#ghostie’s fic recs

[ghostlovesbaguettes]

IM DEEEEAD. THIS WAS LIKE SO FUCKING PANTY DRENCHINGLY HOT 😩😩😩😩

like listen I knew tommy miller was hot as fuck but AUGHEKRBRBJE THIS WAS FUCKING WAAAAAY ABOVE HOT AS FUCK LIKE… fucktastic😏😏😏😏

ANYWAY POOKIE POO YOURE LOOKING AT A SUPREME CAVITY FILLING HAVER… I brush my teeth I promise… it’s not bad at all as long as they give you enough drouges

it’s like they put a really weird vibrator in your mouth but they’re also moving it and also they try to talk to you but you’re like “i can’t fucking move my mouth”…. or maybe that’s just me

On Display

“At him. Look at him.” Joel turns your head back in Tommy’s direction. His gaze on you is intense, and you find yourself unable to bear it, looking down at the floor instead. “But Tommy says,” Joel whispers in your ear, his breath hot on your neck, “That if you want him to watch, you need’a ask him yourself.”

You crave more than just Joel’s eyes on you, so he gives you an audience. (6.1k)

Tags - smut, voyeurism/exhibitionism, tommy in the cuck chair, hella dom/sub vibes, fingering, cunnilingus, masturbation, unprotected piv, creampie, come eating, orgasm delay/overstimulation, little bit of manhandling action, little bit of panty sniffing/licking, being instructed/talked through it by both Tommy and Joel, threesome adjacent - tommy just watches, the sex happens between reader and joel. Fic help - @noxturnalpascal, @endlessthxxghts, and @beefrobeefcal for their eyes and help editing!! thank you all my sweet loves <3 A/N - hello! we’re not making eye contact for this one. If you’re into this please tell me so because I think I wouldn't mind writing a little more about this trio 👀

Joel’s driving you fucking nuts, in more ways than one. He’s antsy, and he’s handsy, and he’s ready to walk you home. He always walks you home, no matter what, no matter who you’re working with. You’re safe and protected in Jackson, but that doesn’t keep Joel from wanting to protect you further. 

You’re working with Tommy at the bar tonight and it’s late and past closing time, but there’s still shit to do. There always is. Joel watches you from across the room as you wipe down tables and put the chairs upside down on top of them. You’re taunting him, you must be. Wearing those jeans, that pair that fits your ass like a glove and hugs all of Joel’s favorite curves of yours. To add insult, you’re wearing that sexy perfume that Joel loves. He could smell that fruity, musky scent when he walked into the bar. Fuck, he could lick it right off your skin. Fucking eat you. There’s nothing in the world he wants more than to be inside of you, feel your warm and wet walls clenching around him.

 Joel downs the rest of his bourbon and saunters through the bar until he’s pressing himself against your back, his warm hands sliding over your hips as you gather the billiard balls on the pool table. “Let’s get outta here. S’late,” he whispers, the wiry hairs of his beard scratching your neck. 

“Joel,” you whine, reaching behind yourself to cup his face. He kisses your hand as you complain, “We can’t. I gotta finish–” you gasp as he sucks one of your fingers into his mouth. 

“Correct. You do gotta finish,” he growls against your skin.

“Joel. I need to finish closing down the bar with Tommy.” You pull your hand from his mouth and turn around to face him, to show him you mean business. All of your efforts are futile when he looks at you with those dark eyes of his, a devilish grin on his lips.

“Tommy can handle cleanin’ some dishes, sweetheart.” 

 “Joel, I’m serious.”

He’s kissing your neck now, his hands making their way down to your ass and squeezing you there. He lifts you onto the edge of the pool table and spreads your legs to fit himself between them. “You tell me all about it. Go ‘head and tell me how serious you are,” he murmurs, taunting you. “S’not like it really matters. You ain’t callin’ the shots.” 

He’s insatiable. You have to pull away from his kisses to beg him please not here, not the pool table. He shushes you gently, “I’ll tell you when and where, my darlin’. You just take what I give you.” His hands are finding their way beneath your shirt, his rough and calloused palms warm on the skin of your tummy. You let out a shaky breath as he unbuttons your jeans and shoves his hand inside them, pulling your panties to the side and running his fingers up and down your lips. 

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. Tommy’s just in the other room, and you shouldn’t be doing this. He could walk out at any moment, see you and Joel on the pool table and you’d never hear the end of it. It’d be so humiliating, so shameful and unseemly. 

And it happens. It fucking happens. 

Joel doesn’t seem to hear it, but you do. The quiet footsteps behind the closed office door, the creak of the office door’s hinge as it opens. Tommy appears in the doorway and quietly approaches the sink, turns on the water to wash some glasses. Joel’s in his own world, his eyes closed as he kisses your skin and his fingers dip between your lips, chuckling when he feels just how wet you are. But you - your eyes are on Tommy. And maybe it’s because you were anticipating seeing him but you’re not startled by his appearance, really. You’re just watching him. 

You feel guilty. Joel’s circling your clit now and you should be focusing on how good it feels, and it does feel good. But then Tommy looks in your direction and it feels better - your heart skips a beat, your stomach drops. His eyes linger on you, simply observing as you lose yourself in the sensation, as Joel’s fingers dip lower and press against your entrance, he pushes them slowly inside and you groan quietly, your eyes still on Tommy, Tommy’s eyes still on you. You’re not sure if you or he should feel more ashamed. 

Tommy smiles at you before opening his mouth to speak. “Hey Joel,” he shouts, “Quit harassin’ my employee.”

“Fuckin’ dick.” Joel huffs quietly and pulls away from you, subtly pulling his hand from out of your jeans and sucks his fingers into his mouth as he rolls his eyes at you. He turns around and blocks your body so that Tommy doesn’t see you buttoning your pants, as if he doesn’t know what Joel was just doing to you. “Wouldn’t have to f’ya would let her clock out. Place is clean as a whistle, Tommy.” 

“Yeah, but not that pool table,” Tommy quips. When you slide off of the table, Tommy’s looking at you again as if he were waiting for your reaction. You shy away as you feel your face and neck warming up. Tommy does his final walk through as you wait awkwardly, Joel standing next to you impatiently. “Place looks good. She’s all yours, Joel,” Tommy says with a smile, a smile that almost makes you dizzy. “G’night, sweetheart,” Tommy opens the door for you and Joel and sends you on your way. You don’t tell him goodnight back. 

Joel walks you home quickly, practically drags you. You have trouble keeping up with his long and quick strides. He doesn’t make it to his bedroom and instead takes you in the living room, the blinds wide open as he pulls you down onto his cock. You look out the window as Joel fucks you knowing full well anyone could walk by and see you like this, that Tommy could see you like this. 

Tommy could see you, he could see all of you. Joel’s between your thighs, whispering praises in your ear and all you can think about is Tommy, the thrill of his eyes focused only on you. Back on the pool table, you felt so good with Joel’s fingers buried in your cunt, but even better under the heavy-lidded gaze of Tommy. It was all so arousing yet so wrong. It made you feel sexy and ashamed, taboo and salacious all at the same time. You come on Joel’s cock thinking of the smirk on his brother’s lips as he watched you from feet away. 

-

The next time Tommy’s in your line of sight is the following night at dinner. You and Joel didn’t feel like cooking, so you’re eating at the community diner. Tommy’s sitting just a few seats down from you and Joel, he’s chatting it up with some friends. Tommy’s mostly focused on his conversation but he glances at you now and then, and it makes your heart beat a little faster each time with the memory of last night. You’re lost in thought and barely even realize you’re staring at him until you notice him smiling at you. 

Joel’s low voice interrupts your thoughts. “Thinkin’ about trading me in for the newer model, aren’t ya?”

“Joel!” 

“No, no. I get it,” he teases, no real hurt in his voice. “Tommy’s younger, he’s stronger, less gray…” 

You smack his arm. You’re not sure if you’re more offended by his implication or the fact he caught you ogling his brother. “No. It’s not that.” you tell him flatly. Joel raises his eyebrows at you, waiting for you to continue. “It’s…” you sigh, and Joel’s expression turns from amused to concerned. 

“You can tell me.”

“Last night,” you begin, tugging his sleeve to bring him closer to you. He tilts his head for you to whisper in his ear, “Last night, when Tommy and I were closing the bar and you came to visit. And you - we - on the pool table…Tommy watched us.”

Joel eyes Tommy after hearing your admission, but doesn’t quite glare. “Right,” he says.

“Just for a second,” you add quickly. “Just for a second.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. “That’s all.” 

Joel pauses. He studies you, his dark eyes darting between yours. “I don’t think that really is all,” he says. He knows all your tells, and he knows that you’re lying right now. At the very least, he’s certain you’re not sharing the truth in full. And what he finds most amusing, is that he knows the way you look when there’s something you want. He knows exactly what you want. “You liked it, didn’t you? His eyes on us. His eyes on you.” Busted. You press your lips together to keep yourself from smirking. “S’okay if ya did.” 

Before you can respond to him, Joel presses a kiss to your temple and takes both of your dirted plates in his hands and stands up. He does a subtle nod in Tommy’s direction, imperceptible to you but one that Tommy can see, and Tommy surreptitiously joins Joel as he places your dishes on a nearby countertop to be cleaned. 

 Joel returns to you moments later with two slices of blueberry pie. “Check it out. S’your favorite,” he says. You eat your pie with Joel, and when you look in Tommy’s direction, his chair is empty.

-

Later that evening, you and Joel walk home hand in hand. He’s oddly quiet, and when you look at him you swear you see the faintest smile on his lips. Joel walks with you up the staircase and you’re immediately intrigued by your shut bedroom door, some light peeking out at the bottom. Maybe you or Joel forgot to turn a light off this morning. It could mean nothing. 

“Good evenin’, sweetheart.” 

It’s not nothing at all. Tommy’s there, in that old, navy blue La-Z-Boy recliner that sits in the corner of your room and faces your bed, gently rocking back and forth. 

“Tommy,” you breathe shakily.

Joel approaches you from behind and puts his hands on your shoulders. “Told Tommy about your dirty little secret,” he says. It takes half a second for you to pick up what he’s putting down, and your breath hitches in your throat. “You know the one. That you liked when he watched us.” 

You turn your head, “Joel–”

“At him. Look at him.” Joel turns your head back in Tommy’s direction. His gaze on you is intense, and you find yourself unable to bear it, looking down at the floor instead. “But Tommy says,” Joel whispers in your ear, his breath hot on your neck, “That if you want him to watch, you need’a ask him yourself.” Blood rushes to your core and your mouth goes dry at Joel’s words. You’re unable to form thoughts as arousal takes over your senses, that dizzying, heady feeling building inside your body, enhanced by the fact that you and Joel aren’t the only ones in the room.

 By the way Tommy’s eyes flicker above you, you have no doubt Joel’s smiling in sick delight behind you. It comes as no surprise that Joel’s gonna make you work for what you want, he does so with everything else. You don’t come without his permission, you don’t touch yourself without his permission. You can’t even touch him without his go-ahead. He knows how to make the wait and the work worth it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. It’s agonizing every time in the best possible way. Joel nudges you. “Well get on with it, then. Don’t make him wait.”

“Tommy,” you mumble, your voice barely audible.

“What is it, gorgeous?”

Gorgeous. The compliment spills from his lips like syrup. Tommy’s always had a sweet spot for you, and no matter how many times he makes that known through his words and his actions, it always, always exhilarates you. 

“Will you - will you watch?” 

“Watch what?”

You wonder if Joel primed him, it wouldn’t surprise you. If he told Tommy to coach you through it all, make every step of the process as tedious for you as could be. Or maybe this is Tommy all on his own, and he’s cut from the same exact cloth as Joel.

“Well, spit it out,” Joel says, not allowing you hesitation for a moment further.

“Will you watch Joel fuck me?” 

 “Nuh-uh, try it again. Let’s mind our manners this time,” Joel says to you. “Now what do you say?”

“Please,” you whisper.

 “And remember to tell him thank you f’he says yes,” Joel reminds softly.

“Pleasure would be all mine, darlin’,” Tommy replies with a smile. “Be happy to.” 

“Thank you.” 

Joel presses a kiss to your head. “S’a good girl,” he murmurs.

He undresses himself first, first unbuttoning his flannel and then pulling his white t-shirt off his torso. You’re not sure where to look - him, or Tommy - when he unbuckles his belt and lets his jeans drop to the floor. 

You’re up next. He stands behind you and wraps his arms around your body as he unbuttons your own shirt, peering over your shoulder as he undoes the buttons slowly, one by one until he reaches the bottom. He peels the fabric off of your shoulders and lets it fall to the floor, joining his pile of clothes. He unzips your jeans and bends down to help you step out of them and you’re stood there in front of Tommy, clad in nothing but a bra and panties. Not for long, though, as Joel stands back up and unclasps your bra. When the garment falls, you instinctually cover your chest. “Let him see you,” Joel whispers, and you drop your arms. 

Tommy lets out a low whistle as he scans you, his eyes tracing the contours of your body. “Fuck,” he groans, one of his hands palming the sizable bulge in his jeans. “Need ya to do me a favor, sweetheart, give ‘em some lovin’ from me.”

You maintain eye contact with Tommy as you bring your hands to your chest and knead the flesh of your breasts between your fingers. You sigh in pleasure as you massage yourself, circling your nipples before pinching and rolling them between your fingers. “Oh, that’s it. Jus’ how I’d do it,” Tommy praises. 

The moment lasts just a little longer, and then Joel’s guiding you to sit on the edge of the bed, facing Tommy. Gently, he takes hold of your wrists and lays both of your palms flat on the bed, allowing himself access to you. He tilts your chin up so he can kiss you, then kisses down your jaw and your neck, sucking and biting your skin on his way down. He kneels before you, teasing your nipples himself, one in his mouth and the other between his fingers, doing a much better job than you were. His mouth and his hand trade places, a trail of spit in their path. When he's done, he kisses down, down, down until he’s reached your pussy. He presses a kiss over the already damp fabric of your underwear and hums in satisfaction. “Lift up,” he says, pulling your panties down your legs before tossing the garment behind himself in Tommy’s direction. 

Tommy catches the fabric, and for the first time he pulls his eyes from you. “Goddamn. What a mess she made,” Tommy comments, rubbing his thumb over the damp spot of your panties. His eyes flicker back up to you as he brings them to his face, inhaling your scent deeply. “Shhh,” he mouths, his pointer finger in front of his lips. When he drops his hand, his tongue darts out to lick the arousal-soaked fabric and you gasp, gasp as Joel licks a long stripe from your ass to the top of your pussy. The room is quiet, save for the heavy breathing between the three of you. 

You moan louder than you’d like to when you feel Joel’s tongue travel lower before circling your tight hole again, and you can’t help but feel self conscious.  Joel presses a couple of kisses to the surrounding area, all wet and sloppy before he dips his tongue inside you. You squirm and wonder what Tommy thinks of this, of you, as he has a perfect view of what's being licked and what’s not. 

One of your hands finds Joel’s scalp and tugs on his graying curls and waves, your free arm is bent and supporting your body as you lean back. He swirls his tongue one, then two more times around your asshole before his lips travel higher. He kisses your slick folds, sucking one into his mouth and then the other. Joel dips inside your heat, all warm and slick just for him as he inhales you, tastes you - your musk, your sweet arousal, just like honey on his tongue. He uses the muscle to trace you lazily, more for himself than you before he finds your clit, licking and sucking the sensitive part of you. And as he does, it’s just you and Joel. You fall in love with him all over again every time he’s like this, between that heated, soaking wet and private place between your thighs, his favorite place to be. His big doe eyes sparkle as he eats you the way he wants to - savoring you and your body. He’s all passion and devotion, full of love, love for both you and the performance itself. He blinks slowly, in a feline sort of way - relaxed yet laser-focused, the only time he breaks eye contact with you. You feel like you’re his prey, the mouse that the cat eats for dinner tonight. 

“Quit lookin’ at Joel, honey. He’s not goin’ nowhere. You look at me tonight,” Tommy demands, his voice is less kind than it was before. 

You find him in the corner, steadily rocking back and forth in that old chair, twirling the end of his mustache around his finger as he watches you. Instinctually, you find yourself looking back down at Joel between your thighs, seeking his permission to obey Tommy. He turns his head to the side and bites your thigh, not hard but enough to startle, the way a dog does to discipline her pup. “What’d Tommy just tell you?” Joel scolds. “My apologies, Tommy,” he mumbles against your skin.

“S’alright. I know she’s new to it.” Tommy’s words go straight to your core. It’s that condescending tone, paired with that sugar-sweet smirk on his lips as he says it. 

Joel’s tongue and lips on your clit continue to work magic. He eats you the way he does every time - like it’s not something he’s doing for you, but to you, his own endeavor. It’s all lust and hunger, fingertips bruising your skin under his vice-like grip, tongue relentlessly laving over your sex. His patchy beard gently scratches your inner thighs, rubs you raw so that you’ll be feeling him in the coming days after this. Your skin will burn under the hot water of your bath and the lather of unscented soap on Joel’s hands as he washes you, and he’ll hush you as you wince at the sting. “Shhh. M’almost done,” he’ll tell you, like he tells you every time. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You writhe and grind against Joel’s mouth, attempting to take some semblance of control over your pleasure. Joel swats your ass cheek and holds you still. You’re gonna take what he gives you, feel exactly what he wants you to. Feel his aquiline nose circling your clit, his tongue dipping in and out of your slick hole. You let out moans, pleasure building quickly. You feel it everywhere - deep in your gut, up your spine, down your legs.

Tommy listens intently to all the noises you make as Joel eats you. Your cunt and those lewd, sloppy, wet sounds it’s making as it’s licked, sucked, lapped at and kissed. Your moans, how they turn from loud and spaced out between each other, to quick and breathy, shorter and higher pitched. When you begin to go quiet Tommy watches you closer, your eyebrows knit together, the muscles in your thighs begin to jerk and flutter. “You close, sweetheart?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe, “S-so close.”

“Not yet, Joel,” Tommy says. And Joel listens. Your mouth drops, your eyes wide and dismayed like a wounded animal as he retreats from you, his lips and chin shiny with your juices. You look at Tommy with that same hurt expression.

“Hey. Don’t you pout at him like that,” Joel barks. “S’rude. Tommy’s a guest in our home. You need’a apologize.” 

A contrite look washes over your face and you apologize quickly, “I’m sorry, Tommy.”

Tommy looks impressed by the way you submit yourself so readily to him. “S’water under the bridge, darlin’,” he purrs.

Joel rises then, groaning as his joints softly pop and crack. He rounds the bed and props a couple of pillows up against the headboard, sighing softly as he sits on the bed and leans against them. He spreads his legs and reaches forward to grab you by your armpits and pull you back against him, his bare chest against your back, his warm, stiff package pressing into you. You’re still facing Tommy as Joel spreads your legs apart. “Can you spread ‘er a bit wider?” Tommy asks him. 

“Certainly,” Joel says. “Your wish is her command. Isn’t it, baby?” Joel nudges the side of your face with his nose, you can smell your arousal on his skin. “Show Tommy what he wants to see.” You spread your legs a little further apart, “Keep goin’,” Joel whispers. “You know what to do.” 

You do know what to do. You’re about to feel so exposed, so bare. With trembling hands, you reach for your center and spread your own lips a little wider for Tommy’s gaze. Joel kneads your breasts as Tommy takes you in and watches your pussy drip onto the bed sheets. “Prettier than a picture,” he says. 

“Yeah, ain’t she just,” Joel says. He pulls your hands away and replaces them with one of his own to cup your mound, the other sliding up your torso, your neck, until your jaw is held securely in his hand. He’s making sure you don’t look anywhere but where you’re supposed to.

Joel kisses the side of your head and pulls your earlobe between his teeth, biting you gently as he dips two fingers into your slick hole to gather your arousal, and then he drags it up your seam and circles your clit. 

“You takin’ requests, Joel?” Tommy inquires. Your eyes flicker to his and he meets you with a lopsided grin. It’s a dangerous one at that, one that tells you he’s going to like making you suffer, ache, and beg for it just as much as Joel does. 

“Name it.” 

“Go a little slower. Don’t give it all to her yet.” 

You whine and squirm at Tommy’s instruction. “Relax,” Joel grunts. “You’ll be fine. We’re goin’ nice an’ slow for Tommy tonight.” Joel whispers, his fingers no longer circling your clit but prodding gently at your hole. “Nice…and slow.” 

There’s no gratification at his touch, no relief. You stay upright and facing Tommy, willing yourself to stay focused on him, knowing that he’d probably find satisfaction in ratting you out to Joel should you look away. Tommy watches you carefully, watches the way your bottom lip wobbles and how you writhe with Joel’s teasing. He holds his palm against his erection and presses down hard on himself. He groans, he almost sounds like he’s in pain. He’s been denying himself his own touch for far too long and unzips his jeans to pull his cock out. It springs up, long and thick, his tip blushing an angry red color. 

You study him as he tends to himself. He spits in the palm of his hand and wraps it around his member, tightening his fist as he watches your pussy being teased. A couple of his dark curls fall forward over his eyes as he tilts his head down, and he frantically pushes them out of his face. You swear you’ve seen Joel do the same thing before. You watch all of Tommy’s mannerisms and expressions, and see them mirroring those of his brother. It’s almost jarring.

You wonder if he’d tease you like this too. If the tables were turned, and it was Joel in that old recliner instead of Tommy, if he’d tease you as agonizingly. Probably, but there’s a part of you that doesn’t think so. Tommy’s impulsive at times, impatient. Joel’s not - he’s calculated, careful. Intentional. You wonder if Tommy’s hands would have the same warmth that Joel’s do. 

Tommy chuckles as you buck your hips into Joel’s hand. “You’re torturin’ that poor girl, Joel.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Joel goads, his mind apparently thinking the same thoughts as yours.

“Oh, without a doubt,” Tommy replies., winking at you. 

Joel lazily draws patterns up and down your folds, circling around your clit now and then. You grip his forearms, nails digging into his skin, feeling his muscles flex under your palms as your hole clenches, arousal dripping from it and furthering the mess on the sheets. “Joel,” you whine, “Please.”

“M’just the middleman right now,” Joel purrs. It’s the most frustrating thing he could say. You know he’s at the top of the totem pole right now, that he holds all the power. But the way he pretends he doesn’t is what makes it all so fucking frustrating. 

You look at Tommy, begging him silently. “Give her a little,”  he says. “I’m feelin’ generous.”

Only then do you feel Joel's fingers dip inside you. Finally, you feel that stretch you’ve been craving as he pushes them as far as they can go, down to his scarred knuckles. You sigh in relief, “Fuck,” you breathe. Joel pumps his fingers in and out of you a couple of times, simply stretching you. 

“Hey Tommy,” Joel says. “You wanna see somethin’ cool?”

Tommy nods, still pumping his cock up and down. Joel adjusts himself some and begins to curl his fingers inside of you repeatedly, hitting that sweet spot he’s come to know so intimately. “Fuck, fuck,” you whine. The effect the action has on you could not be more glaringly apparent. You’re squirming, eyes rolling back into your skull as your thighs clamp around Joel’s arm, your toes curling as the feeling builds and intensifies. His other hand has left your jaw and he’s tweaking your nipples now. “Joel, oh my god, it - you - s’good–”

“Look at her go,” Tommy marvels. “Fuckin’ Christ.” He pumps himself more furiously now, watching as you melt under Joel’s touch. He’s so beautiful like this, fucking himself into his fist to your image. But it’s all too much, you retreat into yourself, eyes fluttering shut as you lean back onto Joel’s shoulder. He nudges you forward, “Don’t be gettin’ lazy on me, now. C’mon, up–” Joel pulls his fingers from your core unceremoniously, slick and shiny with your juices. He stuffs them in your mouth and has you suck on them, taste the tangy sweetness. When he pulls them out, you know what’s coming next. “On your hands and knees, sweetheart.” 

You move into position like Joel’s asked you to. Your legs and arms tremble as you do, garnering a soft chuckle from Tommy. “You’re alright,” he soothes, still chuckling a little. “One step at a time.”

Joel pulls his boxers all the way off and kneels behind you. He pushes your chest down a bit, angles your hips up as he uses a knee to spread your legs wider. He planned it this way - there’s a mirror on the wall opposite the bed that will not only allow him to admire your body rocking with his every thrust, but that allows him to see your face. To check in on you. To make sure you’re looking at Tommy, Just as you’re supposed to. 

Joel runs a palm up and down your spine before taking his rock hard and leaking cock in the other hand, pumping it a couple times and rubbing the tip over the swell of your ass before he lines it up with your entrance. He notches himself at your entrance and sucks in a deep breath as he pushes himself into you fully, in one swift thrust. 

You whine. It hurts, really hurts. It always does, always takes you a minute to adjust and get used to the delicious, aching stretch of his cock sliding inside of you to the furthest depth. “Just look at Tommy,” he tells you in a hushed tone, his way of distracting you from the pain. “Focus on him. You’re okay.” 

“T-Tommy,” you sob. 

“S’right, you just keep lookin’ at me, beautiful,” he coaches. “Look at how good you’re doin’. Doin’ so good.” 

Your eyes flutter shut and you arch into it, into Joel, allowing your body to welcome his intrusion. He pulls out of you slowly, admiring the way your arousal has coated his cock, and then buries himself inside you again. Tommy watches the way your fingers twitch as you grip the bed sheets. 

Joel grunts as he rocks into you at a slow and steady pace, working himself deeper and deeper inside your cunt. He loves the way his cock disappears into your body with each of his slow, calculated thrusts, the whimpers that fall from your lips to match. “Oh, there she is,” Joel purrs. “I know, baby. I’m listening. Tell me how good it feels.”

“So good,” you moan. You’re inundated by him, just like always. Lost in his touch, his palms so warm and heavy on your skin. Lost in the pleasure flowing between your hips as he fucks you. 

“Joel,” Tommy calls his name softly. Fuck. When your eyes find him, he’s looking right at you. “Your girl ain’t lookin’ at me. Beginnin’ to wonder what I came down here for, you know.” 

Joel laughs. “You’ll have to give her a minute, Tommy. She has trouble listenin’ when I got her stuffed full like this. Don’t you, sweetheart?” Joel leans forward and wraps a hand around your throat so he can whisper in your ear, “Don’t make him say it again.” It’s a warning, your one and only.

“Yeah, you said she’d do that,” Tommy says. “Poor baby.”

You watch him like you’re supposed to. He’s watching just as intently, his eyes are dark and his gaze is unwavering. He’s completely mesmerized by you as his stroking becomes faster, harder, sloppier. 

“Tell Tommy how much you like havin’ him watch you,” Joel pants. 

“Yeah,” Tommy says, “Tell me, sweet girl. I wanna know.” 

“I like it, Tommy,” you rasp. You didn’t even realize tears were brimming in your eyes until a few fall down your cheeks. Your stay focused on Tommy. He’s biting his bottom lip, breathing heavily through his nose as he pumps himself. “I love it.”

 “I do too, honey. I think you’re so pretty, gettin’ fucked like this.” 

Joel fucks you just like that for a little while longer, slamming his hips into you at a frenzied pace. He winks at Tommy as he curls himself a little closer to you and reaches between your legs, the pads of his fingers finding your clit to massage the sensitive part of you. Tommy quickly smiles before his face contorts in pleasure again as he focuses on you. Tommy can see it happening, and Joel can feel it - your walls begin to flutter around his cock, your sharp breaths begin to quicken and become unsteady. You squeeze your eyes shut and concentrate hard on the familiar pleasure building deep inside of you, because it’s too hard to concentrate on Tommy. 

“She’s off in her own world again,” Tommy’s complaint is barely audible to you as you really are lost in your own world. “She just don’t listen, huh?”

“We’ve been workin’ on it. But why don’t you remind her, Tommy. Maybe you’ll get through to her.” 

Your stomach drops at that. Tommy rises and approaches you and all you can feel is anticipation, excitement. Maybe even a little fear. He extends his free arm and cups your jaw, the other one now lazily stroking himself. He stands above you in an almost domineering sort of way, just like you love. You’ve got no choice but to look at him, admire his beauty - his dark curls, the freckles on his nose, a different shape than his brother’s but just as beautiful. His wide barrel chest, his cock from a closer view. His pubic hair neatly trimmed, and you wonder if maybe he did it for you. 

Tommy admires you right back. Your wide eyes, your lips parted and wet with drool. Your skin is damp with sweat as your body bounces under Joel while he fucks you. Tommy lets go of his cock and holds his hand under your chin, “Spit,” he tells you, loosening his grip on your jaw. You spit into his palm and he tightens his hold on you again and goes back to pleasuring himself. He notices that you watch him stroke his cock instead of his face, but he doesn’t mind that. Tommy rubs his thumb back and forth over your cheek in a soothing manner. 

“You’re gettin’ close, aren’t you?” Joel asks. “You gonna come?”

“Y-yeah,” you nod as best as you can with your head held by Tommy and Joel never faltering in his pace. “I’m gonna –” 

“Go ask Tommy. Ask him if you’re allowed to come on my cock.”

“Tommy?” your voice is small, weak. “Please.”

“Wait on it, sweetheart.” 

You groan, fighting as hard as you can to stave off release as Joel rounds your clit with his fingertips over and over. You know it’s coming, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it as you squirm and whimper. You’re desperate, and feel pathetic. Tommy wears a pitying sort of smile as he looks down at you. You look pathetic, getting fucked on all fours, your limbs trembling uncontrollably, your eyes tear-stained as you sniffle. “Christ, she’s makin’ me soft,” he groans, rubbing your cheeks affectionately. “Let her come, Joel. She earned it.” 

Finally, release. You moan loudly, coming immediately, your vision turning blurry from the intensity. You feel like you’re going to break into a million little pieces as Joel fucks you apart. It’s surreal, feeling Joel’s frenetic thrusts inside of you while you’re looking right at Tommy. 

Joel doesn’t stop. You can tell he’s close too, but he keeps it together, all for the sake of pushing you past your limit. “Joel,” you cry. “Joel, I can - I can’t.” 

“Bet Tommy thinks you can,” he grunts. “Tommy?”

“Mhm, I do,” he replies. “Let it ride, baby. Gimme one for the road.”

It’s all a blur even when you come again. Your own orgasm coaxes Joel’s, and you feel that familiar, comforting warmth as he spills inside you, “Fuck,” he groans. “Oh, goddamn. Fuck.” The steady decline from pleasure is overwhelming, you’re not sure if it’s even happening - it’s all so endless, no clear beginning or end. Joel fucks you through his own orgasm and Tommy’s grunting, moaning as he spills into his fist. 

The rest of it happens in a daze. Joel pulling out of you, flopping back onto the bed. You collapse onto your stomach but he pulls you into his chest again, scooping up your body to hold you through the comedown. Tommy licks his hand and Joel notices how you watch, practically salivating  at the sight. Tommy looks at Joel for permission, and Joel nods.

“Be a lamb,” Joel says as Tommy holds his hand in front of your face. The implication is clear. In Joel’s arms, you lick Tommy's hand clean of his spend, humming at the taste. When you’re done, Tommy bends to kiss you on the forehead. “You did so good,” he whispers. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Tommy leaves then, and the moment settles. Your breathing slows as you come back to earth in Joel’s arms. “I spoil ya,” he says. “You know that?”

“Mhm,” you nod. 

“Was it everything you wanted?” 

You nod again. It’s true, it was perfect. 

Perfect in the way you’ll be replaying this night in your head for weeks to come. You’ll think of it in bed and during mundane activities, you’ll think about it the next time Joel fucks you. You’re already thinking of it - the way Tommy lingered in your mind before, how he watched you being fucked on Joel’s fingers as he washed those glasses - the same thing happens tonight. Though it’s not Tommy’s image that you think of. It’s not Tommy pumping his cock and admiring you, it’s not his smile or his sweet praises. It’s his touch that haunts you. You can still feel the weight of his palm on your cheek, and can still feel his kiss on your forehead. 

And Joel knows you’re not yet satiated. 

If you enjoyed please reblog, send me an ask, leave a comment 🩷 your words keep me motivated to write for you all

Also if you read this and have had cavity fillings before, please tell me some encouraging things 🥲 I have my first fillings tomorrow and I am very nervous

[quotidian-oblivion]

got any fic recs for a poor starving victorian girl?

Hi ghosty!! 'Course I do!

So i created a fic rec list over here before, but I'm happy to give more fic recs! I'll combine the ones I've posted individually and new ones under the cut

So obviously there's envysparkler's works. She is iconic. Every one of her fics are iconic.

And obvi @sardonic-sprite as well.

But there is one fic I will forever rec and it's Rebel Without a Claus by DangerBeckett. Really. It is in every one of my fic recs. It has me writing comments longer than a page long. It's still in progress and it's currently 10 chapters though. And updates are slow, but the highlight of my day when I get the email that it's been updated.

Now next we have...

One totally normal, completely inconspicuous Fererro Rocher Crack! It's by @foursixtwonineoh-pieces-of-lego and I love it, one of my comfort fics to read at 2am.

And another one by Evie is the ongoing Did you ever love somebody with a death wish? We all love evil Tim Drake AUs >:)

The Dragon's Keep(ing Us Sane) - Itslivybear Crack! And emotional fluff! It's about Tim, Bart, Cassie and Kon starting a band and no one recognizes them. There is also a BANGER song in this.

two against the world - carolinaa Hurt/comfort! Angst with a happy ending! TIM GETS A DOG IN THIS ONE!!! AND THEN THE TWO RUN AWAY FROM DRAKE MANOR!! THEN THEY GET ADOPTED BY THE BATS!!!

head in the clouds - Alienu Humor! Crack! *falls to the floor* It's so funny and so batfamily, I can't.

Little bird - Ididloveyou_once Hurt/Comfort! Whump! Seriously, the whump is so good in this Titans Tower AU

The Product of Procrastination - egg_thief Humor! Crack! I read it whenever I go through tough times and feel so weighed down, and it still makes me laugh. Tim's procrastination leads him to ask for help from his two older brothers on his English assignment.

A Touch of Midas - Ellegrine Humor! Fluff! Seriously- such good fluff. When I read that dragon metaphor, I nearly sobbed. But yeah, Tim messing with his brothers is peak.

Sprinkles - SunnyBlue Whump! Angst! Fluff! AND FOREHEAD TOUCHES! GHEFOUJDS Tim's almost dying and Damian does not intend to keep it that way.

The Thing™ - InkpotSprite Crack! Humor! AND ME SCREECHING OUT LOUD AND LITERALLY CACKLING OUT LOUD WITH LAUGHTER. OH GOSH, IT'S ANOTHER TITANS TOWER AU BUT IT'S SO HILARIOUS.

Okay, let's do some multichap fics

Green rings and red things - siren_of_the_ocean In this one, Tim becomes a Green Lantern and the storyline is so good, it had me entertained as I was reading it while I was sick.

Let's be Brothers - Honeybuttons Funny, twists, adorable friendships, adorable plots, I LOVE IT!! Tim is intent on getting Jason to be his brother and so he creates a whole plan to get him and Jason close enough to be friends then eventually brothers. Roy makes an amazing appearance and ooh... what's going on with Damian over there... hmm...

cards on the table - wesslan This... oh boy, this. *takes deep breath* I LOVE THE TROPES AND THE CHARACTERIZATION AND ITS SUCH AN ADVENTURE!! PERFECT BALANCE OF FLUFF (not fluff per se, but cute moments) AND ANGST!! Tim is a fortune teller who scams Gotham's elite society to make a living. But then the fortunes turn and he finds himself facing the whole family of Bats the Waynes who keep roping him into bonding sessions.

And those are the fics for today!! Thanks so much for the ask, Ghosty, I had fun reminiscing on the lovely lovely fics the lovely lovely writers have written.

[art-of-a-ghostie]

Breakfast trio... Breakfast trio save me... Breakfast trio. Breakfast trio save me.

[try-set-me-on-fire]

time is out of joint

(If the author of Alabaster is on tumblr please know I’m haunted by your work)

[ghostlovesbaguettes]

OKAY BUT WHY AM I IMAGINING TAMMY TO BE RON’S WIFE FROM PARKS AND REC???

THIS BITCH^^^

Swept Away | Chapter 3: Go with the Flow

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: You get to know the other hotel moguls and their partners a bit more at a lavish cocktail party, and things begin to heat up between you and Joel.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, sexual tension, flirting, sugar daddy/sugar baby dynamics, smutty thoughts, alcohol and food consumption

WC: 8.4K

Series Masterlist

He tipped me.

Yay! How much?

I don't know, I didn't open it.

Why???

You stared down at your phone, Celine's words jumping out at you from the screen. It was a good question. Why didn't you open it? You could tell yourself it didn't matter how much it was. It wasn't like you were spending your own money for the next month, anyway. But when you looked over at the nightstand where the envelope still sat untouched, you knew deep down why you didn't open it.

I don't know, guess it took me by surprise or something

You heard a light tap on your bedroom door and you looked up from your phone. "Yeah?"

"You're up. Good," Joel's muffled voice said from the other side. "Wanted to see if you were hungry."

I gotta go get ready for breakfast, I'll call you later

Be safe!

"Ten minutes!" you called back to him before flicking your comforter off and hurrying to your closet to pick out something to wear. You settled on a pair of wide leg linen pants and a light pink sleeveless top that showed just a sliver of your midsection. There were too many accessories to choose from so you did your best to keep it simple with a dainty chain necklace and pink pearl earrings, then tossed your phone and other belongings into a white purse before swinging your door open and heading down the hall. At the last second, you turned around and grabbed the envelope of cash, tucking it into the bottom of your bag for safekeeping.

You stopped in the bathroom to put on a tiny bit of makeup and a quick brush of your teeth before running your fingers through your hair with a shrug. After meeting Glenn, you felt a lot less pressure to conform and give the appearance of some wealthy socialite and instead, leaned into the relaxed beach vibe he exuded.

"Morning," you said breathlessly when you finally entered the living room. Joel was sitting in the middle of the couch, one ankle casually resting on his knee, legs spread wide and looking completely at ease as he stared down at his phone. He pocketed the device when he heard your voice and stood up, eyes drifting down once to look at your clothes and giving you an appraising nod. If it were any other man standing before you essentially giving you his unsolicited opinion on your choice of outfit, you would have had a few unladylike things to say. But when Joel did it, something inside you preened at his approval.

"Mornin'," he answered, and when he brushed past you to walk towards the door, you caught a whiff of mint and fresh soap mixed with the scent of his hair product.

Fuck, he smelled good.

"What are we doing today?" you asked as you trailed after him.

"Thought we'd settle in, get somethin' to eat, then we got pretty much all afternoon free before headin' over to Glenn's house."

"Oh, we're going to his home?" you asked, stepping on the elevator once the doors opened. He nodded and tapped the button for the second floor, where you remembered seeing some shops and restaurants advertised.

"Yeah, invited all of us over for cocktails by his pool. Supposed to have a beautiful place," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and staring up at the numbers above the door tick lower.

There were only two restaurants open that served breakfast, so Joel picked the one that had open seating on the patio. The hostess led you both to a table attached to a bright red umbrella fluttering in the wind that had an absolutely breathtaking view of the ocean.

"I don't think I'll ever get sick of this," you said dreamily while Joel flipped through the menu, his sunglasses perched on the tip of his nose. He just grunted in response and kept his eyes lowered. In fact, you were beginning to think he was avoiding looking at you most of the morning. You tilted your head to the side and reached an arm across the table, tapping a finger on the wood to get his attention.

"Hm?" he said, still looking down.

"Everything okay? Did you sleep alright?"

"Slept fine."

You pressed your lips into a thin line before giving up and opening the menu with a sigh. When the server came to get your order, all you asked for was coffee and some eggs with fruit. Handing the menu over to her before she left with a smile, you looked back across the table at Joel. Once again, his phone was hidden from view. A habit you were beginning to notice happened with meals, but you almost wished he had it out because it would have been better than the thick silence that hung between you.

"So, you said we had the afternoon. Did you want to go to the beach? Or maybe-"

"I gotta work," he said abruptly, and you felt your heart sink a little.

"Oh, right, of course. Sorry."

You thought you saw guilt flicker across his face for a brief moment before he cleared his throat and looked out towards the crashing waves on the shoreline.

"You could go to the beach. Don't lemme stop you."

"What? No, no, I'll hang back. Maybe just take a dip in the pool, unpack a little bit. I'm still a little jet lagged, anyway," you found yourself saying. It wasn't even true, but the thought of going to the beach alone sounded boring.

"There's a spa in the hotel. Massages, facials, that kinda stuff. Whatever you want just bill it to the room."

"Oh... okay. Maybe, yeah," you stammered. He was utterly confusing you. He wasn't acting like the Joel who was pinching your chin in the clothing store or gazing at you with admiration over dinner last night. It felt like you were back at square one and you had no idea what happened.

Once your food arrived, you ate in relative silence. You spent most of the meal taking in the scenery and people watching the other guests staying at the hotel. It wasn't until your plates were cleared when you noticed a familiar face.

You straightened up in your chair and, without thinking, reached a hand out to rest gently on Joel's forearm. His muscles tensed under your touch but you didn't pull away. Instead, you leaned forward, eyes still focused somewhere over his shoulder.

"Isn't that Zachary?"

Joel twisted around to look and groaned before turning back to you.

"Must be stayin' here, too."

You watched as Zoe arrived moments later wearing a long, flowing patterned dress with a deep neckline, showing a generous amount of cleavage, and sporting a large sun hat and oversized sunglasses. She slid them down and glanced around, almost immediately catching your eye and tossing you a flirty wave. You smiled and let go of Joel's arm, not noticing how he retracted it under the table after, and waved back.

"They're coming this way."

"Shit."

He pushed his sunglasses on and ran his fingers through his hair just as they approached your table.

"Miller," Zachary said gruffly by way of greeting, clapping Joel on the shoulder. He glanced up and forced a friendly smile for them both.

"Mornin'."

"Heard you were staying here. Got the two bedroom villa, huh? Expecting company?"

Joel frowned and shook his head. "How'd you know that?"

"Owner's a buddy of mine," he said, tapping the side of his nose with a mischievous grin.

"I tend to travel heavy. Joel wanted to get me the extra space for all my things," you told Zachary, your voice dripping with sweetness as you shot Joel what you hoped was a look of adoration.

"How thoughtful of you, Joel," Zachary said, but you could tell by the tone of his voice that he wasn't very sincere. "Looking forward to drinks later. You're both coming, right? Or do you gotta hang back and work?"

Your eyes darted back and forth between the two men, trying to get a read on the sudden tension and where it stemmed from, but you were lost.

"Nope. We'll both be there."

Joel's voice was curt, fingertips tapping on the table, quite clearly wishing he would leave. Zachary got the hint and looked Zoe's way.

"C'mon, darling. Let's get you something to eat. Kept you up way too late last night," he murmured with a wink. She smiled sweetly at him and when they both turned to head back to their table, she waved to you again.

"See you tonight!" she said brightly over her shoulder, seemingly unbothered by the awkwardness you both just witnessed.

Once they were both out of earshot, you gave Joel a look.

"That last comment was kind of gross."

Joel sighed and stood up. "Yeah, that's Zachary for you."

You scrambled to stand and joined him as you walked through the restaurant, back to the elevators, giving the pair one more friendly wave before disappearing from view.

"Do you guys not get along or something?" you asked once you were safely inside the elevator alone. Joel shrugged and kept his eyes on the numbers ticking away above the door.

"End of the day, they're all competition. It's all a game."

It felt like more than that, but you let it go.

Silently, you followed him back to the villa. Once inside, you busied yourself in the kitchen, weighing your options for the day while he set up a laptop on the dining room table. You didn't want to be in his way, but you didn't feel much like exploring on your own just yet. The exterior wall of the living room was completely made of glass, giving you both a spectacular view of your pool and the ocean beyond. He had logged into work and was getting settled at the table when you finally decided to spend the day at the gorgeous, private pool just outside. As you headed in the direction of your room, you glanced over your shoulder, about to tell him of your intentions, but he had already slipped in a pair of earbuds.

That was fine. He would be able to see you from his seat at the table if he wondered where you went.

When reviewing your options for bathing suits, you were shocked to find six different choices. Who on earth would need more than two? But you shrugged and decided on a simple black bikini, changing quickly and applying some sunscreen before finding a sheer green coverup amongst your things and slipping it over your shoulders. Rifling through your duffel bag, you found a book, your headphones, and your own sunglasses, all of which you brought with you before opening the glass door leading from your bedroom to the patio outside.

There was a white linen pergola next to the pool with two lounge chairs and a cabinet underneath. You picked a chair and put your things down before opening the cabinet to find a towel and some bottles of water. The amenities in the hotel were outstanding and you found yourself still struggling to get used to it. Everywhere you turned, you had everything you could possibly need. Is this really how the other half lived?

You slipped your coverup off, tossing it on top of your phone, and ran the tips of your fingers underneath the band of your bikini bottoms, straightening out the fabric and making sure you had coverage before timidly stepping towards the pool. Even from this distance you could hear laughter and music filtering from the beach, the sounds of summer and joy bringing a smile to your face as you dipped a toe into the pool. It shouldn't have come as a surprise when you realized the pool was heated to the perfect temperature, so you glided right in, submerging yourself underwater and popping back up with a refreshing gasp.

If Joel wanted to work the whole time you were there, then that was his choice. You knew in all likelihood you wouldn't ever get an opportunity like this again, and you were determined to enjoy it.

He was supposed to be working. In fact, he was supposed to be paying attention while the head of finance went over the last quarter's numbers on his laptop screen via video call, but instead he found his eyes drifting to the massive window overlooking the pool. Every time you emerged from the water, your body slick and that skimpy bikini stuck rather obscenely to your skin, he couldn't stop himself from staring. Thank Christ the windows were tinted.

"Joel?"

His eyes dragged back to the laptop and he cleared his throat. "Sorry, WiFi's a little spotty."

"No problem. I said we made record profits last quarter and we should be in a strong financial position to expand without requiring any loans."

"Fantastic," Joel replied, his eyes darting briefly to the window, swallowing hard when you took a break to drink some water. You tipped your head back and closed your eyes, your soft lips wrapping around the plastic of the bottle. He felt his cock twitch and he forced his eyes back to the screen. This whole arrangement with you was proving to be a lot more challenging than he expected. He was doing his best to pull away from you and create some distance, but it wasn't working.

"What's the word out there? Think you got a shot at this piece of land?"

Joel shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Too early to say, but if I had to guess, it'll come down to me or Scott."

"Well, good luck, sir."

"Thanks. We'll talk next week."

Joel exited the meeting and the room was filled with silence once again. Emails popped up in the corner of his screen and he managed to focus for a couple hours, one call from HR in particular distracting him from looking at you, but around lunchtime he found his gaze wandering again. You were laid out on your lounge chair reading, legs stretched out, looking sunkissed and relaxed.

With a sigh, he looked down at his watch then stood up. Strolling to the kitchen, he picked up the phone attached to the wall while thumbing through the room service menu. He ordered a couple items for you to share before heading to his bedroom to find his swim trunks.

He never takes a break that doesn't involve clients, so what the hell? Just this once.

By the time he emerged from his bedroom and stepped out onto the patio, you had slipped back into the pool. You were gazing out towards the ocean with your chin resting on the backs of your hands as you leaned up against the edge of the infinity pool. When you heard his door close, you turned to look at him in surprise.

"Hey," you said happily, gaze flickering down his bare chest quickly before locking eyes with him again.

"Mind if I join you?"

You grinned and shook your head. "Not at all."

He tossed his sunglasses and the shirt he had clutched in his hand onto the other lounge chair, realizing for the first time he forgot his phone back inside, but he shrugged it off. He didn't need it anyway. Work could wait an hour.

"Feels nice," he said once he walked all the way into the pool, the water stopping just underneath his collarbone.

"Sure beats the above ground pool I had growing up," you joked.

"Hell, at least you had one."

"True," you sighed, wading over to a built in seat in the deep end so you could rest. "Got me in trouble a few times, though."

Joel quirked an eyebrow and slowly walked over, joining you on the other end of the seat. It gave you both the perfect view of the ocean. "What kinda trouble?"

You giggled and shook your head. "You know. Inviting my friends over to swim when I wasn't supposed to." You paused before quietly adding, "swimming with boys in the middle of the night."

"Boys?" Joel chuckled in surprise.

"Well, not boys. One boy. A boy."

He hummed and glanced at you. "Someone special?"

You shrugged, gaze still pinned on the ocean. "I guess at the time he was. He was my next door neighbor growing up."

"What happened?"

"He went away to college, I eventually moved out to LA, we just lost touch. I think he was my first real love."

For some inexplicable reason, Joel felt his chest grow tight. He rubbed it absentmindedly, refusing to give it too much thought.

"What about you?" you asked, tilting your head towards him. "Who was your first love?"

"Who says I had one?" he countered without even thinking. Now it was your turn to be surprised.

"You've never been in love?"

His eyes dragged down your face before taking a deep breath and looking away, already regretting sharing too much. "Been busy."

You laughed softly to yourself and shook your head.

"What?" he frowned.

"Nothing. I just don't think love checks with your schedule. When it happens, there's no stopping it, whether you like it or not, whether it's convenient or not."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Pretty profound."

You locked eyes and gave him an endearing smile. "I can be surprising."

"Oh, I'm very aware," he replied, his gaze dropping down briefly to look at the distorted image of your body through the water, then quickly met your eye again. "Nice suit, by the way."

Your cheeks instantly felt hot as you bit your lip and shyly looked away. "Thank you. You bought it."

"I have good taste."

"I think that's been established."

Shit. You were cute. And quick. But he already knew that.

"Wanna tell me what it's like?" he asked lowly, and you felt your breath hitch. "Bein' in love?"

"Oh, I don't want to spoil the surprise for you."

"I made it this far, ain't sure it's in the cards for me," he said, a smile pulling at his lips.

"I wouldn't count you out just yet," you replied softly.

He stared at you, your words hanging heavy in the air, as he struggled to formulate a response. Something about the way you were looking at him made him open his mouth before his brain had a chance to catch up. He was seconds away from telling you too much, from breaking one of his rules, from letting you in, but fortunately the door to the living room slid open, dissolving the tension in an instant.

"Mr. Miller? Room service."

You both turned your heads towards the two attendants holding silver trays with matching polished domed lids on top.

"Put them over there," he directed, pointing to the pergola. They nodded in unison and carefully placed the trays down, lifting the lids off with white gloves, and disappeared back inside.

"Thank you!" you called after them before the door closed. Your eyes drifted back to him but you could see the moment was over. When the living room door opened, Joel's door shut.

"Got us somethin' to eat," he explained, nodding in the direction of the pergola.

"That was thoughtful, thank you."

He spent another ten minutes outside with you, nibbling on assorted meats, cheeses and fruits until he stood with a groan, announcing he had work to get back to, and reminded you to be ready to leave by six that evening.

You nodded and bit the inside of your cheek as you watched him slip back inside his room to change, convinced more than ever that there was a good man hidden underneath all that armor, you just had to keep chipping away.

"I'll need to thank your assistant one day. Whoever they are, I gotta admit, they did a good job," you told Joel in the back of the private car that was taking you to Glenn's estate. You smoothed down the fabric of your bright yellow sundress, loving the way it hugged your curves and made your skin glow.

"Did you ever have any doubt?" he asked, sliding his sunglasses down his nose so he could look at you over the top. You grinned and shrugged.

"Maybe."

You found yourself growing excited for the evening ahead. Even though you knew it was all an act, that Joel was paying you to pretend to be someone you're not, you found yourself enjoying it more than you thought. But shamefully you especially enjoyed the way Joel acted around you when others were present. You liked his touch and his smile as opposed to the closed off version you had been stuck with the remainder of the afternoon. He was utterly confusing and his mood shifts were giving you whiplash, but at least you knew what to expect at Glenn's house that evening.

"You think you'll be alright on your own for a bit tonight?" he asked as if he somehow read your mind, dashing all your hopes at seeing that softer side of him again.

"Sure," you answered timidly.

"Good. Wanna try to get some one on one time with Glenn, make some progress with 'em."

"Of course."

You looked out the window, heart suddenly deflated. If it was apparent you were disappointed, he wouldn't have even noticed. Per usual, he was staring down intently at his phone, hardly sparing you a glance the rest of the ride.

The car dropped you off in front of a huge, sprawling manor built right on the coast. In the distance, you could see the twinkling lights from other resorts, but Glenn managed to carve out his own little private paradise smack dab in the middle of tourist country.

"This is beautiful," you said breathlessly as you gazed up at the Mediterranean-style architecture surrounded by palm trees and exotic florals. It was dusk and the outside of the house and gardens were lit up with gorgeous ambient lighting, set on the backdrop of a deep purple and pink sky.

"C'mon," was all Joel said, nodding towards the stone walkway, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his khakis. You hurried to catch up with him while your head tilted back to admire the outdoor chandeliers hanging high above the front entrance.

It appeared you arrived just after everybody else. As you walked through the foyer towards the kitchen, you could hear pleasantries and welcomes being exchanged, along with drink orders and details on what hors d'oeuvres were being served.

At the last moment you wrapped a hand around the inside of Joel's elbow, but his hand stubbornly remained in his pocket.

"Ah, welcome!" Glenn bellowed when you stepped into the massive and meticulously kept kitchen. You tried not to gawk and did your best to act like you were around homes like that every single day and not, in fact, only familiar with them through reality TV and magazines.

You waved shyly and glanced quickly around the room while Joel led you to the bar. Already, the significant others had split off from their respective hotel moguls, laughing and sipping on drinks on the other side of the room.

Joel handed you a glass of wine with a warm smile that you couldn't help but return, then subtly cleared his throat, his eyes darting to the others across the room. You got the hint but before parting ways, you planted a kiss on his cheek. His stubble felt rough against your lips yet you felt a jolt in your stomach at the sensation, anyway. Wiping your lipstick from his tanned skin with your thumb, you turned to leave, pleased to feel his eyes on your back as you walked.

Zoe noticed you first. She waved excitedly and you waved back. Even if Joel couldn't stand Zachary, it was undeniable that Zoe's energy was infectious.

"Long time, no see," you joked, and she laughed. Your eyes trailed down her outfit and you shot her an envious look. "Love that dress," you added.

"Thanks! It's Valentino," then she cupped her hand around her mouth and whispered conspiratorially, "it's not even out yet."

"Wow!" you said enthusiastically, playing along as if you had some idea how important that was.

Tammy and Lynne were huddled around Ian as he showed them photos from his phone and it was at that point you realized the three of them had been icing Zoe out completely. Your brow furrowed slightly and you looked at her, trying to figure out if you were reading the room correctly, but she didn't give anything away. She was still babbling to you about her dress and the lengths Zachary went to in order to get it for her, seemingly unbothered. Tammy glanced over her shoulder at Zoe when she heard her gushing about her boyfriend and you picked up on the unmistakable disdain written all over her face before she quickly blinked it away with a tight smile after she noticed you looking in her direction.

Tammy turned around then and greeted you by name, interrupting Zoe, and stuck her hand out. "Please let me see that ring, I was dying to get a better look at it last night."

You shot Zoe an apologetic glance but she just smiled back as she sipped her martini, watching Tammy closely over her glass. You stuck out your hand and all four of them gasped and fawned all over your ring.

"How did he propose?" Ian asked.

You repeated the fake story, hoping you remembered everything and looked sincere enough as you spoke, and when you finished up you gazed down at the ring on your finger. It really was a beautiful ring.

"The beach, huh?" Tammy repeated, and you nodded. "Doesn't sound like Joel."

A jolt of panic shot through you like lightning. "What do you mean?"

She just shrugged. "I never took Joel for a beach guy."

"Well, he knows I love the beach. He did it for me," you told her defensively. It was ridiculous to feel so protective over a fake relationship but for some reason, you didn't like her tone. Besides, what did she know about Joel? Was she implying she knew him better somehow?

"Hm. How romantic," Tammy replied sweetly, but you still picked up on the undercurrent of distaste in her words.

"Yes, I agree. He's very romantic," you couldn't help but say. You wanted to wipe that snobby look off her face. She stared at you, that fake smile still stretched across her thin lips, and you stared right back, refusing to be the first to look away.

A sharp clap of laughter came from the men across the room, breaking the tension between the two of you. You shuffled your feet and glanced back at Zoe who was giving you an amused look from behind her glass. Maybe you read her all wrong. Maybe Zoe wasn't clueless after all.

Mary, Glenn's wife, emerged from the butler's pantry with a wide smile. Her eyes drifted around the room to make sure her guests were taken care of as she headed in the direction of your group.

"So sorry! Just a little situation with the caterers," she explained, clapping her hands together gleefully. "How about we all head outside?"

You agreed and followed her dutifully towards the courtyard where a magnificent in-ground pool with built in lights that made the water look almost purple was in the center of an extraordinary backyard. There were plenty of seating and lounging areas, as well as an outdoor bar complete with bartender standing at attention. Gorgeous string lights were draped above your heads and all around the courtyard, connecting at the various palm trees and casting the area with the perfect amount of mood lighting.

"Mary, this place is absolutely stunning," Lynne gushed with a hand pressed lightly against her flushed chest. Mary smiled her thanks.

"We've been working on making this place our dream home for so many years," she replied, "it's everything we've ever wanted."

It didn't take very long for you to become a little bored with hearing the details of how their architect imported tile from Rome or how she had some prestigious artist, a name you'd never heard before, paint a mural in their master suite, but you did your best to remain polite and engaged. However, when it became clear Ian, Lynne and Tammy were legitimately interested in her interior designer's "risky" idea for her dining room, you didn't feel so bad when you let your attention wander for a bit.

Your eyes drifted around the pool in search of someone with food as you tipped your glass back, finishing your wine. Then you locked eyes with Zoe, who appeared to also be losing interest. She gave you a small smile before tilting her head toward the bar and you both politely excused yourselves in search of more drinks.

"Can you imagine living somewhere like this?" she asked when you got out of earshot.

You chuckled and shook your head. "Never. I mean, LA is nice but it's just not the same. It's so... peaceful here."

"It really is," she sighed. You both leaned up against the bar and ordered refills when you heard the door open. You twisted around excitedly, assuming it would be Joel and the others, but it turned out to be three caterers, each holding a tray at chest level. Zoe waved them down and you inwardly sighed with relief when you each took a small smattering of what they had to offer.

"Thank god," you mumbled when you popped something in your mouth that you didn't recognize but at that point, you didn't care. "I was starting to think no one eats."

She giggled and covered her mouth. "They probably don't, but I sure as hell do."

You laughed and out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the others, aside from Mary, chose to decline the appetizers. "I mean, it's only polite, right?"

"Yeah, duh," Zoe answered before taking a bite of tuna tartare. "Mary'd be disappointed if no one ate. Kind of rude of the others when you think about it."

Your eyes widened and you glanced around, making sure the bartender was busy talking to another caterer and not paying attention before you spoke again. "I think that Tammy's kind of rude, regardless," you said softly, watching carefully for Zoe's reaction. She gasped dramatically as if you had committed blasphemy, then instantly dropped the act, giggling into her palm in agreement.

"Yeah, she's something alright," Zoe replied, looking once over her shoulder at the group. "You did good, though. Standing your ground, marking your territory. Still, you'd think she would be a little more subtle, considering."

You frowned and titled your head to the side. "Considering what?"

She eyed you coyly and winked. "Zach told me. Don't worry though, I won't say a word."

Your blood ran cold. Could she somehow know your relationship was all a lie? No, that wouldn't make sense. Still...

"What do you mean?"

She looked around and picked up her drink and food. "Let's go sit down."

You followed her over to a table with a semblance of privacy without looking like you were excluding yourselves. She brushed her hair off her shoulders and readjusted the straps on her dress before she continued. "He told me about Joel and Tammy. That they had an affair. You'd think after that song and dance last night about them being college sweethearts she would be a little more reserved or, god forbid, have some goddamn shame, but I guess not."

She looked down to scrape something questionable off a cracker while you tried to control your reaction to her news. How could Joel not tell you something this important? Was he crazy?

You swallowed the lump in your throat and steeled yourself, pretending you knew all along. "Does everyone know?"

She scoffed and shook her head. "Hell no. You think they'd be talking to her right now if they did?"

You breathed a sigh of relief but you still couldn't shake the tight feeling in your chest and the inexplicable anger you felt towards Tammy. Clenching your teeth, you took a deep breath in through your nose.

"That's good. Joel would freak if they knew."

She raised her eyebrows and nodded as she chewed and looked around. "Speak of the devil."

Your stunned gaze slid over to where she was looking, spotting the group of men exiting the house to join their partners, each of them carrying identical glasses of dark liquor. Joel's eyes found yours and he immediately could sense something was off. Then he looked at Zoe, his face unreadable before glancing back at you.

"C'mon, we should join them," she said.

Zoe stood up and you followed as if on autopilot.

"Maybe we can go to the spa one of these days? Get some lunch?"

"That sounds wonderful," you told her as you approached the rest of the group. She smiled and broke off to find Zachary, leaving you to face Joel alone.

"Everythin' alright?" he asked. He was smiling in case anyone looked your way but his tone was laced with concern. Worry.

"Yep," you said. You felt his hand brush against your lower back and your body stiffened. He frowned.

"You sure?"

"Mhm," you hummed, pressing your wine glass against your lips, looking anywhere but at him.

"Dad! Sorry we're late," a deep voice called from behind you. The guests turned around to find Trevor and Brooks, Glenn's oldest sons, step out into the courtyard.

"Boys! There you are!" Mary called happily. They took turns planting kisses on her cheek before shaking their father's hand and explaining some work emergency that held them up, but you couldn't stop noticing the way Brooks's fingers wiggled against his side. The longer you watched, the more you noticed. He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, the energy rolling off him as his eyes darted around in search of alcohol or food or both.

Then they landed on you.

His gaze was dark and chilling, sending a shiver down your spine. You swallowed tightly and stepped a little closer to Joel, who was talking to Harry about some basketball team, completely oblivious to the way Brooks's eyes dragged appreciatively down your frame.

And just as quickly as it happened, he looked away.

Part of you wanted to tell Joel you weren't feeling well, that you wanted to leave, but you bit your tongue. You were there for a reason. You had to uphold your end of the deal. But everything about that evening made you feel uneasy and sick.

"Glenn invited us all to his yacht this weekend," Joel told you the following morning. He seemed happier than the day before. More upbeat. It should have made you happy, but you couldn't shake the dread that cloaked your shoulders since Zoe told you about Joel's affair, and then the look Brooks gave you right after. You had hardly slept, tossing and turning all night, unable to fully relax.

"Hey, you all good?"

"Huh?" you asked, sitting up straight in your chair and blinking the clouds from your eyes. "Oh, yeah, I'm good. You said a yacht?"

"Yeah. Two nights- you sure?" Joel asked, cutting himself off and leaning forward. "You were real quiet last night, too."

"Yeah, I'm just tired. Sorry," you said, waving him off and focusing on the fruit bowl in front of you.

"Don't need to be sorry," he mumbled. He wasn't really buying your excuse but he chose not to push you. "Why don't we stay in today if you're tired? Relax in the room or... whatever you wanna do."

You perked up at his suggestion. "Don't you have to work?"

He nodded and shrugged before leaning back in his chair. "I'm allowed to take a break."

You grinned and he could see the bad mood instantly leave your body. "Are you sure? I heard the CEO is a handful."

He tossed his head back and laughed, startling you with its rarity. "Oh, you got no idea," he replied. You felt your cheeks heat up so you dropped your gaze back to your breakfast, hiding your smile behind your fork. "You said you wanted to go to the beach, right?" he offered, and you quickly nodded.

"But if that's not your thing..." you trailed off, remembering Tammy's words from the night before.

"Who doesn't love the beach?" he replied before finishing his eggs and standing up. "I'm gonna go get ready, meet you out here in thirty," he said over his shoulder. You watched him leave with a little smile.

So maybe Tammy doesn't know Joel as well as she thought she did.

Once back in your room, you surveyed your bathing suit options. You already wore the black one, so you decided on a white bikini with a halter tie behind the neck and matching white bottoms that had a chunky, gold-toned chain which sat on either side of your hips. You slid it on and gawked in the mirror when you realized Joel's assistant accidentally left the tag on.

"Who the hell pays almost $200 for a fucking swimsuit?" you muttered under your breath before carefully removing it and tossing it in the trash. You liked the sheer green coverup from the day before, so you put that back on and began to pack a beach tote you found amongst the endless accessories purchased for you.

Once you made sure you had all your essentials, you tucked your sunglasses on top of your head and walked towards your door. When your left hand stretched out for the handle, you frowned as you looked down at your ring. You couldn't take that to the beach. You would never be able to relax, too afraid of losing it.

Knowing Joel had a safe in his room, you lightly rapped on his door.

"Yeah?"

"Can I put my- the ring in your safe?" you said, hoping he didn't notice your slip up.

"Sure."

For some reason, you assumed that meant it was clear to enter, so you opened the door and stepped through. Your eyes bugged out of your head when you realized he was still changing, your heart practically leaping out of your chest with embarrassment.

"Oh, god, I'm sorry!" you said, shielding your eyes and backing out of the room quickly. You heard him say something but you couldn't hear him over the curses you were spitting to yourself, so you hurried into the living room and began to pace around nervously, desperately trying to wipe the image from your memory.

Oh, god, he was going to be so pissed. Just when you had him back in a sweet mood, you went and did something so fucking stupid and in all likelihood, ruined the entire day.

When Joel entered the living room, you were chewing on your nail nervously, still pacing around until you noticed him and skid to a stop.

"Joel, I'm so sorry-"

"Nothin' to be sorry 'bout," he said with a smirk. "Ready to go?"

He could have knocked you over with a feather as you stood there, blinking rapidly and trying to keep up.

"Y-yeah, I'm ready," you stammered, swiveling around to grab your tote, then jogged to catch up with him. "Wait! The ring, I never-"

"Oh, right," he said, turning around and holding his hand out. You twisted it off and gave it to him. While he took the ring back to his room, it afforded you a few more seconds to come to terms with what just transpired in the last ten minutes.

Before he joined you again, you had given yourself a mental pep talk: everything was fine, you didn't even see anything, and he wasn't mad.

Well, you saw something, but you weren't going to dwell on that.

The awkwardness only lingered in your system for thirty minutes or so. When you arrived at the beach and felt the warm sand underneath your feet, you immediately felt at ease.

"Lemme ask you somethin'," Joel said after setting down his frozen drink next to yours. Of course, he had bought a private cabana for the afternoon so you were each lounging on your chairs in the shade with silent fans aimed at each of you, spritzing you with a cool mist, keeping you perfectly comfortable in the tropical heat.

"Shoot."

"That story you told Glenn - 'bout me askin' you to marry me," he said, sitting up a bit to stretch. "That what you always wanted? You want someone to propose on the beach?"

You thought about it for a moment. "I don't know," you told him honestly. "I tried to think of the most romantic thing possible and it just popped into my head. I mean, I wouldn't mind it," you chuckled, brushing your hair from your neck.

"Well, when you were growin' up, how did you imagine it?"

"I-"

You cut yourself off, his question taking you off guard.

"I don't know if I ever thought about it."

He cocked his head to the side curiously. "Really? Hopeless romantic like yourself never fantasized 'bout it?"

You threw your head back and laughed, the sound instantly bringing a smile to his own face.

"I wouldn't call myself a hopeless romantic."

He tsked and picked his drink back up. "Yeah, you are."

You scoffed and shot him an agitated look. "What?"

"Whether you realize it or not, you are," he replied matter-of-factly. "No one comes up with those stories off the cuff without havin' a little soft spot for romance."

Your scowl melted into a grin. How was he so good at reading you? And why couldn't you do the same to him?

"How about you? When you-"

"Wanna go for a dip?" he asked, cutting you off as he stood to tug his shirt over his head. Your mouth went dry when you saw his bare chest and back, and then your gaze instinctively dropped. You instantly recalled walking in on him that morning and you had to tear your eyes away before he could see how flustered you were, but it was too late. Joel noticed everything.

"Yeah, sure," you mumbled, standing to shed your cover up. When you turned back to him you had to suppress your smirk at the way his eyes greedily drank you in.

It felt like the playing field leveled once again.

The moment you stepped out from under the protection of the cabana, the heat engulfed you both. Just the short walk to the shore made the back of your neck sweat and you couldn't wait to slip into the crystal blue water to cool down.

"This place doesn't seem real," you confessed to Joel as you waded slowly into the ocean with a ridiculous smile stretched across your face.

"Just imagine the kind of money one of these resorts rakes in," he replied before leaping forward into the water so the only skin that was exposed were his shoulders on up.

Joel didn't like to share much about his private life, that much you knew for certain, but one thing he always seemed open to talking about was work.

"If you win the lot, would this be your most successful hotel?"

He nodded and tilted his head back, eyes sliding closed as he basked in the sun's hot rays. "It would put The Parador on the map, open up countless possibilities."

"Oh, so no pressure or anything," you joked. Your foot grazed against something hard in the sand and you looked down, squinting through the water, then gasped.

"What?"

"Look!" you said excitedly, pointing down. His eyes followed your finger and he frowned.

"I don't see nothin'."

"The seashells! They're pink!"

He chuckled and shook his head. "Pink seashells, huh?"

"Yes!" you squeaked as you tried and failed to pluck one out of the sand with your toes. Joel sighed dramatically and gently pushed you back.

"What are you-"

He took a deep breath and plunged under the water, making you giggle as you watched him dig a few seashells out before popping back up. He shook his head like a wet dog, flinging water droplets at you and making you shriek before he triumphantly brought his hand up from underneath the water and gave you your prize.

"Oh, my hero," you gushed before carefully picking up each one to examine them closer. "Thank you, Joel."

"You're welcome, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. Your smile grew wider but you hoped he just attributed it to the seashells you were so fixated on. Realizing you had nowhere to put them without going back to the beach, you turned away so you could shove them into the cups of your bikini. You heard a deep chuckle behind you and you looked at him over your shoulder.

"I don't wanna get out!"

He laughed a little louder, the sound beginning to grow on you. He looked so young and relaxed, bobbing up and down in the ocean with his hair slicked back while the sun warmed his already tanned skin.

Turned out Tammy was wrong: Joel was a beach guy.

"I just think it's funny you're bein' so modest after you got an eyeful of me earlier," he told you, his eyes sparkling. You felt your chest and neck grow hot and you shook your head with shame.

"I'm so sorry, I swear I didn't see anything."

He cocked an eyebrow at you. "Don't lie."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, heart skipping a beat as you struggled with a response.

"Okay, I might have seen just a little bit," you confessed softly, looking anywhere but at him as you floated around, allowing the waves to push and pull your body ever so slightly.

"Ouch," he winced, and you forced yourself to meet his gaze. "Little, huh?"

"Oh, god," you groaned, burying your face in your wet hands. "That's not what I meant."

He laughed heartily, enjoying your embarrassment far too much. "I'm just messin' with you."

You splashed him angrily but couldn't stop yourself from grinning. Why couldn't he be like this all the time? This version of him was so sweet, so intoxicating that you found yourself craving it and trying to find ways to bring it out of him more. So you decided to be brave and match his energy, just a little bit. Just to see what he would do.

"You're right. Little wasn't the right word."

He raised his eyebrows in shock and the smile slipped from his face. You thought you made a mistake and already you were scrambling to apologize, but then his gaze darkened and you felt his hand brush against your hip under the water.

"That so?" he said huskily, his tone sending a shiver down your spine and your heart to beat wildly in your chest. You bit your lip and nodded, not putting much confidence in your voice as he inched even closer. You could smell his sunscreen mixing with the salt from the water and the heat of the sun, the entire combination making you feel a little lightheaded. His eyes flickered over your shoulder briefly before you felt his other hand on your waist. "Shit, Zachary 'n Zoe are watchin' us."

Using it as an excuse, you draped your arms around his neck and hummed, pulling yourself so close that your noses were practically touching.

"Suppose we should act like we're madly in love, then."

His fingers pressed harder into your skin as he stared at your mouth, his breathing becoming shallow when your lips parted.

"S'pose we should."

When he pressed his mouth against yours, it was so delicate and soft it made you wonder if he was nervous. The thought excited you and you let your body melt against his. You already felt weightless in the water but the way his lips massaged yours made you feel like you might just float away.

His tongue swiped against your lower lip and you immediately granted him access, opening your mouth a little wider to allow him to deepen the kiss. You both knew you were playing with fire but neither of you stopped to consider it. He tasted too good: like sea salt and the coconut from his drink and it was making you ache for more. Your fingers dragged through the wet curls on the back of his head as his tongue danced with yours, both of you completely forgetting where you were and getting lost in the moment.

A small wave crashed into you, splashing you both with warm sea water and causing you to pull away with a gasp. You dragged in a few deep breaths but his lips drifted to your chin, nibbling and biting along the length of your jaw. You forced your eyes to open, surprised to find you had floated around so you could now see the beach from over his shoulder.

"I don't see Zachary or Zoe."

He froze, his lips still pressed wetly against the sensitive spot below your ear and you felt him smirk. He leaned back and gave you a guilty look. "Huh."

"Huh?" you repeated, and he twisted around to scan the shore.

"Coulda sworn I saw 'em..." he said, scratching his chin and trying to hide his smile. You gasped and shoved his shoulder, pushing him away with a laugh.

"Liar," you teased.

He shrugged and kicked his legs up so he could float on his back. "Guess we'll never know."

"You're unbelievable," you told him, attempting to sound annoyed but you knew your voice held no conviction. He just grinned and closed his eyes with a sigh. You followed his lead and leaned back so you could float, your body rising and falling with each soft wave while you ignored the arousal that flared between your legs. Looking out towards the sea, you spotted various boats speckling the skyline.

"So a yacht, you said?"

"Mhmm. Two days. If you get seasick, I got pills that'll help."

"What are we going to do for two days?" you asked.

"Eat. Drink. Jet-ski. Maybe check out some small islands or somethin'," he replied, eyes still peacefully shut.

"So we're sleeping on this yacht?"

He cracked one eye opened and looked at you. "Yep," he answered. You swallowed and looked back towards the beach.

"That means we'll have to share a bed," you said, feeling ridiculous for being so nervous at the prospect when his tongue was practically down your throat moments ago.

"That a problem?"

You shook your head. "Of course not."

He smiled and closed his eyes again. "Good."

Shit. You were in trouble.

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[itstheghostofmypast]

Fic Recs

This- @edenesth

This- @hee0soo

This- @edenesth

This- @mingoooossii

This- @edenesth

(Will update accordingly)

[redpool2]

Clarissa, 21, she/her.

You could also follow my main @redpool

This is my sideblog for all the fic recs. I'll only post fic recs.

fic recs = general tag recommendations (everything).

fic masterlist = fic series masterlist.

masterlist recs = usually a writers whole masterlist.

jaybird = anything Jason Todd related (including polyam fics).

sanji baby!!! = anything Sanji related (including polyam fics).

eskel <3 = anything Eskel related fics.

dex = anything for Dex Poindexter

drac recs = anything Dracule Mihawk related (including polyam fics).

higgsy = anything Higgs Monaghan related fics.

koko = anything Kotallo related fics.

ghostie = anything Ghostmaker related.

asscreed = any AC related fics.

jjk = jujutsu kaisen related fics.

wrenchie = Wrench related fics.

hockey boys = hockey related fics.

cully wully = Cullen Rutherford related fics.

mosshead = anything Zoro related

eustASS = anything Eustass Kid related

ghost boy = anything Lars Pinfield related

mitchy = anything Mitch Keller

mk = anything Mortal Kombat related.

multifandom, just random stuff.

[bee-the-loser-recs]

~~~☼ My Johnny One-shot Fic Recs ☼~~~

𖤓 Forget me too By @yutaholic 16k, exes to lovers au, fluff, angst, reader left without saying goodbye, smut, promise of returning one day, alcohol use, reuniting at a wedding

𖤓 Make me move By @yutaholic 17k, Idol Johnny, past lover reader, hidden child, 13 years later, too scared to ask him to stay, fluff, angst, smut, baby daddy au, past pregnancy, secret child

𖤓 Daddy issues By @yutaholic 19k, fake dating kind of, high society reader, biker Johnny, fucked up family dynamics, angst, smut, slight fluff, mentions of cigarettes & weed, reader self destructs a lot

𖤓 Valentine By @jaelvr 500, college au, best friends to lovers, parties, tipsy reader, confessions, mutual feelings, fluff, rather cute

𖤓 The Perfect Note: Act I & Act II By @tedeehbear 10.3k & 16.5k, college au, supernatural au, alpha Johnny, omega reader, soulmate connections, fluff, angst, smut, best friends Jungwoo & Jaehyun, drunk hook ups, scenting

𖤓 A kiss & a dress shirt By @espresseo-cafe 4.4k, college au, valentines days, mutual friends to lovers, public asking out, fluff, reader gets their period while on a date, popular Johnny, cute dates

𖤓 Foreign swaggers By @starillusion13 8k, Johnny | Jaehyun | Mark x reader, brother's best friend au, Taeyong is reader's brother, shared vacation, smut, fluff, polyamory, enemies to friends to lovers, drinking

𖤓 Birthday surprise By @babbymochiiii 1.7k, non-specified au, established relationship, straight up smut, some fluff, romance, birthday surprises, romance

𖤓 Favorite place By @lovesuhng 1.2k, college au, reader is stress over exams, best friends to lovers, fluff, Johnny looks after reader, going to the beach together, so cute

𖤓 Dear Johnny By @suhnshinehaos SMAU, small one-shot, non-idol au, fluff, mentions to Taylor Swift

𖤓 Seeking a friend for the end of the world By @suhnshinehaos SMAU, non-idol au, end of the world au, angst, slight fluff, reconnecting for the last few days, implied deaths

𖤓 Quarantine Chronicles 1, part 2, part 3 By @domjaehyun 28.5k & 55.3k & 43k, Quarantine au, Jaemin | Jaehyun | Jungwoo | Johnny | Mark | (Jeno | Haechan in part 3 only) x reader, roommates (except Mark), friends with benefits situation, lots of tension & flirting, smut, slight fluff, crack, Jaehyun & Mark have actual feelings for reader

𖤓 Oh, boy, it's you By @domjaehyun 30k, non-idol au, soulmates au, college au, grad students, fluff, mild angst, smut, struggling to accept the fact, flight risk reader

𖤓 Oh my, oh my god 단 너뿐이야 By @lavendersuh 3.9k, college au, classmates/strangers to lovers, party setting, awkward reader approaches Johnny, suggestive comments, drunk reader, hitting it off

𖤓 Comfort cuisine By @smileysuh 10.8k, chefs reader & Johnny, Johnny has a daughter, friends to lovers, towing the line for a while, Johnny has a deceased wife, fluff, slight angst

𖤓 Ghostie By @smileysuh 15k, college au, frat NCT, Halloween parties & costumes, slightly creepy Johnny, anonymous calls, slight stalker subthemes, smut, slight fluff

𖤓 Big Bear & Bee By @smileysuh 15.9k, hybrid au, bear Johnny, Johnny is an uncle, reader works at a honey shop, getting to know another, crushes, flirting, smut, fluff

𖤓 Get lucky dress By @irregular-idol-imagines 500+, established relationship, fluff, suggestive, showing off a new dress to your boyfriend

𖤓 Two tickets to paradise By @lattaeyongs 14.8k, best friends to lovers, past Kun x reader, reader is stood up at the altar by Kun, reader goes on their honeymoon with Johnny, fake dating, fluff, vacation

𖤓 Under his desk By @starryhyuck 7.4k, CEO Johhny, assistant reader, Jaehyun is reader's brother, underground fighting ring, smut, slight fluff, cute, Johnny is a fighter, accidental reveals, worry about what others think

𖤓 Slowly falling in love with Johnny By @viasdreams SMAU, co-workers to lovers, working at a subway shop together, mentions of co-worker Chenle, shift leader Johnny, developing feelings, fluff, cute

𖤓 Happy Thanksgiving By @nctsplug02 Drabble, Idol Johnny, non-celebrity reader, Johnny is away on tour, slightly tipsy reader, talking over the phone, fluff, smut, phone sex

𖤓 Sweet deception By @neowinestainedress 19.5k, Haechan|Yuta|Jaehyun|Jaemin|Johnny|Jeno x reader, halloween party, smut, monsterfucking, demon Haechan, fairy Jaemin, incusub Jeno, tentacle monster Yuta, ghost Jaehyun, shadow Johhny, smut, plot twist

𖤓 Rock, paper, scissors By @neowinestainedress 11.7k, Johnny|Jaehyun|Jeno|Jaemin x reader, best friends au, smut, fivesome, sexual tension, teasing, childhood friends to lovers?, summer holiday

𖤓 Can you handle it? By @neowinestainedress 12.4k, Johnny|Jaehyun|Jeno|Jaemin x reader, part 2 to rock, paper, scissors, smut, discussing kinks, sexual tension, dirty talk, best friends to possible lovers?

𖤓 Lovesick Fool By @gyeomsweetgyeom 2.4k, college au-ish, coworkers au, calling each other work husband & wife, jealousy, Jaehyun is Johnny's roommate, pining, mutual crush

𖤓 [5:58pm] By @gyeomsweetgyeom Drabble, established relationship, play on a your mom joke, except you're really at his mom's, reader has a good relationship with Johnny's parents, fluff, humour

𖤓 [4:51pm] By @gyeomsweetgyeom Drabble, established relationship, CEO Johnny, somewhat secret relationship (not purposely), bets going on about when they would get together, fluff, humour

[countdouwn]

fic recs by sid.

s — smut ; f — fluff ; a — angst

johnny suh

[s] ghostie by smileysuh

[s] waiting game by lisired

[s, f, a] how about now? by nctsplug02

[s] love me now by epinebleue

jeong jaehyun

[s, f, a] begin again by starryhyuck

[s] hotel paradise by whosyuno

[s, a] rose creek motel by revehae (non-con)

[f, a] only by ppangjae

lee jeno

[s, f, a] pride & prejudice by starryhyuck

[f, a, s] cigarettes after sex by jenoroyals

[s, f] secret by neowinestainedress

[s] be careful what you wish for by idyllicallycharming

[3rr0rc0d3]

Because i love @soaps-mohawk 's writing (And Tris herself, mostly her dog tho /lhj) and we all want fluff from all that sweet sweet angst. heres a little drabble thinggy for her fic Cherry Red, Crimson Blood WHICH POSTS SATURDAYS OR SUNDAYS AMERICAN TIME BTW and we are blessed with such artistry.

Anyways. Onto the little drabble-

Building onto the thing with Gaz having a 10 step Skincare routine, he 100 percent has self care days with reader. Like breakfast in bed with them, while talking about he randomest but juiciest goss from around the base, so juicy in fact that soap join in JUST to yap with them WITH receipts of it all. Gaz will be there sipping tea, bridgerton playing in the background, high tea on a table in the rec room, all three of you are in what yall sleep in, Soap is in that honk shoo mimimi nightgown lookin ass thing lookin like hes boutta see the ggost of christmas past present and future. Gaz looking like hes on his eight divorce wearing that one sheer floor lentgh fur trimmed robe, yall know the one. All the while Ghostis off training new recruits and Price is doing paperwork.

Reader: Did that really happen?

Soap: Yeah bonnie, it happened, 'ere ive got a video that some o' tae new recreuits coughed up.

Big man would show receipt after receipt of what happened to you, excluding the gory details of course.

[ghostlovesbaguettes]

THIS WAS FUCKING FANTASTIC. OH MY FUCKING TITS EVERY SINGLE PART OF THIS FIC WAS WONDERFUL. LIKE AN ACTUAL JOOOOOY TO READ (until chapter ten where i was shitting tears… sometimes the writing is just a little too good and I start feeling real emotions)

birth of venus sex on fire chapter twelve

these two mean the world to me. thank you for coming on this journey with them. i hope you enjoy.

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: if you love something, you let it go.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, alcohol consumption, lurve, fingering, masturbation, cum eating, oral (m receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, size kink, daddy kink, praise kink, cursing, some angst, soft!joel, cocky!joel (we missed him!)

word count: 12.6k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💚

“Alright, let’s get into it.”

He sits on the other side of the table, legs crossed and balancing the notebook on his knee. Twirls a pen around his thumb, catching it without looking. He’s too busy scanning the page in front of him, the list of questions he’s about to drill you on.

Let’s get into it, he says, and then stares silently at the scribbled lines.

Your shadow splits a shard of sunlight across the office. Knee jerking, palms clammy and fingers twisting around each other. You glance down at your outfit – the pointed heels Martha swore went with your dress, the jewelry she promised didn’t look tacky – and straighten your skirt.

Let’s get fucking into it.

“What are your responsibilities in your current role?” he asks.

You swallow. It feels like sandpaper. “Well, uh…”

He doesn’t look up. Not to ask the question, not to wait for your answer. Just stares down, spins the pen, bites his lip until it turns white.

Focused. Razor sharp. You’re not even in the same room.

You turn on your heel and begin pacing. “I manage my boss’s schedule, from nine a.m. Monday to nine p.m. Sunday. I get everything in order, plan out his days, make any bookings. I take calls, I answer emails, I…”

He’s still not looking. He bounces his foot, leather shoes catching the sun. His watch face leers back at you. There’s not a mark of ink on the paper in front of him.

“Hey,” you click your fingers, “Are you even listening to me?”

Joel shakes the frown from his face. “Huh? Oh,” he clears his throat, straightens in his creaky chair, “Yeah, I’m listenin’. I’m…I’m here.”

“Come on, man,” you huff, “You said you’d help me out.”

“And I am. I’m helping you out.”

You glower. “What did I just say?”

His shoulders wriggle. “You know…paperwork, and…Is this –? Is this really what they’re going to ask?”

“I don’t know,” you groan, collapsing into the couch opposite. Your arms cross, like some crumpled tantrum of a woman. “I found it online. They’re all art director questions, supposedly.”

He turns the notebook around. The first sheet flops over.

“Describe yourself in three words,” Joel recites.

“I was gonna go creative,” you count on your fingers, “driven, and then I couldn’t decide between perceptive or observant.”

He squints, tongue clicking against his teeth. He stares at your raised fingers. Thoroughly unimpressed.

“Right,” he stands, “Yeah, I don’t know, kid. A company like this, taking on a new art director, and this is what you think they got waitin’ for you? I mean, what’d I ask you?”

You scoff, twisting to watch him cross over to the window.

Between the sun and your deflated spirit, he stands like some kind of god. High up on the top floor of his skyscraper, towering over the streets. Towering over you.

He’s haloed by the blazing sun. Light arrowing from behind, spilling all over his wide shoulders and dipping in every fold and crease of cashmere. The northern compass point, the magnetic pull turning everything towards him.

Joel’s fingers snap, a hair away from your nose. “Tip number one: don’t stare at the interviewer like that. Asked you a question.”

“Wasn’t staring,” you mumble, shifting when he sinks down at your side. “You really don’t remember what you asked me?”

“Of course I do. I’m asking if you do.” He fiddles with a thread on the couch at your back.

You straighten as though his hand might be iron hot. “I remember…remember you asking what success looked like to me.”

Joel nods once.

“Remember you asking why I wanted out of my old job.”

“Yep.”

You flick a finger around the office. “I remember you asking what I’d change in here. How I’d make the office better. But I don’t know what interior design has to do with being an art director, Joel.”

He smiles. “This,” he shakes the pad, “is generic bullshit.”

“Generic bullshit,” you echo, pinching it from his grasp. You read over the bullet points – your strengths, your weaknesses, how you do under pressure.

“Yes,” Joel says. “Doesn’t tell ‘em a thing about you. Well,” his eyes widen, “I guess it tells them you tried searching their damn questions, the morning of the interview.”

A small, tired sigh falls from your lips. You melt back into the couch, horizontal under Joel’s extended arm. “I just want to be prepared,” you whisper. “I want to be the best person they meet.”

“What makes you think you ain’t already?”

“Well, for starters, I don’t even know which three words describe me.”

He chuckles. “How about more than capable? Hm? The dream assistant. Future art director.”

“Cheesy,” you mutter, batting him away. “I just…I really want it. I want something that feels like mine, you know? And I know I’d be fucking good at it.”

He falls quiet. He thumbs the corner of the pages, knuckles brushing against yours in a way that feels deliberate. Feels familiar.

It’s as though he might turn his hand, open his palm for yours to slip safely into. Lock his fingers through yours, squeeze once for good luck, twice to double it – and a third time, to tell you something he knows would make you flee.

But you don’t flinch, and neither does he.

Instead, he pulls himself up – a mighty groan as he straightens.

You bite back a snark about his age. Stupid fifty-year-old boss, stupid old bones. Stupid smartass.

Joel whips open the bottom drawer of his desk – the one you’d come to know as his junk drawer – and heaps diary after diary on the mahogany surface. Their leatherbound covers and splintered spines, the warped pages packed between.

With a tiny ha (and a click in his joints that you notice even from across the room), he pushes himself back up.

“September, September…” the pages flutter between his thumbs, “…September second, right?”

“What are you –?”

“Here,” he says, and reclines back beside you. He slides the diary into your lap. “September second, two o’clock.”

Your eyes narrow, following an inky trail linking geometric sketches and games of tic-tac-toe; the words college and assistant, a crude drawing of a house.

“So…” your lips purse, “…on September second, you were doing no work and doodling in your planner. What about it, Joel?”

He taps the top of the page, finger settling right below a name.

Penned in his neat handwriting – the trademark font that, after three years, you’re used to finding on sticky notes and signed with the letter J. It’s underlined, then boxed in by more scribbled lines. So familiar, you barely even take it in at first.

You blink twice.

It’s your name. Your full name.

“This is the day of my interview?” you ask.

Joel dares one fleeting glance at your lips. “Mhm. These are the notes I took, the day we met.”

You look down to the diary and back again. Almost an entire page of nonsense scribbles, hieroglyphic trains of thought bleeding from one drawing into another.

You frown. “You really didn’t listen to a fucking word I said, did you?”

He chokes on a laugh, shaking his head. “You had the job before your ass hit that chair, genius. All that interview was, was playing ball. Seeing how hard you could swing.”

But you’re more confused than you were before he emptied his desk. You flick through the book, spine dangling loose from the pages.

There are no other notes, no other candidates’ names – only reminders for Lunch with Mom and Massage 10AM. Meetings with past clients, deadlines long gone. One obnoxious, hot pink gel pen autograph in May, marking Martha’s birthday.

Yours is the only name he bothered to jot down. The only interview he thought to memorialize – in a gallery of distracted doodles.

“What are you talking about?” you ask.

He plays with his tie as he admits it. Nervous schoolboy, avoiding your eye like he did back on Maple Street. It’s a side to him you didn’t know existed, not until a few weeks ago – and seeing it again, you realize how much you missed it.

“There were four other interviews before yours. Every single one of them sat in that lobby waiting for Martha to call down. You –” he taps your hand, “– you got in the elevator and brought yourself up. You remember how shocked Martha was to see you?”

Sure I do, you think.

She stared you down the entire walk over to her desk. She stuttered and stammered her way through a sentence, once she realized who you were. She kept peering over the top of her monitor to steal glances at you when she thought you weren’t looking.

“I…I just thought I looked a nervous wreck,” you tell Joel.

He hums. “Well, you stood up when I opened my door. You held your hand out first. You were scared shitless – I knew you were – but you never lost your footing. You got no idea just how impressive you are, all by yourself.”

He taps on the sheets in your lap. “Now – find me a question on your list that tells them all that.”

It’s not as if you don’t know how these things go. You’ve sat in on plenty of interviews with Joel before – catching anything each quivering candidate says that might’ve slipped through his net, placing bets with yourself on who he’ll pick.

After a few months, he started asking what you thought.

You came to notice the discarded resumes of men you’d deemed sycophants, ladder-climbing leeches in tight, tawny ties – in piles to be shredded. There wasn’t a suit in the building that you and Martha hadn’t been asked to screen, before they were even considered for hiring.

Joel has the sharpest bullshit detector you’ve ever known. You don’t get to where he is without the radar for it. He knew exactly which guys were assholes of the highest order – he was just making sure you always did, too.

Stupid, stupid smartass.

A polite knock at the door interrupts your thought.

“Joel?” Martha calls, “Joel, your ten o’clock is here.”

He curses under his breath. His eyes shift sideways. “Who the hell is my ten o’clock?” he mumbles.

“Salazar,” you whisper, lips closing around a giggle. “Quarterly, remember?”

“Goddamn it,” he groans. He stands up, holding a hand out to pull you to your feet. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I’ll be an hour, tops. We can pick straight back up.”

“It’s okay,” you slot the diary and notepad under your arm, “I should get back to work anyways.”

“Calmed your nerves, at least?”

You smile. “Sure.”

“Liar.”

“Tip number two: don’t ask dumb questions, Miller.”

“Oh,” he scoffs, “We’re starting a list now?”

“Mhm. Three can be: don’t doodle during the interview.”

He elbows you towards the door, leaning close. “Four,” he murmurs, “Don’t get yourself fired.”

You grin as you slip outside.

“You couldn’t handle this place without me.”

Mr. Salazar loves to tell a story.

Joel’s still stuck with him, almost two hours after the guy showed up. With a pointed finger and something that felt as sacred as a blood oath, Martha made you promise you’d leave on time.

Whether we’re still in that office or halfway to Timbuktu, do not wait up. Just go, alright? Or I will hand you your ass, sweetheart.

Thirty minutes out, you’re pacing back and forth. Body humming with jittery nerves, what feels like a glass ball of anxiety rolling around your stomach. A text from Rand weighing down the phone in your blazer pocket: Ready when you are.

You suck in a ticklish breath. “Fuck,” you exhale, jamming your knuckle into the call button for the third time.

The wall rumbles as it delivers the elevator straight ahead. The doors part, and your distorted reflection stares sheepishly back at you.

You blink.

She blinks back.

Your shoulders life with another fractured inhale – and so do hers.

Some tiny, half-there version of yourself. Shrunken and shriveled. She moves when you move, only with half the confidence and double the pressure on her shoulders. She looks like she needs a wine date with Martha.

Scared fucking shitless, you think. Three words to describe me.

The doors close again, swallowing her whole, and –

“Nope,” you decide, spinning on your heel.

The shades are tilted enough to obscure the three figures to shadows: Joel, rocking mindlessly in his chair, Salazar talking with his arms, and Martha hunched at the other end of the couch – losing the will to live.

She’d probably welcome the excuse, to get the hell out of there.

Your knuckles rap against the door.

The investor’s lively cadence never slips – where there’s an audience, there’s a show to be had. He twitters on even over the grounding bass of Joel’s voice, the quick click of Martha’s heels.

Her shadow crosses over to the door and she whips it open. Her voice is a sharp whisper.

“You swore to me, you’d –”

You shake your head and grab her arm. Nervous, you mouth, trying to pull her over the threshold.

She won’t fucking budge. She plants herself in the doorway. Her chin lifts, eyes narrowing to study you down her pointed nose – and then she glances over her shoulder.

One second, she exaggerates the shape of the words, holding a finger up.

“Martha –” you hiss, but the door is already closing, and her shadow is already retreating.

You spin around, dragging yourself over to your desk. Another breathe squeezes past your hammering heart, trembling as you let it go. Your phone buzzes again.

This is pathetic. It’s pitiful. You bulldozed your way this far – against all your good sense. Red wine antidote, all that courage now feels more like a weak-kneed hangover.

You fiddle with a pen holder. Your body feels flimsy like rubber.

The door opens again.

“Hey,” Joel says, turning you to face him. He doesn’t look you in the eye – just slips your purse from your shoulder, squeezes your hand. “Walk with me.”

“No,” you wobble in his grasp, “Your meeting –”

He links his arm through yours, locking elbows. “Martha’s got him talking about some ski trip. We got ten minutes. Walk with me.”

Your breath sputters. “I can’t – I can’t do it.”

“Can’t do what?”

“I’m flapping, Joel.”

“Flapping,” he repeats, and the word never sounded more ridiculous than it does with his Texan twang. “What are we flapping over?”

He sways as he walks. It’s no different, no less comfortable than it was a few weeks ago. Just you, Joel, and the Parisian sunset. The light swimming in the Seine, the sweet air circling you both.

Your heel scuffs against the carpet. “You know,” you catch yourself, “just this potentially life-changing job interview I have in, like, twenty minutes.”

“Huh,” his brows quirk, “No big deal, then?”

Your eyes roll. “It wouldn’t be, if you hadn’t given me some big speech about not losing my footing. Now look at me. I’m all over the goddamn place.”

“Take it in baby steps,” he says. “Let’s just get you there first. All you gotta do is walk in like you’re already part of the furniture. Like they’ve been wondering what goes at that little desk.”

“You said the CEO is nice?”

“She is,” he reaches for the call button, “Likes red wine and racecars.”

Your brows flinch. “She likes…What?”

Joel smirks. “I didn’t say we talked for long. That’s all I got on her.”

He drags you into the elevator, hitting the button marked P. Your reflection stands a little taller, little straighter next to his. Mimicking his posture; the still stance and level head. The coolness you’re sure wouldn’t slip even if the world ended tonight.

“Look at that,” he mutters. “You made it to the elevator.”

“Shock,” you whisper, hugging yourself.

You face each other, inches apart. Nerves and momentum upsetting your equilibrium. The bones of the building drum up your spine as you plummet, floor numbers blinking down to zero.

Joel rests his ankles either side of yours. He knocks your feet softly, smiling fondly when you lift your head.

“Read over their website on the drive over,” he says, in the same polite voice he uses with clients. “Their values, the way they operate. Names and faces, all that shit. Keep it fresh, okay?”

You force your cheeks into a flat smile. “Okay.”

“Look at that,” he says. “Killer smile. Getcha any job anywhere.”

“Gross,” you giggle. “Did you wonder, before you found me?”

“Did I wonder what?”

You tilt your head. “What went at my little desk.”

He itches his nose, laughing into a closed fist. He’s blushing, though he’s trying hard to hide it. “Sure,” he shrugs, eventually giving in, “Knew it must be somethin’ pretty special. And you were.”

The elevator dings, and the doors rattle open.

Joel taps your heel and you sulk, leading him out into the garage.

Rand catches sight of you instantly. He jumps out of the Rolls, a wide grin on his lips, and balls his fists. “How we feelin’?” he asks, giving them a hearty shake.

“Little nervous, aren’t we?” Joel replies, patting your arm. “But we’re almost there.”

You’re holding onto him again. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“We’re still in the building,” you utter, tracking Rand’s kiddy jog around the car.

Joel turns, lips at your temple. “Closer than you were five minutes ago, baby.”

The driver grabs the door, turning his palm to usher you inside. “Figure we’ll get there with ten minutes to spare. Always good to be early to these things, right?”

If it weren’t for the six-inch heels on your feet and the seven-figure man on your arm, you’d reach to tighten backpack straps that aren’t there. It’s the same feeling: first day of school, walking into the unknown. Pushed off by grownups who know better.

You’re a grownup, too, you remind yourself.

The same feeling, and the same determination, too. The resolve to walk in there – bright-eyed and bushy-tailed – and be the thing they’ve been waiting for. Be the thing you’ve been waiting for. So –

“Fuck it,” you decide, slipping free from your boss’s grasp. “Let’s do this.”

“Attagirl!” Rand claps his hands and dances back to the driver’s side.

Joel helps you into the backseat, passing your purse over when you’re settled. “Okay?” he asks, one arm leaning on the roof.

“Yep,” you chirp – a crack in your voice that you both ignore.

“Call on your way back if you feel like it, let me know how it went.”

The strip lighting in the garage strains your eyes. “What if you’re still hearing about Salazar’s ski trip?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t ask dumb questions, remember? If you call, I’ll answer.”

“Thanks, Joel,” you whisper.

He clicks his teeth. You’re welcome.

“Next step, little tiger. Go get ‘em.”

After you interviewed with him, Joel took all of twenty-four hours to offer you the job. He said he would’ve called sooner – that afternoon, if he could’ve – but there had been a holdup with the paperwork. His next question was how soon you could start.

He was that sure.

On your first day, you were shown to your new desk. Wiped clean, drawers bare. A bloated water stain in the wood – the mark of a fern plant Martha thought was treated a little too much like an actual child by your predecessor.

She offered to have Joel order a new desk, but you told her you loved it – water stain and all.

You loved the view on each side – the sprawling city, the sun needling between buildings. You loved Martha’s company, and Joel’s daily ritual of strolling over to stretch his legs and, more importantly, gossip.

The job made you feel grown. A little kid in the big city – yes, sir and no, sir, caffeine for breakfast and paperwork for lunch. It was big enough that you wondered whether you’d really fill it – like you wondered if you’d ever fill your desk.

What supplies did a personal assistant need? You spent more time on your feet than sat at your desk. What knickknacks would you collect?

Well, looking at it all now: a jumble of pinched pens and hand-me-down magazines from Martha. A Wonder Woman stationery set your mom bought you; the chipped Kandinsky mug you make coffee in every day.

A plastic ruby ring, from a riverside stroll in Paris.

Looking at it now – you wonder how it ever all fit. Almost three cardboard boxes, plus an oversized Swiss cheese plant. Your desk is empty again, back to the way you found it.

Because you got it.

You got the job.

Junior Art Director. Jesus fucking Christ.

You were in Joel’s office when the call came through. Laying out travel plans for a business trip, organizing documents into the order he’d need them. Busying yourself purely to distract from playing the interview back in your head.

The entire thing was a blur, the interview – film reel already burning in your memory. One second you were traipsing into the building, the next – strolling back out, sun on your face and spring in your step.

It came back in flashing vignettes: the creative director’s cropped bob, her scarlet lips. The rhythmic dunk of her teabag into her mug, her quiet mhms as you spoke.

Her smile grew wider, the longer the meeting went on. Her tea went cold. She asked to see pictures of your artwork – made some passing comment about your skill being of some use for an upcoming project.

She liked you. Better yet, Joel noted – you liked her.

He walked back into his office just in time to hear the tail end of the phone call. Your shaky thank you, the teary goodbye. He waited until you turned, one hand lingering on your shoulder, and gasped when you broke into a giddy grin.

He pulled you into a bear hug, beats of raucous laughter through his chest. You sniffled into his shirt, staining the material with wet mascara.

What’d I tell you? he murmured into your hair, rocking you side to side. What’d I fuckin’ tell you?

A clumsy mash of work blouses and party dresses fills the office.

Glitzy gold and pressed linen, heels and loose ties. A bottle of champagne on a spreadsheet coaster, an overfilled balloon knotted around your chair. The word Congrats swirled in glitter pen.

Martha fills the latecomers in. She orders everyone to drain their glasses and grab their coats. There’s a dive bar not far, she says, with karaoke and a jukebox. Cheap drinks and heavy measures.

A dive bar. The dive bar. AC/DC and all.

You linger over by your desk, alone, swirling the bubbly in your glass. A little more than awkward, what with the gold party hat your coworkers forced over your head – and the heavy heart it’s doing little to soothe.

Your last day as Joel Miller’s personal assistant is over. As of five-thirty, you don’t belong in this office. Come Monday, you’ll have a whole new job, a whole new title behind your name.

It’s as thrilling as it is utterly terrifying.

Martha had your leaving party organized less than an hour after she heard the cheers from Joel’s office. Proof, you told him, that she’ll be just fine on her own.

Proof, he countered, that she has a very selective work ethic.

He’s in good hands, if her current crowd management is anything to go by. She rounds everybody up like cattle, corralling them into a buzzed herd.

“We are leavin’ in five minutes, alright?” she yells over their babble. “Five minutes!”

Rand dips between the bodies, smiling when he catches your eye. He wanders over, tactically dodging Martha’s waving arms.

“Hi, baby,” he says, arms wide.

“Thanks for coming,” you mumble into his suit jacket, wrists crossing at his spine.

He wriggles his tie straight, keeps one arm tight around your shoulders even when you pull away. “Of course,” he says, a dutiful nod. “You were always my favorite. Don’t tell the general over there.”

You smile, feeling it dampen when your eyes slip back over to the sliver of light under Joel’s door. He’s been locked in there all afternoon – the only proof of life the pacing his shadow has done.

Rand cocks his head towards the shuttered office. “He not coming?”

“No idea,” you pick at a hangnail, “Some emergency, apparently. I haven’t seen him since lunch.”

He frowns, watching as you shot what’s left of your champagne. It’s bitter – a sharp sting all the way down.

“I mean,” you gulp, “he’s my boss. He’s at every other party we have. What’s the difference this time around?”

Rand’s eyebrows wiggle. He swallows his first answer. He knows the difference as well as you do.

Still – he says, “He’s a lot of things, is Joel, but he ain’t an ass. He’ll be there.”

Across the room, Martha lassoes the party – leading them over to the elevator. She pauses, beckoning you over their heads. A thin-lipped scowl on her face, before she’s distracted by stragglers.

“Good Lord,” Rand scoffs, a gentlemanly arm through yours, “Bet you ain’t gonna miss that.”

You rest your head on his shoulder. “Surprisingly, I think I’ll miss her the most.”

As you hover at the back of the bunch, waiting for your very sternly instructed turn to step into the elevator, you glance back at Joel’s office.

The shades are split, pierced somewhere like six feet up. Sliver of lamplight peering through; silhouette of something – someone – staring back.

Come on, you want to call. We’re heading to the bar. Let’s pretend I never broke your heart and you never broke mine. We can dance and kiss like nobody’s watching. We can be okay, you and me.

Martha claps three times as the elevator announces its arrival.

“We’re up, comrade,” Rand quips, and pulls you out of Joel’s sight.

The bar looks the same as it ever did. All chipped mahogany and distressed leather; secret messages etched in secret corners. Slipping between shadow and tacky neon light to order a drink, feeling it hit the back of your skull before you’ve even swallowed the first sip.

It’s no Oasis Wine Bar, but it’ll do.

You’re crammed into a booth opposite some blotchy intern. Kid doesn’t look a day over twenty-one. Martha nudges you closer and closer to the lacquered panel wall, her elbow knocking into yours and splashing your drink over your knuckles.

The group is already a colorful spectrum of drunk: a couple suits slung over the bar, a handful screaming at some vintage arcade game. Rand cuts a merry figure at the bottom of the table, swaying as he garbles to Martha and Deb.

Like a replica of that first night – a playlist of dusty rock tunes, fingertips salty from picking at peanuts. The buzz of conversation fueled by swigs of bitter vodka.

You don’t remember it feeling this shitty, though. This lonely.

The intern leans over the booth, quickly yanking his tie before it folds into a flickering candle. He forces a relieved laugh, then asks, “Are you having a good night?”

“I guess,” you raise your voice over Martha’s cackling, “It’s a little bittersweet, you know?”

His head bobs in a tipsy nod. He looks from face to face, trying to latch onto any conversation that’ll take him. But they all turn away, distracted by some guy in a tropical shirt and his cryptocurrency conspiracy.

The intern stares down at his drink, thumbs tapping the glass.

Poor kid.

You knock on his beer, trying not to look too pitying. “How’s the internship? Liking it?”

He brightens, straightening in his seat. “Yeah, it’s been good,” he chirps. “I’m learning a lot. Mr. Miller is a great boss.”

It’s like being sucker punched by a toddler. Huge blue eyes and rosy cheeks, an unsteady grip around his Budweiser. If he didn’t look so much like a fucking Disney cartoon, you’d lose your nerve.

The alcohol sours on your tongue. “Yeah,” you mumble, sinking back into your seat. “Yeah, he’s – he’s a good guy.”

“Why isn’t he here tonight?” he asks.

“He’s – uh…” You throw a helpless look to your coworker – but she’s too busy showing off pictures of Henry. “…He’s busy tonight, I guess.”

“I’ll bet,” the kid replies. “He’s an important dude.”

“Uhuh,” you elbow Martha’s waist, “He sure is. Would you excuse me?” you ask, and the intern raises his hands. “I’ll be right back.”

Martha and Deb shuffle out of the booth, drinks in hand. You edge your way through the horde to the back of the bar – stopping to refill on the way.

As the muscleman behind the bar tops off your glass, something catches your eye.

Lit only by a flickering Coors Light sign – the red and blue melding into streaks of violet – an iron staircase lingers in the corner. You didn’t spot it last time – or if you did, you were too busy flirting with your boss to pay it any mind.

You drift over, evading the sloshed stagger of one of Joel’s mailroom guys, and click up the steps towards the glowing red of an EXIT sign. Your hip swings into the push bar. The heavy door groans open.

It’s no cooler out here than inside – but it’s deserted. Beer dripping from the lips of toppled bottles, candles wavering in clear pools of wax. A gentle hum from overhead – the string light canopy.

A kitschy little rooftop. A humble hideaway.

Alone, you cross your arms and amble over to the parapet.

The street snoozes, a story below. Leaves flutter along the curb, crushed by the scuffing soles of strangers. Their footsteps echo as they wander off into the dusky night.

No Rolls, you notice. Nowhere to be seen. Not parked on the road, nor in the lot across the street. Nothing but a couple of guys on bikes, standing in the cold light of a store front.

He’s not here. He didn’t come.

He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. Whatever emergency he’s dealing with, it’s taken half his day from him. Martha didn’t even bother to ask if he needed coffee, or to fill him in on her neighborhood politics since the new couple moved in next door.

Still – there’s never been anything he couldn’t drag himself away from. Not where you’re concerned. He abandoned an investor for a solid ten minutes last week, just to walk you to the parking garage and tell you shit you already knew.

He could find a way to make it to this, right?

You scoff into your glass, swallow a heavy sip. Swallow back the quiet disappointment, the burden of a broken heart trying desperately to remember the shape it used to be. Before private jets and business trips, before work parties and closed office doors.

Before Joel.

But he swaggered in, didn’t he – suit and tie and that signature smirk. He changed everything, overnight. He fit in all the spaces you thought no one ever would – nestled his way behind your ribcage, kept you warm, kept you safe.

You can’t remember the shape your heart used to be. You don’t fucking want to.

At least, even when you were fighting, he was still in the game. At least he was still sat on the other side of the checkered plain, nudging his king closer to your queen. You never intended on letting him win – but he never intended to in the first place.

He was only ever in it to watch your eyes light, any time he got close.

Now, the board is cleared. Pawns split in two, knights crumbled to dust. And you miss it.

You miss him.

And missing him is – feeling the absence of him in every room. The empty seat next to yours, your empty hand at your side. The weight you know by heart around your waist, the name always on the tip of your tongue.

Missing him is coming up with a million ways that every other man isn’t him. They don’t make you laugh the same, they don’t make you ache. They don’t know your favorite movie; they won’t pull over just to pinch the greasy bacon from your breakfast sandwich.

Missing him is looking for him. Everywhere. Hoping – Jesus, praying you’d walk out of your interview and he’d be stood, arms crossed, leant against the car. Wishing he’d show up again at your door – flowers in hand, kiss on your lips.

Missing him is existing in the negative space he left behind. Flecks of color fluttering in the breeze, fading as though they were never here in the first place.

The door chunks open over your shoulder, and falls closed with a slam. Right on cue. You don’t even flinch when he rolls a chilled beer against your arm.

Missing him is knowing him. Better than anyone ever has, or anyone ever will.

He’s here. He was always going to be here. Because it’s you, and because it’s him.

Joel holds for all of three seconds, then places the beer between your elbows. He leans back against the stone wall.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, taking a sip. His rugged, twelve-hour-day form softens before your eyes.

“I missed you,” you whisper, and he smiles.

“Missed you too, pretty girl.”

You lean in, face smushing into his chest, and snake your arms around his waist.

Joel takes the weight of you like it’s nothing; kisses your head and rests his chin there.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” you mumble, feeling the strange chill of tears on your cheeks.

“Are you kidding?” his voice rumbles through your skull. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, you know that.”

The alcohol lining your gums sweetens. It might just make the initial hit worth the trouble.

“I had a pretty shitty night,” you admit, sneaking a glance at him.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “You ‘n me both. Pretty shitty month.”

His cologne is fresh; woodsy and clean. His rough beard on your skin, his tired collar between your fingers. The landscape of a man you know inside and out.

Joel’s hands lift from your waist, past your ribs and around your shoulders. He lifts the broken heart charm from your chest – so tiny in his large hand, nervously twinkling in the light.

You don’t flinch, this time. Barely even notice his eyes on it.

His expression stiffens. His jaw clenches. His eyes are glassy, lined with tears behind his stone-set snarl.

“I’m sorry for what he did,” he grits, swallowing thickly. “I wanna kill him for it, you know that?”

You lift one shoulder, dropping it with a sigh. “He did what he did,” you hush, “He was a scumbag.”

Joel’s upper lip twitches. Twists, then settles when you trace it with your thumb.

“You didn’t deserve it,” he says. “You didn’t deserve none of what he did to you. You were just a kid, you –”

He lifts his head like coming up for air. Sucks a ragged breath between his teeth, shakes the tears from his vision.

“Hey,” you take his jaw, turning him back to face you, “Look at me. Look.” You flash a cheesy grin, nose scrunched and eyes crinkled. “I’m okay, Joel, look.”

His laughter betrays him, breaking from his chest and shattering the wolfish glare. He cups your head, cradling you against his chest again.

There’s nothing between you, now. No spiteful words or suffocating tension; no hurt and no blame. One heart broken and the other bruised, still beating the rhythm of a language only they know.

Still seeking the other out, through all of it.

“What we had,” Joel says softly, “it can’t have been nothing to you, right? Was it really just…?”

“No,” you shake your head, squeezing him, “It was never – You were never just anything to me. I think…” you sigh, “…I think you just pressed on a bruise I had. A bruise I thought I’d gotten pretty good at hiding. And you just…you twisted your thumb into it.”

“I didn’t – I didn’t know about no bruise,” he says. “It wouldn’t’ve mattered if I had, darlin’, I –”

You take his wrists, following the sleeves of his jacket up to his collar. “I know,” you hold his cheeks, “I know it wouldn’t. But you saw straight through me – and the more you saw, the more you cared. And that scared me.”

He blinks down to your lips. “Why?”

“Because it’s never like that, Joel. No one has ever been like that. I was so scared that I’d fuck it up – that you’d figure me out.”

“You gotta fill me in a little here. Figure you out?”

“All my shit. Blake, my dad. All of it.”

Joel frowns. “You think I don’t got shit I didn’t want you seeing, too? My dad, Avery – that ain’t exactly dating profile material, baby.”

You can’t help but laugh. As raw as an open wound, the most vulnerable conversation you’ve ever had – on the roof of a dive bar, with your boss.

And he’s as fucking breezy as though you just handed him the forecast for the day.

“You’re a better man, Joel, than all of them. You mean more to me than anyone. And before I knew it, you had me wrapped around your finger, and…”

“…And I was pressing on that bruise.”

You wince. “Little bit.”

His tongue prods at the inside of his cheek. He scans the rooftop, glimmers of gold in his eyes, and nods.

“Listen to me,” he says, holding onto you. His thumbs swipe your tears away. “I would not hurt you for the world. I wouldn’t. That goddamn email – I just – I didn’t know what else to do. I panicked, and I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to –”

“Shut up,” he smiles, “I never meant to scare you. I never meant to hurt you. And if we never go back to what we were, then – I guess I gotta live with that. But you? God, baby, I miss you.

“I miss hearing you laugh. I miss being the one to make you do it. I miss talking to you, miss hearing what you think on things. Miss your goddamn Bart Simpson socks ‘n all.”

You turn into his palm, masking your giggle. “Asshole,” you murmur.

“All I want to do is take care of you,” he says. His shoulder jerks, an earnest shrug. “’s all I want. And you don’t make it easy, that’s for sure – fightin’ back at every damn turn. But – I don’t know,” his eyes thin, “Sometimes I reckon it’s what you want, too.”

“Oh,” you wrestle a simper, “You reckon, do you?”

“I reckon,” Joel repeats, bending the word in an exaggerated drawl. “See what I mean?” he tickles your waist, “You’re a pain in my ass.”

Your head tips back with laughter – the first real laugh you’ve heard pass your lips in weeks. Since you were rolling around your bed, poking his ribs for not being able to use chopsticks. A silly, girlish giggle.

The world bursts into color again.

Joel chuckles, too, as you squirm in his grasp. His hands plant on your waist, forehead rolling against yours.

Your lips brush. Your body ignites.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he whispers. “That okay?”

“Shut up,” you echo, letting his lips crash into yours.

He tastes exactly the same as you remember. Strawberry and lemongrass. Sweet, in a way that wakens you. Brightens you, full of life and full of color.

It’s as though only a second has passed since you last felt him like this. Felt his scruff on your cheeks, the warmth of his tongue slipping past yours. Your skin feels like satin on his; your body filling in all the worn gaps that time has taken from his.

Fitting against him like you were carved with him in mind. Chiseled from the same slab of marble, finally found one another through the opaque stone.

He pins you to the parapet; one hand firm on the small of your back, the other at the base of your skull. He leans in, claiming every sense in your body as his own – and you offer them over gladly.

He kisses you like it’s all he’s thought about since that last morning at your place. Like he’s making up for lost time.

Hell, you’re both making up for lost time.

Joel breaks for air, panting against your lips, then instantly kisses you again.

Your hand threads through his hair – the soft salt and pepper, the feathered flicks at the nape of his neck. “Joel,” you kiss him once, twice more, giggling, “We’re like teenagers.”

“I love you,” he replies, kissing down your neck. “So much. So – goddamn – much.”

He trails down to your collarbone, where your chest lifts to meet his hungry lips. He drags teeth and tongue between your cleavage.

There’s a delay in the time the words take to sink into your skin. Like they’re stopping to light every atom of your being first, before they reach your brain. Every bone, every muscle and every cell.

“You…” you breathe, pulling him upright. “…You what?”

“I love you,” he repeats. “That scare you?”

Oh.

“N-no,” you press your finger to his swollen lips, “You…Say it again.”

He pauses. Nods, when he seems to make it up in his mind. His eyes flit from yours down to the mess of your lipstick, and back up.

A man possessed, so it looks, he admits it between labored breaths. “I’m in love with you,” he says. “Have been for a while, I think. You got a terrible habit of driving me fucking insane, pretty girl.”

Oh, shit.

You knew it already. This isn’t news.

He as good as told you in the copy room – and before that, in his office. He told you in Martha’s dining room, told you in your kitchen. He told you every time his lips found yours in Paris, and every time his eyes met yours before that.

If you went back and looked, there’d probably be a trail of clues jotted down in his diary – September second, two o’clock. Great AP score, enthusiastic and friendly. I think I’m in love with her.

He’s always loved you.

It’s just different hearing him say it.

Different to how it felt the last time someone said it to you. Different to how it sounded. There’s no ringing in your ears. There’s no focal shift in your vision.

There’s no…fear.

Joel takes hold of your shoulders. “Don’t run off on me again,” he says, kissing your cheek.

“No, I’m not…I don’t – want to,” you burble, playing with his collar. “You’re just…You might be a couple steps ahead of me.”

“Baby,” he says, a little laugh to it. “That’s okay. I don’t mind. I’m good where I am.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he says, and leans in again. “I’ll wait, as long as it takes.”

You melt into him; his strong hands and steady chest. Teeth taking his bottom lip, releasing it with a little pop. Your fingers twist around his hair, tugging lightly.

A low growl sounds from Joel’s throat. His hips rut against yours, fly of his jeans catches on the material of your skirt.

It nestles somewhere between your thighs. Solid, swollen. Blood hammering beneath denim, grinding into your body. He’s hard.

“We keep goin’ the way we’re goin’,” Joel hints, “and we’re gonna have a problem that ain’t solved so easily.”

You release him, licking your lips. “You think I can’t feel it already?”

He sucks on the skin over your carotid. “You think I ain’t been dealin’ with it for the last three weeks?”

“Poor Mr. Miller,” you pout, “Let me deal with it.”

His cheeks lift, brows drop. Cocky. The Joel you’re used to. The Joel you want.

The Joel you fucking need, right now.

“C’mon,” you slip a hand down his front, cupping the weight of him, “I miss my daddy.”

He squeezes your ass, catching you in a rough kiss when you writhe forward. His teeth graze your ear. “I wanna touch you, baby. I wanna feel you again. This little cunt,” he slips a hand between your legs, “She’s all I’ve been thinkin’ about.”

Fuck.

It was a feeble attempt, anyway – matching his ego. Utterly futile. The guy makes you lose your fucking mind.

You’ve done things for him that you’d never dream of doing for anyone else – would wring their necks for even asking – and here you are, keening into Joel, grinding your dripping pussy into his palm for all the street to see.

“She’s all yours,” you whine, the words tearing from your throat in a desperate plea. “All yours, Daddy.”

“That’s my girl,” Joel murmurs against your temple. “I’m gonna take you home, okay? Fuck you nice ‘n hard, make you feel better.”

You moan against his shirt. “Can we go back to yours, Daddy?”

It throws him for one heavy beat. He pauses, breath hot against your jaw, and then presses a barely-there kiss to your lips.

“Yeah, darlin,’” he whispers. “Let’s go back to mine.”

You push off his chest, cunt throbbing with each step towards the fire door. Fingers locked through his – a siren leading her sailor down the wrought iron stairs of Sam’s Saloon. Swimming through bodies, bathing in neon light, breathing in tobacco and tequila.

Joel eyes the booth where his employees sit – folding spinning tops out of beer caps, wagering bets on who’ll still be hungover come Monday.

He turns to whisper in your ear, when a voice strikes like lightning between you.

“Hey!” Martha yells, waving from the corner booth.

You’ve never wanted her to fuck off so badly.

“Just where the hell do you think you two are goin’?”

Joel stumbles into your side, hiding a teenage sort of glee behind your back. It’s contagious – and it riles Martha even more.

You throw your arms in the air, eyes bulging. Take the fucking hint, Martha. “Home?”

“It ain’t even eleven,” she protests, making to stand. “This is your goddamn leavin’ night – what are you doing?”

But you’re already retreating, following the pull of Joel’s hand around yours. Skin like fire, spattering with every touch. There’s nothing – man, myth, or Martha – that could stop you from following him.

You yell it as you swing through the doors.

“Grabbing a paddle!”

Joel leads you with his hands and with his lips down a neighboring street, where his Lamborghini sits at the side of the road. It blinks to life, headlights blinding.

A bruiser of a car – all bulk and brawn and bullish, like the thing is actually rearing. Something of a sharp smirk to it, the same devilish grin its owner so often wears.

He opens your door, steady hand lifting you into the passenger side, and strides around the car. His hand is back between your legs before he’s even switched the ignition on.

“Get – your damn – seatbelt on,” you giggle, slurring the words against Joel’s lips. “I am not letting you drive me home without one.”

His breath is hot and heady, spilling over your tongue with each punch of laughter from his chest. “Alright, alright,” he concedes, clipping the belt into place. He holds his hands out, awaiting your approval.

When you nod, his fingers slip between your thighs.

“You whore,” you snicker – though the sound scatters when he finds your clit. You grab your own belt, yanking it loose from its holder. “Jesus, Joel –”

“There she is,” he coos, pulling out into the road.

He circles her gently at first, massaging over your panties. Middle finger pulsing over the hood, matching the rhythm of your heartbeat flocking south.

Your back arches; nails dig into his wrist. “Daddy,” you gasp, knees parting. Heat quickly soaking through lace and onto leather. “’m gonna – make a mess,” you croon.

“Make a mess, darlin’, it’s okay,” Joel beckons, knuckles white around the steering wheel. “Driving me crazy, watching you like this. Dirty little girl.”

“Let me…” you reach for his thigh, “…Wanna touch you, Daddy.”

He grunts – a sound of refusal. “Give me one first, baby. Here,” and he hooks the slippery lace to the side, fingers parting your folds, “Let Daddy feel you right here.”

Your knee lifts, leg folding against the door, and Joel pushes inside. Two fingers knuckle-deep in one thrust. You yelp.

“Oh, baby,” he tuts, “She’s so wet. She miss her daddy that bad?”

“Yeah,” you whine, watching the thick shine he draws from your cunt. You lift your hips to open wider – and he slots a third finger in.

“Look at her,” he growls, “desperate little cunt. That feel better, darlin’?”

“Yeah, Daddy,” you mewl, though you’re not fucking listening to a word he’s saying.

You watch, boneless and blathering, as your hand lowers – replacing where Joel’s was on your clit. Rubbing little circles while he fucks you with his thick fingers. Your back curls again, tits threatening to spill out of your dress.

“Keep doin’ that,” Joel instructs, wrist jacking faster. “You’re close, ain’t you?”

“Shit,” you gasp, walls clenching around him. “So – close, Joel – fuck.”

The car slows to a stop. A red glow seeps through the windshield, lighting your smirk in a dangerous tinge.

Your pussy drools onto the leather seat, throbbing over Joel’s hand. Syrupy and honey-sweet, coating him in a glistening mess the harder he fucks you. A sticky sound, the slap of skin on skin, the beats of your moaning in between.

“Look at me,” Joel says, and you tear your eyes from between your legs. “Keep playing with it. C’mere.”

He tilts your jaw with his free hand and slips his tongue past your lips – the taste of him more dizzying than any drink from that bar. He kisses you until you’re right there, sucking on his tongue, teetering on the edge of your first climax. Crying into his mouth to stop from screaming at the ceiling.

“Daddy, need –”

Joel’s wrist pounds against your clit. He laughs across your tongue.

“Come on, baby,” he groans. “Let me feel her.”

“Say it,” you beg, your head lolling on his shoulder. The streetlights begin to bleed into the car. The light flicks to yellow. “Need you to – to say it.”

He nuzzles his nose against yours, turning to let you taste the words.

“I love you,” he whispers, and you break wide open.

The car rolls off again as you come with a violent shudder, crying into Joel’s chest. Daddy Daddy Daddy, fuck me fuck me fuck me.

“I know, I know,” Joel says, riding your high out to the horizon. He stares at the road ahead, only daring a glimpse at the sodden mess between your thighs when you start to come around again.

He works your swollen cunt, fingers gleaming with your orgasm. Slips them over his tongue, licks them clean – and then pushes them back between your sensitive lips.

You rock with the moving car, pulse still rattling your lungs. Your eyes drift down, down: Joel’s spread legs, the shape even bolder in his jeans than before.

You got a terrible habit of driving me fucking insane, pretty girl.

Weak and still quivering, you slip your hand over his belt – feeling his stomach jolt the second you touch it. The dark trail of hair from his navel, the thicker it grows – the harder he tenses.

“Easy,” he clips, adjusting in his seat. “Alright, darlin’. We’re…You’re gonna get us arrested.”

“Good,” you shrug, “I bet you have a good lawyer.”

You slump into his lap, the armrest solid against your ribcage. Trembling fingers loosening his belt, picking at the button of his jeans, husking them loose when he lifts his hips.

“Jesus,” he clears his throat, “Won’t let me drive without a seatbelt, but you’re – you’re fine with – fuck.”

He’s heavy and rock solid, so wide you can barely hold him. Big enough that it takes no effort at all to pull him free. Shaft silky smooth, tip flushed red and leaking deliciously.

Fuck, he’s so pretty. He’s so –

“– pretty, Daddy.”

Joel lifts his hand and holds you at the back of your neck, grip tightening when you dab his head along your bottom lip. “Prettier when you’re playin’ with it, angel.”

Your tongue circles his tip – salt and sweat stirring you from your orgasmic haze. You dribble down his cock, spit racing to the twists of thick hair at his base.

The sound he makes is guttural – a roar of a groan from his chest – when you sink down on him. He fills your mouth instantly, nudging the back of your throat in one.

The car swerves some. Joel curses over your head.

You slip back up – slow. Let your tongue trace every ridge, every vein along the way. All of it perfect perfect perfect – all of it him. Chasing streaks of saliva, the pearly shine of precome beading from his slit.

One hand stroking his hilt, lips suckling around his tip. Kneading his weighty balls – massaging them in your palm, dragging your tongue down to kiss the cushiony skin.

“Pretty girl,” Joel rasps, hips canting to meet every lick, every stroke. “You’re gonna make me come if you don’t stop.”

Mhm, you mumble, gagging around the intrusion. Tears sear across your waterline, spilling from the corners of your eyes. So big, so pretty, so perfect.

He nuzzles deep, stretching the column of your throat wide. “Baby,” he warns, voice sharper, “Baby, you gotta – you gotta stop now.”

Maple, he’d said – that day in your shower. If you say it, I stop.

Say it, you dare him silently.

“I’m gonna – c-come, darlin’,” instead.

Say. It.

“You want that?” he growls, hand surfing over your hair to cup your skull. “You wanna make your Daddy come?”

Your voice flattens, mutes under the strain of his cock. You moan instead, the sound weak and muffled.

“Shit,” Joel says, stomach tensing tensing tensing. “Shit, angel, just like that. Good fuckin’ girl.”

He twitches deep inside. He’s there. Right there.

You slacken your jaw and lick up his shaft, two hands wrapping around it. They slip around the sticky spit, swirling and squeezing while you kiss his tip.

He holds you steady, slowing the car to watch as he fills your mouth.

Two, three warm spurts across your tongue, dripping down the back of your throat. You lap up every drop, tongue swirling the salt around your lips before you swallow it down.

Joel rasps as he steers the car into a dim lot. He strokes your head, jerks when you play a little too much with him.

“Attagirl,” he sighs, “Careful with it. Tryna fuckin’ kill me.”

You giggle, swiping kitten licks at his tip before you slip him back into his underwear. You bat Joel’s hands away, buttoning his jeans and threading his belt back together. Planting heavy kisses into the plush of his tummy.

When the darkness is pierced by flickering fluorescents, you push yourself up.

“Where are we?” you ask, twisting in your seat.

“Home,” he says simply.

A plain man in a dark suit strides over to the car as soon as it parks up. The click of his shoes bouncing off the walls.

Joel swipes at your chin with his thumb. He slips the digit past your lips and you suck it clean. “Dirty girl,” he utters, stealing another hasty kiss before swinging out of the car.

You hop out the other side, tottering around the Lamborghini to meet him at the back.

The attendant’s name badge reads Owen. “Long day, Mr. Miller?”

Joel pats his shoulder in greeting, reaching for your hand. “Long day,” he agrees, and makes for the elevator.

Your head swivels, taking in each lavish vehicle parked under luminous light. Emblems with horses and bulls and wings – plenty more than you don’t even recognize. Each car polished to perfection, groomed within an inch of its life.

Joel flicks the button at the top of the panel. The doors glide closed – smooth and silent. You barely feel it as it scales the building rapidly.

“Wait a second,” you stare at the dazzling PH, “Do you live on the top fucking floor?”

He bites his lip. “Might do.”

You step back. “So you let me bring you into my – my shitty little apartment, and meanwhile you’re –?”

“Woah, woah,” he cuts in. “Your apartment is not shitty.”

“It’s not a fucking penthouse, Joel.”

“It’s a nice apartment!” he protests, squeezing your shoulder. “Do you always gotta be so goddamn dramatic?”

“I bet you could fit my entire place inside your living room. Right? Am I right?”

He clicks his teeth and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Naw,” he says, like a little kid. Twisting his toe into the marble floor. “Dressing room, more like.”

The doors part just in time for him to escape your drumming fists – his boyish snicker filling the cream hallway.

You spill out after him, pulse fluttering dangerously through your veins.

“You know what my place doesn’t have?” Joel says, fishing for his keys. “A poster of Richard Gere. I could use one of those.”

“Oh,” you feign amusement, “Well, you can have mine. I won’t be able to look at it now, anyways.”

He slots the key in the lock and turns. Drinks in the sight of you – on a comedown from only the second-hottest car ride you’ve ever taken.

“Your apartment,” he lifts a finger, “has you in it. It wins, every time.”

Your jaw clenches. Your heart begins a warning drum in your chest. Don’t you fucking dare. Don’t you fall.

Too late, you think.

The door sweeps open, and Joel beckons you forward.

“Ladies first.”

You slip by, stepping into a regal hallway. Smooth stone on either side, dark wood under your heels. All marble and mirror, classy, glassy décor. Golden spotlights which glow to life overhead, the deeper your footsteps echo.

It’s dark, and a little moody. Manly. The perfect marriage of masculine and chic. Cold steel and warm wood.

It looks like him. Classy and luxurious – but homey, warm. Everything that draws you to him, and everything that makes you want to stay.

Joel follows silently at your back, much the same as he did in his little white house. Looking to his feet when you turn back, fiddling with the strap of his watch.

You wander to the end of the hall, where the apartment widens. A towering living room – sylvan and rustic, the same muted tones bleeding through. Cityscape backdrop, pristine glass fire. A coffee table homing ornate vases and books on woodworking; a faux fur blanket over the couch and beside it, a worn flannel shirt.

You love it. You love all of it.

And loving his apartment is probably a bit of a copout, right? The easier way, the safer way to admit something much scarier. It’s just fragments of Joel, after all. It’s all the parts you’ve come to like best.

His heart, his soul. The kid with the freckles and scruffy hair, all grown up. Thrown into a big city, thrown into a big job. Thrown into a million-dollar penthouse – and still, he turns everything he touches into…home.

Joel presses his lips along your shoulder, perches his chin on your collarbone. Quiet, a little bashful – hiding from every secret he’s letting you in on just with being here.

Your eyes catch a brushed-gold frame on the sideboard, and you float over.

Faded by the sun and the years in between, there’s a peachy tint to the photo. A dreamy lilac sky, dark cedars fringing the background. A squint mailbox, cherry red with the name MILLER printed on.

Two boys, one as filthy as the other. Matching denim shorts and lanky limbs. Smeared with paint, in the midst of a brawl which nearly blurs their figures into nothing more than one head of dark hair, the other sandy.

You’d recognize him anywhere, though. Even with his arm hooked around his little brother’s neck.

“Tommy started it,” Joel says, elbowing your side. “See that smudge on the mailbox? He pushed me headfirst into the thing.”

Your chest leaps. “Who won the fight?”

He takes the frame and dusts it with the sleeve of his jacket. “Mom did,” he replies. “Threw the camera down ‘n dragged us inside. Grounded us for a week, made us repaint the entire thing.”

“How is your mom?” you ask.

Joel nods. “Good. She’s askin’ after you.”

“She still asks about me?”

“Yeah,” he says. “’cause I still talk about you.”

It prods low in your chest. Aching, stitching itself back together thread by thread. A wound twelve years in the making, the doing and undoing of everything you ever knew. Family and love; hurt and loss.

It’s okay to lose some things, you reckon. It’s okay to let them go. To watch that beat-up Toyota tear off for the horizon. To leave that man and his ring and the promises he’ll never fulfill.

There’s someone better waiting down the line, anyway. It starts with a page of doodles; it ends with your heart in his hands.

The safest place it’s ever going to be.

You cross your arms around Joel’s neck and pull him against your body. Pull him against the wound.

“I want to go see her again, tomorrow.”

“I think she’d like that.”

“Then I want to come back here and spend the whole weekend with you.”

He swallows. “Yeah. Yeah, I want that, too.”

You kiss him softly.

“And I want you to take me to bed right now, and show me how much you love me.”

The twinkling city is the only light left on this side of the apartment.

Half-drunk in a half-dim room, you stumble in backwards – tripping over thin air and collapsing onto the bed, pulling the six-foot shadow of your ex-boss-now-something on top.

The laughter rumbles from Joel’s chest. “I’m too old for this, pretty girl,” he says, sucking a mark into your neck.

“No big deal,” you titter, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. “I’ll keep you going.”

He hovers over you, watching as you peel the clothes from his body. The heavy clink of his belt on the floor, the ruffle of slacks down his legs. He shakes the shirt from his arms and your lips connect again in the darkness.

Hips between yours, he drags your dress from the hem up over your arms. A hungry glimpse, tongue dabbing at the corner of his mouth – like it’s Monday morning all over again, and you’re on your knees in front of him for the first time.

Back when flirting was as harmless as delivering coffee and running errands. Back when he was one third of a fuck, marry, kill debate with Martha and Deb. Back when neither of you knew these versions of yourselves even existed.

Joel lowers – taking your nipple in his mouth.

“Shit,” you pant, fingers searching for the elastic around his waist.

He helps you tug his boxers off. His cock sways between his legs, smatter of come and damp saliva across your stomach as he guides you up the mattress. He takes the lace from your hips in his fist and rids you of it in quick motion.

“See what you do to your daddy?” he asks, tapping the weight of his cock against your mound.

You reach down, wrapping your fingers around him. He’s stubbornly solid again – throbbing under your touch. He shudders when you swipe a gentle thumb over his tip.

“Already came once ‘n you got him hard all over again,” Joel adds.

You take your lip under your teeth, stroking his cock. Your clit flutters at the thought of him pushing in. The stretch that feels so impossible, the punch of pain each time he reaches the end of your pussy.

It steals a sob from your lips. “I wanna ride you, Daddy,” you sputter, a solid shove on his shoulders.

He rolls onto his back, hands finding your hips as you mount his waist.

“Let me ride you,” you’re panting, lowering onto the dense muscle of his stomach. Quickly coating the trail of pubic hair with a pearly sheen. You rock back and forth, taking the stalk of him in one small hand.

“Let me ride – just wanna ride –”

“Alright, alright,” Joel hastens, sitting upright. He slips an arm around your back.

You whine. “You never let me, Daddy, I just wanna –”

“Shh,” he holds your jaw, “I’m gonna let you. I’m gonna let you, baby. Just gotta go slow, alright? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I can take it,” you tell him, hands on your hips.

“I know,” Joel replies, “I know you can. Always do, huh?”

He slides his tip through your core, teasing your entrance. So wide that you can already feel your little hole struggling with just his head. He’s covered in you – your slick blending with his, your breath swapping.

“Three weeks, angel,” he fusses, beginning to edge you down. “Too goddamn long,” he adds, “You know how much I missed this pretty cunt?”

Your pussy sucks his length in, blooming for him. Warm and snug, spongey walls pinching every inch as he penetrates her. Like they’re made for each other, the same way you and Joel are.

“She missed you more,” you gasp, head tilted back to the ceiling. “I missed you more.”

Joel’s teeth pluck at the column of your throat, still raw from the memory of his dick. “Doing so good for me,” he hums, “Little more, okay?”

You collapse forward, boneless and weeping against his chest. The pain and the pleasure hammering through your veins – Joel’s thunder and your lightning. Every nerve on fire, every hair on your body standing to attention.

He holds you steady, hands still locked around your waist, cock still filling you up inch by inch. When your clit reaches the coarse hair at his base, Joel kisses from your chest up to your jaw.

“You feel that, baby?” he asks, two fingers lifting your chin. “Feel Daddy inside you? All of him, darlin’, you got all of him in there.”

You wiggle in his lap, hips aching with the effort of holding his full length. “So big, Daddy.”

Joel tenses, teeth gritting. “I ain’t gonna last long,” he admits, grip firm on your hips.

“That’s okay, baby,” you coo, nudging him back into the mattress. His cock slips from your slit, drizzled with slick. You feel so empty without him – electricity fizzling into nothing, walls clamping around nothing.

You brace yourself over his torso – reaching between your legs to guide him back to your entrance.

Beneath hooded lids, heavy with lust, Joel watches as you drag his tip through your folds. He presses his thumb to your clit, rough circles around the swollen hood, and parts your lips with his fingers.

His cock lines up, and you sink down.

“Christ, darlin’,” Joel groans. He flicks at your clit, his other hand coming up to pinch your nipple.

“I – Fuck,” you moan, bouncing on him. “Feels so – good, Daddy, I –”

You fall forward into the headboard – staying upright only with your fingers locked around the wood. You’re slipping, already barreling your way towards another orgasm.

You grind forward, rutting into Joel’s palm, falling back on his cock. Your spine curls; hands drop to claw at his chest, ground yourself there.

The edges of your vision begin to blur. It’s not like this, it’s never like this. No one has ever fucked you this good, this rough and this loving.

Joel’s balls slap against your ass. He bucks his hips, knees lifting to bump you forward.

“Attagirl,” he says, slipping a hand around your neck. He brings you down, nips at your lower lip. His forehead slides against yours. “Can feel you closing, darlin’,” he chuckles, “You gonna come for me?”

“D-dick,” you hiss.

He smirks. “Always look so pretty when you let go. You don’t wanna show Daddy how pretty you are?”

You writhe over him, biting down hard on your climax.

“My beautiful girl,” Joel murmurs in your ear. “Come for Daddy.”

And it throws you under.

Blinding, deafening. Every nerve in your body overcome, each one flipped to feel only Joel. His cock, buried deep inside, your walls clamped around him; his teeth on your skin, tongue soothing the scrape.

It’s never like this.

Never so euphoric, never such a perfect meld of bruise and bliss. The feeling of your body changing, altering down to the very last atom – blossoming anew. Fresher, purer, lovelier.

When you come back around, you’re on your back.

Legs wrapped around Joel’s waist; arms linked around his neck. He must’ve flipped you, the second you came.

He slips back inside, suckling on the skin beneath your ear, and drives his hips into yours. Ignores your yelps, your short breaths – just fucks into you like you’ll be gone in the morning.

Fucks into you like he’ll never get to do it again. Like he hasn’t been doing it for weeks. He fucks you so hard that it hurts; an ache already burning that you know you’ll still feel walking into work on Monday.

“Good girl,” he chants, over and over. “Daddy’s girl.”

Like a fever come over him – beads of sweat dotting his skin, flush in his cheeks. He fucks you mindless, senseless, wordless. Sobbing beneath him, each word soaking into the next.

Good girl. Good girl. Daddy’s girl, that’s it. Daddy loves you so much, baby. Gonna fill this little cunt up so good.

When your walls pull tight again, your third orgasm flooding from every pore in your body – Joel’s movements halt.

He comes with a painful jolt – his cock shunting into you once, twice, until he’s pumping you full of his come. Twitching deep within you, pulsing warm and messy inside your pussy.

He comes with a sound like song. Your name, entangled in a throaty groan – lips tucked somewhere between your neck and shoulder.

You finally hear it – for the first time in your life.

How it’s supposed to sound: low like thunder, Texan in its swing. No one else, you realize, has ever gotten it right – this right – before. As if only his lips were meant to speak it, his tongue designed to carve around the letters. His vocal cords strung to send the sound to your ears.

It’s his, you decide. Your name – and every other piece of you. All of you. It all belongs to him, now.

“Fuck,” Joel pants, one hand on the headboard to steady himself. He lets it rain down over you: “I love you so much, you know that?”

“Come here,” you whisper, and he falls into your body, “Come love me forever.”

Half-conscious and full bliss, you laze in Joel’s bed – all fucking night.

Strong arms hooked around your shoulders, heart to heart. Breath shared, whispering nothings and everythings in the space between your lips. He’s still buried deep inside, still tucked between your legs.

Bundled in satin sheets, kept warm by his body around yours. Talking shit, poking fun, flirting and fucking around. You play with his hands, sizing your open palm against his. You compare the scars and scrapes on your skin, spill the bloody story behind each one.

“Alright, big girl,” Joel yawns, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m beat. You killed me.”

You snuggle under his chin. “Get some sleep, old man.”

He takes a second to respond. He’s already going. This is probably the closest he’s been to actually sleeping for a good three weeks.

“Love you,” he exhales then, like the thought just lapped past his lips again.

You smile. Take his big hands in yours and lift them closer to your chest, tuck your chin over your interlocked fingers.

Something deep inside you lurches. Tries to escape. You tighten Joel’s grip, as if choking the words on their way up.

Joel’s breathing slowly begins to draw out – tiny sighs passing his lips. Your thumbs trace the short hair between his nose and top lip, combing it, nail ghosting over the lines on his lips.

A warm feeling floods through your body. Suddenly – it starts in your chest and washes over in waves, dousing you and the world around you in a dreamy rose. Like a sunset paints its way across the walls, the glint of gold where the light catches on the tower in the distance.

Peace, you think.

Only – there’s no end to it. No sleek black car to drag you away. No broken promises and half-truths. The ache in your chest pulls gently – a reminder, no longer a threat.

This will never leave. He won’t let it. It’s as safe as you are, now, wrapped in his arms. Nothing and no one to break you apart.

“Joel?” you whisper.

His eyelashes flutter, like even asleep he knows it’s something worth hearing. Like everything you could possibly say – What should we have for breakfast? My foot itches. Did you know Martha box dyes her hair? – it’s all worth hearing.

You gulp. “Joel, I wanna – I wanna tell you something.”

He crackles to life, words melting into one another. “…What is it…darlin’…?”

Your lips morph around voiceless words. Your tongue lifts to the back of your teeth, trying to force the sound out.

It’s everything, you think. You’re everything. Say it. Say it say it say it.

But he’s already dropping off again. He’s already being swept away somewhere you’re too tense to reach. And you’re not brave enough to push through the fog on your own, stick a trembling hand into the unknown and swipe for his.

So you let it go. Watch the words float off somewhere Joel can’t hear them.

You shrink yourself, slotting your head beneath his jaw, your cheek to his chest. He sighs into the crown of your head. His heartbeat thuds a familiar bassline into your ear. Hi, old friend. I missed you.

Maybe in the morning, you can swing by your place and grab a bag. Pack a few days’ worth of clothes, spend the first few mornings of your new career drinking velvety coffee in bed next to Joel. Sharing the mug, sharing the newspaper, sharing the shower when it’s time to get up.

Maybe you should call Martha, and apologize for skipping your party. She can fill you in on the night – the drunken dramas, the secrets spilled. She won’t ask about you and Joel – she’ll just know. And that’s enough.

Maybe you’ll throw the phone to the end of the bed after you hang up, discarded amongst the tangle of sheets, and lie back down next to a still sleeping Joel. Lay your head on his chest, like it is right now. Listen to his heartbeat, run your fingers across the dark hair.

And maybe you’ll think over the same three words currently racing through your head. Maybe you’ll try to piece together a sentence for him to hear, when you’re ready to say it out loud.

Maybe by morning, you’ll be brave enough to admit it to yourself, first.

That…yeah.

You love him.

THE END

[mediumgayitalian]

fic rec friday 11

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday (i know it's tuesday that's my bad 💀). every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

and if you're warm, then you can't relate to me by remrose

They get stuck outside from a 3AM fire alarm. “I call it the ten-pound-quilt.” Will winked like it was a secret, coming to a stop in front of Nico. “I lent it to one of my siblings once and he said it was like being suffocated by a wet cement pancake. I love it."

will 'problem causer and embarrassed about it' solace so so real. this fic is also stellar bc nico is lowkey aware how much will likes him. that is how the dynamic should be i think.

2. Those walls I built didn't even put up a fight by @sazandorable

"Is it morally okay to stab a medic with their own scissors?" Nico asked Cecil. (Not that he usually cared about morally okay, as Octavian might demonstrate.) Nico's three days in the infirmary go by faster than he'd thought, and Will just won't stop flirting.

bruh this fic made me LAUGH. it wholly deserves the nearly quarter million hits it has jfc. i 100% clicked for the 'jason is a very embarrassing and very supportive ally' tag and it TOTALLY lived up and it was hilarious. he is. will's characterization was SO SO good and the whole fic just had me giggling!!

3. this is my kingdom come by remrose

Five times Nico and Will pretended they were dating. College AU.

the slow and unnoticeable slide from fake dating to real dating. fucking kills me every time. like oh yeah maybe i do love you. maybe you are everything to me. maybe i do want to spend the rest of my life with you. maybe loving you is this easy. GOD. god. insert seinfield gif her bc it fucking gets to me alright. it gets to me.

4. Days Gone By by @ghostystarr

Everyone was afraid of him, the boy who could talk to ghosts. Will just really wanted to know if his goldfish was haunting him every time he used the bathroom. AU Solangelo.

i am a sucker for childhood friends to lovers alright. and modern au with medium nico is art. so what if it is on the nose. it is amusing. and posting this ghosty ass fic on halloween the year solangelo came out is fucking camp idc this author ate up.

5. Patience and Patients by skyrat

Will Solace didn't mean to get a crush on the most exasperating demigod he'd ever met. But once he started watching Nico di Angelo he couldn't turn away. The lines between intentions and feelings got blurred. But how do you tell if the guy you like feels the same way when he's never around?

will having a crush on nico for a thousand years is literally my favourite trope like i love him actually. his pining ass will never get old! it will never get old. i will never get tired of reading it. also this is unrelated but i read this for the first time the day it was posting, which was the Day after i turned twelve lol time truly flies.

thank you for joining me this saturday tuesday sh don't worry about the actual date friday!! happy reading!!

[vicioux]

ICHIHIME FIC RECS

i can't believe i've been reading ichihime fanfics for literally 10 years ✌️ my favorite flavor is definitely pining with a touch of angst, but i am also a sucker for just them giggly all over each other! thank you bleach TYBW anime revival for bringing me back to these two cutie patooties and an even bigger thank you to all the writers that have been keeping the fandom alive all these years (especially in the earlier days back in the wild wild west of ff.net and LJ lol) y'all are amazing 💖 happy reading everyone p.s you can find the rest of my fic rec lists here

🍓 alternate universe 🍞

THE BRIDE OF THE DEATH GOD by caledon A plague descended upon the village, and to appease the God of Death they offered him a bride as a sacrifice.

THE DEVIL'S PLAYTHING by marshmallowbirb High-schooler Kurosaki Ichigo discovers that he isn't as human as he once thought - and neither is his classmate, Inoue Orihime.

THE RELUCTANT BRIDEGROOM, DEATH by marshmallowbirb On a sunny summer morning, the young goddess Orihime gathers flowers on a hillside.

STARCROSS'D by child of the ashes In the vampire palace of Los Noches, there is no greater curse than beauty, and no greater crime than love.

NEXT VISIT by aurona x She can see him only with autumn comes, that man of the deep blue tree. And over the years, her love for him grows.

MOTHERHOOD by ashe flyght Orihime's family is financially unstable. So when Japan's most in demand actor, Kurosaki Ichigo offers her an unusual job will she accept it?

FINE LINES by lastlynotleast Ichigo is a tattoo artist and Orihime has skin he could draw on forever.

🍓 multichapter 🍞

THE BOND BETWEEN US by ritsu-san Post Ch. 352: Ichigo and Orihime are left to figure out this strange bond they share.

TIL DEATH DO US PART by marshmallowbirb Deemed too powerful, Ichigo is sequestered in Soul Society after defeating Aizen. Ten years later, one of his human friends dies.

THE CLOCKWORK SWITCH by sesamerolls (1 // 2 // 3) “Kurosaki-kun?” She wanted to bite back her words. This person couldn’t be him. He was a few inches taller, broader, and manlier than the youth who gave her daifuku just minutes before.

🍓 oneshots that will make you feeeeel 🍞

DEMAGNETIZE by ghosty If opposites attract, then what does that mean for us?

TACTILE by mrhooty Orihime has accepted that her boundaries will never be respected, but Ichigo is too good of a friend to allow that.

AFFIRMATION by sesamerolls Ichihime from the beginning to the end.

HOME IS WHERE THE SUN SETS by awkwardspaceturtle Using the word ‘beautiful’ didn’t seem like enough; nothing he could ever say out loud would tell her how she really looked in his eyes.

BUILD A HOUSE IN PARADISE by zabiume Ichigo and Orihime move in together.

PAPER HOUSES by zabiume Mostly, he just wanted to know if she was okay, if she was eating well and passing her courses and if, when she went to bed at night, she had someone to smile about.

PROMPTFILL by zabiume Truth serum induced angst.

PROMPTFILL by captainrukias-husband Ichigo writes a poem for Orihime.

TEMPTARE BEAST by mayelisa As Orihime watched in horror as Ichigo took on that form again, she had a sinking feeling that this day wouldn't turn out at all like she had planned.

MEMORIES IN THE RAIN by garden of magnolias If I were the rain, could I connect with someone's heart, as the rain can unite the eternally separated earth and sky?

ALWAYS SUMMER by folle Orihime is calling, calling, and Ichigo doesn't know how to not answer, except in the most important way.

BECOMING WHOLE by lovelycollision He loves her in various ways, during different stages of his life. It's after the war when he realizes that he's in the third stage, otherwise known as the beginning.

🍓 outside POV looking in 🍞

ELEVATING by sesamerolls “Okay, let’s theoretically agree Ichi-nii has a girlfriend,” said Karin, resting her palm underneath her chin.

SIMPLY BY MEASUREMENT by sesamerolls When it first began, he pretended not to notice.

PROMPTFILL by scribblles Ichigo screwed up his befuddlement into a distinctly grumpy expression. “For your information, I wasn’t daydreaming, I was thinking. Worrying, actually. And it’s about a friend. Who… happens to be a girl.”

🍓 funny fluffy oneshots 🍞

OF MICE AND MEN by garden of magnolias Ichigo realizes that getting rid of a mouse in his and Orihime's apartment is a lot more complicated when it involves his girlfriend.

I REJECT! by scribblles Keigo has a rare moment of inadvertent correctness.

RUMOUR HAS IT by fictionaryplace Ichigo and Orihime have important news, but decide to have a little fun with their friends and family before coming clean.

DELAYED REACTION by crystal dawn Orihime is feeling under the weather. Against his better judgment, Ichigo suggests she visit his father's clinic.

ICED FRAPPUCCINO by hedonysms Ichigo and Orihime get a coffee. Ichigo is simultaneously an emotional sap and a horny, utterly repressed man.

STARTING FRESH by kay sincere Ichigo doesn't have a resolution for the new year himself. But it does come to his attention that his friends could use his help.

NOSEBLEED by deathberryhime Where that little smile would have done more damage than intended to.

OUR BREATHS IN PERFECT HARMONY by iwillhaveamoonbase When Ichigo's friend talks about a cute girl at a bakery, Ichigo agrees to introduce them with no idea that the girl in question is his girlfriend.

WELL WISHERS by adverb_slut It turns out that shinigami are not so great at gift-buying, especially for a four-week-old baby.

THE ART OF SHIPPING by alice hattercandy In which, everyone ships. Even Ichigo.

🍓 anything and everything by these authors 🍞

SESAMEROLLS CAPTAINRUKIAS-HUSBAND ZABIUME (tumblr // ao3) SCRIBBLLES CRYSTALDAWN / MARSHMALLOWBIRB (ffnet // ao3) ORIHIMES RITSU-SAN (more on their LJ sunburnt-wings) TRAGICOMEDY (more on their LJ explicates)

[dalivanmagritte]

FIC REC: JOHNNY SUH

back the nct fic rec

favs

i'm here to save you (smut, abo!au)

classics (smut)

watching a filthy magazine (smut)

ghostie (smut)

set up (smut, college!au)

agora hill (smut, stepdad!au, cop!johnny)

alternate universe (magics, gods, royalty, etc...)

forever mine (smut, mythology!au)

going for the gold (smut, olympics!au)

johnny as diaonysus (fluff, demigod!au, mythology!au)

with another member

the box office x haechan (slight jeno, jaemin, jungwoo) (smut)

danger x jaehyun (smut, abo!au)

can you handle it? x jaehyun, jeno, jaemin (smut)

morally gray (and tw)

indulgence (dubcon, smut, serial killer!au, detective!au)

switch x jeno (DUBCON/NONCON mentions, smut, neighbour?au)

chain (part.2 of switch) x jeno (DUBCON/NONCON mentions, smut, neighbour?au)

catastrophe part.1 part.2 part.3 (DUBCON, hybrid!au, smut)

[ghostlovesbaguettes]

so let’s just all admit this shit was FIRE. it both hurt my feelings and made me go awwwweee so cute… I YERN FOR THE JAVI ANGST AND LOVING AND YEARNING AND AUGHHHHH 😩😩😩🤞🤞🤞🤞

I'LL CARRY IT

written for my angst challenge

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Javier x Reader

Word Count: 5.9k

you can read on ao3 too, if you like!

SUMMARY: Your childhood best friend returns to Laredo a celebrated hero. When he shows up at your bar shackled by grief, you drag him home for the night. CW: Heavy alcohol consumption and brief reference to the death of a parent. A fair bit of yearning.

Takes place somewhere in S3E1 after the wedding but before Javier returns to Colombia.

masterlist

12:00 A.M.

At first you mistake it for a good thing. Last shift before your weekend, two hours to go, and the long-gone local hero back in his hometown smoking a cigarette at your bar. Your break over, you slink from the backroom into the riotous din of The Last Man Standing—one of Laredo’s many dives—to reclaim your post behind the bar. Place is a hellhole as often as it is crowded and tonight’s no different, and yet you’re halfway to a smirk. Pleased to see an old friend.

He hasn’t looked up, hasn’t seen you yet, so you busy yourself with the guy who flags you down to order the second he spots you. Fine by you, the guy tips well the later it gets and it’s already after midnight, and regardless, you don’t mind having an excuse to observe The Javier Peña, DEA agent extraordinaire, at a distance. Top button undone, cigarette vanishing in his hand, eyes glued to the ring-stained bartop as smoke shivers out between his lips. Quite the celebrity now. Been home three weeks if the rumors are true but you’ve yet to see him. You figured he’d call, but he didn’t—not that you’re surprised. 

Eight years feels like nothing now. Maybe he’s a hero to everyone else, but to you Javier looks exactly the same as he has his whole life—all that’s changed is the depth of his misery. How he doesn’t look up for anything or anyone, except to shrug off the occasional shoulder clap from some drunk stranger. 

When you’ve served the guy his drink and collected your tip—30%, thank you sir—you shake the nerves loose from your shoulders and slide up, glass in hand. 

“Well shit,” you say when you’re in front of him, and Javier slowly lifts his eyes. You smile, all rogue. No shake to your voice at all as you pour a whiskey blind. “This the part when I ask for an autograph?”

Javier’s dark brow dips in the middle and you might as well be twenty-eight again. Twenty-one. Eighteen. Eleven. All the ages you’ve been with him in all the years you’ve known him. Because this, right here—that little furrow that looks like a frown if you’re not looking close enough—is exactly how he’s always been. How he’s always looked at you after time spent away. 

Sure, there’s never been this much away . This much radio silence. The kind of parting that comes with getting older, getting further—something you once would’ve sworn only happens to everyone else. You’ve made your peace with it. Wished him well from the wrong side of the hemisphere. You’ve had lives of your own. 

Seems he can still cut a tiny hole in your chest when he withholds a smile. 

Javier spears smoke from the corner of his mouth as you slip his empty glass behind the bar and replace it with the fresh pour, watching as he nods in a tired, humorless way. “Not signing shit for you,” he gruffs, and snubs his filter into the crystal ashtray beside his glass. 

One-two-three-four-five others sit beside it, ashed in their grave. 

So he feels about as bad as he looks.

“Awful snappy for a man hoggin’ a barstool,” you reply.

The corner of his mouth flinches but doesn’t pull. He picks up his glass, eyes sagging away from you. “Nice to see you too,” Javier concedes.

1:00 A.M.

Friday means it’s crazy, means the rest of your shift slingshots by, and most of the night someone else is working Javier’s side of the bar so you lose track of his drinks. The windows of the bar have fogged, giving the world beyond a kind of eerie glow. 

You do your best to watch him, holding in your stomach a knot of newborn worry, but there’s always someone shouting for another drink. Now and then you catch some guy in a cap lumbering up to him to boast loudly of his pride, and though it’s microscopic—invisible maybe to everyone else—you see the way Javier shrinks in on himself. Folds.

The smoking, too, goes on. You sweep past him on your way to a booth in the corner, tray of shots balanced in hand, and accidentally inhale a sour cloud as he blows it out. You try to stifle your cough as you reach the table, doling out the silver glasses slick with tequila. On your way back to the bar, Javier catches your eye and snuffs the spent cigarette with an apologetic look. Pendant lights sway in his eyes like fireflies. You shake your head like he’s being silly, squeeze his shoulder briefly as you pass, and the roar of his body beneath your palm blazes like a campfire. The kind of heat that blackens everything to char. 

You think he’s had four drinks, maybe five, but not for sure.

2:00 A.M.

Only the drunks remain to kick out into the bog of late-summer, all that humidity that ruins your hair. You like most of ‘em. Most swagger out with a slurred night, sweetheart as you usher them safely into their cabs. Then all that’s left is your childhood sweetheart slumped over at the bar. Dated for two weeks in sixth grade—broke up over god knows what, probably him stealing your favorite gel pens—and were inseparable ever after. The second that kid sloped into your classroom, all gangly limbs attached loose as rubber bands and dark curls drifting vagrantly into his eyes, you just knew. Didn’t know how, didn’t know why—but you knew that boy would be home, and he was for years. 

Look at him now. Passed out drunk, lips parted, cheek squished flat beside his empty glass. His cigarette flares from his limp hand beside his face. You shoo off your coworker with a friendly gnight before slipping the cigarette from Javier’s fingers to crush in the crystal tray with its brothers. 

You go about cleaning up around him. He doesn’t wake for anything—not even when you have to count all the coins in the till for the night—which also, is new. Javier’s always slept like shit, even when you were kids and there wasn’t much to sweat over. Woke up if someone in the other room dared to breathe too deeply. 

Guess a bathtub’s worth of whiskey will take anybody out. 

When it’s time to go, you slip your hand up his spine to rest between his shoulder blades. “Alright, cariño,” you say softly. “Time to go home.”

Javier stirs, but only barely. A grunt, a shallow breath, a flutter in his lashes. You pat his back firmly, not harshly, but enough that he sniffs and grunts again, awake. 

“Blue’s still up there,” he mumbles with his eyes closed. 

Grinning, you lift your face to the ceiling fan overhead—one of two dozen in this place, none of which run and all of which droop with a rainbow of bras tossed into the rafters. Above you now sways the strap of a pale blue bra mildewed with dust. Would’ve been your twenty-first when you shot that up there, and it’s never fallen. 

“I’m a decent shot,” you say. 

Now he grins, just half his lips, but a real one all the same. “I remember.”

“Course you do, I was better than you.”

At your teasing, the grin snaps clean off his face and his real frown replaces it. “No’anymorre,” he slurs.

Your heart plummets. You can see, now, the bruised darkness beneath his closed eyes as you rub a small circle in the middle of his back. If you were already home you’d pull him into your arms, but he can’t rot on this stool all night. In your silence, Javier cracks one eye at you. “Can’t drive,” he groans.

“No shit,” you say, forcing a soft grin, and he mumbles some gibberish that sounds like it’s supposed to be Spanish. “Come on, work with me here.”

His eye shuts again as he grimaces, face still smushed against the bartop. His hair’s a mess so you comb it back, but the fucker still won’t budge. Rolling your eyes, you lift his arm and drape it over your shoulders to help him off the stool, his body warm and pliant. More solid than you remember him being before. Layers of slender muscle built up like the rings of a tree.

When he rises, gravity lurches and you stagger under his weight, catching yourself against the bar. 

“Careful now,” you warn him playfully. 

Javier turns his face towards yours, close enough in this awkward position that his nose presses against your cheek. He reeks of smoke and shitty whiskey. A little of sweat. You’d mock him for it if he were anywhere within a hundred miles of sober, but he’s a lost cause for now. Your arm fits snug around his waist. To his credit, he makes an effort to stay on his feet. Turns his head down to watch his boots as you walk him outside like he’s focusing intently on putting one foot in front of the other. You pinch his side and he hmphs at you. 

“Could’a just called, you know,” you say as you walk him to your car. The street is all empty parking spots and shuddered windows and packs of thirsty mosquitos, cicada song chirping densely in the air. Your car sleeps down the block alone, black as the sky and in need of a wash, green-strung beads hanging in a loop from the rearview mirror inside.

“Wanted t’ seeyou,” Javier says. 

You nudge your head against his cheek gently. “I missed you too,” you say.

As you drive, streetlamps stripe past the windows. Brick buildings sit squat and lightless, bodegas shackled for the night, and a wilful trash bag balloons with a passing breeze, blowing across the road with a quiet, swimming grace. In the passenger seat, Javier slumps against the door, temple pressed to the half-open window. You think he’s asleep until he licks his bottom lip. 

“Saw Lorraine,” he mumbles, those dark eyes closed away, like he can hardly keep himself awake.

You turn back to watch the empty road. Stop at the stop signs just for show. No one’s out here but you at this hour—Laredo is a ghost town.

“Heard Danny was gettin’ married,” you reply.

Javier exhales profoundly: slow, labored, loud. He’s always been a pouty drunk, but this is something else. “You weren’t there,” he says.

“Had to work.”

“Liar.”

You roll your eyes even though he isn’t looking at you to see. He’ll feel it. Always does. Drumming your fingertips against the steering wheel, you fight back a smirk. “Fucked one of the groomsmen last year,” you admit. “Didn’t feel like havin’ a reunion.”

When you glance at him again, Javier has opened his eyes a sliver to smirk at you, the corner of his mouth pulled into his dimpled cheek. “Julien?”

You frown at the road. “Mateo.”

“Shit,” mumbles Javier, still smirking.

“Somethin’ like that,” you agree.

At the next red light his eyes are closed again and despite the fact that he’s, what, thirty six now? Javier looks like a child to you. Spine hunched, torso sunken. Shoulders broader than ever but curled in on themselves, like if he only had the room he’d be small as a seed. Fetal and miserable. A thousand years older on the inside than anyone should ever have to be. 

“Starin’ a’me,” he scolds, his words slumping into each other.

You huff quietly, caught. “Shut up,” you say. “Just remindin’ myself what you look like. Think you got uglier.”

He growls darkly, unamused.

As you turn at the next light, the green-beaded rosary sways from the rearview mirror. If he had his eyes open Javier would recognize it. His mother’s—passed to you before she died. You aren’t one for praying but you’ll die with it in your hands, you think. That’s the kind of person she was to you. Eternal.

Beside you, Javier mutters something unintelligible, his breath fogging the window. 

“Hm?”

“Seein’ anyone yet?” he repeats, and shifts to loll his head back against the seatrest. 

You gasp softly, feigning offense. “Yet? Ouch, baby,” you tease.

“Didn’t mean it like that,” he grumbles.

“I know,” you say, as you turn into the suburbs. Quiet starter homes lurk in the dark, kids’ bicycles lying like skeletons in their yellowing lawns. “I’m being mean.” 

“I like y’mean,” Javier replies, and finally opens his eyes as if he can sense you’re getting close to home, even though he’s never seen this place. He stares through the windshield glazed and distant, and you try not to stare like you’re concerned. He looks destroyed, you think. Obliterated. Sure, you’ve kept up with the news. Devoured everything you could about the quest to tackle Escobar, terrified Javier’s name would appear in the black ink that stained your fingers, reporting he was dead. That he’d be another casualty, and you’d not have said goodbye.

You know you’ve got no clue what really happened down there. That you never will. But you can see it choking him, hanging from his neck like a noose that’s just biding its time before it pulls.

“Nah, it’s just me,” you say, dragging your eyes off him again. “Think the two weeks we dated was about the closest I ever came to love.”

You’re joking, all foxish grin, but Javier doesn’t laugh. He just stares into the middle distance looking like a ghost. “Sixteen,” he mumbles.

“What?” you say.

He sighs. “Was sixteen days,” he annunciates, and your heart sputters.

Then his face folds in on itself suddenly; he pales, then greens. “Gonna b’sick,” he says.

3:00 A.M.

“Christ, you got heavy,” you groan, hobbling slanted up your porch steps. Though more alert, Javier is no less useless in walking, and though he mumbles shame-riddled sorrys he can’t much help you here. You hold him tightly to you, fingers pinching into his hip as he leans, hot as a furnace against your side in the worst of summer. You don’t care.

It doesn’t matter that it’s been eight years. It could be forty, and if Javier showed up on your doorstep ready to fall, your response would only ever be give it to me. I’ll carry it.

He grunts as you prop him against the side of your house to fish out your keys. “All muscle,” he teases, voice deep and coarse.

“Glad you haven’t shed your ego,” you snark.

You give the door a shove as the lock turns. Javier tips his face up to look at the sliver of moon left out to wink from the sky as if he’s saying a prayer. He reeks of sick—his shirt stained in one spot on his chest where he failed to aim away from himself—and while he stares up at the dark rash of night you work open the buttons of his shirt to take it off. Despite puking in your car, he’s still too lost to the world to notice your hands until you’re halfway down. Maybe in another life you’d be staring at his chest as you uncover it. The broad slopes of muscle, his stomach, the dark path of hair trailing towards his jeans. But in this life, you aren’t that to each other. You don’t get to be. 

“Cariño,” Javier says, and one of his hands covers yours as you pinch the last button. Looking down at you now, concerned through hazy eyes. Summer hangs wetly in the air; his curls lay damp against his skin, licking his temples, the nape of his neck.

You shrug his hand off yours, offering a small grin. “Gotta get this in the wash, Javi,” you tell him. “Not allowed to get in my bed smelling like puke.”

Cicadas sing from their trees. Your house, small as it may be, is a welcoming place. All red bricks and white shutters. The swing on the porch sways behind Javier, giving the occasional squeak. You shuck his button-up off his shoulders and ball it in your hands before catching his eye. “Can I trust you to stay upright while I put this in the wash?” you ask, one eyebrow arched.

He scowls, all pouty bottom lip—trying to make you laugh, even now. You huff as if exhausted, sarcastic and a little pleased. He’s in there, the person you’ve loved. Somewhere buried.

When the laundry is running you find him on your porch swing, horizontal. One bare arm dangling off the seat, his eyes closed again. Skin that’s usually golden washed silver by moonlight. In this heat there’s no reason for you to cover him but still you feel the nagging urge. Even with you here with him, you hate the thought of anyone coming out onto their porches or lawns to see him like this—out of control. You rouse him just enough to lift his head so you can sit at the end of the swing, then lay his head in your lap. He hums. A low, gravelly sound of pleasure. Glad to feel you beneath him in this small way. 

“M’sorry, baby,” Javier murmurs groggily, nuzzling his cheek against your leg as you stroke the hair away from his face again. He’s flushed, damp and sweaty, and even with the shirt gone could use a shower but you’d never say so. At this point, you’ve seen him in every state—sunny and terrible and everything in between—and don’t fear any of them. Don’t hate any of them. Never could, because all of them are him, so how could you.

“Cleaned up your puke before,” you reply. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen.”

He sighs, and with no small effort rolls himself onto his back with a grunt—the swing sways with the movement, rocking you both. Then once more, this time to his other side to face you. You chuckle softly as he settles, one of his arms reaching behind you to wrap around your hips, and for a while you drift back and forth with the porch light off and the moon’s claw cutting through the dark.

It’d be something close to heaven if it weren’t for his pain.

“Wanted to call you,” Javier sighs, after a long while of cricketing quiet. “After—”

Nothing.

You wait.

The rest of whatever he was going to say dissolves, never follows. Never becomes something for you to hold, to know, to carry. He keeps all the weight.

“Could’ve,” you say, hand in his hair again, how he always used to like. Even when you were kids he always wanted to be touched. His head in your lap, your hand in his hair to scare off his bad dreams. You could never tell a soul without destroying him—and you never wanted to. The way you were for each other was just that: for each other. Everyone knew you were close, inseparable at school. But the depth of that bond was a secret no one had to know. How his body needed to be close to yours to settle, to breathe, sometimes to sleep.

Javier’s nose scrunches as he fights off some stabbing thought. You stroke your thumb across his temple, trying to get him to look at you, but he won’t. 

“Tell me,” you whisper. 

Two words you never say. A question you never ask. He’s so far past drunk he’s practically a child—maybe it’s wrong to ask him like this—but you’d do anything to relieve even one ounce of this suffering.

Eventually, he exhales deeply, breath warm against your hip. Behind you, you feel his hand stroke your back, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. “Thought you’d hate me,” he mumbles.

Your heart splinters. Every cell in your body wants to pull him against you, pull him into you, swallow the ache. “Should know better than that by now,” you say. 

The shoulder he isn’t laying on bobs with what must be a shrug. “Been a while.”

“Been a long time,” you agree. Not angry, not bitter, not blaming—it’s been a long time. It’s nothing to you now but a fact. Seeing him again has erased the nag of your neglected longing.

With a gruff, Javier’s arm tightens around your back and he pulls himself closer, his forehead nuzzling your hip bone. “Feels like a’undred years,” he says, his voice hoarse and broken.

There isn’t anything you can do but card your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp with featherlight nails. You let your head fall back against the brick of your house. Exhausted, but you won’t sleep. You’ll stay awake with him all night if he needs it, if he asks you. Even if he doesn’t. 

4:00 A.M.

“No more water,” he begs. “Please.”

In your kitchen, just the stove light on, he’s sobering. Not sober —but he can stand up on his own. Leaning back against your counter, both hands outstretched to rest upon the laminate. Cool light splits his face in half—one bright and weary, one lost to shadow. You roll your eyes and hold one hand out to accept his water glass which he passes you with a grateful sigh.

You listen to the harsh rush of water draining into the kitchen sink—a stark disruption to the eerie quiet of the middle of the night in which it feels like you and Javier are the only people left on earth. 

Behind you, Javier groans, watching the glass fill again.

“It’s for the nightstand, baby,” you assure him as you pass it back. 

He pouts at it, arms drooping at his sides. Trying again. Digging for your laugh. With expectant eyes you pick up his hand and cup it around the glass, and when you let go and he doesn’t drop it you let a smile creep slowly across your face. Satisfied, he straightens a little, swaying slightly, and nods. He looks down at the floor, his bare feet, and his face blues. Darkens like he’s remembering.

You lay the palm of your hand over the center of his chest and beneath it Javier’s heart throbs steadily. His lungs expand. His blood moves. Alive—whether he feels it or not—and a comfort to you. 

Though you’ve lived in this house only three years and Javier’s never once seen or stepped foot in it, he trails through the narrow halls to your bedroom like he knows it well. Sloppy footsteps, yes, and always with you behind him braced to catch any sudden fall, but he makes it in the end. Water sloshes over the lip of his glass as he sets it down. Then—still in his jeans, which hug his thighs so tightly you’re surprised he doesn’t try to peel them off—he crawls into your bed, on top of the duvet. In the doorway you pause to watch him and get a vision of another life in which he does this every night, at ease in your home because it’s his home too.

It is a terrible thought, weak and troubling. It’ll burrow if you let it, so you kick it away. While you strip free of your work clothes, you watch him in the small mirror above your dresser; his head flops into your pillows, cheek smushed, eyes sliding closed. Those dark lashes, those parted lips. Always exactly the same. He doesn’t even glance in your direction—he doesn’t need to peek at your body. He’s seen you before. You him.

“Was Mateo worse than me,” he asks from the bed, like he’s read your mind. No surprise. For years, you would’ve sworn he could.

You blush, though he’s not looking. “Javi,” you say softly.

“Sorry,” he sighs.

In a t-shirt, you pad around the other side of the bed to crawl over the covers and curl onto your side to face him, one hand beneath your cheek. “Sex in college is supposed to be bad,” you tell him, grinning.

His brows pinch together, bracketing his forehead. “Shouldn’t've been with you,” he mumbles.

Yes, he’s how you remember. Ever chasing some rabbit hole to plummet down to avoid the cavern to which he’ll give no name. He’s got one hand buried under his pillow—how easy it is to think of your things as his—and the other lies between you, limp. You take it in your own, pull it to your lips, and press them to his knuckles. “We were kids,” you say, sure to smile against the back of his hand so he’ll feel it.

He huffs. “Drunk.”

“That too.”

“Better now, I swear.”

You laugh. Can’t help it. Silver light from the moon puddles over you, illuminating half his face, the curve of his shoulder, the slope of his arm. Even miserable, probably in a blackout, one foot hanging sadly off the edge of the mattress, Javier is someone who draws laughter out of you with ease, same as when you were kids. You kiss the back of his hand again, still grinning, and watch the frown dissolve from his face. He’s always been beautiful in a way that never seemed fair, but you think it might be getting worse with age. No one should look so good in this state, but there he is.

“Sure hope so, baby,” you tease.

Now he cracks one dark eye to squint at you, the corner of his mouth loosening, curling into his cheek. Then there’s that dimple. Your heart patters. You’ve missed him. “Could show you,” Javier smirks.

You roll your eyes. “You aren’t showin’ me shit right now.”

His bottom pink pops again, pouting as he broods, yanking another chuckle from you while he murmurs something you miss. Something that ends with good though.

“Hm?” you say.

“You smell good though,” Javier murmurs, and though soft you hear it this time. That almost whine.

“Well, when you put it that way,” you tease, and like magic, he laughs. Smile lines crinkle beside his eyes, nose scrunching. Beautiful. It is, you think, the best of him—how he looks when he actually laughs. It takes over his face. 

As you both settle, he scooches closer on the bed, squeaking the mattress. You feel the warm plume of his breath whisper over your face as he sighs. He has, it seems, only a match of levity at a time. It sparkles, flares, and smokes out too quickly. 

It isn’t a frown that replaces it, but despair. “Gonna feel like shit tomorrow,” he mutters, no louder than a whisper. No need to speak any louder when you’re lying this close. Your lips press to his knuckles again and this time he squeezes your hand, the muscles in his forearm briefly tensing. Freckles dot his bicep like stars.

“You feel like shit right now,” you whisper in reply.

Javier nods, face folding like he wants to cry. But he almost never does, not even in front of you.

5:00 A.M. 

You drift into brief tides of sleep with the warmth of him around you, his face in the crook of your neck. For most of your life, you’ve chalked up the ease with which you touch each other to an echo of your childhoods—a time in which touch is given often and without judgment. There has never been hesitation between you, not in this way. Even now, eight years since the last time you saw him, Javier slots against you in a way that just feels right—new, broader shoulders and all. 

His slow, deep breaths warm your neck, your collarbone. You couldn’t wiggle out of his arms if you tried, and though it’s warm even with the window open, even with both of you on top of the covers, you don’t want to. Eight years is a long time to go without this.

When he stirs with a tortured groan, you nudge your lips against his forehead. “S’okay,” you mumble, and the whine that snakes out of him rattles your chest and slices clean through your heart. Wrapping a hand around the back of his head, fingers threading through curls, you pull him closer, and his arms tighten around your waist.

Maybe it should feel wrong when Javier nuzzles into your neck to kiss you softly beneath the jaw, but it doesn’t. 

“Baby—” he croaks, and you hush him, petting his hair.

You don’t want him to say it. You never say it. If he says it now, it’ll ruin you.

“I know, Javi,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes closed so tight you see a rain of stars. “I know.”

“Y’ never let me say it,” he mumbles against your throat, his breath fogging your skin.

“You don’t need to,” you say.

“Wanted to, you know,” he replies, his voice so gentle you feel it pass from his chest to yours in a shallow tremor.

You chuckle softly from the darkness behind your eyes, like opening them will break the spell. “Oh yeah? When?”

He shrugs, his body loose and boneless. The heat of him is making you sweat. 

“The whole time,” Javier mumbles, and you wish suddenly that he weren’t so close because he must hear the sudden racing of your heart. “Pensé que me casaría contigo.”

If he didn’t hear its racing, you think, there’s no way he misses when it stops. Your Spanish is mediocre at best but you catch fragments, piece it together. I thought I’d marry you.

Your forehead wrinkles as a sudden urge to cry slams into you, shattering your bones. At least you manage to pat his back teasingly, feigning coolness, steadiness. Pretending he hasn’t toppled you. 

“Think you’re confusing me and Lorraine, cariño,” you tease quietly, hopeful that the wetness in your eyes doesn’t taint your voice.

Silence stretches like an elastic threatening a snap, a sting, a burn. But Javier exhales in a way that feels like he’s asleep again, like all of this is just nonsense cooked up in some drunken dream. Soon sleep is dragging at you sweetly, loosening your limbs again. You grow heavy, face slack, your limbs indistinguishable from his. When he whispers again you hardly hear it and the words don’t stick. You’ll forget them when you next wake for real. But he says them all the same.

“Not confusin’ you with anybody.”

Then you’re gone, sucked away. Asleep.

6:00 A.M.

The yellow morning leaks through your bedroom. You wake to a glint in your eyes: sunlight reflecting off a picture frame on your dresser. You and Javier twenty years ago dressed for junior prom, hidden now by the blinding. Squinting, you groan a soft mph sound as you wake, desperate to bury yourself in sleep again. 

In your brief slumber the two of you have remained braided—two strands of clinging ivy. Against you, Javier groans, humming tiredly against your throat, and you feel his hand slip up the hem of your shirt again, his palm flat over your spine. 

Half asleep, you let him. 

Half asleep, you let yourself remember.

You’re twenty five again. Just a few years out of college, both of you home for the summer. Out in the long grass in Chucho’s yard, you stretch yourselves out to sunbathe in the Texas summer, watching bumblebees laze drowsily between blooming thistles. Beside you, Javier lies on his back with both hands cradled beneath his head while you read, those yellow aviators over his eyes.

“Could get a place together,” he says. So casual, so simply.

Looking up from your book, you see the pink collar of sunburn around his neck and grin to yourself. “We’d get sick of each other,” you lie.

Javier only shrugs, unaware, you think, that you spent all of college in love with him. In freshman year, you’d stumbled home together after a party and he’d kissed you against your front door, waking you from what you realized then had been a lifetime of slumber. You’d never considered kissing him before, but all of a sudden it was obvious. You thought this is what your lips should have been doing all this time.

But it never happened again. The sex was awkward, clumsy—you’d only done it once before—and you told yourself that’s why he never tried again. You never tried either. Now it’s a joke you tell each other, trying to make the other person blush. 

The thought of sharing an apartment with him sends a river of panic through your veins. It would kill you to watch him bring girls home. To watch him date someone else. It was bad enough watching Lorraine, and he left her.

“If you say so,” he says, looking not one bit disappointed.

Half asleep, you let yourself dream you said yes.

7:00 A.M.

You don’t know who leans in—if you tilt your head down or if Javier tilts his up, if it starts in your sleep—only that when you next stir the morning is darkening to gold and orange. Panels of windowed sunlight crawl slowly across your legs, and you are kissing.

Javier’s lips melt against yours. It’s nothing like when you were kids. Eighteen and nervous wrecks, your teeth always getting in the way.

It’s different now. You know how to kiss each other like you’ve had the practice, like it hasn’t been almost two decades since last you tried. Pliant and sleepy, his tongue licking gently into your mouth. His mustache scratches sweetly against your skin. When a breathy sound whimpers from you, he cups your jaw, his other arm locking snug around your waist. There’s no rush to it, no progression. You don’t strip down and fuck—both of you content with only this: the soft murmurs you breathe into each other. The lifetime of wanting in every kiss. 

Because you have wanted him, you realize. Not just in college, but before then and every day since. Maybe from the first day he walked into your sixth grade class and felt like home. Even these last eight years when you’d accepted that he was gone from your life for good, your friendship having reached the end of its life, you wanted him.

He grunts when you nibble gently at his bottom lip, and you smile. Then he moans. And it’s perfect, somehow, like he’s dug around in the cabinets of your mind to know exactly how you want to be kissed. Deeply, patiently. All tongue and breath and yielding lips, your hands in his hair, the fire of him enveloping you.

You say nothing; you talk with your touch.

He stripes his tongue along your bottom lip: I’m sorry.

You tug at his curls: I’m sorry.

He kisses the corners of your mouth: I’m sorry.

You lick the hinge of his jaw: I’m sorry.

His thumb strokes the apple of your cheek: I’m sorry. I’m falling asleep.

You tilt your head to better taste him: I don’t want to fall asleep.

But you do. The tide drags you out, your body molten, exhausted, hypnotized. Your lips still touching as you fall into a dream.

8:00 A.M.

When next you open your eyes, you’ve rolled towards the window and the weight and warmth of his arms is gone. You don’t bother turning over. Don’t bother reaching for him. 

You know the bed will be empty on his side, cold. 

[littleststarfighter]

May I ask if there’s any mcr fics that you would recommend

These are what I’ve enjoyed so far. All Frerard (Frank/gerard) fic recs. I have many more to read (saved about 100 fics yikes) so will have more recs in the future if anyone is interested? A lot of supernatural, spooky and ghosty ones here. And, lots of Danger Days as that’s what got me into reading them in the first place. Of course I started with what is seen as the holy fic trinity. These are just my tastes. I can’t promise that they’ll be yours, but hope there’s something you like XD

Unholyverse by Bexless

“He thinks I have stigmata,” Frank said, because what the fucking hell, it couldn’t get any worse. He might as well just lay it out.

“Oh, well,” said Brian into his hands. “Of course.”

The Anatomy of a Fall by novembersmith

The unholy union of a high school AU and a ghost story. Gerard's life takes a strange turn when his family moves to a small town in Vermont and he discovers the locals aren't all what they seem to be. Also includes: unexpected nature walks, murder, pining, improper treatment of crime scenes, a number of bone-related puns, high school bullies, and a short-range shrub named Ferdinand.

A Splitting Of The Mind by Shoved2agree (Gaiamdma)

Gerard Way sees the world differently. Alone and institutionalised, Gerard claims that he is being hunted, and that his mind holds the key to existence. Does Gerard really hold such a powerful secret? Or is he just insane like everyone else in the institution?

Run by vesna (mrsronweasley)

Being a secret teenage werewolf is hard. Frank should know. He is one.

James Cameron Got It Wrong by ladyfoxxx

In which 2005!Frank and Fun Ghoul get it on. Then Frank accidentally winds up in 2019.

Shadows In The Parking Lot by Cellphonecharm_au

In which there’s a mass grave under Frank and Ray’s apartment complex, Frank doesn’t believe in ghosts, & Frank’s ex-boyfriend is, conveniently, a paranormal consultant.

The Science of Sleep by chimneythunder

It’s 2011 and Frank Iero’s life is pretty average until the night where he starts getting dreams about a strange, apocalyptic California where there’s rayguns, grey corporations and terrorists who use art and colour as a weapon. Interesting and fun at first, but the more he dreams about this world, the more he starts to wonder if it really is a dream... and the deeper he gets into this futuristic world, the more it seems to affect his life in the present day.

And just how exactly does everything all seem to link in with that douchebag black-haired artist who sits in Starbucks every day?

The Calypso Initiative by theficisalie

AU: A rise in technological and medical advancements combined with an unexpected surge in mutations around the globe can only mean one thing: superpowers. As a child born before the information boom of 2010 rocked the world with the official news of these "SuperHumans", Frank Iero was kicked out onto the street at nine years old. His power seems to be more of a curse than a blessing: his body creates and leaks a net of energy that sets those who are unaware of it on edge. He is saved at first by a rogue agent of the government who understands the plight of the homeless children, and then by a small team of government agents who bring him into The Institute: an underground compound set up by the government to teach those with emerging superpowers how to control and use their gifts.

Frank finally has a place where he seems to belong, and a group of friends: Mikey Way, a telepath; Gerard Way, whose body is a vacuum that neutralizes energy; and Ray Toro, a healer. All is far from perfect, however. Frank’s powers and training are put to the ultimate test when he has to fight both evil and betrayal to save not only the world, but also the best family he’s ever known.

synchronicity (cut me open, cut you down) by BackyardOwl 

Party Poison glares like Frank’s mere presence could’ve jeopardized the game. But then the scowl melts off and is exchanged with a smirk.

“I’m so glad you came tonight!” he says in the fakest sugary tone possible. “It’s important for a novice to observe, because you learn so much. And surely you learned from this, because that?” He motions to the arena behind him. “That’s how you play GridSlam.”

Frank is shaking. He’s this fucking close to decking the motherfucker. Novice? He hasn’t been a fucking novice since age fucking 11!

(a story about heated rivalries, mourning your loved ones, and cheating death)

Strange Things Happen At The One Two Points by lovebashed 

1930s. The Dust Bowl. Having no place to turn after his mother's death, Frank joins a carnival. By doing so a chain of events commence, that lead him to Pete. Frank and Pete couldn't be more different, but they both possess strange powers that gain momentum as their journeys unfurl. Both their lives, and that of those they know, will be irrevocably changed before the end. Carnivale AU.

I Believe We're The Enemy by Test_subject_306

"You know what?" Frank snaps, glaring at the person who used to be Party Poison. "You know, sometimes I wish they'd just killed you instead."