your cold hand travelled underneath her outfit, raising goosebumps all over as you pushed the top of her corselette down as much as you could to free her breast. Feeling your fingers twirling and pinching her nipple had her lulling her head back, dropping your other hand as she placed her palms over the steel of the car to steady herself.

Her perfume filled your lungs as you bent over her body, using your free hand to support your weight, but you still did not break the rules, did not touch her without her permission as your nose ghosted over her long neck. A particularly hard pinch had her buckling her hips against yours enticing a gentle gasp. Your core was positively on fire, but she still did not command you any further, simply enjoying the way you expertly played with her tit. Moving your mouth towards her ear you whispered if you could touch her with your mouth, to which she nodded, feeling your tongue on her earlobe and the side of her jaw. You would have loved to take your sweet time, but you would not risk it right now, moving your lips to her collarbone, moving her top to the side to free her breast to the air of the room, your tongue circling her nipple. Her eyes had followed your every move, lulling back when you finally sucked on her tit, fighting back a moan; no need to draw any attention. The moment was disturbed though at the sound of a door opening and closing and a set of footsteps hitting the floor. Avis pushed you gently of her body, returning her breast to its initial place but not before engraving the image of her own hand squeezing it with a cheeky smirk on her lips into your brain. Two seconds later she was greeting a short bald man of blue eyes by kissing his cheeks like nothing had happened, her clothes perfectly straightened and not a strand of hair out of place. Observing the exchange, you felt that somehow this man in particular didn’t seem to be a threat, that you didn’t need to worry about Avis when he was around, not that your brain could handle much after having sucked Avis’s breast in a public space. Fucking hell, she was an exhibitionist you thought. The need for release was borderline torture now, the line between pleasure and pain thinner than ever before and she had done practically nothing to you.

-Hello Avis. I was absolutely delighted to receive your call.

-I know, I could hear you jumping in your office through the phone.

-Oh, please. – his laugh was melodious if not a bit loud, but it didn’t seem to bother Avis. – Okay, perhaps a little.

-So, what do you have for me? You know I won’t take anything less than perfection.

-Then anything from the 30s is out of the question. Oh, sorry madam, I did not see you there. – Looking over Avis’s shoulder his beady blue eyes opened wide, surprised at the fact that he had not seen you, correcting such a situation immediately. He was such a charming man, perhaps he swung for the other team, you thought. Not that it bothered you, at all, quite the opposite. He made his way towards you, taking your hand, kissing it and patting it to greet you before flashing you with a smile, his pearly white teeth blinding you for an instant. – I am assuming this is the lady that you mentioned over the phone?

-Yes. Y/N, please met Oscar Russell, one of the best dealers in Hollywood.

-Oh, Avis, you flatter me. I simply enjoy cars and seeing people in them. I’m sure you’ll agree with me Y/N.

-So, you don’t enjoy the cut that you get every time you sell one?

-I never said I did not enjoy the money either!

His joy was contagious as that laugh rang through the entire building. Avis had taken the opportunity then to stand beside you, her hand brushing your arm discreetly and yet her eyes remained on Mr. Russell, listening intently as he rambled about this car and this other one. You loved cars and would love to hear more about the ones he was talking about, but not when you were imagining Avis in the back seat of one with your head between her legs, licking her folds as you hummed at the taste of her. Your breath hurried a little at the mental image, which of course she picked up on, placing her hand on your back once more, painting lazy patterns over the fabric. Mr. Russell excused himself for a moment saying something about a catalogue, leaving you both alone once more. Avis took this impasse in the transaction to turn her head towards you while withdrawing her hand from your body, the spot where it had been now utterly cold, bringing the tip of her glove to her mouth and removing it with her teeth. If she didn’t do something about your situation soon you might actually die you thought, because she was absolutely erotic and sensual in every single move she made, including grabbing her glove with her right hand before returning the left one to touch your lower back. Your breath hitched in your lungs when you felt her lifting the skirt of your dress, leaving your ass completely exposed to the world around you. Your heart was hammering against your ribcage, and it only worsened when you felt her palm massaging and patting your flesh, that naughty hand of hers travelling between your legs to feel your dripping folds from behind. Her touch was featherlight, but it made your eyes roll into the back of your head while fighting the moan that wanted to resonate from your throat, your legs parting for her, shaking slightly. Tasting metal in your mouth you realised you had bit down on your lower lip hard enough to draw out blood, but that did not matter, your entire world was Avis’s fingers sliding up and down, teasing you, building your arousal up even further.

Without so much as a warning she withdrew her hand just as Mr. Rusell returned with a pretty chatty catalogue of the latest models Packard had in stock, your dress falling back into place. Deep breaths, you thought, deep breaths or you would jump on top of Avis and fuck her without giving a shit who was in the room. Mr. Russell was flicking pages, still talking, allowing you to calm your racing heart before he handed the catalogue to you, your eyes travelling to Avis to seek her permission to grab it, which of course she granted with a pleased smirk on her lips. You were behaving so well, following all her rules, making her feel so utterly in control of you. Your shaky fingers flickered through the pages trying to concentrate on the images and the technicalities that your eyes could read, your cunt twitching at the need of Avis’s fingers inside it, inside you. After passing by the page of the Packard 120 you stopped. There, on the page, was a photograph was a most regal and luxurious car that never in a million years you would be able to afford. Avis saw the way you paused, eyes sparkling, and over your shoulder she saw what had captivated you so. Ah, yes, the Super 8 180. Not a bad line, it was certainly the type of car that Avis wouldn’t mind owning if she was not so in love with her Cadillac. You had expensive and exquisite taste, and she knew, otherwise she would not have brought you here in the first place. Having her breath so close to your neck threw your concentration out the window once more, not that your brain or words were needed. Avis took the catalogue and showed Mr. Russell the picture at which he smiled and began to rush around the place practically screaming that he should have known you would choose that one and that he had a surprise in store for the both of you. After a few minutes of running around like a chicken without a head he stood before you and Avis with a little booklet and asked you both politely to follow him to his office.

This time instead of having you follow her, Avis took your hand in hers and pulled you with her towards the east side of the building, across a white door. Damn society, damn men and damn every law that prevented Avis from showing you off at every goddamn event she desired to take you. You were her perfectly behaved girl, and you deserved a taste of the rewards she was planning on giving you, starting with her hand, that not even five minutes ago had been in your cunt, holding onto yours. Your heart leaped in your chest, eyes glued to your intertwined fingers, feeling so happy you could have cried. She pulled you gently inside Mr. Russell’s office, pointing at a chair not wnating to let go of you when you felt so perfect in her hand. You were both aroused beyond believe, but this had nothing to do with lust, this was what Ace hadn’t given to her in years, what she yearned for, the simple touch of a hand in hers, a meaning of love and devotion that she knew you felt for her. Pushing the other chair closer to yours she sat refusing to let go, her eyes on your before they turned back to Mr. Russell.

-So, the Super 8 180. I have one here in the back, brand new with every feature available and the best quality materials. It’s a two door, but I don’t think that matters, and a convertible. Now, the most amazing thing about the model that I have it’s that is a custom Darrin, just like in the picture.

-Custom? Who didn’t want it, Oscar?

-A man who died. Very sad, but it’s brand-new Avis, not even I have driven it. The wheels are clean. That car hasn’t touched the road. I swear that once you take a look at it, you’ll fall in love with it.

-Colour?

-Burgundy and the leather in light tan. You know I would not suggest it if I didn’t think it was worth your time, Avis. It’s the perfect car if you want something timeless and glamorous.

-Go and get the keys and we’ll drive it around, see how smooth it is. – it was a miracle he did not take the chair with him at the speed he ran out of the room. Avis’s eyes went straight to you, letting go of your hand as she moved her fingers up your arm, pushing her chair closer to you. – So, what do you think, a custom car?

-I trust you and Mr. Russell ma’am. If it’s good enough for you, it’s perfect for me.

God, she could eat you up alive. Avis’s lips touched your cheek in a sweet peck, removing her other glove and shoving it in her purse, her mind made up at last about what she was going to do with you exactly. Her fingers traced the hem of your dress, parting your legs gently so she could feel your smooth skin, continuing with her light pecks, her red lipstick hardly leaving an imprint, thankfully. This time she decided, she would take a bigger risk, her fingers exploring your inner thigh before moving quickly but gently in between your folds once and then twice until she plunged them inside you without warning. Your head fell back, hips buckling upwards to match her movements, lips parted in a silent moan. Her touch felt explosive, a slow pace of moving her fingers in and out at first, teasing your clit with her thumb, building your orgasm at the speed of light. You needed more, and she knew, your cheeks the same shade as her lipstick, your teeth digging onto your lips as not to make a single sound, hands holding onto the chair as not to shoot out and grab her wrist. Not again.

After admiring you she began to pump her hand faster, curling her fingers; you were almost there, a few more strokes on your clit or her fingers curling on your sweet spot and you would finally finish, but she denied you your peak. Your walls were clenching rhythmically, signalling that your orgasm would explode any second, but she did not want to see you unravelling in a simple office like this, not after what you both had done in her husband’s grand one at the studio, so she pulled them out. The urge to whine and growl with frustration was astronomical and yet you did not utter a single word, a single noise, not even when you watched her put her fingers in your mouth, tasting yourself around them as you licked and sucked them clean. Her pupils had overtaken her eyes, chest rising and falling in husky puffs, her thighs tight at the image before her. She would need to take you to a nearby hotel after this entire business was done, because she refused to carry on denying herself your body, and your tongue. Once she was satisfied with your work and you released her fingers she pecked your lips; you were so obedient, so needy and yet so well behaved, remembering the rules. You were her very very good girl. You would have to study if Avis had some sort of psychic power, because just as she relaxed back into her chair with her hands on her lap, your dress back in place, Mr. Russell returned with the car keys, gesturing for you both to stand and follow him to the back. Upon seeing you so flushed and taking rapid breaths, he approached you to ask if you were alright, Avis covering for what she had done to you by saying that you were just so excited about the car and that whenever you got this way your asthma acted up. He nodded, accepting the lie without pushing the matter any further. Your legs nearly gave up on you when you stood, Avis shooting to take your arm in the crook of hers to support you as the man held the door open for you both.

The weather outside the building wasn’t as cold as it had been when you had first arrived, perhaps due to your internal scorching temperature; you were a fucking furnace right now. But then for a moment you forgot about your dripping cunt and the feeling of Avis’s lips, only for a moment. There in the glistening sun was the most beautiful car you had ever seen, aside from Avis’s Cadillac, of course. The colour was a beautiful burgundy with a gentle pink undertone, like Mr. Russell had said, but words could not do justice to the beautiful shade of the steel, the white top contrasting beautifully. You could not take your eyes off of it. This could be your car, but if Avis liked it, it would definitely be your car, and you could not help the smile that overtook your lips, your free hand shooting to touch it, but stopping mid motion to turn your head towards the beautiful woman you had in your arm. Oh my God, you were just too cute, still asking for permission to touch the vehicle when she had clearly stated that it was only your body and hers that you were not allowed to place your hands on. Chuckling lightly, she nodded, letting go of your arm gently to inspect if your legs could support you, following closely as you placed both palms over the smooth surface. Mr. Russell was talking technical thigs about it; it’s a 3-speed manual with overdrive, he said, with hydraulic drum brakes and so on. It all sounded wonderful.

-We will take it for a spin say… for half an hour? Is that alright with you Oscar?

-You know me Avis, just bring back the car and I’ll be fine. Take it for an hour, a day if you want to see how it does at rush hour, whatever you want.

-You are a darling Oscar, but we won’t keep it long, right Y/N?

At the sound of your name you lifted your head, turning to give all your attention back to Avis, nodding at whatever she had said. Regardless of whether it was a smooth ride or not Avis would get it for you simply because the look on your face was something she wanted to see every single day of her life. Mr. Russell approached you, dangling the keys from his fingers. Before you could ask Avis for permission, she was nodding to you and almost jumping on the spot you grabbed them, opening the car, letting the smell of brand new expensive materials fill your nostrils. From her spot, Avis could not say that she was disappointed in your reaction, bent over the front seat, your ass perfectly rounded for her eyes to feast on. She licked her lips as she waved a hand over her head towards Mr. Russell not paying attention to what he was saying as he returned inside the building. With one hand on the door and another on the white top you turned your head, motioning Avis to get in, which of course she was going to do anyway. It was a dream car, no matter what the magazines said about Mercedes or Lincoln, this was certainly the best of them all and once Avis had taken the passenger seat, it was utter perfection on the face of the Earth. Even the motor sounded sweet when you turned the ignition on, pulling the lever down to reverse out of the spot and towards the road. First gear in and down Sunset Boulevard you both went again, the feeling of the suspension over each bump making Avis agree and almost sigh in relief that the ride was a smooth one indeed. Swerving it into the side streets was beautiful, the steering wheel moving in your hands like butter, the car following your every order as willingly as you were following Avis’s. At the sight of the sign that said Road 101 you were quick to merge and enter the freeway. Steeping on the gas you felt the speed in your limbs, never surpassing the limits, at least not by too many miles. Suddenly Avis’s melodious laugh filled the cabin, making you turn your head towards her for a moment before retuning them to the road.

-Do you know how cute you are? I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so excited about a car in a really long time. What’s the verdict, doll?

-It is amazing, Avis. I could not imagine a car that could be so perfect for us.

-Us?

-Yes. I intend on driving it alone as much as I intend driving it with you next to me. Or do you not want me to steal you away from Hollywood every once in a while?

-Where would you take me if I let you?

-Everywhere, anywhere. Where would you want me to take you Avis?

No Mrs. Amberg like her driver would always address her whenever she decided to make use of him, in that monotone voice of his, no emotion, no feelings towards her. To you she was simply Avis, and what a very fine smooth talker you were. Her eyes took your profile in, from your nose, the lovely pink shade of your cheeks, to your jawline and beyond, every bit of you that she wanted to kiss and cherish. Looking back to the traffic ahead she saw a sign for the old road that used to be used to get to Runyon Canyon, one that no one drove in anymore and that had several secluded spots. A naughty smirk filled her lips as she turned back toward you.

-Take exit 47 and I’ll tell you where I want you to take me.

-Yes ma’am.

Signalling you merged onto the right lane and then onto exit 47, braking the car gently as you followed a curve and back onto a long empty road. At the beginning the asphalt wasn’t too bad, but a few miles into it and not even this new suspension could cover up the bumps and potholes on the road, a new sense of dread beginning to fill you, fearing you might burst a wheel or get the car stuck somewhere. That fear was cut short when Avis pointed towards some bushes big enough to house the car without scratching the paint. You braked once more, moving the vehicle into the spot until it came to a full stop, turning the engine off. The sound of your heart beating fast against your ribcage filled your ears, because it did not take a genius to understand why Avis had asked you to stop in this place where not a soul could be found for several miles around. You were sure she could hear it as she moved closer to you, her hand playing with your braid as her lips began to kiss your jaw and neck, darting her tongue to lick under your ear. The grip you had on the steering wheel was turning your entire hand white, head lulled back to grant her better access unsure if you were allowed to make sounds or not. Kissing the collar of your gown she found that as pretty as that lilac dress was it was an obstacle, and she wanted it out of the way now. Forcing your hands to relax their grip she brought them to the zipper and in one clumsy motion you pulled it down, thrashing to get out of the offending garment as fast as you could. When had you removed your coat? Trying to think back as you pulled the dress over your head and off, you remembered vaguely seeing it on the back of the chair at Mr. Russell’s office. Good, you didn’t want to have to buy a new one.

With your shoes off now as well, kneeling over that brand new leather seats you stared at your perfect Avis. Except for a baby pink brassiere, you were naked before her, and she drank you in with such fire in her eyes that you could almost burst into flames just by the way she was gazing at your body. Her hands were once more on you, grabbing your waist and pulling you to her, crashing her lips on yours. Her tongue traced your lower lip coaxing you to open your mouth, biting down on it as soon as you granted her access, feeling a slight taste of metal mixed with her saliva. It was a battle of tongues and teeth nibling at each other, parting with loud pants as she took her hat off, throwing it over the dashboard before pushing you on your back, your dress protecting the leather underneath. Her kisses were hard, her mouth sucking on your pulse point. She had expected to feel your hands on her head, to hear groans and whines filling the cabin, but as responsive as you were being you were also rigid underneath her. Oh shit, you were still following the rules. It turned her on even more seeing you so obedient still, making her groan as her mouth approached your ear, never ceasing her kisses on her journey there.

-The rules don’t apply here, honey.

Like a resort your hand immediately shot to grab her head to keep her on your neck while the other one shot to touch her breasts under the fabric of her top. The noises you were making at last were absolutely delightful, her teeth biting down on your collarbone drawing a short scream before her tongue soothed the sting, a moan vibrating through your flesh when your hand pulled her corselette down freeing her plump tits, your thumb brushing over her nipples. Her mouth travelled down the valley of your heavy breasts, pulling that flimsy see-through garment down, massaging the soft skin before putting her mouth to work on your perky nipples, alternating between hard sucks and soothing licks. Toying with you like this was maddening, you were far too worked up to last much longer, pleading with her to let you cum at last. You deserved it, after all you had followed her every direction. Spreading your legs she kissed your thighs, moving gently to the inner part, biting down on your smooth flesh and in consequence earning a loud scream that only got louder when at last her tongue made one long swipe of your absolutely drenched folds. You wanted to keep her curls intact but the way she was licking and darting her tongue in and out of you, twirling your clit expertly, was proving far too distracting for you to notice where the fuck your hand was as the one that had been on her breasts was now holding onto the door above your head for dear life. Without warning she pushed two fingers inside you, pumping them at such a speed and with such force that you were moving up and down over the seat.

-FUCK! AVIS! DON’TSTOPDON’TSTOP…

She curled them hard, her nails scratching that sweet spot inside you, making your back arch, the heat inside the cabin raising exponentially as the windows began to fog up. She was relentless in her task, pumping and sucking your clit, your moans reaching a whole new pitch, sharp and loud as you were getting close, praying that she would not stop this time. The fire in your core was all consuming, and it was just there, on the edge, waiting for the string to be pulled to explode, your nails digging hard onto Avis’s scalp not noticing whether you were hurting her or not, too lost. She made one lap with her tongue, and everything just came together to send you into outer space; her fingers pumped hard into you, curling as her mouth sucked on your overstimulated bud finally coming after you didn’t know how many hours of being edged. And it was blinding. Your body arched off the seat, legs shaking violently nearly crushing her in between them as Avis continued her ministrations at a slower pace, letting you fly high, with her name on your lips being screamed as loud as your vocal cords would let you. Your walls clenched around her fingers for over a minute, until she felt you collapse back, panting hurriedly, her fingers stopping their motion as her lips kissed your thighs to bring you down from your orgasm, patting your calf and rubbing your knee. She had drunk every drop of your salty juices, smearing her lipstick, her mouth and chin glistening under the sunlight of midday. With gentle hands she let your legs close once she pulled out, climbing on top of you, her hand pushing random strands off your forehead as she pecked your cheeks, nose, eyelids, just like you had done to her. You hummed in approval forcing your eyes to open and stare up at her through heavy eyelids, your orbs still glazed with pleasure.

-Thank you.

-No need, you deserved to be rewarded. You pleased your mama immensely.

-I did?

-Yes. You were such a good girl for mommy. – Still a bit shaky and with your cunt twitching every once in a while, you let go of the door to caress her cheek. You wondered if her lipstick was smeared over your cunt as much as it was on your neck and breasts. Biting your lip, you pulled her down to kiss her, tasting yourself on her and deep withing her mouth, a groan escaping you, gently muffled. Suddenly your hands were on her shoulders pushing her onto a sitting position on her knees, breaking the kiss and letting you perch yourself in front of her. She raised an eyebrow with curiosity.

-I believe that I must thank mommy for buying me a car.

Your hands were on her blouse, fingers searching for the button that kept those gorgeous plump breasts hidden from your sight. As soon as you found it you pulled it open, hungrily taking them in as they fought over the corselette. She was the one at a loss for words now, her eyes burning as much as her core was at the sight of you bruised and marked, naked and covered in lipstick diving to take her tits in your mouth. This wasn’t what she had planned when she had first entered the studio but she would not fucking complain. Left hand kneading her soft flesh allowed the right one to be available for other purposes, like sliding down her side, not before grabbing her ass and throwing in a gentle spank that made her gasp, her hips jerking towards you before vanishing under her skirt. You didn’t want to tease, you wanted to watch her unravelling on what you were sure would be your brand-new car soon, fingers finding the material of her knickers absolutely drenched. Her head fell forward on your shoulder at the sheer feeling of both your mouth and fingers working on her, even if you currently were only teasing her through the lace as you twirled and sucked on her right nipple.

Pushing the fabric aside you slid your index finger through her folds, feeling the nails of both her hands digging onto the skin of your back, a small price to pay. Her clit was swollen, calling out to you as you did one fist swipe over it with your thumb, her hips moving, trying to get more friction, moans muffled by your neck. One finger in and she bit down hard on the junction of your neck and shoulder, two fingers in and she was throwing her head back, your teeth biting down on one perky left nipple, making her scream both in pain and pleasure, feeling a rush of wetness over your fingers. A third one in and you began to pump in and out of her with your thumb rubbing her bud. You wanted to taste her, but her breasts were too magnificent to let go, and there would be plenty of time for you to have her against the dashboard, perhaps even with the top down, under the stars with the sounds of Hollywood far away from your ears. She was whimpering now, matching the thrusts of your hand as she got closer and closer to her own release, her walls clenching faster, fluttering around you. You weren’t sure if she would be able to take it, but she needed just a little push to send her over the edge, anyone in a five mile radius could feel just how close she was and so you pushed another finger into her, curling them deeply. The stretch stung but the wave of pleasure it brought along with it had Avis arching her back, your face pressed in between her tits as she rode your hand at a maddening pace, screaming a continuous litany of curses and pleas.

-FUCK! YESYESYES! Y/N! FUCK!

Her juices dripped all over your hand, making you freak out for a moment about the leather, only to see that your dress was underneath her, capturing it all as her cum also slid down her thighs. She fell forward after a few seconds, her head on your shoulder once more, her entire weight dumped on you now that she was coming down, the hand that had been on her breasts now running soothing circles on her back. To be honest you had not expected her to orgasm so fast, maybe denying you yours had worked her up as well. She whined at the loss when you pulled your hand out of her, displeased with how empty she felt now. She clearly needed a minute to collect her thoughts, the gentle waves of aftershock still coursing through her veins, you using the time to lick your fingers clean, closing your eyes at the taste of her. Once you felt her body rise you lifted her head to stare at her eyes.

-You alright?

-If I ever tell you that I don’t want your fingers in me, kill me.

-Avis. – you chuckled at the teasing tone and gentle smile that met you, your fingers caressing her cheeks after a quick peck on the lips. – I would never kill you; I would remind you why you love my fingers so much.

-Please do.

-Question. Did Mr. Russell really mean it when he said that he would let you take the car for as long as you wanted?

-Of course, he lets me do anything as long as I return them in perfect condition. Why?

-My dress is drenched in cum and I left my coat at his office, so I don’t think it would be appropriate to go back looking like that, or naked.

-It would be a thrilling sight though, with that round ass of yours out on display, and your perky breasts stiffening in the cold, not to mention that dripping cunt that’s always so ready for me.

-You really are an exhibitionist.

-What can I say. This is Hollywood baby. – both of your laughter filled the car for a moment. The spell was right there, your eyes locked onto hers as your faces inched closer and closer, lips meeting in the middle in a sensual kiss that had none of the roughness of before, tongues exploring, moaning quietly. Breaking apart Avis crouched towards the window behind you, her breasts dangling beautifully as she moved the lever to roll the window down a little. – So, the car, do you see anything wrong with it?

-Not really, but maybe we could try a few more, different models, see how they do once we park them in this spot.

-Dirty slut. – she slapped one of your tits gently before reaching to sit back against her door, pulling a cigarette out. – Now be honest.

-I love it.

-Good, because after what we just did, I’m going to have to buy it. As for your clothes, don’t worry. Put your brassiere back in place and drive us to my house.

-You want me to drive all that way without my dress and knickers?

-Without the dress and knickers.

-Only if you keep your top open. I want to see you exposed as I drive down Sunset Boulevard.

-Don’t you prefer to have me with my skirt bunched up around my hips? – she took a drag of her cigarette, the smoke floating around her in rivulets that vanished in the winter cold. Fuck she was devious. You didn’t let her puff out all the smoke before you were crashing your lips over hers once more, hands on her hips, breathing the nicotine in. If you could get your way you would have her just as naked as you were sitting next to you, though her idea seemed more tempting than yours.

-Skirt up and knickers off. I’ll start the engine.

#avis amberg #avis amberg x reader #lilia calderu #lilia x reader #patti lupone #we thank miss lupone simply for existing #hollywood 2020 #patti lupone x reader

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writingforstraykids · 7 months ago

Text

Always back to you - Chp.5

Pairing: single!dad!Minho x male!Reader (Chanlix | OT8

Word Count: 6696

Summary: Just as everything seems to go well a call from the past messes with Minho's mind. His ex is set on getting her son back, ready to destroy everything you've built.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, angst, date night, yejun's a bitch

A/N: Thank you for all the love so far for little Minjun and his family🤭🖤

PART FOUR | PART SIX

Minho stretches his tired body, glancing over at you in the corner of the room. You're currently taking some calls to sort out Chan's upcoming schedules, and he can't bite back a small smile while watching you. After your fight, Chan made you stay by making you responsible for his own schedule and wanting to keep you around.

They're taking a short break from practice, and Minho is glad to rest his body for a bit. He glances around the room and frowns as he can't find Minjun and his current assistant. “Y/nnie?” he asks gently as you end your call. “Where's our boy?”

“O-Our-,” you stammer, eyes widening at him.

The silence that follows is loud. Around the room, heads turn, the abrupt outburst of movement marking a collective interest in the unfolding drama, or rather, the slip of the tongue that Minho just let loose. The members, more or less familiar with the private dynamics slowly simmering between you and Minho, can hardly contain their amusement.

"Did Minho just say 'our boy'?" Jisung repeats, his voice teasing as he nudges Chan with his elbow, a knowing grin spreading across his face.

Chan doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, Minho, since when did Y/nnie and you start sharing custody?” he chimes in, laughter tinting his voice as he looks over at you both, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Minho, usually so composed, feels a warm flush spreading up his neck, coloring his cheeks as he meets your startled gaze. He hadn’t even realized what he'd said until it was echoed back to him, and now, caught in the playful teasing of his friends, he finds himself grappling for a response.

"I just meant—" Minho starts, trying to backpedal, but Felix cuts him off, practically bouncing in his seat with delight.

"Aww, look at him! He’s embarrassed! Minho hyung, it’s cute, really. Embrace the family vibes!" Felix teases, his voice light and teasing.

You, still slightly flustered by Minho’s unexpected inclusivity, try to regain your composure. "Minjun is just with Hyejin," you manage to say, redirecting the conversation to the young boy's whereabouts. They went somewhere else to play. He should be nearby."

Yet, the teasing doesn’t stop there. Throughout the rest of the break, the members throw in casual jokes about family planning and shared parenting. Their banter is light but pointed, a humorous acknowledgment of the evolving relationship dynamics within their circle.

As the laughter and jokes continue, Minho finds himself looking over at you, and something about your shy smile, the way you're trying to hide your own amusement, settles the warmth in him more firmly. It's a reassurance, a silent acknowledgment that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t misspeak after all.

As practice resumes and the members scatter back to their positions, Minho pulls you aside for a quick, private word, his expression earnest. "Hey, about earlier," he begins, his tone soft, apologetic. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It just... came out."

You shake your head, dismissing his concern with a gentle smile. "It’s okay, Minho. Really, it was sweet," you assure him, your voice just as soft. "I guess it’s just a bit new to me, but not unwelcome."

Minho’s eyes search yours, looking for any sign of discomfort. Finding none, he allows himself a small, relieved smile. "It felt right," he admits. You already feel like family, you know?”

The word 'family' hangs between you, a weighty yet comforting promise of what’s slowly knitting together.

"Thank you, Minho," you reply, your heart light, warmed by the sincerity of the moment. "That means a lot to me. I'll go check on him, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nods, watching you leave.

As soon as you leave, Changbin asks, “Do you know Minjun's new nickname for Y/nnie?”

“Huh?” Minho frowns at him, grabbing his bottle of water.

“He called him his new mum,” he laughs, and Minho's blush deepens. “He also said you're like Lix and Chan hyung.”

“Oh, you can't tell only half of the story,” Jisung protests. He added, “He said you're kissing like Chan and Lix.”

Minho chokes on his water, tears shooting to his eyes as he coughs. Seungmin pats his back forcefully and starts laughing at him. “He what?” he wheezes, trying to catch his breath.

“Yeah, he even showed Chan hyung that it's not on the cheek but on the lips,” Changbin snickers.

Minho blushes furiously before dropping back onto the floor with a groan. “Well, he's not lying,” he says, and his friends start laughing. Minho inhales shakily, keeping his eyes on the floor. “I still don't know if it's a good idea. I don't want to pull him into the public aspect of my life. I'm also not quite sure if I'm what he needs,” he admits, and they all grow quiet again. “There's a lot of bullshit in the back of my mind about what happened with Yejun. I don't feel like I'm enough for Minjun either.”

“Does it feel right being with Y/nnie, though? If everything else wouldn't matter for a second…does it?” Felix asks gently.

“It does,” he nods.

“Maybe being with Y/n would help your insecurities regarding Minjun,” Hyunjin reminds him.

“You wouldn't be the only parent he has then..sort of,” Jeongin agrees.

Minho hums agreeingly and is about to answer when the door opens. He doesn't have to turn around to identify the small steps echoing on the floor. Minjun closes the distance between them and crawls into his lap, hiding his face in his shirt. Minho frowns and wraps his arms around him as he feels him tremble. “Baby, what's wrong?” he asks worriedly.

“Hyejin is mean,” he sniffles. Chan looks up and frowns at Minho.

“Mean?” he asks confused. “Did she say something bad?” Chan asks him gently.

“She said shut up,” Minjun answers, looking at him with teary eyes. “I just showed her my drawing.”

Minho's heart sinks at how timid he sounds. He cuddles him close and kisses his head. “It's okay, baby. Do you want to show me instead?” he asks soothingly, and Minjun nods.

“I'll handle it,” Chan promises and gets up quickly.

“Where's your drawing, mate?” Felix asks encouragingly, and Minjun gets up, wiping his cheeks with his sleeve.

Chan leans against the wall in the elevator, watching you cautiously. You two just got back from handling the situation with Minho’s new assistant, who seems hopelessly overwhelmed by taking care of Minjun. “You love him, don't you?” he asks.

“Minjun?” you ask.

“No, Min,” he chuckles softly. You remain silent for a moment, almost squirming under Chan's observant gaze. “Do you love him?”

“Why?” you ask quietly. “Would that be an issue?”

Chan tilts his head at you. “As long as you don't hurt him, there's absolutely no issue. I'm just asking because he means a lot to us. Minjun does, too. Minho has been hurt very badly before, and I won't let that happen again.”

“I know; he's scared of getting hurt again,” you nod gently and fidget with your hands. “I do love him. Minjun and he mean a lot to me, and I have no intention of hurting either of them.”

“Okay,” Chan nods gently. “Minjun called you his new mum,” he smirked, and you bit back a laugh.

“Sounds like him,” you giggle. “Really, Chan, I don't want to be a distraction or anything. I know that's probably easier with you and Felix, but-.”

Chan giggles softly and shakes his head. “Since we're both part of the group, every argument carries a certain risk. I think you being with them takes a lot off Minho's shoulders with Minjun.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and nods gently. “I'll be there if you need anything. I'd rather have you two get some help than get into another argument that lasts for weeks. He doesn't do well with conflict,” he laughs.

“Me neither,” you laugh.

“And you're sure you want to take over organizing both of our schedules? With Minjun?” he asks gently.

“Oh, Minho's schedule can be done whenever he's available. Minjun doesn't feel like a job, and the older he gets, the less he'll be around the whole day,” you chuckle softly. “Also, let's not get ahead of ourselves; Minho and I haven't named our situation yet.”

Chan hums softly. “If it takes too long, let me know,” he smirks, leading you back to the practice room.

Minjun is sitting on Felix's lap as you enter the room, his drawings spread out on the floor with the others inspecting them closely. He explains them in detail, amusing everyone present with his sweet way to do so. Minho watches him fondly, and looking at him you realize that this soft side of him made him stand out to you in the first place. Chan takes his place next to Felix, hand resting on his thigh naturally as he joins the discussion of Minjun's masterpiece. Minho reaches for your hand, pulling you into his lap and resting his head on your shoulder. You're a little surprised by the sudden display of affection here with the others, but the knowing smiles tell you that not only Chan knows. “What happened with Minjun?” he asks quietly.

“Hyejin yelled at him. She didn't realize that being your assistant comes with taking care of Minjun properly. She had already refused to play with him, so he told her about his toys and drawings because he was bored, which annoyed her.

“Told you your replacement is shit,” he says quietly enough for only you to hear.

“Idiot,” you chuckle fondly, smiling as he intertwines your hands. “Well, I'm officially your assistant again. I won't let anyone treat Minjun like that.”

Minho's hold on you tightens. “That's why I trust you with him.” You squeeze his hands lovingly, leaning back against him.

Minho giggles stupidly as he watches you stitch up the back of Leebit’s head. You've just spent a while trying to figure out a way to include some of his cologne in the plushie to make it smell like him for Minjun, much to his amusement.

“You're so easily entertained sometimes,” you roll your eyes at him fondly. Minho circles the table, steps behind you, and wraps his arms around your waist.

“You're amusing to watch sometimes,” he gives back, kissing your cheek. “But adorable.”

“Well, thanks. Not my fault your son is so attached to you,” you tease him gently, smiling as he runs his hands down your thighs, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Hey, how is the sheer amount of love my son has for me my fault, huh?” he asks, gently squeezing your thighs. “It's not like I'd get what's so special,” he snorts.

“You're his father, and compared to some other people we won't name here, you're actually there,” you say, and Minho bites back a laugh. You shake your head, focusing on the stitching, though the warmth of Minho's presence makes it hard to concentrate. "I think you underestimate your charm, Minho."

"I could say the same about you," he whispers back, his voice low and affectionate.

As you finish up with Leebit, Minho gently takes it from you, examining your work with an appreciative eye. "Perfect. He won't even notice the fix. You're amazing, Y/nnie."

The praise, sincere and simple, stirs something deep within you, and you find yourself turning to face him, his hands still circled around your waist. "I just don't want him to feel so alone whenever you're gone," you say.

Minho nods, his gaze softening. "You're so sweet. Don't you ever leave us, dear."

"Even when it gets complicated?" you ask, needing to hear his answer. You haven’t been this close to someone in ages, and you know Minho is a lot further than you in a few areas, but his prior hurt can’t be disregarded.

"Especially then," Minho affirms, his thumb tracing circles on your hip. "We're in this together, right?"

"Right," you agree, leaning in to kiss him—a sweet, affirming connection that promises more than words could.

The ring of Minho’s phone cuts through the quiet of his living room. Glancing at the caller ID, his stomach tightens uncomfortably; Yejun’s name flashes across the screen, bringing with it a cascade of unwelcome emotions.

He hesitates for a moment before picking up. “Yejun.”

“Minho,” her voice comes through, falsely cheerful. “I’ve been thinking a lot about Minjun. I want to take him to the U.S. with me for a while. Just a trip. It could be good for him.”

Minho’s grip on the phone tightens, his other hand balling into a fist at his side. Did she already forget the debacle from last time? “Yejun, we’ve talked about this. Minjun doesn’t want that. Not without me.”

There’s a pause, and when she speaks again, her tone has cooled significantly. “You just don’t want to let me have him,” she says.

“That’s not it,” Minho replies, struggling to keep his voice even. “It’s about what he needs. And right now, he needs stability, something you walking in and out of his life doesn’t provide. Especially not after last time.”

Yejun’s laugh is sharp, biting. “Oh, now you’re the perfect father, huh? Wasn’t so perfect when we were married. Always away, always working. You were a shit husband, Minho.”

The words sting more than Minho likes to admit. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and reminding himself that his being away often hadn’t been the core issue. “I was not perfect,” he continues, the weight of their failed marriage always a tender wound. “And I am sorry for my part in what happened between us. But this isn’t about us, Yejun. It’s about Minjun.”

Silence stretches on the other end before Yejun’s voice cracks through, icy and menacing. “You’re keeping my son from me, Minho. You might fool everyone else with your doting father act, but I know the truth. I know who you really are.”

“You don't know shit, Yejun,” he says firmly. “You haven't been there for the past four years. Don't act like you know anything about me and my relationship with Minjun.”

“It doesn't matter if it's true or not if someone else believes me,” she says lowly.

Minho feels a chill run down his spine. “Yejun, please. Let’s not do this. If you want to see Minjun, you can visit here and spend time with him where he’s comfortable. That’s fair, isn’t it?”

“Fair?” Yejun spits the word out like it tastes bitter. “You expect me just to accept scraps of time with my own son? You’ve turned him against me, Minho.”

“That’s not true. Minjun is old enough to know what he wants. And right now, he doesn’t want to go with you,” Minho insists, his voice firm. “He’s happy here, with his life here.”

There’s a venomous pause before Yejun’s voice lowers, a dark promise threading through her words. “You may have won this little round, Minho, but this isn’t over. I will have my son back. And I’ll destroy your life if I have to for taking him away from me. I’ll make you pay yourself stupid once I take him back in.”

“You chose to go away. You handed over full custody to me; technically, I could make sure you never see him again, which I don't because that's bullshit. But don't twist things,” Minho’s heart races with a mix of anger and fear—anger at her threats and fear of what she might be capable of. “Yejun, don’t do this. Don’t make threats. Let’s try to handle this like adults, for Minjun’s sake.”

Yejun’s laugh is cold, devoid of any real humor. “Oh, honey. This is just the beginning. I left because I had to, not because I wanted to. You made our life impossible. Remember that.”

With a click, she hangs up, leaving Minho staring at his phone, her words echoing in his head. He slumps back into the sofa, the weight of the call settling over him like a heavy blanket.

After a few moments of stunned silence, he stands, pacing the living room. The threat Yejun posed was not just to his tranquility but to Minjun’s well-being. He knew he couldn’t take her words lightly. Yejun was unpredictable, and if her past actions were any indication, she was capable of following through on her threats.

He needed to be proactive. First, he would need to talk to his legal team about securing his custody of Minjun, ensuring that Yejun couldn’t just take him without consent. Then, he would need to sit down with Minjun and prepare him, just in case Yejun tried to contact him directly.

By the time you arrive back home with Minjun, he is mentally exhausted but knows the day is far from over.

Minjun greets him with a smile and runs into his arms the moment he reaches him. “Daddy! I'm home!”

Minho hugs him tightly, lifting him up and spinning him around, Minjun’s laughter a balm to his frayed nerves. Setting him down, he kneels before him, looking into his son’s eyes. “Buddy, we need to talk about something important,” he begins, his voice soft but serious.

Minjun’s face sobers, sensing the gravity in his father’s tone. “Is everything okay, Daddy?”

“Everything’s going to be okay,” Minho reassures, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “We just have some things to sort out, you and I. But no matter what, we’re together in this. Okay?”

“Okay, Daddy,” Minjun nods, trust shining in his eyes.

As you sit down together, Minho’s heart swells with love for his son. No matter what Yejun threatened, he would protect Minjun and ensure his happiness. They were a team, and together, they could face anything - even this.

Minho fills you in quietly later as Minjun is playing on the carpet not far from you. Your heart sinks at her threats, and you almost feel sorry for her twisted view of what happened. That couldn't be healthy.

Minho’s sleep is uneasy, his dreams filled with vague, unsettling images. He awakes with a start to the intrusive buzzing of his phone. He reaches out groggily, the glow from the screen harsh against the dim light of early morning. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Minho’s gaze settles on a flood of notifications—missed calls, texts, and several urgent notifications from various news apps.

As he scrolls through them, a cold knot forms in his stomach. Each message seems to echo the same shocking revelation: “Yejun reveals Minho is dating his son’s babysitter!” and “Questions arise over Minho’s capabilities as a parent!” His heart pounds as he reads snippets of articles, each one painting him in an increasingly unfavorable light.

Beside him, you stir, your brow furrowing in sleep. Minho’s first instinct is to protect you from the storm that is about to break. He slips out of bed, his mind racing as he tries to process the information. How had things spiraled out of control so quickly? He knew Yejun was bitter about their past, but to go this far was something he hadn't anticipated.

He paces the room, his phone almost slipping from his sweaty palm as he tries to call Chan, his first person to turn to when his public life's falling apart. Chan had a way of handling these situations that made him feel safe. After several rings, a groggy voice answers.

“Min? It’s...what time is it?” Chan sounds disoriented, but he snaps to attention as soon as Minho begins to speak.

“I'm sorry for waking you, Channie hyung,” he says quietly, feeling a little guilty for disrupting his already fucked sleep schedule.

Chan sits up at the timid sound of his voice. Minho doesn't call him ‘Channie hyung’ often; It's usually when he's feeling anxious or very thankful about something. He doubts it's the latter. “Minnie, what's wrong?” he asks gently, slipping out of bed to let Felix keep sleeping.

“Channie, it’s all over the news. Yejun... she told them about Y/nnie and me. She said I can’t take care of Minjun properly. It’s a mess,” Minho’s voice is a mix of anger and desperation.

“What?!” Chan’s voice suddenly becomes sharp and angry. “She did what? Hold on, I’m checking this now.”

Silence fills the line for a few moments before Chan speaks again, his voice icy. “I see it. This is bullshit, Minho. She’s crossed a line. I’m calling the PR team. We need to handle this swiftly.”

“Thanks, hyung. I...I don’t know what to do,” Minho confesses, running a hand through his hair. His heart feels like it is being squeezed in his chest, the anxiety making it hard to breathe.

“Just stay put and try to keep calm. I’ll handle the media part. You just... make sure Y/nnie is okay. He's going to be dragged into this mess too,” Chan advises, his voice calm, but Minho can hear the underlying strain.

Minho nods, though Chan can’t see it. “Yeah, I’ll talk to him. Thanks, Channie, seriously.”

“Always, mate. We’re in this together,” Chan reassures him before hanging up.

Minho slipped out of the house quietly soon after, relieved that Minjun and you were still peacefully asleep. He needs to clear his head to handle everything calmly, and Chan will be busy for a while now.

Minho steps into the practice room and stretches his tired body, warming up. He turns on the music a little more quietly than usual and closes his eyes, taking deep breaths as he prepares his body for the usual strain of dancing.

He grabs his phone after a while and swallows hard. It isn't just the messages or missed calls—it's headlines, the kind that blur the lines between personal and public in the most invasive ways. “Stray Kids’ Minho’s Ex-Wife Claims Neglect—Says He’s Too Busy Dating Babysitter to Care for Son.” The words are crafted to scandalize, and they do their job perfectly.

The news is spreading fast, and with each passing minute, the narrative is slipping further from his control. Yejun had not only threatened him in private but also taken her grievances to the most public domain possible. The implications were catastrophic, affecting not just him but also Minjun and you, who had been nothing but supportive and loving towards both him and his son.

Minho gets lost in their newest choreo, moving his body precisely to the music, and tries to stop thinking about it for a while. Chan finds him there about an hour later, turning the music off as the song ends. “Thought I'd find you here.”

Minho pants softly and grabs the towel Chan holds out for him, wiping his face. “Needed to clear my head.”

The room is silent, heavy with unsaid words, until Chan finally speaks, his voice tight with anger and concern. “This is messed up, Min. She can’t just throw you to the wolves like this.”

Minho sighs, rubbing his temples. “I know, but she’s doing it anyway. She’s making it all public and dragging Y/n into it, too. It’s getting out of hand, and I’m worried about what this is doing to Minjun.”

Chan’s jaw clenches, and his protectiveness over his friend is evident. “We’ll fix this, okay? I talked to the PR team to see how we can counteract these claims. And I’m here, whatever you need.”

Minho looks up, startled as the door opens and Felix steps inside, followed by the rest of their closest friends. “Sorry, we're a little late.”

They all gather on the floor next to Minho and Chan, reassuringly patting his back as they do. “Let's deal with this bitch once and for all,” Jisung says firmly, feeling the need to protect little Minjun from this mess.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Seungmin asks, glancing at Chan questioningly.

“Everyone of us will publish a statement; I already talked that through. Minho shouldn't have any issues proving he's the one worthy of custody in case she snaps and takes him to court. Hyunjin, Innie, you have an interview coming up; be prepared for dumb questions.”

“I'll make them look stupid instead,” Hyunjin grins, pulling a weak laugh from Minho.

“Have you talked to your parents yet?” Jeongin asks Minho, who shakes his head.

“I forgot about that,” he admits, already searching for his phone.

“Might be a good idea to clear things up with them first,” Changbin agrees.

“Whatever happens, we have your back,” Felix promises.

“Thank you guys, really. Just…if you find ways to ease Y/nnie with this, I'd be grateful. He's not exactly prepared for the public’s shit as we are.”

“Of course,” Chan assures him. “Now go call your parents.”

The support is reassuring, but the problem looms large and unyielding. As the day progresses, you come to find Minho, your expression fraught with worry. Seeing you so distressed adds another layer of guilt to Minho’s already heavy conscience.

“Hey,” he says softly as you hand over Minjun to Jisung, who leaves you some space.

“Hey,” you echo, swallowing hard. “Minho, maybe I should just leave,” you suggest hesitantly, the words paining you even as they leave your lips. “If I’m not around, she won’t have another reason to attack you like this.”

Minho looks up sharply, his eyes locking with yours. “Y/n, no. Leaving won’t fix this. It’s not your presence that’s the problem—it’s Yejun. And I’m not going to let her chase you away. You mean too much to me, to Minjun.”

Your eyes fill with tears, touched by his words but still shaken by the rapid unraveling of your quiet life. “But Minho, this is getting so big. What if it affects Minjun more than it already has? What if your career—”

He shakes his head, hands finding yours. “Look, whatever happens, we face it together. Yejun is trying to isolate us and make us feel weak by dividing us. I won’t let her. I love you, Y/nnie, and I need you to know that.”

The affirmation, so heartfelt and desperate, breaks through your resolve to distance yourself. You nod, squeezing his hands back, finding strength in his conviction.

“We’ll deal with this,” Minho continues, his voice firm despite the chaos around you. “I’ll talk to the lawyers, and see what legal avenues we have to protect ourselves and Minjun. And Chan is right—we’ll work with the PR team to set the record straight.”

True to his word, Minho arranged meetings with his legal team, and together with the public relations department, they began crafting a response that would address the allegations head-on. Chan was a constant presence, offering both strategic advice and moral support, and his friendship was a steady force in the tumult.

As the week progressed, strategies were implemented. The company issued a statement denouncing the unfounded accusations and highlighting Minho’s dedication as a father, accompanied by testimonials from colleagues and friends outside the group who vouched for his character and his role in Minjun’s life.

Yet, despite the countermeasures, the shadow of the scandal lingered. The press was relentless, and the public's appetite for celebrity drama was insatiable. Minho found himself scrutinizing every decision and every interaction with Minjun and you, aware that the eyes of the world were now critically watching.

Minho asked you to move in with them so it'd be easier for him to keep you safe. It didn't change much for you since you've been staying over a lot already and barely went back home. So, of course, you said yes.

Two months later

Felix's birthday is just around the corner, and you're almost a little surprised when he comes to you to invite you all. He giggles at your stunned look and tilts his head at you. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

“I'm just…did you ask Min?” you ask nervously.

“No,” Felix shakes his head. “He's busy right now, and I'm inviting you as you are part of his and, therefore, our family.”

“Oh,” you nod gently, a shy smile covering your lips. “Sure, I'd love to be there,” you nod. “I bet Minjun would love it as well, and Minho will surely be there.”

“Lovely,” he smiles and gives you a gentle hug.

Minho later walks in, Minjun sitting on his shoulders with a wide grin. “Y/nnie!” Minjun shouts and waves at you. “Look, I'm tall!”

“Oh yeah, you're really tall now, buddy!” you assure him.

Minho giggles softly, stopping in front of you and greeting you with a soft kiss. “Hey there,” he says fondly.

“Hey,” you smile back at him. “Ready to go home?” you ask, and Minho hums softly.

“Minjun is staying over at Chan and Felix's tonight,” he says, and you frown at him, surprised.

“The whole night?” you ask, and Minho hums agreeing. Over the past two months, you've been letting Minjun stay with all of the boys for a few hours each. It helped him grow less dependent on Minho, and he became more confident about staying somewhere else for a while. Minjun seemed happy, and Minho was more than glad. It allowed you all to grow together. “What's the occasion?” you ask curiously. Chan and Felix had been the ones Minjun loved staying with a lot. Chan once told Minho how much Felix loved having him around, and so the two of them made sure their boyfriend and son got what they loved.

“Maybe I just want to take you out for dinner without having to glance at the time,” he smiles softly, letting Minjun down as he spots his beloved ‘Changnin’. Minho’s hands find your waist, eyes growing soft the longer he looks at you. “Maybe I want to kiss you stupid after without worrying about a certain someone bursting in and going ‘eww’.”

You giggle softly at the memory of Minjun catching Minho kissing you a little more passionately than he'd do in front of him. “Sounds lovely,” you chuckle.

Minho hums gently, searching your eyes as if he doesn't know if he should keep talking or not. “Maybe…Maybe I'd be ready to take the next step,” he says, and your eyes widen. “No pressure or anything, though. Just..if it feels right if we're both comfortable tonight…I think I'm ready.”

You can't bite back the giddy smile covering your lips. Over the months you've been with Minho, you have never gone much further than kissing. He once covered your neck with loving little bites, but you didn't get much further with Minjun, only a few doors further. You've been able to tell how Minho grew a little impatient every time things were developing into something more, but there was simply no chance you two could take the time you'd need for your first time together with a child around the house. “You're sure?” you ask gently, and Minho nods.

“I'm sure, my love,” he says sweetly, making your stomach flutter already.

“I love you, Min,” you whisper, watching his eyes sparkle with joy.

“I love you too, Y/nnie,” he says softly. “Come on, let's make sure Minjun is with Chan and Felix,” Minho suggests with a playful nudge, guiding you toward them.

Felix is already fooling around with Minjun, and Chan is watching them fondly. “Are you ready to go?” Chan asks as you reach them.

“Yeah, everything is done,” Minho nods, smirking at Minjun. “Are you ready to stay with Lix and Channie?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Minjun nods happily, and Minho crouches down in front of him.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow, yeah? Uncle Channie will take you to the studio with him if you want to,” he tells him, gently squeezing his little hands. “Be good, yeah? No discussions about bedtime either, baby.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Minjun nods eagerly and tightly hugs him goodbye. “I love you,” he says softly.

“I love you too, dumpling,” Minho smiles and kisses his cheek, gently brushing back his curls.

You gently rest your hand on his shoulder, silently reminding him to let go of him. It’s also the first night for Minho without his boy since Yejun left. Minho does, and Minjun’s hugging you goodbye tightly. Chan chuckles softly, noticing Minho’s worried frown. “I’ll return him intact, I promise,” he winks at him, and Minho relaxes with a chuckle.

Felix lifts up Minjun, smiling reassuringly at Minho. “We’ll take good care of him,” he tells him.

“I know,” he assures them gently. “Just new for me as well,” he laughs, gently poking Minjun’s cheek. “Be good, yeah?”

“You too,” he says, making everyone giggle.

Minho rolls his eyes fondly, winking at him. “Yeah, okay.” His hand finds yours as they leave, and you squeeze it softly. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but he’s growing up way too fast,” he chuckles with a soft sigh.

“Mhm, yeah, I can’t believe you saying this either,” you snort teasingly.

“Shut up, will you?” he laughs, gently shoving your side. “Alright, let’s go,” he gives himself a push.

The two of you reach his car outside the building. As you both settle in, a sense of nervous excitement fills the air - a mixture of anticipation for the evening ahead and the deep emotional connection that has grown between you two.

Back at home, the two of you get ready, and you let Minho match your outfits since he has a way better eye for what’s needed in public. You barely got used to people taking pictures of him when you were only his assistant, but now you had to excel yourself as his boyfriend. Minho does his best to make you feel comfortable and look presentable for pictures whenever you’re out together. Once he’s done, he hums to himself happily, smacking your butt lovingly. Typical.

The drive is quiet but comfortable, filled with shared glances and soft smiles, each exchange weaving a deeper layer of intimacy. As you arrive at the restaurant, Minho’s hand finds yours, his grip reassuring and warm. You soon blend out the people around you, focusing on him only. This isn’t very hard to do because something about Minho caught your attention long before you started dating.

Minho is more relaxed lately now that the whole mess with Yejun is settled. All of his friends repeatedly spoke out for him, and two weeks ago, Minho attended a press conference dealing with the matter. You know that hadn’t been easy for him, but he had been rather open and honest, making sure all the rumors were addressed and settled. He also made sure to clarify that you’ve been working for him for years, slowly taking more and more care of Minjun and growing closer with him in the process. She did her best to take him back to court, but looking at the circumstances, it only benefited Minho, who refused all of the payments she’d have to make for dragging his name through dirt and spreading lies.

After dinner, Minho suggests a walk, and you wander through a nearby park adorned with twinkling lights and soft shadows. You stop beneath a street lantern, its soft glow painting the scene in an almost magical light. Minho turns to you, his eyes reflecting the twinkling lights, his face etched with tenderness.

“Y/nnie,” he begins, his voice a whisper of emotion. “Being with you has made me happier than I’ve been in a long time. I feel like I can finally breathe like I’m more myself than I’ve ever been.” You listen, your heart swelling with each word, the sincerity in his voice anchoring the swirling emotions inside you. “And I want to share everything with you. Not just the dinners or the walks, or the laughs we have with Minjun. I want to share all the moments, even those we’ve yet to live,” he continues, his hand reaching up to gently caress your cheek. “I love you so much, and I’ll be there as long as you let me.”

The emotional weight of his words pulls you closer, and you find your lips meeting in a kiss that speaks volumes. It’s tender at first, explorative, and as if each of you is memorizing the feel of the other. The kiss deepens; it grows more passionate, fueled by the months of growing love and restrained desire.

Minho’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer. His hands trace the lines of your back, pressing you into his warmth. You respond in kind, weaving your hands into his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss until it’s all that exists in the world - the two of you, beneath the warm lights, lost in each other.

Eventually, the need for air forces you apart, but only slightly. Foreheads pressed together, breathing mingled, you share a quiet laugh - a moment of pure happiness and mutual understanding.

“Let’s go home?” you ask gently, and he hums in response.

The walk back to the car is filled with easy silence, which is comfortable and reassuring. Once home, Minho leads you to your bedroom, his hand steady in yours, a silent promise of what’s to come - a night of exploring, of loving, of affirming the feelings that have been simmering beneath the surface for so long. His lips entangle yours in a passionate kiss as he silently closes the door behind you. The back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, and you both drop down into it. Minho hovers over you, eyes filled with nothing but pure adoration and love. He’s bracing himself next to your head, caging your legs in with his knees, and leans down, capturing your lips in another fierce kiss. His body moves on its own, searching yours, and the minute your hands find his hips, he lowers himself onto his elbows, closing the distance between your bodies. “Shit,” he mutters against your lips as you arch into him.

You reach down, testing the waters and palming him through his pants. Minho’s hips stutter, a soft moan leaving him, head dropping against your shoulder. “Minho?” you ask softly, noticing how desperately his body reacts to your every touch without him even fully realizing it. “When was the last time you had some time for yourself…like this?”

Minho laughs, planting a row of gentle kisses against your neck. “My sweet love, you have no idea,” he chuckles. “Remember that clingy kid of mine?” he asks, making you laugh as well.

“Right,” you giggle and kiss his cheek.

“Just tell me what you need, love; I’ll do it,” Minho promises gently, smiling down at you fondly. “We have time.”

Minho’s whispered promise lingers in the air, the warmth of his smile making your heart flutter. The room feels isolated from the world, a private sanctuary where the past complexities and external pressures fade into the background. Here, it’s just the two of you, bound by an intimacy that has deepened with each shared struggle and joy.

You guide his hand beneath your shirt, letting him explore your bare skin. Your breath hitches as he follows your silent directions with attentive care. Minho’s touch is skilled, a perfect blend of tender and assured, driven by his desire to bring you comfort and pleasure. His eyes never leave yours, seeking confirmation and encouragement, his own desire mirrored in the deepening blush of your cheeks.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. His fingertips trace patterns along the waistband of your trousers that leave you breathless.

“More than okay,” you manage to reply, your voice a whisper caught between sighs. The room fills with the sound of your intertwined breaths, a testament to the closeness that both of you cherish.

Minho’s movements become more purposeful. His free hand cradles your face, his thumb caressing your jawline as he watches the effects of his actions reflected in your expressions. The world narrows down to the shifting shadows cast by the dim light, the soft bedding beneath you, and the man who has come to mean so much. He has barely touched you and you’re already melting into a puddle. How the hell would you survive this?

PART FOUR | PART SIX

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @michelle4eve @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @lost-in-avoidance @moonchild9350 @spicxbnny @queer-possum @james-is-here @roriiror @minholover1 @cb97s-laptop @iknowyouknowminho @dis-trict9 @constrellar

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catsoupki · 8 months ago

Text

CHP. ONE | INEBRIATION QUENCHES THE THIRST

SUMMARY: Katsuki has settled into a routine-like dance with you ever since your debut as a hero. He takes care of you like harmonious clockwork, but as he peels layer after layer, he’s caught up with his own tantalising feelings when he finds your blood staining his hands. You teach him, slowly, of what it means to fall in love.

TAGS: pro hero au, fem reader, banter, hurt/comfort, eventual smut (ch4)

CHAPTER LENGTH: 2,754 | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT CHP.

“You look like shit.” Bakugou stalks into the room just to catch you in your most vulnerable moment— you only had concealer applied to your face. “You insulted the wrong person, babe.” You shoot back before muttering a small ‘sorry’ to the angel of a woman that was doing your make-up, who shakes her head with a soft smile while muttering something about puppy love. You roll your eyes. Bakugou clicks his tongue before falling down on the seat beside you with a heavy thud. “You letting yourself go that soon, Kats?” The nickname you’ve given him doesn’t properly sound as your makeup artist, Tanaka, was it? covers your lips with some scrub.

You celebrate your victory of the day as he only answers with a tch. He glares at the poor soul assigned to do his make-up for the event through the mirror, before his gaze shifts towards you.

You look stunning, as always. Not that he’d admit it, ever. You look like you fit the title “Number Four Hero”. Wearing only a flimsy vest, your collarbones were exposed as you sat in the make-up chair. The lighting at the studio only further accentuated the curves of your arms— forcing him to will his eyes to meet anything else before you catch him, and he certainly, most definitely does not want to endure your teasing, and for the record, your teasing absolutely does not make his night spent at these charity events more tolerable and manageable, and, not even enjoyable. Not in the slightest bit. At least that’s what he tells himself anyway.

You two were intentionally put into the same room, as always— you’re notorious for being one of the few pro-heroes who’s able to keep up and deal with his temper and attitude. Ever since your graduation from Shiketsu, the media immediately spotted the similarities between your personalities and fighting styles: strategically brash, stupidly abrupt, and chaotically unpredictable. The only difference being that you aren’t unnecessarily rude to those who don’t deserve it;

Finally though, during an interview a few years after your debut, it was made clear that you had known Dynamight since he was a child growing up in the rural outskirts of Musutafu. Ever since, the two of you became each other’s automatic plus-one for every social event.

+++

Doing the breathing exercise your manager of all people taught you, you step out of the black vehicle, instantly greeted with a myriad of flashes and shouts. Paparazzi, fans and the like all vie for your attention, the December air nipping at your skin but you put on your plastic-smile and fight your way across the red carpet, stopping at the stairs and meeting the eye of Dynamight.

He was in a dashing grey suit and a black blazer the same shade as your low cut maxi dress, tailored to fit him at all the right places, all broad shoulders and tiny waist (his waist-to-hip ratio is infuriating) donning a red tie that didn’t live up to the crimson in his eyes at all. He looks good, as he always does. You really can’t be any more grateful to the shiver of sharks and cameras surrounding you two, by the time you get home, you can gawk at his stature in paparazzi pictures in the quiet of your humble abode. It doesn’t mean you won’t try your best to sneak glances up and down his body tonight though, but there will only be so many instances where he has his back turned to you.

His hand grazes your lower back while your arms remain at your sides, both of you standing at a slightly slanted angle so that you were facing each other in the tiniest bit. Flashes of cameras continue to barrage you two as the shouts get more and more aggressive, Bakugou quickly lifts up his hand and sends the photographers a hot and quick message of fuck-you with his middle finger; you were thankful, but that didn’t stop you from elbowing him in the ribs before you were so rudely torn away and steered around the venue by your plus-one.

Both of you were accustomed to this, boring speeches from the host of the event — some balding guy that was shrivelling up in his seventies with too much money — awards honoured to the top five heroes and a bunch of group pictures.

“Next up, we have our number four hero, Metal Gear!” Your smile is as plastered to your face as the sweat on your hands as you walk on stage, met with claps and the beaming smiles of your friends and colleagues and ex-classmates. “This year, she not only made history by becoming the first female hero to achieve such a high ‘blood-spill’ rating, she also has the highest score for ‘the element of surprise’ since the founding of the Hero Commission!” You shake hands with the rich and balding guy as he hands you two plaques made of glass, the backstage workers motion for you to join Tsukuyomi next to the rest of the guests while you wait for the remaining heroes. “Smile!” The photographer gleams as you all but Katsuki does the basic celebrity face— cheeks up eyes open!

And the rest? It all goes by in a blur.

+++

It was some time close to the ass-crack of dawn. After attending the set amount of after-parties your manager set you to, you crawl into the back of the agency car before it speeds off to your honest cabin. Your gaze settles unfocused outside the window, tall and lonely street lights taking turns mocking your weak frown with their derisive yellow hues, you take note of the scattered blue lights in office towers, those who live a life not knowing comfort and safety, and a sense of gratitude fills your heart.

Fighting off inebriation and drowsiness doesn’t get easier despite the accumulation of experience, you’re flushed with alcohol, ears still buzzing with lost excitement, stomach fluttering with the remnants of butterflies from the times Katsuki brushed his knee against yours under the dining table that night, or when you felt his (almost envious) eyes burning holes at your back as you involuntarily talked with Monoma.

Slurring a quick thank you, you stumble out the door and fiddle with the keys before kicking off your heels and crash-landing on your couch. You won’t wake up until tomorrow, when your manager calls your house phone because she knows you. After all, she has worked with you since the founding of Metallica™, she knows your habits, she knows the battery of your cellphone has long been dead since last night, and she knows you haven’t showered yet, nor have you done anything really. So she calls you with a long enough buffer period that by then you’ll get your life and yourself back in check and open your eyes to another day of paperwork and patrolling.

She brings you your second cup of coffee in the morning. Hangovers are difficult to deal with so she gets you a cookie to help with the patrol you have to go on 17 minutes later too. You’re paired with a new sidekick whose name you forgot, the both of you groaning after hearing the screams of civilians and the shatters of windows in the penultimate minute of your duty time. You decide that you like this sidekick.

But it’s everyday work, you’re used to this. This being the fact that your neighbourhood burglars and robbers always resort themselves to metal weapons because they’re the cheapest and most accessible.

You’ll have to thank them for the relatively easy but interesting job though.

+++

This time the monthly group hangout is, surprisingly, being held at Bakugou’s place. You have no idea what blackmail Mina must have pulled up to convince him to let you guys absolutely wreck his place, but you keep your comments to yourself.

You’re the last to arrive, having just finished an interview with some late night show, you hurry towards Katsuki’s home, a modern and sleek one at that. He hired some designer who was apparently a friend of his mother, and man did that woman have taste.

The interior mostly consisted of neutrals, grey walls and black cupboards, and obviously a kitchen done to his exact liking, with a rotating seasoning rack, a two-door fridge, and a sink that has a detachable faucet with five different pressure settings.

Your knuckles were met with nothing on the third knock, the door swinging open to reveal an extra smiley and doubtlessly tipsy Kirishima. You can hear the television playing, some shitty movie with the cheesiest lines you’ve ever heard, ‘but I love her!’; Mina and Kirishima were probably the ones responsible for the rather unwise movie choice.

You give a polite wave, simultaneously kicking off your shoes before beelining to the makeshift bar to pour yourself at least two shots before joining the rest of them. Denki gives you his usual greeting, something something flirtatious with a wink, Sero a friendly hello, and of course, his elbows. Mina must be stuck in the bathroom since you still haven’t had air pushed out your lungs by her signature hug. And Bakugou? You don’t see him.

Ah, he’s in the kitchen. As much as he likes to complain that he isn’t Denki’s nor Sero’s private chef, you know he can’t stand their poor dietary choices, so he takes matters into his own hands instead. For whatever reason, their habits of eating instant ramen six nights a week never truly left them even after UA. Whatever Bakugou is making, it smells delirious, you feel yourself getting high just from smelling it—

“Oh my god bitch I haven’t seen you in so long!” So long as in two weeks. Just how she is anyway. You usually return her energy, but it’s been a busy day, so you just respond with a tired nod and hooded eyes before allowing yourself to be dragged towards the couches, but being weary doesn’t make you any less alert so you don’t miss the (worried) glance Katsuki sends you.

You guys are a weird, weird group. You’ve known Bakugou since he was a scrawny little kid at the sandbox, and for a long time you went on play dates together while your mothers sipped on expensive teas and gossiped about the neighbourhood drama, but when Katsuki started acting more violent and aggressive towards Izuku, you had stopped talking to him after numerous failed attempts of telling him to stop. He’d reply with ‘You don’t get to tell me what to do!’ or maybe ‘If you loved stupid Deku so much go play with him instead!’, his crimson orbs didn’t look familiar when he spat those ugly words at you.

You were sad, of course. Your mother was your saving grace because she told you you’d be moving a few streets away and attending a different school just three weeks later.

It was a bittersweet goodbye, whatever that meant for two seven year olds, but despite his absence from your life, his grip on you never loosened, his influence was as present as ever, and you found yourself longing to become a hero by the age of thirteen, your parents began to lecture you, and you were no longer the sweet nine year old toddler who listened to every word spoken by your dear father, but instead you rebelled— you filled out the high school application form yourself without consulting your parents, you put down your own phone number when your homeroom teacher requested to call your mother to make sure your school choices are final.

Even with Bakugou off of your mind, you two still had uncanny similarities that Izuku never unsaw. You didn’t make it into UA, but two years after the USJ event, you started studying at Shiketsu.

You grew to be a wonderful teenager and soon, a preadolescent. You kept seeing Bakugou on the television, for the first few times you hated it, but you grew to accept that— you’ll have to share the same neighbourhood anyway.

That became true during your final year in Shiketsu, where you went to Miruko for your internship, you ran into Bakugou, the sidekick, there.

It took some reconciliation, sure. Months and months were spent biting at each other’s necks, never backing down from fights and bickers, but you were quickly adopted into their group despite being two years younger when Mina relaid the things she heard you call Bakugou to the rest of her friends (“Is Mitsuki doing well? Can’t be that well if she still has you as a son,” “You should text her yourself, maybe she’ll give you some skincare advice too.”)

Two shitty movies later, Denki and Sero have their arms around each other’s shoulders as they bump their way out the door and down the hallway, Kirishima is holding Mina’s heels while she herself is smothering you with kisses and telling you to get home safe, you would have texted her about it if you weren’t in the bad state that you are in now. They don’t say anything about you staying, you’re always the one to stay to help with clean-up at every meet-up anyway. But, this time, you think that maybe you should’ve left with them too, the air is awfully thick with tension, and you don’t know why—

“Fuck’s sakes eyebrows, just spit it out, we both know you have something to say.” Katsuki mumbles quite softly, but the way he aggressively picks up beer cans negates the gentleness he was trying to convey.

“‘m just tired. ‘s been a hefty week.”

You know it’s a blatant lie, even he knows it’s false. But he doesn’t call you out on your shit, not yet anyway. Instead, he decides to bribe you to save your ego.

He wraps up the cleaning process at lightning speed before bolting towards the kitchen. And just with the ingredients he’s pulled out, you know he’s making you your favourite soup.

(You ignore the feeling that infests your heart just by knowing he’s kept the necessary ingredients for your favourite soup in his fridge.)

The way he handles the knife, the food, the pot, even with the way he shuffles across the kitchen, grabbing the seasoning he knows you like, it’s all way too meticulous. It’s his territory, arguably more so than the battlefield. You sit at your usual spot, the left corner of the kitchen island to watch him cook, your spot. He hands you the mug, your favourite way to drink his soup, your favourite mug, and your own dedicated spoon. It’s all too meticulous, he leans against the countertop, drinking you in while you drink the soup he made. You look tired, more exhausted than usual, even more strenuous than the time you did 7 social events back to back.

He knows something’s wrong, he’s just waiting for you to tell him, like how you always do. And even you know you’ll tell him eventually. So you save both you and him some precious time and sleeping hours by spitting it out now.

“My parents have been giving me shit again, I thought that after they laid off a bit meant that they have finally come to terms with my work as a hero. Surprise surprise, they haven’t.”

The nonchalant look on your face, the would-be furrow between your brows, the would-be tears in your eyes, he already sees them. He inhales deeply, all the way down to the last crevice of his lungs, resting his eyes for a split second before realising just how sleepy he is, but he’ll always have time for you, so he doesn’t mention it.

He waits a bit more, and you’re confused at first, until you realise that he’s just waiting for you to finish the soup. So you do so hurriedly, and let him drag you to his bed. You flop onto it unceremoniously and certainly without much grace. He sighs, not having the heart to force you into cleaner pyjamas, he's just going to have to clean those sheets for the second time this week. He rolls onto the bed himself, he doesn’t touch you, not like he ever has, but he just lets you know he’s there, with his pillow, his blanket; it’s his cologne that floods the bed, it’s his apartment that you’re in, but you kind of knew, that he’s here, for you. Always your respite, always your safe haven.

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claymoresword · 1 year ago

Text

I Choose Her | Chp: 14

Hermione Granger x Slytherin Fem!Reader

Summary: You are the daughter of two known death eaters from one of the oldest and richest families in the wizarding world. Are you truly prepared to give up everything you know for Hermione Granger?

Pairing: Hermione x Reader

Wordcount: 4k

Warnings: smut, vaginal fingering, y/n is lowkey service top, tooth rotting fluff, light angst

Note: gonna be honest not much at all happens in this one plot wise and it's definitely for selfish reasons lol i really just wanted to write a more fluffy chapter after all the angst in the last one...

there is tiny bit of smut in this so if you wish to skip it look out for the asterisks!

lastly, i do plan to get the next part out as soon as i can. i don't want you guys to have to wait several weeks again so keep a lookout for it! but as always, endless thanks for your patience and i hope you enjoy this one <3

Taglist: @gvrsto @aweidlich @xxsekhmet @arielj @poppyflower-22 @scarleigh1989 @smut-religiously777 @cocoyeehaw @blackbirdv98 @arcturusseer @iamcapitalgbicorn8287 @lonewalker17 @karasonromanoff @httphayn @bigbadsofty07 @cherryflavoredcoke @dumpsapphic @idontwannabehereatm @js-a-writer @baylegend6 @puta1

You stir awake to the feeling of a gentle hand against your chest.

"My love.." Hermione whispers into your ear, you soon feel her lips on your cheek.

You fail to open your eyes, merely let out a groan in response, earning a light chuckle from the Gryffindor.

"What time is it?" You ask, finally opening your eyes slightly to look at your girlfriend.

Hermione remains gazing at you fondly, her hand moves from your chest to your face, she begins trailing your features with her fingers as she answers your question.

"I think it's half past noon." Your girlfriend responds and you let out a breath of relief.

After another sleepless night you managed to slip into a dreamless slumber afterall, even if it was a few short hours, you are thankful for it regardless.

You shut your eyes again, for a few moments you simply laid still, enjoying the sensation of Hermione's careful fingers on your face, that is until a certain realization hits you.

"Wait, were you watching me sleep?" You ask, bemused, shifting your entire body to look at your girlfriend properly.

Hermione lets out a giggle at that, she sets her bottom lip in between her teeth.

"Maybe.." She admits with a shrug and you can't help the smirk playing on your lips as you catch her looking away sheepishly.

You reach up to slowly swipe your thumb across her mouth. Hermione stops biting her lip as her eyes now flit down to your own.

Hermione leans in suddenly, eagerly, as if she's entirely abandoned her intrinsic nature of repressing her urges, her lips meet yours with true want and passion. As Hermione kisses you time stops, you don't see, hear or feel anything besides her.

Your girlfriend eventually pulls away but you are far from finished. You held her in place by the collar as you continued trailing open mouthed kisses against her jaw before moving to her neck.

Hermione's breath catches in her throat as your tongue makes contact with her pulse point, you feel her reach down to grip your shirt, she clutches the fabric tightly as she tries to speak.

"The others are already having lunch in the kitchen, we should probably join them." Her voice trembles slightly and you have to force back a grin.

"Yes.. we should." You respond, leaning back to look at her. Hermione remains clutching your shirt in, her eyes remain fixed on your mouth in anticipation as you spoke.

"Or we could stay in bed.. I think we deserve to spend some time together, just the two of us" You add before leaning in to connect your lips again.

Hermione lets out a whimper at your sudden action and it only urges you on.

You finally sit up, guiding Hermione back to her side of the bed and she quickly takes the hint, properly laying her head on the pillow. As she does so you seize the opportunity to move on top of her, settling yourself in between her legs.

Your lips finally part but your face remains hovering over Hermione's. You always thought she looked the most beautiful like this, unguarded, content, staring up at you with nothing but affection.

Hermione smiles as she reaches up to thread her fingers through your hair, and you basically wilt under her touch instantaneously.

"I wish that you and I could just escape.. somewhere far away where no one would find us." Your girlfriend finally states and you lean down to place a chaste kiss on her cheek.

You catch the desperation in her voice and it nearly shatters you.

"I wish for that too, my love." You reply, and Hermione has to avert her eyes again, this time for a different reason.

You both knew running away was not a possibility.

You also understood that this war was far from over, even though you felt like you've been on the run for an eternity. It was truly only just the beginning.

The incident at Malfoy Manor only made you realize just how entirely uncertain the future is; it weighs on each of you heavily.

On the other hand it also acts as a reminder for you to live everyday as if it were your last. You aim to appreciate every moment spent with Hermione, to take advantage of these times alone with her in any way that you can.

"Let's not think about it right now." You utter just above a whisper, with a finger underneath her chin you guide Hermione to look at you. Your face is inching closer, but you don't kiss her yet, you wait for her to meet you halfway; and she does.

Hermione seems to take your advice as she is quickly consumed by the feeling of your mouth against hers. She closes her eyes as she fully loses herself in the kiss. Your girlfriend focuses on your hands on her body, your breath mingling with her own.

The bed begins to shake slightly from the force of the kiss. Hermione lets out another noise of pleasure as your tongue moves against hers. With a hand on the back of your head the other girl pulls you in even closer, wanting to feel all of you.

In a moment of heated desperation you grab the hem of her shirt, tugging it upwards. Hermione lifts herself up slightly, allowing you to remove it from her body completely.

You aimlessly toss her shirt to the side before placing a quick peck on the corner of her mouth. You pull away to continue trailing kisses down her chest, another shiver runs through Hermione as she soon feels your tongue against the swell of her breast, goosebumps form on her skin as you continue your journey down until you reach her nipple.

A moan slips out of Hermione's lips, in both shock and pleasure as you take the sensitive bud into your mouth. You continue licking and sucking at it, your girlfriend's tight grip on your hair only makes you more eager to do the same to her other breast. This time you bite down on the flesh playfully before quickly soothing it with your tongue, you pull another whine from Hermione at the sensation.

She arches her back but you expertly pin her back down onto the mattress with a firm hand on her stomach, Hermione squirms underneath you as a result.

"Please.." Your girlfriend whispers and you merely smirk in response.

You don't entertain her with a proper reply, purposefully; you continue nipping at her skin, as you reach her navel, you bite down again, slightly harder this time before immediately soothing the mark with your tongue and Hermione groans.

"Y/n.." She repeats and you decide to finally acknowledge her plea.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" You ask, feigning innocence, your face hovering over hers once more.

Hermione only makes a noise of disapproval at your response, one that sounds more like a sob than a whine, she squirms again but you distract her by kissing her deeply.

You soon feel her grabbing ahold of your free hand mid kiss, impatiently guiding it to the hem of her sweatpants, slipping it underneath her underwear.

"Please– touch me." Hermione begs, pushing your hand deep inside enough that your fingers make slight contact with her already dripping heat.

Your girlfriend's sheer desperation made you weak, you can feel how wet she already is; so you decided to cease torturing her.

You kiss her again, simultaneously, finally, swiping your fingers across her folds, you apply pressure against her clit with your thumb and Hermione has to stop kissing you as she chokes out a moan.

Your girlfriend grips the back of your neck as she moves her hips eagerly, trying to create more friction between your fingers and her core. Hermione is already a writhing mess, you observed as her chest raised and fell at a rapid rate, the sight manages to take your own breath away.

"I want your fingers inside." Hermione means it as an order but her voice trembles as she rolls her hips again.

You catch sight of your girlfriend's strained expression, almost like it physically pained her the longer you took to satisfy her needs.

You decide to set aside your initial plans to make her wait, soon tilting your head to bite down on the flesh of Hermione's neck as you enter two fingers inside her. The sound that erupts from Hermione's chest is loud, it is one of intense pleasure; and you are quickly addicted to it.

You pushed further in until you were knuckle deep, Hermione's mouth falls open as she throws her head back at the feeling. She maintains her firm grip on your neck, moving her other hand to your back, you can feel her fingernails digging into your flesh, even with the fabric of your shirt acting as a barrier, it is still painful. You groan in pain as you begin pumping in and out of her at a steady pace.

Your fingers manage to hit deep inside of her, with every movement Hermione gasps and moans grow louder and more frequent. She is closer to her peak than you initially thought, you notice her walls already contracting around your fingers.

Hermione arches her back again and this time you guide her body back down with your pelvis, holding her in place.

"Does that feel good?" You ask, your lips brushing against her ear, already knowing the answer, your aim was simply to tease her.

Hermione attempts to glare at you but as you continue skillfully pumping in and out her, she can only afford to nod. She lets out another moan, one you swallow just in time as you move your mouth against hers harshly.

Your girlfriend reciprocates, the kiss remains all tongue and open-mouthed as Hermione attempts to catch her breath.

"I love you–" She proclaims her love to you amidst her high and you can't help but smile down at her, your chest brimming with adoration.

"I love you too, my sweet girl." You respond, pumping your fingers even faster and deeper.

Hermione gasps again, her hand quickly leaves your back to grip the sheets underneath, and you can tell her release is just around the corner.

"You are just so beautiful." You praise, in genuine awe, and this manages to push Hermione over the edge as her orgasm hits her violently. You feel her walls squeezing painfully around your fingers as her entire body shakes underneath you, Hermione pulls you even closer, with a last ditch effort to muffle her own moans she buries her face in the crook of your neck.

Your girlfriend lets out a whimper as you slowly pull out of her, the aftershocks of her orgasm still making her tremble.

Moments pass and Hermione remains not speaking but she continues to hold you close, and you allow her to. You begin trailing kisses on her cheek and jaw, giving her all the time she needed to recover.

"I don't want to imagine a life without you." The first thing Hermione says once she's mustered enough energy to speak, now you can physically feel a pang in your chest.

You lift yourself up on your forearms slightly so you can properly look at her. Hermione's hair is now a mess, she looks spent from her orgasm, but she remains utterly breathtaking.

"Well you never have to worry about that because I'm not going anywhere." You respond, carefully smoothing down a few stray hairs on her head.

Your touch seemingly rattles something within her as you notice her eyes welling up with tears.

"Do you swear it?" Hermione asks, staring up at you expectantly and you sigh.

You both know now more than ever that promises are easily broken, you simply don't know which day will be your last. You can't exactly be certain that you will remain by your girlfriend's side, even though you desperately wanted to no matter what.

"Hermione–" You start but she interjects.

"Just promise that you won't leave me." Your girlfriend reiterates, and you recognized that she just needed to hear you say the words, for her own peace of mind.

"You are the reason I breathe, my love. You are my heart. Without you I am nothing." You finally admit earnestly and Hermione releases the breath she had been holding.

"I am not going anywhere."

You manage to catch a faint smile on Hermione's lips as she pulls you into a hug.

Most of your weight is now resting on top of her, but your girlfriend makes no sound of protest.

You continue embracing her for a moment longer until you hear a knock on the bedroom door.

"Ladies, we're having lunch out here.. if you care to join us."

You quickly recognize the voice coming from the other side to be Ron's oldest brother.

You tear your eyes away from the door to look at Hermione and the reality finally sets in that everyone sitting outside has probably been made privy to every noise between the two of you during your love making session.

Hermione's cheeks turn a dark shade of pink while she covers her face with her hands and you merely grin in amusement.

"We'll be right there!"

════════════════════════════════════════════

Hermione chose to settle on your lap once you were done having lunch, as it seems the events that took place at the Malfoy's affected her more than you initially realized.

Your girlfriend doesn't wish to be apart from you. As far as she is concerned you are the only reason she didn't get seriously injured. It is uncertain what Bellatrix would've continued to do to her if you hadn't intervened, and Hermione is endlessly grateful that you didn't give her the chance to find out.

Hermione continues mindlessly fiddling with your fingers as you rest your hand on your lap. Neither of you speak, simply enjoying being in each other's company.

The only noises are coming from the windchime by the door and the kitchen where Ron and his brother are cleaning the dishes.

Luna can be seen standing by the door admiring the view of the beach, she is the first to break the silence with actual words.

"It's beautiful here." Luna says.

You let out a chuckle.

Not one of mockery, quite the contrary; it is instead one of admiration. You admired her ability to find the beauty in the little things, considering the circumstances and even after everything she has been through.

Although you agreed, the cottage was beautiful, perhaps in a different situation you would be able to truly appreciate it, but you are certain, today without Hermione by your side, you wouldn't be able to find much beauty in anything.

You remain staring at the door where Luna stood, Hermione catches you deep in thought but she doesn't ask you about it. She reaches up to run her fingers through your hair and when you finally look at her, there's a shared regard. She feels safe in your arms, and you feel safer knowing that she doesn't plan to leave your side any more than necessary.

"This place belonged to our aunt." Bill responds, walking over to Luna once he was done washing the dishes.

Ron slips past him to take a seat opposite y/n and Hermione.

"We used to come here as kids, the Order uses it now as a safehouse–" He continues.

"What's left of it at least." Bill finishes and Luna doesn't respond but she gives him a faint nod in acknowledgement.

Silence hangs in the air once again, this time it is uncomfortable, everyone left with no choice but to feel. It is mainly anxiety, fear and exhaustion. Impending doom in every sense.

You instinctively pull Hermione closer, leaning your head against her chest. Your girlfriend reacts by rubbing at your back soothingly, before resting her chin on the top of your head.

You can hear Hermione's steady heartbeat as your ear pressed up against her chest and you find yourself silently hoping for time to stop.

Just for a while, so you could stay like this, so you can take a breath before being forced to face the inevitable.

As expected, time doesn't stop, instead you receive a rather grating response to such a wish when Harry emerges from the other room.

"We need to talk to the Goblin." He states, glancing at Ron, you and Hermione.

════════════════════════════════════════════

You enter the Goblin's room after Harry, immediately catching sight of Griphook sitting in an armchair by the window.

He is sitting still with his eyes shut, the sight is almost eerie, for some reason you feel compelled to intertwine your fingers with Hermione's. Your girlfriend seems glad at the gesture, she holds onto your hand firmly as she settles next to you. Ron remains next to her by the now closed door.

"How are you?" Harry breaks the silence, approaching the Goblin, and Griphook finally opens his eyes.

"Alive." He responds simply and Harry nods in understanding, making his way to the window next to him before speaking again.

Your eyes follow his movements, your gaze naturally falls on the sword propped up in the corner. It manages to also catch Harry's attention, but he fails to acknowledge it.

"You probably don't remember–" Harry starts but the Goblin quickly finishes his thought for him.

"That I showed you to your vault the first time you came to Gringotts?" Griphook states.

"Even amongst Goblins you are famous.. Harry Potter."

Harry fails to react to his comment, he merely glances out the window.

"You buried the elf?" Griphook asks and the dark haired man nods.

"Yes." Harry answers, his tone purposeful as to not appear solemn.

He keeps his eye contact with the Goblin again.

"And brought me here." Griphook states the obvious.

"You are a very unusual wizard." He adds and

Harry averts his eyes again, to look at the sword, this time, it doesn't go unnoticed by the Goblin.

"How did you come by this sword?" Griphook asks, gesturing to the Gryffindor relic.

"It's complicated." Harry decides to respond vaguely, harboring a mistrust that you incidentally shared.

"Why did Bellatrix Lestrange think it should've been in her vault at Gringotts?" The chosen one tries but Griphook is not so easily deceived.

"It's complicated." Griphook retaliates and Harry glances at you instinctively, almost wordlessly asking for your permission to disclose the truth to the Goblin.

You give him a subtle nod in response as Hermione shuffles closer to you.

"Y/n was led to the sword in a time of need. We didn't steal it." Harry finally admits decisively.

Griphook looks over at you, he nearly appears amused.

"There is a sword in Madam Lestrange's vault identical to this one but it is a fake. It was placed there last summer." The Goblin explains.

You and Hermione share a knowing look, your suspicions proven right. You both already understood Snape had something to do with it.

"And she never suspected it was a fake?" Harry asks.

"The replica is very convincing. Only a Goblin would recognize that this was the true sword of Gryffindor." Griphook claims.

"Who's the acquaintance?" Hermione asks the question simply to satisfy her suspicions, for the both of you already knew the answer.

"A Hogwarts professor–" The Goblin starts.

"Snape." You interject and Griphook nods.

"As I understand it he's now Headmaster." The Goblin finishes and this time the four of you share a look.

"Snape? He put a fake sword in Bellatrix's vault, why?" Ron asks the question you and Hermione have spent countless hours in the past trying to answer.

"There are curious things at the vaults in Gringotts." Griphook responds ominously and Harry glances at you again as an idea dawns on him.

"And in Madam Lestrange's vault, as well?" He asks and the Goblin takes a beat to respond.

"Perhaps.." He finally says.

"I need to get into Gringotts, into one of the vaults." Harry starts.

"This is impossible." Griphook was quick to shut the idea down.

"Alone, yes. but with you– no." The dark haired man quips and Griphook pauses again, as if weighing his options.

"Why should I help you?" The Goblin finally asks.

"I have gold. Lots of it." Harry replies, Griphook shakes his head.

"I have no interest in gold." He states.

"Then what?" Harry asks, there is a pause before Griphook points to the sword and you let out a deep sigh.

"That. That is my prize."

The Goblin was certainly not foolish, he was dealing his cards cleverly.

Harry looks between you and Hermione, the both of you shake your head in disagreement, but the chosen one fails to listen to your advice this time.

"Fine."

════════════════════════════════════════════

"Are you certain there's a Horcrux in Bellatrix's vault?" Hermione whispers to you as you step out of the room.

You nod, however, before you can properly respond, Harry does it for you.

"She was terrified when she thought we were in there, she kept asking what else you had taken." The dark haired boy says.

"I know there's a Hocrux in her vault– there has to be." You add with certainty.

"Let's find it and kill it and then we'll be one step closer to killing him." Harry states but Ron isn't convinced.

"And what happens if we find it? How are we supposed to destroy it now that you've given the sword to Griphook?" Ron poses a good question, one none of you could answer.

"I'm still working on that part." Harry responds with the truth.

He aims to speak again but the door opening behind him stops him from doing so.

Ron's sister in law soon emerges from the doorway, staring down at the four of you.

"He's weak." Fluer states, referring to Mr Olivander.

Harry does hesitate, but only for a beat. He enters the room anyway and the three of you follow suit.

The older man is sitting in a chair by the bed, Harry has seemingly interrupted him, appearing to be deep in thought, staring into space.

You enter the room last, shutting the door behind you.

"Mr Olivander, I need to ask you a few questions." Harry asks timidly unsure if he should approach.

"Anything, my boy, anything." The wandmaker replies and Harry takes it as an invitation to take a seat next to him on the bed.

"Would you mind identifying this wand? We need to know if it's safe to use." Harry hands Olivander the wand.

The wandmaker begins inspecting it carefully, the four of you observe him with bated breath.

"Walnut. Dragon Heartstring. Twelve and three quarter inches.." The older man finally voices.

"Unyielding." He adds, as he hands the wand back to Harry.

"This belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange. Treat it carefully." The older man whispers, as if afraid the now deceased witch would be able to hear him if he dared speak any louder.

You adjust your weight from one foot to the other, shifting uncomfortably. Hermione manages to notice, feeling a similar unease herself, she makes the effort to guide your arm, snaking it around her waist as she steps closer towards you. You squeeze her side in unspoken gratitude, holding her close.

"And this?" Harry asks, pulling another wand out of his pocket.

Mr Olivander reaches out to grab it and you recognize it immediately.

"Hawthrone. Unicorn Hair. Ten inches. Reasonably pliant." The wandmaker lists out the wand's characteristics.

"That's Draco's wand." You state out loud, but the man doesn't respond, he holds up the wand to his ear, listening for something.

"This was the wand of Draco Malfoy." Olivander states and you are immediately perplexed by his choice of words.

"Was? Is it not still?" Harry asks the question you were pondering yourself.

"Perhaps not, if you won it from him." The wandmaker states and your forehead creased in further confusion.

"I sense its allegiance has changed." Olivander states simply, returning the wand to Harry.

"Sir, what does that mean exactly?" You ask, stepping forward, releasing Hermione from your grip.

The wandmaker looks up at you, a kind smile playing on his lips.

"The wand chooses the wizard, y/n."

#hermione granger imagine #hermione x reader #slytherin au #hermione granger #harry potter #hermione granger x reader #ron x hermione #harry x hermione

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katerina-marie · 5 months ago

Text

The Tragedy of a Duality

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader and (Past) Ryomen Sukuna x Female Reader

Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3, Chp 4, Chp 5, Chp 6, Chp 7 (Final)

In the present, you are a sorcerer and the cherished wife of the Honored One. In an era long gone, remembered by only one, you were ordinarily human and the beloved bride of the King of Curses. How fitting it would be, in an evening of destruction, to have your heart torn in two.

Content: JJK Universe and Canon Events (tho tweaked to incorporate reader), Fluff, Angst, Flashbacks, Ambiguous ending, Violence, Death, Female reader but left descriptively vague, No use of y/n, True Form Sukuna in the past, Itadori Yuji is Sukuna's vessel in the present but nothing inappropriate b/n reader and Itadori as the vessel, Innuendos, Allusions to + Vaguely described sex so avoid accordingly. Will add more CW to each chapter if needed.

WC: 4.4k

A/N: A bit of a bridge chapter/transitive chapter, if you will.

Chapter 3

The distance between your village and the next largest market isn’t terribly far, but it still takes up a good portion of your morning on the best of days. When the sky begins to grey and thunder rumbles closer and closer, you know your trek is about to become even longer. The smell of wet earth and crisp air is always pleasant to you, but nothing about continuing a journey in robes that are heavy with moisture and cling uncomfortably to your skin sounds enjoyable, so you divert from the road onto a lesser traveled path.

Sanctuary from the rain under the cover of thick trees is your only option, so you wander and weave between them, cognizant of your general location but unaware of exactly where you might be. Droplets of rain occasionally splatter against your cheek as the sky opens up, and you can hear the droll of it against the foliage above you. Thankfully, you remain mostly dry, and you continue to walk slowly and hum to yourself while waiting for the weather to turn.

After a few minutes, you spot a bunching of trees that seem different from the rest, and upon closer inspection, excitement runs through you when you realize they bear fruit. You inspect the trail behind you and then side to side to ensure you are alone before hurrying over to one. It takes two or three attempts of you leaping from the tips of your toes before you are able to snag a pear from the lowest lying branch that is still almost beyond your reach. You rub it against your sleeve before taking a bite and relishing in the burst of sweetness on your tongue. You finish it rather quickly and are reaching for another when a voice from behind startles you.

“Do you have a habit of stealing fruit that doesn't belong to you?”

When you spin around, your face is contrite and your hands are held up innocently in front of your chest. You are ready to entreat the assumed owner of the land for forgiveness until your eyes fall onto who stands before you, and any logical words die in your throat. You immediately fold yourself into a bow and stare at the ground while you brace trembling hands on your thighs.

“I beg your forgiveness, my lord.”

Weeks ago, news of the being that usurped the ruling of the lands you live in reaches your small village. People whisper words of horror and fear about the monster that Ryomen Sukuna is. You know of his second pair of arms and the extra eyes that sit under the first ones. His size and strength set him apart from anything else, but it is his viciousness and ruthlessness that strikes terror in the hearts of anyone who goes near him. The description of him is something out of a nightmare, and the sight of him proves to you the truthfulness of what you hear.

“You may rise,” Sukuna tells you, but you are slow to stand back up, afraid to find out what happens to those who steal from the King of Curses. You keep your eyes downcast out of respect, but you can still see the white of his robes as he stalks toward you.

“Am I so repulsive that you cannot bear to look at me?”

You let out a squeak of alarm and fling your eyes upwards, and you aren’t sure what to make of the interest coloring his face.

“No, no,” you say placatingly, “that is not it all.” You pause before adding “my lord,” hastily.

Sukuna laughs, and it is deep and dark from somewhere in his chest. He prowls nearer to you, and you gulp in trepidation. While the image he makes is as intimidating and heart-stopping as you know him to be, there is something otherworldly and enticing about him. The white fabric of his robes are edged in blue and they split open across the great expanse of his chest. You follow the black tattoos from where they trail down his jaw, loop over his shoulder and then continue down his torso. They compete with the muscles of his chest to steal your attention.

“Tell me,” he muses, finally coming to a stop just an arms length away from you, “what brings you to my new estate?”

Your heart drops to your feet and you blanch. “Your estate?”

“The edge of it, to be exact, but yes—my estate.”

You contemplate whether making up some pitiful excuse could earn you mercy, but the thought of getting caught in a lie and the punishment that would follow has you choosing truthfulness.

“The r-rain,” you stammer. Sukuna looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue, and you step back in wariness. He pursues you, and his feet land in the place yours had just been. “I was on my way to the market in the town north of here when it began to rain.”

Your hands flit about in front of you before gesturing towards the sky, and you note curiously that while Sukuna’s main set of eyes follow the path of your hands, the ones lower trail over your figure before settling on your face.

“The trees would keep me dry while I waited for it to stop, but it seems I also felt a bit hungry,” you finish, and your arms flop ineloquently back against your sides.

In an effort to appear deferential, you quickly clasp your hands over one another in the front of your stomach and hope that Sukuna can’t see how tightly you clench the fabric of your robes between your fingers. He makes a noise in the back of his throat as he weighs your words, and you cast furtive glances over his shoulder or to your feet, anywhere that isn’t his eyes and the intensity of them. They are predatory in their observancy, and you would worry for your life if they did not trace the dip of your collarbones or linger at the curve of your bottom lip.

“How about you return with me?” he offers, and you jerk your gaze back to him. “You may wait out the rain in the comfort of my home and I will repay your company with a meal.”

No amount of critical thinking produces a plausible answer as to why Ryomen Sukuna is inviting you to his estate. You do consider your own mortality and how vulnerable it is in his presence, though you suspect that bringing you along to his home only to kill you would be excessive and unnecessary. In a similarly frightening, but shockingly alluring alternative, Sukuna could intend to make use of your company in a more salacious and carnal manner. Or it could be as simple as sharing food with one another and filling the time with conversation, maybe giving you the opportunity to deduce a possible explanation by the end. Either choice carries with it problems and difficulties to a varying degree, but the thrill of what is not yet known urges you to acquiesce.

To maintain some sense of propriety, you pretend to ponder his request just a little longer and let your focus flit about to the scenery around you, avoiding Sukuna entirely. From the way his eyebrow quirks upwards and his hands twitch at his sides, you suppose he has caught on to your teasing.

“I might find that agreeable,” you say, and that draws a sly smirk from him as his eyes flare wide. He moves toward you, but you hold up a hand to stop him. “However, I would like to request another pear before we leave.”

Sukuna doesn’t say anything, but he takes two large steps forward until his chest skims yours. You tip your chin up to keep a hold of his eyes as he stretches an arm above your head.

“Whatever you desire,” he croons, and when his hand appears again before your eyes, an unblemished green pear is trapped between his forefinger and thumb as he holds it out to you.

---

In the coming weeks, you are summoned back to Sukuna’s estate with some regularity after the first time he invited you in to ply you with food and drink while he peppered you with questions about your innocuous life.

A being appears at your door with white hair cut short and an odd strip of red around the back. You have to come to know them as Uraume, unsettling and uninviting in their demeanor, and they hurry you out each time with nothing more than a placid remark of, “it is Sukuna-sama’s request.”

This time, when the weather is a little warmer, you find yourself in the middle of an expansive garden. It stretches farther than your eyes can see, overflowing with abundance, and when Uraume vanishes after telling you Sukuna will arrive shortly, you take the time to study flowers and plants you are familiar with and wonder at the ones you are not.

“Why is it no surprise that I find you enamored by common weeds?”

Sukuna, as you have come to learn, makes no noise that alerts to his sudden appearances. His voice usually sends your heart racing and a gasp is ripped from your lips, though you gradually become used to the slight shift in energy that precedes him. As time passes, you might startle less and less, but until then, you give him an unimpressed look over your shoulder for the way he grins because he scared you, and for the mild insult.

“And why is it no surprise that you would think so lowly of them?” When he narrows his eyes at you, you smile coyly and bow your head just slightly. “My lord.”

Sukuna is by your side and offers a hand when you begin to rise from your knees. Once you are steadied, he crosses his arms and tucks them back into his sleeves.

“They are suitable decorations, I can admit, but that is the extent of which I appreciate them.” Sukuna lowers his head to peer into your eyes, and there is something playful and teasing lurking in them. “My interests lie in other more…invigorating pursuits.”

You cut your gaze from him, shifting a little to be back in reach of the flowers, anything to escape the underlying insinuation of his words and the way they make you flush hot. The sun is also warm on your back, and it is anyone’s best guess as to which is responsible for the way a bead of sweat drips down your neck.

“I acknowledge your opinion, but I do not happen to share it,” you tell him. You turn your back to him completely to brush your hand over a bush of varying colors. “Some of these are medicinal. Others have a pleasant fragrance that I tend to enjoy.”

You pause and pluck a particular flower from the bunch before facing Sukuna again. “And others simply serve no other purpose than being a beautiful sight to behold.” You lift your hand in front of his face, and cradled in your palm is a blossom the same shade of pink as his hair.

It delights you to see the way he fights a grin, and in a move that you do not perceive as normally characteristic of him, Sukuna plucks the flower from your fingers and slots it delicately behind your ear. His hand lingers to dance over the apple of your cheek, and when his thumb catches on your bottom lip, you bat your lashes at him coquettishly.

It is a powerful look you have discovered. The last time you pulled it from your arsenal, you had nipped a piece of fruit from Sukuna’s proffered fingers and let your teeth scratch over the joint of his knuckle. He kissed you breathless there after, and you yearn for it again now.

It seems to be successful. Sukuna’s hands cup your jaw and tilt your head up. A second pair of arms wind around your waist to drag you against his chest, and your eyelids flutter closed on their own accord when you feel his breath whisper over your lips.

“Tempting,” he says, and a chuckle comes next. Your eyes snap back open, and he taps your mouth when it turns down into a pout. “Worry not, I have a proposition for you.”

Your expression switches into one of inquisitive interest, and while waiting for Sukuna to continue, you twine your hands into the belt that keeps his robes tied shut.

“Wed yourself to me.”

---

Two pairs of elaborately decorated ceremonial robes lie discarded on the floor. The storm clouds outside darken Sukuna’s bed chambers and you can hear errant drops of rain hit the ground. Your belly is still full from the celebratory feast that took place after your wedding, but now a deeper satiation makes your body languid and warm.

You twine your arms under the pillow that cushions your head and stretch lazily against the bed. Your back is exposed to the cool air and it pricks at the drying sweat on your skin. Exhaustion is lowering your eyelids and sleep is beckoning. Before you get there, the side of the bed dips.

“Did you miss me while I was gone?” Sukuna murmurs, though it is playful and unserious. “I have returned to you now.”

A damp linen cloth drags over your lower back and legs before you can answer. You shiver at the chill it leaves, but the warmth of Sukuna’s hand follows behind to chase it away. The gentleness of it is a stark contrast to just earlier when you were under Sukuna and at his mercy to how his hands squeezed, and grasped, and kneaded your body.

A breath of laughter escapes your nose. “How can I miss you when you were only gone for a moment?”

Sukuna’s hands freeze and he grunts. “Cantankerous wife,” he mutters. But you smile into the pillow at the affection in his voice, and when he resumes his ministrations on your body, you let the feeling of his hands and the pattering of rain lull you into sleep.

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

Four days pass before you see Itadori Yuji again.

Much like the afternoon following the incident, you spend the rest of the week proctoring the training of Fushiguro and Kugisaki while Satoru keeps Itadori hidden away for whatever it is that he and Nanami have him doing. You hear bits and pieces from your two students about how Itadori seems to be faring well despite the circumstances, and that the three of them are getting along just fine.

The scant details are enough to keep your worry mostly abated, and in the spirit of the approaching weekend, you release them from their training a couple hours early. Kugisaki is effusive in her rambles, and you barely catch whatever plans she describes as she hurries off. Fushiguro is much less excitable in his expression of gratitude and departs with a simple bow of his head. Their opposing personalities warm your chest with affection and leave you with a tranquil lightness as you head back to your shared office with Satoru (his insistence) to catch up on reports while you wait for him to finish his day’s work.

Through the window at your back, the setting sun casts looming shadows into the room, and you have to shake yourself awake as you feel your eyes grow heavy. There is a knock at the door that breaks your concentration from the computer screen in front of you. When you look up, Itadori is standing ramrod straight in the doorway. His shoulders are tense and his eyes are wide, but the expression on his face is friendly.

“Hello, Itadori,” you say as you lean back in the chair situated at your desk, and he waves at you. “Is everything okay?”

“Yup, everything’s fine.” Except Itadori’s voice is strained and he makes no move to step into your office, nor turn back to walk down the hall. Instead, he rocks on the balls of his feet and shoves his hands into his pockets. You purse your lips and fold your arms across your chest as you watch him expectantly. Itadori blinks back at you.

“Is there something I can help you with?” you prompt him. Itadori shakes his head, leaving you at a loss, but this time he walks forward and sweeps his eyes across your office. He shuffles to the towering shelves on the right wall and looks closely at a couple books before meandering across the room to pick up various knick knacks you have sitting on a hutch. Your eyes follow him the entire time, and you notice how he quickly moves his focus away from various photographs of you and Satoru over the years that you have pasted on a corkboard hanging on the wall.

With a sudden spin and jerky movements, Itadori finally comes to sit in the—in your opinion—unsightly black sofa that Satoru placed in the middle of the office and just a few feet in front of your desk so he would have something to nap on when he felt the urge. From it, all Itadori does is look at you. You glance at your computer, unsure what to do, and when the silence starts to feel awkward, you tap your nail against your thumb as you rack your brain for what to say.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can help you with?” you ask. “Or if you’re not comfortable sharing with me, I’m happy to call Nanami or Satoru for you.” You’re already reaching for your phone where it sits next to you on your desk when Itadori blurts out a hasty “no!”

Your hand freezes, and when you look back up at Itadori, he’s rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, and his knee bounces rapidly. “So, how did you and Gojo-sensei meet?”

The question catches you off guard, and you stammer as Itadori awaits your answer. It crosses your mind that the boy might simply be lonely and looking for some company now that the school day is over, but it’s nearing evening on a Friday, and you expect him to be finding a way to celebrate the incoming weekend. Just to be certain, you raise your brows in question, and even though Itadori grimaces briefly like he wishes he could take back his request, he nods at you in encouragement.

“Uh, well,” you start, blowing out a breath and clasping your hands together. “He and I were once students at the school here together…”

It’s not as if you haven’t heard about “the Honored One” before. You’d be hard pressed to believe that anyone in the jujutsu world could have existed presently without knowing of the infamous white-haired sorcerer. Of course you know of his talent, how he is considered the strongest, and you suppose such a title would allow for the level of arrogance he is known to carry. More so, you’ve been subjected enough to the whispered giggles and gossip from the other girls in your school to know that Gojo is—objectively, of course—as attractive as he is powerful, though you didn’t view that bit of information as anything pertinent.

When Geto Suguru spends two months at your school that was hours and hours away from his for some assignment, you find yourself paired up with him and thus privy to the details of his life as the two of you spend time getting to know one another. You resist asking him about Gojo Satoru in an effort to preserve your dignity, but curiosity gets the best of you, and you give in just a couple of days into the partnership. To your utter shock, as the two of you are walking back to the dorms after a training session, the first thing to pop out of Geto’s mouth about his best friend is to call him a “monumental pain in my ass—affectionately, of course.”

The words come out warmly, but they cause your jaw to drop nonetheless. Geto laughs and proceeds to tell you everything about Gojo Satoru that you have never hoped to know. He’s goofy and surprisingly awkward at times. His constant craving for sweets is borderline child-like and more akin to an addiction than a simple preference. He sometimes uses too many Digimon references in a sentence, and even Geto can’t always figure out what he means.

When the laughter dies down and the two of you stop at the doors of the dormitory, Geto’s face goes somber and his smile is weak. “Satoru can be a lot, but…he is the biggest burden to himself, and I wish it didn’t have to be that way.”

Now, half a year later, when circumstances move you to the Tokyo school, Geto Suguru looks mildly embarrassed as he walks you through the gates of the campus. The high bones of his cheeks are mottled red, though that could be explained away by the bitterness of the winter winds, but the hand that’s not carrying one of your duffle bags squeezes at the back of his neck as he chuckles nervously. You drag a suitcase behind you, another bag slung over your shoulder, and you’re grateful that Geto was willing to greet you outside the school to help you get settled in.

“I know I already kind of warned you about him, but I promise he’s actually harmless, if not a bit overly playful.”

“Trust me,” you say amusedly, “I remember what you told me about Gojo Satoru.”

“Yeah, well,” Geto mutters, “it’s a whole other thing to hear about Satoru versus actually experiencing him in person for yourself.”

You roll your eyes and are momentarily perplexed about how lovingly Geto disparages his best friend, but before you can question him about it, someone enthusiastically calls his name from across the grass, and the both of you look ahead in the direction it came from. Gojo Satoru waves erratically before breaking into a jog, and Geto turns back to you with a pointed widening of his eyes.

You ignore him in favor of watching Gojo eat up the ground with those long legs of his, and all those details come flooding back, even the ones you didn’t care to focus on. The blue of his eyes are breathtaking and unnaturally so. His height makes him lanky, and you figure that time will fill out the rest of his stature, but it doesn’t take away from the charmingness of his boyish grin and the fact that the girls at school are right; he is handsome.

“Suguru!” he exclaims in a greeting once he comes to a stop in front of you two, and Geto nods at his friend. He turns to you next, looking down at you over the rims of his darkened sunglasses, and the smirk on his lips gives you butterflies. And, maybe, you’re a little awestruck because he really is pretty and those eyes of his are unnerving, but you don’t particularly care and—

And then Gojo Satoru opens his mouth and the bubble bursts.

“Ha! He said that?!” Itadori crows, and he throws his head back in unabashed laughter and grasps at his chest.

You giggle along with him. “He certainly did, but luckily,” and you pause to lift your left hand and wiggle your ring finger so the metal on it gleams, “things worked out just fine.”

Slowly, both of your laughter disappears and you each look in different directions around the room to fill the silence. The clock next to your door says it’s nearly seven, and the grumbling in your stomach has you considering leaving Satoru to fend for himself in favor of finding yourself a meal. However, Itadori doesn’t make a move to get up, so you let go of your hopes for takeout and shake your computer awake with your mouse before typing away again at your nearly complete report. You’re happy to let the boy sit in companionable quiet if that’s what he needs.

“That was a nice story,” Itadori says a few minutes later, and you are so intently focused on your work that you’re startled into remembering that he is there. “Thank you for telling it to me.”

His hands slap against his knees and he springs up from the sofa, and you’re stunned by his abrupt departure. He’s nearly out the door when you finally find your tongue, and the firm way you say his name has him stopping in his tracks. You wait to see if he would respond, but when he doesn’t, you repeat his name a bit more gently this time.

“What is it?” you coax, and when he turns, his facade of unbotheredness falls, and his face is tired in its place. The sight breaks your heart a little.

“I don’t mean to waste your time,” he says regrettably and wrings his hands together. You shake your head to reassure him as his shoulders fall dejectedly. “He wanted to see you, is all.”

The meaning of his words don’t strike you right away, and Itadori raises a hand to tap at his temple. Understanding hits you like a truck when you realize he’s referring to Sukuna, and your mouth falls open.

“Sukuna was really adamant about it for the last couple hours. He’s finally quiet now,” he adds, “so I guess…”

Itadori trails off with a nonchalant shrug, and you find it entirely too casual for what he just said, but he seems unrattled by the request from the being inside of him.

“Oh,” you breathe out, stupefied and way too tired to formulate a sensible response or thought. “Well, uh…okay?”

The laugh that makes its way out of your mouth is a touch disbelieving and maybe a little unhinged, but it pulls a bigger smile out of Itadori, and he uses a hand to gesture vaguely over his shoulder as he begins to take a couple steps backwards towards the door.

“I’m going to go find Fushiguro and Kugisaki,” he tells you. “I’ll see you and Gojo-sensei next week!”

Now that you can see the tension has left his body and he appears lighter in mind and spirit, you’re content to return Itadori’s wave of goodbye as he hurries out the door. Once you hear his footsteps fade down the hall, you slump back in your chair and throw an arm over your eyes.

The King of Curses had wanted to see you, even if only through the eyes of his vessel, so much so that it seems he was willing to pester him into doing his bidding until Itdaori finally relented.

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

A/N: Chapter count got upped by one, but it should still all come out in a timely manner. We'll get a part 2 to the Reader/Gojo flashback in the next chapter :)

Taglist (open): @kalopsia-flaneur

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen

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quotablefanfiction · 4 months ago

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“Amity Park is flagged ‘do not approach, do not enter, do not interfere’ in the JLA database,” Batman commented. “There is a further note: ‘Stay the fuck away from the hellhole and its freaky ecosystem. I do not want to deal with a possessed Kryptonian.’ Signed, John Constantine.”

Constantine has valid concerns (chp. 3)

death echoes by Ocearna (AO3) Danny Phantom/Justice League – General #Alternate Universe #Crossover #Ghost King Danny Fenton #BAMF Danny #that is both a good and a bad thing #Swearing #because of Constantine #blurring the lines between canon and fanon #Creepy Danny Fenton #Danny is Not having a good day

Cold air on the back of his neck. Skeletal fingertips skittering up his spine, barely there and yet pressing so hard they would surely leave indents. A sound like an iceberg cracking apart echoing in his ears and through his head, pain following in its wake. His throat went cold, his tongue suddenly numb.

And for a second - just a second - he smelled nothing but the stench of death.

---

Danny’s coronation is a big affair, with ghosts coming from all over the Zone to attend and celebrate.

Unbeknown to him, it isn’t only the Infinite Realms that feel his crowning.

Note: This is a restricted story and requires an AO3 account in order to read

#fanfiction #quote #Danny Phantom #Justice League #Batman #Bruce Wayne #death echoes #Ocearna

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elaemae · 11 months ago

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The premium version of human is here to wreck house, mfs.

Chp.2

[TwstxObeyme!AFAB!reader]

Whoa.. 😳

Thanks for the feedback, likes and reblogs guys~ It really makes me happy that my hard work is appreciated😊

Guys, what gender should my story's Yuu be in? It's quite hard to refer to two different characters with both gender neutral pronouns 😅

READ FIRST; PROLOGUE:1

• • • •

Again; Pronouns used to refer to MC are blue, because MC will be mistaken for a guy a lot.

SYNOPSIS:

With the Opening Ceremony going off the rails for a second time, MC is more than eager to get back home and probably binge-watch their stress away with their emotionally-repressed boys.

Though with the current situation right now, they don't think that will be happening soon.. Oh well, at least they're not the only otherworldly outlier here... *Nightbringer flashbacks intensifies*

$o|0m°N?

On the other hand, Yuu makes a new friend.

Yuu doesn't know if this makes them a problematic person or not, but Yuu is happy that there's someone else in a similar predicament as them in this strange world, even if it meant that their new companion also had to be kidnapped by a problematic school/lowkey-highkey a cult to be here as well.

But of course, there's trouble in the horizon as the whole fiasco in the mirror ceremony caused the students of NRC to keep a close and careful gaze onto the MC. I'm talkin' from but not limited to; The Fish Mafia, Queen of hearts and Evil queen Incarnates, even down to your perfectly normal 500+ year old war-veteran that looks like a child.

Meanwhile, The Devildom, Human world, and The Celestial realm are feeling a sense of something foreboding in the air... It's probably nothing though.. right?......right?? The calm before the storm. Or the calm before anyone barges into MC's room.

Prologue: 2 Electric-boogaloo

Watching the mysterious and somewhat confused-looking student continuously dodge Riddle and Azul's spells with a calm expression, sharp gaze and a frightening precision, Lilia is waiting for the perfect time to jump in.

Preferably when the student ran in front of him so that he could tackle him to the ground.

Crowley isn't doing anything but screech. Again.

Haah....

• • • •

Azul's smile widens when this ever mysterious new student blocks Riddles' Signature spell by quickly spinning his fancy staff into a make-shift shield once again. what an interesting staff, transforming from a necklace into a cane that can be used for offense and defense..

Azul straight up grins he can see Schoenheit's smile and Kingscholar's shit-eating smirk from here, as well as hear Shroud's maniacal giggles when Riddle screeches at the student to just cooperate and that "NO WE ARE NOT A CULT!!!!" "That's what cults always say!"

Prompting a round of laughter from the useles– *ehem* new students in the hall. How annoying..

What an amusing lad.. Though, Azul wonders.. can all his other jewelry transform as well? Besides the earrings, choker, necklace and forehead ornament that he's wearing, the student also has a ring in his middle finger and in both of his ring fingers, a wide bracelet, and even some bangles in his ankles.

And if all of those jewels can transform into something?....Ohhh, then he really needs to get his hands on them asap.

Seeing Lilia gearing up to jump the student, Azul shifted a bit and tried to lead the student closer to Lilia.

Help idk how to describe shit💀

You click your tongue as you got surrounded by Mr. bird-bitch, that red-mf, Solomon-but-from-wish, Columbina's cousin, lion-dude, "I'm a bad-bitch with a sad past" guy, and a floating tablet.

You ended up getting bound by the bird-bitch's whip the moment you tried to leap off a window in your belphie-escaping-his-responsibilities style. Your pact mark of pride flickered, and Lucifer wonders what MC could be dreaming about for their pride to have taken a hit at this time of the night.

You turned your staff back into a necklace by then, so you couldn't really block the whip and that redhead's spell from hitting you.

You had socked Walmart-Solomon in the face though when he sneakily tried to take one of your bangles while you were being yanked back from the window. Satan stirred in his sleep, feeling but not registering the creeping irritation under your skin.

So now you're here, with a collar for your troubles and a whip locking your arms to your body.

You're just about to resentfully summon Lucifer or something when the redhead who collared you with this uncomfortable fugly-ass neckwear started lecturing you and shit about etiquette and how disrespectful you are for trying to leap out the window and how you should be honored to be there blahblahblah—

Hell no. You ain't letting this short-pimp talk to you like this. (You should really stop hanging around too much with Asmo. Or Levi when he's being a hater on the internet.)

Satan stirred once again, starting to rouse from his slumber as he felt your irritation start to turn into embers of anger.

Lucifer furrows his brows, feeling a rush of indignity that can only have come from you. But why? Weren't you in bed? He hasn't felt you leave through any of the detection barriers he'd set up around your room so you should still be inside, right?

"I think it's much more disrespectful to have your fuckin horses kidnap someone straight from their goddamn bed just to attend a little ceremony they've never even heard of."

You narrow your eyes as you see the bird-man and goons look taken aback in varying degrees of obviousness. (A figure near the mirror perked-up; 'Maybe this person is in a similar situation as them!')

Bruh, what the fuck did they expect??

• • • • •

The Vice-prefects of all seven dorms have led the new students out of the Ceremony hall, leaving behind the five (sorry Mal. Also, Jamil's ass definitely dragged Kalim out with him.) dorm leaders with the headmaster to solve the issues of the sTiLl-uNdEr-tHe-efFecTs-oF-tHe-teLepoRtaTioN-sPelL new student who utterly refuses to cooperate with them.

Riddle is about to combust, Leona wants to go back to bed only to be dragged back by the headmaster—, Vil wants his beauty sleep but was dragged back by that petty bitch, Leona—, While Idia and Azul decided to stick around for their own personal reasons. ("He looks like an anime character—" "Brother, I don't think it's good to be taking pictures of someone without permission—" "AHH–! O-ORTHO?!")

While Yuu is.. hiding behind the mirror.

(The kinda-silver haired guy seems to be in his seventh ritual of making sure his face didn't get bruised from the solid right hook to the face he got.)

(Yuu would've felt bad for him if the guy didn't have such a shady smile on his face while he was massaging his punched jaw.)

Meanwhile...

"Oy human, it's me!"

Mammon knocked on MC's door, fully intent on bothering their sleep and cozying up on their bed again.

He waited for a few seconds, no answer.

He knocked again.

No answer.

... Look, it's not like The Great Mammon is worried or anything but this is strange..

The human always answers their door after a knock or two even if it's the middle of the night.

... Dammit.

Mammon is full of grumbles as he consciously sharpens his senses, tryna sense his the human.

They better not be ignoring him or he'll–

Wait.

What? W- wait a second..

• • • •

The quietness of the night in the House of Lamentation vanished as the sound of a door being busted down rang out.

It's other residents could barely even register the sound before a shout rang out. A shout that sent dread right into their cores.

"MC?!"

← Pr. 1 | Chapter List | Prologue 3 →

'What the?! Why can't I summon them??'

Elae: Hehe~ I'm back with some food~

Thanks for reading this far, I hope you enjoyed this chapter😊

Btw, do y'all want Yuu to be a love interest?

How do I tag ppl??

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smutallyouwant · 3 months ago

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Twice One-Shot World chp.4

Are You Satisfied Sir?

Word Count: approx. 1.5k words

Momo x Reader Dahyun x Reader

You're a working man that's in need of relaxation after a heavy work. And you tried the newly opened body massage spa with discounts for their opening.

After working in your minimum wage paying work you chose to walk to your home as it's less than 2 km away. You've walked by many food shops but only one shop caught your eye. It's not a food store but a body massage salon. It had crazy discounts that a minimum wage earner like you could afford. You think that your body needs this so you quickly enter and get greeted by a beautiful girl wearing a pink top, a robe, and a short white skirt.

" Hey boy, looking for relaxation? " She said.

" Yes, are the signs outside true? I mean your discounts "you answered

" Yes sir, I'm Momo and let me assist you "

" Our full body massage is only $6.99, and I'm the one who will be making it for you" Momo added.

" That's great, I'll avail that one "

" Okay sir, let me just get your name and your payment "

Momo talked to the cashier and made you fill up some papers. Then she guided you to a room with one bed, a pillow, and a table with some things for massage.

" I'll wait here sir, please remove all your clothes and put it in the box right there. Lie down on the bed with a cover on your buttocks and call me when you're done " Momo instructed.

" It's okay now you can come in "

" Okay, I'll start now sir "

Momo tapped your shoulders and back first, and then rubbed oil on them. Her touch sends shivers in your spine as every gentle thrust of her hand cools your muscle down.

" You know our spa did not have success on its opening so we are forced to have crazy discounts " Momo said.

She's trying to have small talks while she massages your back and shoulders.

" Oh is that so, but thanks to that I can relax after a full load of work. But I hope your business will succeed in the future "

" We're trying different approaches for customers now, so they will be regulars. Do you want to try it sir? " Momo said near your ear whispering.

Her airy breath made your skin cold.

" Does it come with additional payment? " You asked.

" Of course not, we just want to make sure that you're satisfied and relaxed " Momo said before licking your ears.

Momo licks your ears as she massages your shoulders. This causes you to moan gently. She sucked your earlobes and her hands are slowly sliding to your bottom. She removed the towel and slid her hand to your shaft.

" This is quite a big dick you got there sir, would you mind changing your positions? "

As you lay back in bed, you saw her lowering a strap of her top revealing a nice big tit. She made you suckle into it while she put oil on your dick.

" Here, suck my breast sir. Use it as a stress reliever. You can reach onto the other tit if you want "

With that said, you fondled her other tit while sucking into the other like a baby. Momo started stroking your dick and moaning gently.

" Can I kiss you? " You said.

Without hesitation, Momo leaned over with mouth open and her tongue exposed. You sucked her tongue and made out with her sloppily. This made you so horny that you came on her hands.

" Mmmmhh, that's a lot of cum sir. Are you satisfied? "

" Not yet " you answered.

Momo then removed her shorts and underwear leaving her skirt on and an exposed pussy. She leaned on the other table and spread her legs looking at you seductively. You quickly got up and lined your shaft to her pussy, thrusting as deep and as hard as you could.

" Ughh,ughh, ugh you're so big sir "

Her top was still hanging onto her chest, that makes her look so hot. Her make up is a mess and you can't stop fucking this beautiful masseuse.

" So you're ready to be a slut for your business? I'll advertise your business in exchange you'll be my personal slut okay? "

" Yeshhh shhiuur "

Her words are muffled as you hold her mouth with your big hands. You're near cumming so you rammed as hard as you can, things fell off the tables and Momo starts shaking.

" Ughh! shiirrr I..I..I.m cuosmming "

You planted your dick deep and creampied the masseuse as she trembled with pleasure. Momo laid down on the floor as her pussy is still squirting and oozing with your cum. You sat down on the bed and rested.

As you rest, the curtains opened and a masseuse with crazy slim body wearing pink tube and skirt appeared.

" Hello sir, are your sessions over? Can we clean this room now? " she said.

" No, I'm not satisfied yet "

" Well I'm Dahyun sir, can I help you with that? " She said while closing the curtains.

She held her hands on your neck and looked at you with a smile .

" Of course you could be of any help " you said before pulling Dahyun for a kiss.

Dahyun replied, not shy with using her tongue. Your hands automatically roam her breast and the other just slides on her silky smooth skin feeling her crazy curve.

" Fuck you have the sexiest body I've seen " you blatantly said.

" Then use my body to satisfy yourself sir "

You kissed and licked every inch of her body removing her tube bra. You sucked her neck, her shoulders, licked her underarms, her tummy, her hips, and suckled on her tits. You made her face the table revealing her silky smooth white back. Dahyun moaned as you licked her back and kissed it while playing with your dick.

You smacked her butt, repeatedly causing her to moan.

" Ughh! Sir don't hit me hard "

This just caused you to hit harder as Dahyun bit her lips every hit. It left a red mark, you lined your shaft now and started thrusting inside her pink pussy.

Dahyun looks at you with your mouth open as you ram her from behind. You smack her butt repeatedly so that the red mark won't disappear. You can see in her face that she was pleased with every hit you make. Her hourglass body was so crazy that you can use it as leverage with only one hand. Your other hand goes pulling her pony tail.

" Urrgh, uggrh, urrgh "

Dahyun moans with pleasure as you fuck her like a wild animal. You pulled her closer and slapped her many times. Dahyun likes it and smiles every slap. This made you cum inside her in an accident. You cannot hold it longer so your cum spurted inside her.

" Uughh, heheh hehe "

Dahyun giggles as she trembles in pleasure.

You ended up fucking her again in another room. Violating her more as she likes. After satisfying the masseuse. Momo greeted you goodbye with a gift.

A lifetime 50% off for the spa in exchange for advertising the business in the company you work on.

From then on their business had customers with some regulars. Momo and Dahyun become your personal prostitutes every time you visit the spa. Sometimes Dahyun likes to ' train ' new masseuses with you and you ended up fucking every new recruits they had.

#twice imagines #twice smut #twice x reader #kpop smut #twice #momo smut #dahyun #dahyun x reader #momo x reader

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goddess-venuz · 1 month ago

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POLY-LOVERS CHP FOUR

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷HISUI'S FINGERTIPS GRIPPED YOUR THIGHS...

Your soft moans filling his lips, his tongue entangling with yours in the heated kiss, fingers locked in his long locks, your bare ass resting on top of a mounted cooling rock that rested on the end of the hot springs.

Deliberately grinding your slit against his hardened cock, feeling a hint of pleasure each time your clit would come into contact with his tilt, smirking against the kiss as a small shuttered growl-like moan vibrated against your lips.

Pulling away from the kiss only for a moment until you were needily pulled back into the heated kiss, your mouth being captured by Hisui's, the male slowly departing his lips, your lower lip between his teeth as he teasingly pulls it gently then released it making you pant gently once able to catch air back

into your lungs.

Bucking your hips with a sly chuckle as Hisui's grip tightened underneath your thighs, the man pulling your hips closer to his, he chuckled dryly, gazing down at you with a heated haze gloss over his irises.

Biting on your lower lip as excitement raked against your racing heart, removing your wet hands. from Hisui's soaked locks, you gently moved him from you letting your side off the rock.

Turning around in circles around him making him turn his body as you move yours, once his back was facing the cooling rock, you placed your palms on his chest, gently pushing him on the rock until he lifts himself, sitting on the edge of the rock.

Hisui inhaled softly as you gazed up at him, deliberately dragging your tongue from the base of his cock to his tip, a smirk resting across your features.

"You know, A good husband deserves all the best gifts his wife has to offer..."

Feeling his heart began to pick up speed with lustful anticipation, his eyes were glued to your lips as you licked his swollen tip, making your tongue flat, you slowly swallowed his cock, inch by inch until his tip reached the back of your throat making Hisui exhale shakily.

The man placed a hand behind him to hold his weight as he carefully brushes your locks back from your face and his hips, giving him a better look at your beautiful features.

Grasping the little inches you were unable to fit into your mouth, you slowly relaxed your throat then continued to take in his length, Hisui hissed out lightly as he watches you silently.

Breathing from your nostrils, you slowly lift your head then back down purposely slow, bobbing your head at a slow pace, Hisui bit the inside of his cheek as his fingers that rested on the rock curled slightly each time he felt the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat.

The more his cock would go further into your closer, the more he felt your throat slightly squeezing around his cock, it wasn't until you began to bob your head at a faster pace that made him tilt his head back, his lips parting slightly as he moaned lowly.

"(Y/n)~... Damnit.. Your throat feels

amazing..."

Chuckling out to bite back a moan, his fingers tangled more into your locks, his eyebrows furrowed gently as you sucked his cock only causing a pleasurable shiver to shoot up his spine.

"Ah-"

His hips bucked upwards taking you off guard slightly, recovering quickly, you continued to bob your head, your lips wrapped around his cock, drool beginning to drip from your lips down his length only making it easier for you to deepthroat the male's length.

Having a moan vibrate from your throat only made Hisui hissed out as he rolled his hips to your pace, tilting his head down to gaze at you as he bucks his hips to meet your pace, his finger gripping a handful of your locks as he begins to facefuck you.

"I...I can't hold myself if you keep looking like that..."

Droplets of water ran down his cheek, falling off his chin as he gazed at you, slowly lifting your head until your swollen lips released his tip with a small pop making Hisui's shoulder shudder.

Pumping your hand over his cock with a laugh, you kissed his tip while gazing up at him, "You have always been gentle ever since we met you know...The peacemaker.." your thumb rubbing over his tip, collecting the pre-cum from his cock.

"But we both know you release your anger during sex."

Before the other could protest, you didn't give him enough time until his cock was engulf by your mouth, Hisui's eyebrows twisted with pleasure as he gazed down at you.

Not going easy on the male this time around, you bobbed your head at a faster pace than before, sucking firmly around his cock, your throat relaxed as you took as much as him as possible.

A shaky moan falls from his lips, sitting up slightly, the hand he had rested over the rock made its way to the back of your head along with the other hand.

Dragging on hand to the side of your neck, his thumb brushing across your vein, his chest heaving gently as his hips bucked underneath your lips.

Your fingers danced lower to stroke along his perineum, before cupping his balls again, fondling them as you worked him towards his long-awaited release.

Feeling his cock twitch in your mouth, it wasn't long until the walls of your throat were coated with spurts of his cum, Hisui's body loomed over your head as he moaned breathlessly, his fingers shakily grasping your locks firmly as you continued to bob your head with a small hum as he slowly comes down from his high.

Once feeling his fingers slowly lifted from your scalp, you slowly lift your head then tilt it back as you gazed up at him, sticking your tongue out at him teasingly as you panted heavily revealing your coated mouth before closing your mouth swallowing the salty substance that made your eyebrows twist softly as Hisui laughed.

"It's not good I assume."

"It's actually surprisingly sweet--H-Hey!"

Stuttering out as Hisui slid off the rock only to push you towards it once facing you away from him, he grasped your hips, causing your breasts to be squeezed against the cooling surface as your stomach and hips hung off it slightly.

Lifting your hips slightly above the water as he gazed down at you.

"Put your hands on the end of that rock. And you are not to let go... If you do, you will earn one of these..."

Suddenly feeling a burning sensation against your ass cheek making you yelp from surprise, your fingers curled on the edge of the rock making Hisui chuckled.

"Good job, Now for the main

course..."

"What are you doing-- Ah!~"

Your lips hung open feeling the sudden sharp thrust once Hisui lined the tip of his cock with the opening of your slit, the man sheathed his cock completely inside your warmth.

Humming out a soft chuckle, he gripped your hips as he rolled his hips, the water splashing around him with each thrust he gave you.

"...You are right about me being gentle with you... As my wife I want nothing more than to show you my love but we were alone...You do something to me that me wanna fuck the shit out of you."

His fingers grasping your ass firmly, his fingers digging into your flesh as he brought your hips to meet his sharp thrusts that were enough to make you nearly see stars.

Your breasts that were pressed against the cooling rock bounced slightly to his movement as one of your hands accidentally slipped from the rock due to Hisui's firm thrusting- warning with the man slapping your ass roughly.

"What did I say about letting go of the rock?"

"S-..Sorry!~ A-Ah~ shit.."

Curling your hips as you shakily grasped the rock once again, you felt your heart racing against your ribcage, squeezing your walls around his cock making Hisui released a low moan, resting the right side of your heated face against the rock as your lips were left agape as his cock ravish your insides.

Lightly rocking your hips with his as Hisui bounced your hips, making your slit hastily take his cock, sliding one hand to your closed fold, Hisui used his fingers above his thrusting cock as he opens your folds giving him a better gaze at your soaked slit.

Mixture of your cum and spit already coating his cock, glistening over his skin and veins, he chuckles lowly as he watches the droplets of water from your body bounce off your flesh from his thrusts.

"Let go of the rock."

Hearing his order, finally releasing the rock causing your fingers to burn by how desperately you gripped the rock, feeling Hisui grab your forearms to pull your laying figure to his, a hand grasped your throat and underneath your chin firmly.

Feeling four of his fingers dig into your throat as his thumb slipped into your mouth causing a sharp moan to escape your lips, Hisui's other hand held your other leg up, his cock burying deeper into your walls.

The taunting words of Makiro flashed across his mind, Hisui's jaw tightened- his cock plowing through your swollen cunt at a more satisfying- rough state.

"Moan out my name... Fucking do it... I want to hear you say it... Say Hisui."

"H...Hisui..'" You moaned out slightly slurred by his thumb until Hisui removed his thumb from your lips, gripping your throat firmly as he leaned his lips against your ears.

"That's not what I wanted...Moan it out... loud."

"Hisui!~"

"Who's making you feel like this? Like a weak whore to his cock?"

"Y-You! Fuck~ You are Hisui!"

"Just look at you, Pussy tightening around just by me calling you a whore? Is that what you like? Such a filthy mind~... Now, if you want to cum... I want to hear you say my name, loud enough to move through these walls, Wife."

His fingers squeezed around your throat more, inhaling sharply as you felt his cock moving deeper into your insides, his tip slamming repeatedly against your spot causing your knees to nearly buckle.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Hisui!~ Your cock feels...Amazing!~"

As you released the loud shuddered moan, your walls tightened as you cum, your head tilted back as Hisui continued to thrust sharply as your walls enclasp around his cock, grunting out a moan, he pulls his cock out, grinding it against your soaked folds as his cum coated your back.

Panting heavily to catch his breath, he slowly releases your leg letting it fall to the side, his grip slowly released your throat making you cough out weakly as air rushes back into your lungs, seeing your knees buckling nearly causing you to fall, Hisui quickly wraps an arm around your waist, hosting you above the water with a soft chuckle.

Hisui buried his face into the nape of your neck, planting passionate kisses against your flesh with a smile; he soothingly palmed your hips- the male's stress finally being released; his calm gentle demeanor bubbling back to the surface.

"I'll massage your body with Oil then why don't I go get us some dinner?"

Feeling yourself being hoisted into his arms; Hisui began to carry you from the hot springs towards your shared room, gently placing you on the futon- you cupped his cheeks with a warm smile as you gazed up at him.

"Sounds like the perfect plan to me."

Grabbing your wrist, he planted a heated kiss against your knuckles; "You're perfect."

Every husband has their secret lustful desires; they act like a different being once you were alone with them, However, you took notice of each one was different...

Hisui was gentle unless he was secretly stressed, Then there's Shinji who's well...

Just say don't judge a book by its cover.

104 notes · View notes

deliciousangelfestival · 8 months ago

Text

Tears In His Ferrari - 12 || End

Character: Bucky Barnes x Farmer!Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes, used to a life of luxury, takes on farm challenges in a bet with his father. Mud-stained Ferraris and a rustic farmhouse lead to unexpected personal growth, guided by the stern mentorship of Y/N, a farmer making his city-boy life difficult.

Theme: Fluff, Slice of Life, Heart-Warming.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on: Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

Chapters: Chp 1, Chp 2,Chp 3 , Chp 4 , Chp 5 , Chp 6 , Chp 7 , Chp 8 , Chp 9 , Chp 10, Chp 11 , Chp 12

Bucky's purpose in visiting Toby's house was simply to make a quick stop before heading to the markets. However, as he stepped inside, he immediately sensed that something was amiss. The once cozy atmosphere was replaced by an unsettling sense of disarray.

Furniture was overturned, and the air was thick with tension. Bucky's heart raced as he cautiously made his way further into the house. Then, he heard a low, pained groan from behind the couch.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Bucky approached the source of the sound. There, lying on the floor, was Toby's grandfather, his face contorted in agony, blood staining his lips. It was evident that he had been injured, but the circumstances surrounding it remained a mystery.

Kneeling beside the elderly man, Bucky felt a surge of urgency. "Gramps! Who hurt you?" he exclaimed, his voice filled with concern and alarm.

Toby's grandpa slowly opened his eyes, his voice trembling with pain. "My son is here..." he whispered, his words laden with fear and despair.

Bucky's breath caught in his throat. He knew all too well about Toby's drunken father, a man plagued by addiction and violence. With a heavy heart, he gently moved Toby's grandpa to the safety of the nearby couch, all the while silently cursing the man responsible for this chaos.

Quickly dialing the local police and the hospital, Bucky surveyed the scene, his mind racing with worry for Toby and his grandmother. As he was about to reach out to Y/N for assistance, movement caught his eye near the open door.

There, Toby stood, bravely blocking the path of a menacing figure, his expression resolute despite the fear in his eyes.

The intruder's voice rang out, filled with aggression and entitlement. "Where's the fucking key?" he demanded, his tone dripping with malice.

Toby remained steadfast, refusing to yield to the man's demands. "I won't give it to you," he declared firmly, his voice tinged with defiance.

"Bullshit. I heard the person who gave it is rich. Just say that you crashed it, and he will give you another truck."

Toby shook his head defiantly. “No.”

The intruder's voice grew more aggressive. “Shut up.”

But the intruder's patience wore thin, and with a swift, violent motion, he struck Toby across the face, the sound of the blow echoing through the tense silence of the room.

Bucky couldn't bear to witness the brutality any longer. With a surge of righteous anger, he pushed through the doorway, confronting the intruder head-on. "Get your hands away from him," he commanded, his voice laced with a steely resolve.

Bucky's sudden appearance startled both, the intruder who name is Jack and Toby, their eyes widening in surprise as they registered his presence.

Jack clicked his tongue in annoyance. "And who might you be?" he sneered, his tone dripping with contempt.

Bucky's fists clenched at his sides, his anger simmering beneath the surface. "You hit your own father and son?" he spat, his voice heavy with disgust.

Jack scoffed dismissively. "A real man can take a punch," he retorted callously, his words a feeble attempt to justify his despicable actions.

But Bucky knew better. "Not like this," he thought bitterly, his gaze narrowing with disdain.

"Are you planning to sell the truck and squander the money on your gambling addiction?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

Jack's face twisted into a sneer. "This guy doesn't know how to respect his elders," he grumbled, his words dripping with disdain.

Bucky's patience wore thin. "You may be old, but you're acting like a child," he shot back, his voice firm and unwavering.

With a derisive snort, Jack lunged forward, his fists raised in a clumsy attempt at aggression. But Bucky was ready. With lightning-fast reflexes, he dodged Jack's clumsy attack, retaliating with a powerful punch that landed squarely on Jack's jaw.

The force of the blow sent Jack reeling, his eyes rolling back in his head as he crumpled to the ground in a heap.

Toby watched in stunned silence as his father lay unconscious at Bucky's feet, the aftermath of the altercation sinking in as the room fell into an uneasy silence.

Jack fainted, overwhelmed by Bucky's superior fighting skills despite his attempts to retaliate.

Though victorious, Bucky couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that washed over him at the sight of Jack lying unconscious on the ground.

“Toby, Bucky! Are you all right?” Y/N's voice echoed through the room as she rushed in, her concern evident in her tone.

Toby, bearing the marks of his father's abuse, managed a weak nod. “Big sister,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N knelt beside Toby, enfolding him in a comforting embrace. “It's okay,” she reassured him softly, her arms wrapped protectively around him. Then, her gaze shifted to Bucky, who stood frozen in place, his expression clouded with remorse.

Sensing his inner turmoil, Y/N gently took Bucky's hand, her touch a soothing balm against the bruises that marred his skin.

“Bucky,” Y/N's voice cut through his thoughts, drawing him back to the present.

He blinked, his attention snapping back to Y/N as she addressed him.

She peered at him with concern etched on her features. “Does it hurt?” she inquired, her eyes scanning his bruised hand.

Bucky shook his head, forcing a reassuring smile. “No,” he replied, though the ache in his hand begged to differ. “Let's get them to the hospital,” he suggested, his voice firm and resolved.

🏥

At the hospital, Bucky found himself in the waiting room, his mind still reeling from the events that had unfolded. The doctors had assured them that Toby's grandpa and Toby were alright, which brought a wave of relief.

“What about Jack?” Bucky inquired, concern evident in his voice.

The doctor let out a snort, clearly familiar with Jack's reputation around town. “That man's just sleeping. You gave him a good punch,” the doctor remarked, offering a pat on Bucky's shoulder.

“Bucky.”

Startled, Bucky turned to find Y/N sitting beside him, her presence a comforting anchor amidst the chaos.

“None of this is your fault,” she reassured him, her voice soft but firm.

Bucky opened his mouth to protest, but Y/N silenced him with a gentle shake of her head. “Nobody's blaming you. Everyone knows Jack is an asshole,” she added, a hint of wry amusement in her tone.

Bucky couldn't help but chuckle at her candid remark, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“It must be the first time you've faced this situation,” Y/N observed, her gaze searching his face.

Bucky nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth in her words.

“Do you need a ride?” Y/N offered, her concern evident in her eyes.

Bucky met her gaze and nodded gratefully. “Yes,” he replied, relieved to have her support.

But when Bucky returned home, a sense of unease still lingered within him. He sank onto the couch, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, attempting to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him.

When he opened his eyes, he found Archie lying beside him, his loyal companion in times of distress. Bucky scooped him up and made his way to the car.

Turning on the engine, he pressed down on the gas pedal, the familiar rumble of the car providing a sense of solace. He needed to clear his mind, to escape the suffocating weight of guilt that threatened to consume him.

The events of the day played over and over in his mind, each moment haunting him like a relentless specter. If only he hadn't given Toby the truck, perhaps none of this would have happened. The thought gnawed at him, a constant reminder of his perceived failure.

He couldn't shake the feeling of responsibility, the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders. The image of Toby, battered and bruised, at the hands of his own father, seared into his mind.

Thinking of his own father, David, only intensified his turmoil. David, who had always been patient and kind, never once raising a hand in anger. Bucky couldn't help but feel like he had failed to live up to his father's example, his own shortcomings glaring in comparison.

Lost in a whirlwind of overwhelming thoughts and emotions, Bucky felt the hot sting of tears pricking at his eyes. He didn't bother to wipe them away, letting them fall unchecked as he drove aimlessly into the night.

The road stretched before him, a seemingly endless expanse of asphalt leading nowhere. And so, he drove on, seeking solace in the rhythmic hum of the engine, hoping to find some semblance of peace amidst the chaos of his mind.

🏎️

Until the car came to a stop in front of the imposing mansion.

The night had grown late, the darkness enveloping the surroundings in an eerie silence.

Bucky stepped out of the car and approached the grand mahogany door, his hand hesitating for a moment before knocking.

The door creaked open, revealing the familiar figure of Butler Bernard. His expression shifted from surprise to recognition upon seeing Bucky standing before him.

"Young Master?" Bernard's eyes widened in disbelief at the unexpected visitor.

Bucky offered a small smile; his voice sounded raspy and exhausted. "Hey Bernard. Is dad still awake?"

Bernard nodded, his features etched with concern. This could be the first time he saw the young master look this tired. "Yes, he's in his study."

Bucky nodded solemnly and gently passed Archie into Bernard's surprised arms before stepping into the familiar halls of his childhood home.

David, still immersed in his work, was taken aback by the unexpected appearance of his son. Concern flickered in his eyes as he observed Bucky's troubled expression.

Setting aside his documents, David removed his glasses and rose from his desk. "What's wrong, son?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

Bucky remained silent for a moment, his emotions swirling inside him like a tumultuous storm. Finally, he found the courage to speak, his voice trembling with emotion as he reached out to his father.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Bucky began, his voice thick with emotion. "All this time, I've been ungrateful to you."

Tears welled up in Bucky's eyes as he embraced his father tightly, the weight of his remorse heavy on his shoulders.

Bucky clung to his father, his emotions finally breaking free as he poured out his heart. "I've been so selfish, Dad. I've taken everything you've done for granted."

David was taken aback by Bucky's sudden words. He held his son close, his heart aching to see Bucky in distress. "You're not selfish, son," he replied, his voice gentle yet firm. "You've been trying to find your way, and sometimes that means making mistakes."

"But I've been so blind," Bucky admitted, his voice muffled against his father's shoulder. "I never realized how much you've sacrificed for me, how hard you've worked to provide for our family."

David pulled back slightly, cupping Bucky's face in his hands so he could look him in the eye. "I've always been proud of you, Bucky. You may have made mistakes, but you're learning from them, and that's what matters."

Bucky nodded, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I want to make things right, Dad. I want to be someone you can be proud of."

"You already are, son," David assured him, his voice filled with warmth and love. "And no matter what happens, I'll always be here for you."

With those words, father and son shared a moment of understanding and forgiveness, their bond stronger than ever.

David gave his son a reassuring pat on the back before letting him go. "Seems like something happened today. Get some rest," he advised gently.

Bucky nodded, grateful for his father's understanding. "Hmm," he murmured, his mind still heavy with the day's events.

*******

The next morning, Bucky woke up early, his body attuned to the rhythm of farm life.

Even Butler Bernard noticed his early rising. "Sir, you can't sleep?" he inquired.

Bucky chuckled. "No, I've had enough rest. Where's Archie?"

Bernard replied, "Ah, I gave him breakfast. He woke up even earlier than me."

Meanwhile, David made his way to the dining room, surprised to find himself the last one awake. It was usually Bucky who slept in until 10 a.m.

Observing his son playing with Archie in the backyard, David couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and nostalgia. Bernard, too, noticed the change in Bucky. "Young Master has grown up," he remarked.

David sipped his coffee, a mixture of emotions swirling within him. "Yes," he agreed quietly.

While Bucky was back at his own home, he couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness. There were no crops to harvest, no eggs to collect, and no livestock to tend to. And most notably, there was no one to annoy him—no Y/N.

Sighing heavily, Bucky was pulled out of his thoughts by Butler Bernard's voice. "Young Master, someone called for you," Bernard informed him.

Bucky grabbed the phone, secretly hoping it was Y/N, but his hopes were dashed when he heard Steve's voice on the other end. "You're home, punk? Let's meet," Steve said.

Bucky's disappointment was evident in his tone as he responded, "Oh, it's you."

Steve chuckled, picking up on Bucky's mood. "Hey, why do you sound so disgusted with my call?" he teased.

Bucky shrugged, trying to mask his disappointment. "Just a little. Where do you want to meet?" he asked, resigned to the fact that he wouldn't be spending time with Y/N anytime soon.

🎉

When Bucky arrived at the usual gathering spot with his friends, he was surprised to find that Steve had organized a homecoming party for him. Cheers erupted as Bucky stepped into the venue, greeted by the smiling faces of his friends.

Expressing his gratitude, Bucky thanked everyone for the warm welcome. However, despite the lively atmosphere and celebration around him, Bucky found himself feeling oddly subdued.

Steve, noticing Bucky's subdued demeanor, couldn't help but ask, “Something bothering you? Or are you sick?”

Bucky shook his head, forcing a smile. “I'm fine,” he replied, though it was a lie.

In truth, he couldn't shake the unease he felt witnessing the abundance of expensive food and drinks being wasted at the party. He couldn't help but think of the hard work of the farmers who had grown and harvested those crops.

Steve, always one to jump to conclusions, chimed in with his own theory. “Must be a girl,” he teased, nudging Bucky playfully.

Bucky simply looked at his friend, a mixture of amusement and contemplation in his eyes.

Steve snapped his fingers. “I'm right. I bet it's not Kate since she's left for London. Let me guess, Y/N?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “She's just a friend, but how did you know?”

“It was a trade secret,” Steve said with a grin.

“I've known you for a long time. I can see that you've disconnected from this life,” Steve said, his tone serious.

Bucky sighed. “I guess so.”

“You should go to her,” Steve murmured, a knowing look in his eyes.

Bucky's brows furrowed in confusion. “I'm sorry?”

“I said you should go to her. What are you doing here?” Steve reiterated, his voice filled with conviction.

“You're right,” Bucky admitted, feeling a sense of clarity over him.

🏎️

Bucky left the party, feeling a sense of urgency to sort things out with Y/N. He spotted a familiar truck parked outside as he drove back to his house. Y/N was here.

Hurrying inside, he found Y/N and his dad in conversation. David noticed Bucky's arrival and excused himself. Now it was just Bucky and Y/N.

Bucky felt a lump form in his throat as he struggled to find the right words. “Hi,” he managed to say, his voice tinged with awkwardness.

Y/N's expression softened as she looked at him, her eyes reflecting a mixture of concern and relief. “Is that all you have to say? You suddenly left. You made us worried,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of reproach.

“I'm sorry,” Bucky replied, his tone filled with sincerity. He couldn't shake his guilt for leaving abruptly and causing concern.

"How's Toby and his grandpa?" Bucky inquired anxiously.

"They're fine. And Toby has been looking for you too," Y/N responded with a hint of concern.

Y/N sighed, her eyes softening as she reassured Bucky. “You still feel bad for hitting Jack? Don't be. That man deserved it. And your dad made sure no one would bother Toby and his grandparents again.”

Bucky's brow furrowed in surprise. “My dad?” he echoed, taken aback by the revelation.

Y/N nodded, her expression serene yet determined. “So, are you going to stay here or go back to the farm?”

Bucky fell silent for a moment, pondering her question. Then, with a decisive nod, he reached out and took Y/N's hand. “Let's go back,” he said, his voice filled with newfound resolve.

With a shared smile, they walked out of the house together, ready to face whatever challenges awaited them, hand in hand. It was a new beginning for both of them, and they embraced it with hope and optimism.

-End-

A huge thank you to everyone who followed the series! What were your favorite moments? Share your thoughts in the comments below!

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jolalibrary · 6 months ago

Text

18. calming peach

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter eighteen of do me yourself

wordcount: 4.2k chapter warnings: dad!frankie. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. flirting. too idiots who clearly want to have a future together. an: we're so close to the end and i'm crying.

prev chapter | series masterlist

read on ao3

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

You’d never consider setting an alarm an hour early for anyone else, silencing it with a groan and stretch, leg bending out like a lazy, sleepy starfish until it meets him.

He who is waiting, palm sliding over your thigh, up to your waist, gently tickling your stomach until you wiggle. Frankie’s breath grazes your neck as he sighs, pressing each syllable to your skin, Morning.

Sometimes when you wake next to him, you stretch out and he comes to your side; others you fold over onto his, and occasionally you meet in the middle, leg between his, rousing to the sounds of neighbours, heartbeats, birds, or silence.

But like clockwork, always after a moment, your lips meet his in a tender kiss, soft and layered with a smile before growing needier, the only time his movements aren't slick and coordinated.

“Shower?”

He hums against your mouth, tracing the band of your sleep shorts.

Soon enough, the hour is stolen by cuddles and whispers before a shared shower washes away lingering sleep. Hisses blend with steam until you're both towelling off and slipping into clothes.

“Do you think you’ll be gone all day?” you ask, pouring fruit into your yogurt, handing him the bowl as he sips his coffee.

“Not sure—could be. You’re staying here, right?” You nod and grin, chewing a piece of fruit. “Good. I like knowing I’m coming home to you.”

His words spread warmth through you, a blaze of happiness. You stare at him for a moment before asking, “Is that so?”

Placing his elbow on the table, he traces his jaw as he stares. “Yeah. That okay?”

Shrugging, fighting a smirk. “Not the worst thing I’ve been told.”

“What you working on today? ” he says, pinching a piece from your bowl—ignoring the chopped-up, untouched yoghurt ones left for him. “Still those graphics?”

Nodding, you motion to stab him with your fork when he tries again. “Get your own, Morales. Stop wanting mine.”

“Can never stop wanting you.”

Narrowing your eyes, you watch him grab a piece from the free bowl, smirking as he chews.

“I made you a lunch, by the way.”

Chewing and smirking, he drags his tongue across his bottom lip. “Like a lunch lunch or—?”

“A lunch in a brown bag—with maybe a love note in there.”

His tongue pokes his cheek as he smirks. “Yeah?”

You nod, pointing at the fridge. He moves quickly, opening the brown bag, rustling through it before pausing and turning fully.

“You made me lunch.”

“I did.”

You might have ruined me for lunches from now on.

Ah, this is why I didn’t make you them before—wanted you to fall in love with me for me, and not my excellent packed lunch. You hating what you have today?

It’s not hitting the spot.

Did you make it yourself or grab it on the way?

Grabbed it?

Well, there’s why. It isn’t made with love.

I did like the fact I got a note in mine the other day.

Special treatment. Hope you didn’t throw it away.

Don’t laugh, but it’s in my wallet.

Aw Butterscotch, you loveeeee me.

If you make Luca a packed lunch, I think he’ll make you stay forever.

Well, I’m not going anywhere. If that’s okay?

I meant living with us, but good to know that we’re on the same boat about being a forever kind of thing.

I don’t make lunches for just anyone.

Because of the risk of them falling in love with you?

It’s a blessing and a curse, Morales.

Placing the platter down, a breeze blows the tablecloth on the newly painted and restored garden furniture Frankie had surprised you with.

The temperature warm, birds chirping as you check and recheck the various paint shades ready on the paper plates—the canvas’ already set up on their stands as he waits, resting his chin on his palm.

“Ready?”

Scrunching your nose, you sigh. “I think so?”

“What if I can’t paint you how I see you?”

Kissing the top of his head, feeling his head tilt up as you press another to his forehead, to his nose. “Oh, I’ll cry if I look like a monster.”

His laugh ripples out as you press your mouth to his, feeling one of his hands skate around your middle, squeezing.

A scroll on your phone one night had led the two of you to purchase a vase from Harold’s small homeware section, filling it with a bunch of different date ideas. Some cheap, at home, some further afield that required more planning.

Last week’s had been backyard camping. The tent had been big enough for all three of you, fairy lights strung on the inside as Luca’s s’mores (an insistence on them from both you and him) had accompanied well with Frankie’s reading of Luca’s ghost story. Which was basically one of his books with a ghost on the cover.

Today’s, on a rare free day off, had you both back outside and ready to paint. Thirty minutes on Frankie’s phone, a set of paint shades that would definitely make it difficult to capture the beauty of his eyes and an array of nibbles that smelt too good to keep avoiding.

As you sit, both grabbing a brush in hand, you glance over at him and nod as he begins the timer, his focus already deep on his canvas. He looks up, catching your eye and offering a smile that’s familiar, all but warm.

“You know,” he says, dipping his brush into a bright blue, “this might be my favourite date yet.”

You grin, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the sun. “Because you’re getting to paint something other than a dinosaur?”

He nods, eyes twinkling. “I do paint a good dinosaur.”

“You do. Very talented.”

Laughter continues as you begin with his outline, the conversation flowing as you try to capture his nose, his smile—the crinkle of his eyes. By the time the alarm goes off, you're almost happy. Dropping your paintbrush, hands up as you admire for a moment before picking yours up to show him.

“You’re going to be blown away.”

“I’m ready, baby.”

Turning yours first, his brows raise, leaning forward, slightly squinting. “I'm getting the idea that you like my nose...”

Smirking, slowly lowering yours back to the stand. “Oh, I like your nose, Butterscotch.”

Laughing, he then turns his and what you see takes your breath away. His painting of you, beautiful but also absolutely hilarious, has your smile cutting up into your cheek, teeth showing before a laugh rumbles out. It high-pitched, scratching your throat as it forces it out—tears pricking at your eyes, as he slowly lowers it.

“See? I told you I couldn’t paint you how I see you.”

You laugh, blinking back tears, heart full. “Frankie, you drew me as a dinosaur.”

He cracks then, mirroring you, laughing. “I wouldn’t run from you.”

Shaking your head, wiping another tear from your eye you snort. “I’d trample on you.”

“I’d let you.”

Wanted you to know that a certain person is wondering if he can watch cartoons and eat ice cubes with you. Aw, how’s the little man feeling? He’s still got a temp, but it’s less than yesterday and he’s managing to keep toast down. I’ve rang Harold already, thought he might have been okay today but. Does Harold need help?

You don’t even think, question.

The offer had been on your tongue on the day Frankie had called from the car to tell you he needed to pick Luca up. Explanation interspersed with hissing at traffic and grumbling, as you conjured the image of him tugging on his hair as he hurried his way to the school.

Frankie had said it would be fine when you’d offered before—it’ll be one day, that’s it. Now it was day three, and medication from the family medicine doctor as Luca battled an ear infection that had him not even wanting to talk dinosaurs.

There’s a delivery, but he says he’ll call his nephew.

Dialling his contact and pressing the phone to your ear, you drain the last parts of your coffee, tidying away the opened letters on your countertop as it rings, and rings, and—

“Call him and tell him I’m on my way.”

Frankie laughs, mumbling a hello as you hear him clanging a pan and something else. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I haven’t got much on—and even if I just accept it for him, let him tell me where he wants it, then it’s sorted.”

“You sure? This… you don’t have to do this.”

Laughing, grabbing a t-shirt from your drawer, before pulling out a pair of older jeans. “You kidding me right? I get to hang out with Harry—hear his puns first-hand? I’m more excited than he’ll be.”

“Rainy…”

Your mouth opens, letting out a heavy exhale before you stare at yourself in the mirror. Seeing the smile on your face from his words, finding yourself unable to tear yourself away from it for once. Liking it, the look of joy on your face, the one he etches just from his voice.

“Rainy?”

“It’ll be good for me—think I need to get out of the office, my house.”

There’s a silence, just for a moment. “You okay?”

Muttering an uh-huh back to him as you place him on loudspeaker, dragging the t-shirt over your head before he says your name.

“Just another rough day with a person who is using me as a punching bag. Woke up to an email, but… it’s fine, it’s really fine.”

“I hate that you keep having them.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Me too. I feel like I brave it up and get rid of one and two grow in its place.”

Frankie exhales, his breath sliding down the phone, “Can I do anything?”

“Well, if you don’t mind me being fake Frankie, I’d love to go help Harold out—it’ll be good for me. Feel like… I’m good at something.”

“Rainy.”

“I know,” you say, finger-tracing a pattern on your bedsheets, “I know. But… just how I feel.”

“You’re good at lots of things.”

“Like?”

He snorts, loudly. “Making me laugh.”

“You laughed at a meme for ten minutes the other day about a dog’s tongue poking out.”

“It was hilarious.”

Sitting yourself down, back lying on your made bed, you run a hand down your face. “I’m just a little tired, I think. Usually, it wouldn’t bother me this much.” Frankie makes a noise in agreement, the back of your wrist resting on your forehead. “Truthfully, I want to see if Harold would be impressed by my puns.”

Frankie laughs, more clanging heard under it. “I’ll call him—but only if you promise to let me order you food for when you’re done.”

“Oh. Not worried I’ll get whatever Luca has?”

He snorts, and you can imagine the roll of his eyes even down the phone. “Unless you think you can catch an ear infection, I think you’ll be good.”

Smiling, slowly pulling yourself up to a sitting position, a pang of worry knocks through you—threatens to shake things. “Harold won’t mind, will he… I know you said he runs things differently.”

“I think he’s been wanting to replace me with you since you wandered in that day—he’ll be hoping it becomes permanent.”

Are you doing okay?

Yeah! It’s been fine, most are on palettes. Did spot a large order of butterscotch paint—that for you?

Haha, no. It’s actually been picking up in popularity.

It’s you modelling it on your page.

Shh, no it isn’t.

Baby, I love you—but I saw your latest video. From when you helped Benny, if I wasn’t already getting the chance to be in the sheets with you, I’d be thinking it.

It wasn’t that hot.

You really, really grossly misunderstand how hot you are, Francisco. Your arms for one.

You’re making me blush.

How the turn tables turn. Me, in your apron, you at home being flirted with.

Now I’m picturing you in my apron.

Yeah?

Don’t tell me what’s under it, let me fantasise.

Should I bring it to yours later?

Yeah. Yeah, do that.

There’s something about the noise of fight night.

It is both thrilling and anxiety-inducing as Frankie leads you in, his palm firmly on your back, guiding and easing you in. You reach a hand back to touch his wrist, a comforting ritual you’ve developed since that first time.

Your eyes scan and search for the others, a routine that brings a sense of normalcy to these events. Feet slowing, almost coming to a stop as you see Will wave, drink in hand, pointing at it as you nod back to Frankie and guide him through the growing crowd.

The music is louder tonight, the air tinged with more restlessness as you move, slide, and push your way through until you reach the rope.

“VIP, are we?” you call out, wrapping your arm around Will’s neck in a hug.

“Only the best.”

You step aside as the rope is reattached, letting Frankie and Will greet each other while you wave at the others. Out of the corner of your eye, you see all the slaps on the back, Frankie’s fingers cupping the back of his friend's head as he grins, nods, and talks right into his ear.

Then, there’s an arm around your middle, a familiar warm breath on your ear. “You good, baby?”

“I am.”

His lips press a tender kiss to the side of your head before you follow Will to sit down. As you settle in, you listen to Will telling Frankie that Benny is in the back and how he’s really stepped up over the last few days. You find yourself distracted, your tongue chasing the straw in your drink, until the conversation turns to yoga. Will mentions that you think it’s been quite good for Benny to shut off, and you give Frankie a look, mouthing, ‘Told you,’ to your boyfriend.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Will says suddenly, shouting over the music. “How did it go showing him the—”

Involuntary, your elbow slams into his side mid-sip. Your eyes widen as it forces a cough to smother the other words, staring boldly, almost coldly, right into Will’s face.

“I haven’t had a chance to show Benny the video,” you say, curtly, sharply. “It was very bright in the helicopter.”

You hope the lie is good enough, solid enough. You also hope Will picks up on it. Notice the distress in your eyes as Frankie, who is hanging onto your side and you can feel is darting his eyes from you to his friend and back again.

It takes a second, eyes narrowing, your stomach knotting as you fear the surprise you’ve been planning for Frankie is about to unravel.

“Ah, alright. Well, it would be good to see when it’s ready.”

Nodding, you lean into Frankie’s side, watching his eyes smooth out, relief washing over you as the tension dissipates. “Hey, so how does this night go? Is he the main fight?”

Shaking his head, Frankie adjusts his hold on his drink as he slings his arm around your neck, beginning to explain things as you shoot a smile at Will, managing to catch, quickly, the mouthed apology as you wink and let Frankie explain what tonight is for.

Your phone vibrates on the side, glancing at it as you help Luca roll out a small pizza circle from the dough you made last night.

“Rainy, can you helps me with my hat?”

Fingers adjusting his chef hat further down his head, a thing you hadn’t been sure if he would like until you saw his face light up when you pulled it out with its matching apron.

We should be done in about half an hour. And then I can come inside? You will be greeted at the side door by our mini-waiter who will be happy to show you to your seat. You breaking child working laws, Rainy? He had a work permit I swear.

Stepping back from him, you turn the oven on as you mentally tick off another thing, before scanning over the recipe that you have printed out.

It’s splattered in the sauce you’ve already made—and slightly damp from grabbing Luca's water earlier.

I think you’re lying. I think you grossly misunderstand how seriously we take things at Dino-Moralesaurus Diner. Excellent name though. I can’t take all the credit, your son is a genius.

At the sound of a knock, you help Luca down from the cooking stool Frankie had made him as he runs off excitedly screaming. It’s even harder not to grin at the sound of his boots coming off, as he comments nice hat, chef to Luca as you continue rolling out the dough.

You’re aware you’re covered in flour, that the side is a mess of sauce stains and random half-chopped ingredients.

“What’s this?”

Luca, now hatless, fulfils his duty as a waiter, offering the chalkboard to him as he explains, in the most adorable voice, that the special is pizza, the main is pizza and the dessert is—

“Rainy, what’s the dessert again?”

“Ice cream.”

“’Tis ice cream, Daddy.”

Lifting your head from chopping toppings, you catch his eye and exchange a knowing smile before Luca leads him to the already set table, clinking plates and silverware as he clambers up onto the chair to pour him a glass of lake water.

“Now, tell me, are the pizzas dino shaped?”

“Hmm, lets me ask the chefs. Chef Rainy?”

“Yes, Waiter Luca-saurus.”

You can’t fight the smile that spreads as you announce that unfortunately, tonight's dishes won’t even be fully round, never mind dinosaur-shaped.

By the time you’ve rolled out the dough and just about to begin spreading tomato sauce, Luca decides that there needs to be more dinos on the table. Freeing Frankie from sitting at the table and allowing him to join you.

“Chef Rainy, would you like some help with the toppings?"

“Only because you’re nice to look at,” you say, watching him roll up his sleeves as he moves to stand beside you.

You hand him a spatula for the sauce while you sprinkle cheese. Frankie insists on creating a ‘masterpiece’ with a mix of all the toppings, while you opt for a simpler choice, sprinkling it with fresh basil and tomatoes.

“By the way, Luca’s is store-bought. Thought poisoning your child would be hard for me to live down.”

Together, you lean against the counter as Luca runs back in, little feet slapping against the tiles as more dinosaurs begin filling up the table. Frankie goes into dad mode as he asks if he’s washed his hands before he’s running off again.

It’s barely a few minutes, but the timer goes off. Springing into action, removing Luca’s pizza from the oven—seeing the cheese golden, bubbling, filling the kitchen with a rich, cheesy aroma before you place it down and throw both yours and Frankie’s in.

You call out to Luca, who’s been eagerly waiting in the living room. “Luca-saurus! Your pizza’s ready!”

Luca comes running in, eyes wide with excitement as he climbs onto his chair at the table and you slice it up into smaller pieces and place it down.

“Mmm, this is so good!” he exclaims, his cheeks puffed out like a little chipmunk.

As Luca continues to enjoy his pizza, you and Frankie take a moment to savour the anticipation of your own creations baking in the oven. The timer goes off again, and you carefully remove the pizzas, setting them down on the counter.

“They look amazing,” Frankie says, admiring the crispy edges and perfectly melted cheese.

Taking your first bite, you’re hit with a burst of flavour, the freshness of the basil and the tang of the tomato sauce mingling perfectly with the gooey mozzarella. You share a look with Frankie, who gives you a thumbs-up, his mouth too full to speak.

“How did you like your homemade pizza?” you ask Luca, smiling at his enthusiastic nodding.

“It’s the best pizza ever!” he declares, reaching for another slice.

Frankie leans over, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’ve outdone yourself,” he says softly.

You squeeze his hand, before moving to the sink to begin soaking them—just as Luca drags Frankie to pick the second part of the evening.

By the time you’re joining them, finding your saved spot in between them both, the movie is ready to begin, the opening credits starting before you’ve even got under the blanket. It’s minutes before you feel Frankie’s fingers sliding up and down your shoulder, your head turning, smiling as Luca sighs loudly next to you, eyes still closed, sinking deeper into a heavier sleep.

“You had a nice evening, Butterscotch?”

“Was perfect.”

“Thank you. For letting me do this—let us do this for you.” Shrugging, his free hand stroking over his face. “I’m proud of you. Six years is… monstrous.”

Snorting, resting his head on the back of the sofa, he grins a little wider. “Can tell the pair of you have had the afternoon together—monstrous.”

“He says it better.”

Nodding, Frankie shifts in his place, hand pausing on your shoulder, before squeezing it. “T-thank you. For tonight. For making a big deal but… not making a big deal.”

“Big deal not big deals are kind of my forte.”

Laughing, his thumb and index tracing over his lower lip, as you flick your eyes back to the brightness on the television—the high-pitched voices of the characters making you giggle, as the cartoon scene plays out.

“Wish we could do this all the time,” you whisper, fingers stroking along Luca’s hair—feeling him nuzzle further in the space between your calves and bent knees.

Frankie doesn’t move, or shift, but rather drags his fingers up and draws a different shape on your neck, forcing your eyes to move from the screen to his. And you see it, nestled there—a question, one his mouth opens to speak.

“What?” you ask.

“We could… do this all the time.”

Brows raising, you smile. “Oh? How would we do that?”

“Rainy.”

“Francisco.”

Snorting, continuing his drawing on your arm, he lets out a weighted exhale. “We could… maybe live in one place?”

“Oh?”

His hand slides over your shoulder, squeezing it as your heart races as he takes a breath, as more of his words hang in the air. It isn’t that you haven’t thought about it—that it hasn’t come up casually, a promise of asking you properly previously teased—but now it’s here, there, present.

Things crash into you as you run through the list. The image of waking up with him every morning, is slighted by the worries that he’d grow sick of you if you didn’t have your separate spaces. Would you disappoint him? Would he like the version of you he sees all the time—and not just part of it—

But, even still, the answer is so clearly there, sitting, teetering on the tip of your tongue as you begin to grin, smile. Almost about to answer when Luca mumbles in his sleep beside you, something incoherent before his eyes flip open and he makes a funny noise.

Frankie shifts, hand dropping from you as he calls out his name.

“I… Daddy, I don’t feel very well.”

“Shit,” you whisper as you throw your legs down from the sofa as Frankie moves to kneel at the same time as he whispers, “Mierda.”

The back of his hand presses to the boy’s forehead as Luca begins rubbing his stomach. “You feel sick?”

Luca nods, rubbing his eyes as Frankie helps lift him from his place between the sofa and your legs and makes him stand up.

“You think Daddy was right about all those sprinkles?”

Nodding again, Luca buries his head into Frankie’s neck and chest, little hands sliding around as Frankie looks at you and smiles, reassuringly. “He’ll be fine. But, I’m gonna put him in bed—do not press play without me, Rainy.”

Grinning, your lashes flutter as he lifts his son and stands. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Morales.”

“And, maybe we can finish the conversation too.”

Okay, you whisper—fingers pinching at the skin on the back of your arms as your brain begins to tally, to list, to think.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

an: have you seen the bonus graphics on the masterlist? if you have any moments you'd love to see from the series till now, let me know and i'll make them for after the epilogue (chapter 20)

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal character fanfiction #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #frankie morales #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #jo: dmy #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales

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