#she like. walked out of the door through the backyard out on the street and poured them directly into the biomüll trashcan | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whoevenisjavier · 22 days ago

Text

EROTICA

part 1 | part 2

pairing: no outbreak!joel x reader

The plan was to finish your thesis. You didn’t actually want to meet a neighbor with a past you can google and a history caught on tape. Or did you?

a/n: the adult content t-shit gave me ideas. btw, my first story here and I swear this is not a TED talk about morality. critical thinking? yes, bc the story needs it. moral lectures? absolutely not. porn? you'll see. this is just for fun — enjoy, i guess. the storys finished already, so I'll post the next chapter soon.

additional tags/warnings: 18+, mdni. reader is 26, joel is 50ish. no outbreak. joel is a dad. conversations about porn. inaccuracies about joel miller (I know his parents aren't chilean but bear with me). javier peña is there too. do I have to add anything else here? I don't know how to do these things.

wc: 9k

This time, your parents aren’t waiting for you at the bus terminal like they’ve done every year for the past three. It’s a good thing, a sign you’re standing on your own now, with your own car, but you still miss seeing their smiles through the fogged-up bus windows.

That moment always made you feel like you belonged somewhere.

Driving through the streets of Lake Placid on your way home feels like walking through your childhood memories. The stores look almost the same, sometimes with a fresh coat of paint, and the people, though not exactly familiar, are the daughters and grandsons of the adults you grew up around before moving to New York. Their faces carry just enough resemblance to make you do a double take.

When you park in your parents’ driveway and pick up your phone for the first time in two hours, there’s a message from your mother.

“We’re in the backyard having a welcome barbecue for the new neighbor! You can go up to your room and rest if you want some time alone or come eat. Can’t wait to see you. X.”

You smile as you step out of the Jeep, the door creaking behind you, and breathe in the cold, clean air rolling down from the mountains and the lake that wraps around the village where you were born. Your parents’ house sits above Mirror Lake Drive, right at the edge of the hill on the northeast side of the village, and from your bedroom window on the second floor, you can see the lake and the distant peaks of the High Peaks.

A far cry from the view outside your New York apartment: nothing but gray swallowed up by buildings. It’s the perfect setting to finally finish your thesis.

As you grab your two suitcases from the back seat, your eyes wander to the house next door, which had been empty for the past three years, mostly because the previous owners were asking too much for it.

Buying real estate in Lake Placid takes careful thought, since turning a profit is unlikely even with upgrades and expansions – the village is just too isolated. So if you’re buying here, it’s not for the money. It’s because you want a life far away from the city.

The house in question is a larger and more luxurious version of your parents’, made of gray stone, with cute white-framed windows, and for the first time in months, you see the lawn freshly trimmed and a new pickup truck parked in the driveway.

Probably the new family your mom mentioned.

The house is empty when you walk in, but you can hear laughter and voices drifting up from the backyard. You head the opposite way, climb the stairs to your room, drop your bags, take a shower, and spend a good while debating whether to sink into sheets that smell like home for the first time in ten months or go downstairs and find something to eat.

Hunger wins.

You throw on a warm sweater and go down. When you open the back doors, six pairs of eyes turn toward you, but it’s your mother’s squeal that makes you smile, followed by the tight hug she and your father give you.

“There’s our girl,” your father says to the others, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as he says your name. You give a small wave. “She always comes home for the holidays.”

The couple sitting together you recognize. They’ve been friends with your parents for years.

But you don’t know the woman who smiles sweetly at you, and you definitely don’t recognize the man, at least twenty-five years older than you, who keeps a neutral expression as he sips from a beer can. He doesn’t seem particularly friendly, but maybe that’s just the impression left by the slightly graying mustache and broad shoulders.

Two minutes later, you’re settled into a lounge chair with everyone in the backyard, a warm burger on your plate and a cold beer in your hand.

“I told Joel he’d have trouble with the house,” says the sweet-smiling woman to your parents, continuing the conversation they were having. “But he really wanted a place here, so I just supported him.”

“What kind of trouble are you having with the house?” your mom asks Joel — the mustached man, now officially identified.

“Nothing major,” Joel replies in a deep, firm, polite voice. “Had to redo the plumbing in two of the bathrooms and fix the heating in the kitchen sink, but it’s all fine now.”

“And are you liking it here?” you venture. You glance at the woman. “You and... your wife?”

Joel gives a faint smile.

“Tess isn’t my wife. And yeah, I’m liking it. It’s peaceful. Not too many teenagers. Feels like paradise.”

“What’s with the teenage hate?” you ask, half-joking, half-serious, silently filing away the Tess isn’t his wife detail.

“Fewer teenagers means fewer cell phones.”

Your response is a light laugh that earns a slight eyebrow raise from Joel, but you go back to your burger and let him be.

The conversation between the adults shifts to Fleetwood Mac, Lake Placid families, suggestions for places Joel should check out, and gossip about someone’s daughter who apparently got knocked up by the neighbor’s grandson, or something like that. You listen in, partly because you’re curious about the latest news (true or not) in the town you grew up in.

Your parents mention that you’re staying longer this time to get a change of scenery and finally work on your thesis, and that’s when the dreaded question comes. From Tess.

“And what’s your thesis about?”

Your mother holds back a laugh, because despite the seriousness of the topic, the initial reactions are always the same.

“I study anthropology,” you say. “My thesis is about the influence of pornography on male behavior over the years.”

That’s because the way men acted around you had always bothered you. When you were ten, wearing a cute chiffon skirt to the grocery store, they stared. When you were fifteen, walking home from school in your uniform, you heard disgusting things shouted at you on the street.

It wasn’t until you got older and realized that behavior like that isn’t natural (and why would it be, if women don’t do it?) that all your anger turned into the foundation for your research.

Tess raises her eyebrows and smiles slightly while the older couple gasps in surprise. Joel doesn’t react at all, except for rubbing the condensation on his beer can with his thumb.

“That’s a very interesting topic,” Tess comments, glancing at Joel, who briefly looks at her, then back at you. “Do you have any conclusions yet?”

“A few,” you say, though you already know the core of your research is the objectification of women’s bodies for the industry’s gain. “But I don’t want to bore you—”

“What’s your research method?” Joel cuts in before you can finish.

“Sorry?”

“Your research method. The system you’re using for the thesis.”

“Mixed methods,” you say, but you sense something more behind the question. Something slightly aggressive that you can’t fully pin down. “I did some fieldwork in New York.”

“Did you interview anyone from the industry?”

You shake your head.

“No one agreed. At least not the newer actors and actresses. The more established ones charged absurd fees just to answer ten questions.”

Joel says nothing, and the silence is broken when your father makes a joke about the topic. Everyone laughs—including you.

The barbecue lasts another hour at most before people start saying their goodbyes. Your mom wraps up two burgers for Joel, and he thanks her sincerely.

Then he turns to you and says:

“Good luck with the thesis, sweetheart.”

You nod, and you could swear you catch a faint smirk at the corner of his lips before he waves goodbye and walks off.

You run into Joel again at the market three blocks from home, standing in front of the fruit display, looking stuck between red grapes, green grapes, and oranges.

Joel’s voice comes suddenly from your left.

“What deep philosophical truth are you hoping those grapes will reveal to you?”

You startle, turning toward him with your hand over your heart as if that could slow it down. Joel raises one eyebrow as he begins placing seedless green grapes into a plastic bag.

He’s wearing worn jeans and a plaid flannel shirt over a white T-shirt. Thin-rimmed glasses rest on the strong bridge of his nose.

He smells like pine and something expensive that you guess it’s aftershave.

“Hi,” you say first, then quickly add, “I was trying to decide between grapes and oranges.”

“Grapes are sweeter this time of year.”

“But I like sour fruit.”

“Then go for the oranges.”

“But grapes are easier to eat. More practical.”

Joel gives you an impatient look, and you answer with a laugh. You grab a plastic bag and start selecting oranges.

After a short silence, while Joel ties off his grape bag and begins picking oranges too, you ask:

“Are you liking it here?”

Joel murmurs:

“There are some interesting things. Sarah likes it.”

“Your wife?” you ask quickly. Too quickly.

“My daughter. Just turned fifteen.”

Oh. Great. He’s a dad. You glance at his hand but see no ring. Joel notices.

“What’s with the marriage obsession?” he asks, although not rudely.

You shrug.

“I’m just curious. And you’d better brace yourself. The older ladies in Lake Placid are going to eat you alive with questions about your relationship status.”

“Really? Why do you think that?”

You freeze with your fingers wrapped around a particularly juicy orange. Without meaning to, you basically confessed that you think he’s a catch: attractive, polite, middle-aged, apparently wealthy, and tall. What other reason would the ladies have to shift their attention from their knitting?

You avoid his eyes.

“You bought the house that had been on the market for years. They’ll want to know who the buyer is,” you say, a half-truth.

He grunts, as if to say he doesn’t care about any of that, ties his orange bag, and places it in the cart. He glances at your basket, scanning the hygiene items (specifically the pads) and the chocolate bars.

“Did you drive here?” he asks.

You shake your head. He does too.

“Then let’s go. I’ll give you a ride home. It’s raining.”

His tone doesn’t invite objection and you don’t want to argue. Silently, and after grabbing a bag of green grapes too, you follow him through the market. He picks up a box of chocolate cereal, milk, kale, and oats, and then you both head to the checkout line.

You pay for your items first, so you end up waiting under the automatic doors, arms crossed beneath the blasting air conditioner.

People come in shaking umbrellas, mumbling about how unexpected the rain is or how cold the drops feel.

Older women walk in, spot Joel, and start whispering to each other with that smile every woman — no matter her age — immediately recognizes. The universal woman-smile.

He, seemingly unaware to all of it, pays with his card, grabs the bags with one hand, and walks over to you.

“Need help?” he asks, motioning toward your three bags.

You shake your head. He nods once and tilts his head toward the door, signaling for you to follow him across the crowded parking lot.

His pickup truck is parked near the exit, looking big and sturdy. You both get in at the same time. The inside smells good but feels stuffy from the rain, so he turns on the A/C and runs his hand through his graying hair to shake off the water.

“It rains a lot here,” he mutters as he starts the engine and buckles his seatbelt. You do the same. “Not sure I like this humidity.”

“Where were you living before?”

“Los Angeles.”

Your eyebrows rise. You can’t picture him with the stereotypical California vibe. It doesn’t fit.

So you ask the million-dollar question:

“What did you do there?”

The sound of the windshield wipers is your only response for a few seconds. Long enough for you to wonder if you crossed a line.

“A bit of everything,” he finally says, and you understand that he doesn’t want to talk about it. Yeah. You were being nosy.

Weird. Joel is weird, and everything about him makes you feel like you should think he’s an assassin, or a retired California mobster, anything that would kick your survival instincts into gear. You probably shouldn’t be sitting in a closed space with him like you’ve known him for years.

“Nothing illegal,” Joel adds when your silence starts to stretch.

That makes you laugh.

“Very reassuring.”

He smirks. At a red light, his fingers tap lightly on the leather steering wheel.

“How’s the thesis going?” he asks.

“Honestly? I haven’t opened the file since I got here.”

“Procrastinating?”

You hum in agreement, resting your head against the seat.

“I think I’m stuck.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“I need to watch some films to move forward.”

He freezes. Then he lets out a low chuckle. You defend yourself:

“I’m serious. I need to understand which narratives work best and why, and connect that to how they influence real-life behavior.”

“Makes sense,” Joel says.

“It does,” you reply, a little proud. You glance at him. The shape of his nose, the mustache, the gray-streaked beard. Then you add, “But it feels weird watching porn in my parents’ house, even if it’s for educational purposes.”

“Porn isn’t always for educational purposes?”

You gasp in horror.

“No!” you exclaim. “Porn is not educational. People don’t have sex like that in real life.”

“Hm…”

“You disagree?”

“I do,” he says plainly. “People do have sex like that.”

“I didn’t mean physically, Joel. Sex is easy: a good position, one thing inside the other, and done.” You catch yourself, because not all sex involves penetration, and something about Joel makes you think he wouldn’t mind sitting through a lecture on inclusivity if it came to that, but you add: “What I meant is that sex doesn’t happen like that. It’s not normal to open the door for the pizza guy and two seconds later be bent over the couch.”

“Says who?”

The frustrated growl that escapes you seems to amuse him. You know he’s teasing, and his grin proves it, but you can’t resist continuing.

“Not to mention the incest plots or the underage fantasies. Do you really think sex happens like that?”

His smile disappears instantly.

“You’re changing the subject.”

“No, I’m not. You can’t separate porn genres like some are less harmful than others, because even the ones that seem ‘harmless’ fuel the same industry that writes those sick scripts.”

“We’re here.”

He cuts you off with that simple phrase, and when you look out the window, you realize he’s right. You’re in front of your house. You turn your gaze back to him, and he meets it firmly, returning all the intensity you just threw his way.

You swallow and reach for your bags.

As if you hadn’t just delivered a monologue on the ethics of pornography, you simply say:

“Thanks for the ride.”

He doesn’t respond. You step out of the truck and walk to the door of your house, feeling like a kid who just got scolded, which is ridiculous. But even more ridiculous is the fact that Joel only drives away after he sees you walk safely inside, even though he literally lives next door.

You meet Sarah — Joel’s fifteen-year-old daughter — the next day.

After running along Mirror Lake Drive, you get home with your lungs burning and your body drenched in sweat, the elastic band of your pink sports bra stuck to your back. As you’re kicking off your sneakers at the door, you spot a pair of pink Converse, way smaller than anything anyone in your family would wear.

In the kitchen, there’s a skinny, unfamiliar girl sitting at the counter, two open books spread across the marble, her curly hair pulled up into two puffs.

She lifts her head, and her brown eyes hit you with a soft echo of familiarity.

“Hi,” you say, as if it’s totally normal to have a stranger in your house.

She waves back. Before you can ask “who are you?”, your mom walks into the kitchen and calls your name.

“This is Sarah, Joel’s daughter. Sarah, this is my daughter I was telling you about.”

Sarah gives you a shy little smile, and you smile back, a bit frozen by the fact that you’re standing face-to-face with Joel’s daughter. You’re not even sure why it freezes you.

“Joel had to spend the night out because he needed to go to New York, and he asked if Sarah could stay with us,” your mom explains.

“I’m old enough to stay alone, but my dad’s crazy,” Sarah chimes in, and you laugh.

You don’t think she’s old enough to stay alone, especially in a new town, but you don’t say that.

What you do say is:

“So, Sarah... what are you studying?”

Sarah needs help with her social studies homework, so after you shower and change into something comfortable, you sit down next to her and go over the assignments together. That’s when you realize she’s ridiculously smart and funny, slipping little jokes into the conversation, blending internet memes with historical facts, and talking to her turns out to be genuinely easy and fun.

Your mom serves dinner, you both eat, and then you settle onto the couch with your Kindles, each of you leaning against an end and your feet meeting in the middle of the cushions.

You’re in the third chapter of Ghost Radio when she calls you.

You peek over the top of your Kindle to let her know you’re listening.

“How old are you?” she asks.

“Twenty-six.”

She looks up at the ceiling as if doing mental math. Then, reaching some conclusion, she raises her eyebrows.

“Why?” you ask.

“No reason,” she shrugs, turning back to the book she was reading. Another question follows, this time without looking at you. “Are you dating anyone?”

“No. I ended my last relationship six months ago.”

“Was he older?”

“No,” you say with a laugh. “I mean, yes, but only by about three years. Why do you ask?”

Sarah wiggles her feet like she’s a little too excited about something.

“Just scientific curiosity,” she says, but her tone sounds more like a villain plotting something mischievous.

The next morning, Joel comes to pick her up at eight o’clock. You’re the one who opens the door since your parents left early to go to the farmers’ market to buy honey and vegetables.

He’s standing on the porch, wearing a thick leather jacket, jeans, and heavy boots. He looks exhausted, and the two-day beard growth makes him even more intimidating.

“Good morning,” you say.

Joel looks you up and down in your pajamas: heart-printed pants and a tank top. You realize too late that you’re not wearing a bra.

“Good morning,” he replies, lifting his eyes back to your face. “I’m here to get Sarah.”

“She’s finishing breakfast. Come in.”

Before he can protest, you turn on your heel and walk away, leaving him no choice but to step inside and follow you to the kitchen. You hear his slow, hesitant footsteps as he returns to the room filled with the smell of butter and coffee.

Sarah is sitting at the counter, devouring pancakes. Joel walks over, presses a kiss to the top of her head, and they exchange a few quiet words before he says something that makes her nod and hop down from the stool, leaving the kitchen.

You hear her going upstairs, probably to grab her things.

“How was the trip?” you ask, filling a mug with coffee and placing it in front of him on the marble.

Joel stares at the pink mug like it’s a threat but eventually wraps his big hands around it. You take a sip from your own cup and look at him over the rim, just the counter between you two.

“Good,” he says simply. He gestures toward the coffee. “Thanks. I needed that. Drove back and forth without stopping to rest.”

“Just thinking about it makes my back hurt.”

“I want my bed.”

You watch him over your cup, blowing on the surface of the coffee. You imagine him in the silence of his own house, in his bedroom, in his own bed. You wonder what color the walls are, what the sheets look like, and whether he sleeps clothed or not.

“Sarah’s really smart,” you say, pushing away the mental images.

That earns a small smile from him.

“She’s fantastic, my girl. But she’s cocky, so don’t tell her that.”

“She takes after someone.”

“I’m not cocky.”

“I’m joking,” you say lightly, offering peace because you don’t want to relive the animosity from the last time you saw him. “Is the coffee good?”

“Very.”

“Want to take some pancakes? Bet you’re hungry. I’ve eaten, Sarah’s eaten, and my parents always grab breakfast out when they leave early.”

Joel drums his fingers against the ceramic, looking like he’s fighting an internal battle, as if accepting food from you would be a terrible crime. Still, you take his silence as a yes and start stacking the remaining pancakes into a thermal container.

When you’re done, you walk around the counter and hand him the container with both hands.

“Here.”

Joel takes it with his left hand. With his right, he reaches out and gently pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says quietly, and you freeze.

He walks past you, saying something to Sarah, who apparently has come back downstairs. Feeling a warm flutter deep in your belly, you turn and follow them to the living room. You hug Sarah goodbye, promise to send her books for her Kindle, and then walk them to the door.

You smile when Joel thanks you for looking after Sarah and asks you to pass his thanks to your parents as well.

You watch them cross the lawn between your gardens, and just before Joel enters his house, he turns to look back at you.

You could swear he deliberately and slowly sweeps his gaze over your body, from your feet to your head.

And then he goes inside.

And you have to mechanically force yourself to close the door.

That same night, you start watching the films.

As you work through your research, you put together a report listing the names of the ten most famous stars from each decade between 1970 and 2020, five male, five female.

You already have a pretty clear idea of what defined the main point of pornography in the ’70s: the start of structured scripts and absurd, fantastical narratives that, one way or another, tied a woman’s pleasure directly to a man’s. Like in Deep Throat, where they came up with a story about a woman whose clitoris is located at the back of her throat. You can already guess what the most "effective" method of stimulation would be.

Porno chic was created to make adult content more palatable to the general public, especially as debates about the legality and morality of filming started to gain traction during that decade.

Sitting on your bed with your laptop open in front of you and your tablet resting on your lap for notes, you watch the films at 1.5x speed while eating green grapes.

You knew you might get aroused watching them, because dopamine responses are inevitable, but apparently there's nothing about '70s pornography that even remotely stirs your body. It feels like you're watching a National Geographic documentary.

You can't push away what Linda Lovelace wrote in her autobiography about the most famous film of that time, the one that made millions of dollars: There was a gun pointed at my head the entire time, she said.

You swallow hard and return to your notes.

By the end of the first week of this stage of your thesis, you finish watching the films from the '90s. You note the radical shift in the female body ideal — all the actresses with breast implants — and the peculiar aesthetic of VHS tapes, since this was the era when films started being widely distributed in that format.

What stands out most, though, is the shift in perspective. Gonzo-style pornography centers the camera exclusively on the man, making him the sole focus, and by extension, reducing women to mere tools for male pleasure. The camera's focus on women's bodies is restricted almost entirely to their genitals, which explains a lot about the birth of violent pornography during that time.

If women exist solely for male pleasure, then it’s no problem if they’re violated, right?

And just like that, the normalization of male domination in pornography begins, which, of course, spills over into social behavior.

You shut the laptop in front of you and lie down on the bed, closing your eyes. You doubt even a sixteen-year-old boy has seen as much porn as you have in the past few days, and there’s still so much left to do.

You reach for your tablet and pull up the list of male stars from the 2000s.

Tyler Cross, Javier Peña, Max Thunder, Ryder Grey, and Clint Fury.

Is there someone in the industry whose only job is coming up with these ridiculous pseudonyms?

You get up, leaving everything behind, and head toward the kitchen to find something to eat. It's already past eleven at night, your parents are asleep, and the only light in the living room comes from the lamp. On tiptoe, you’re halfway to the kitchen when the doorbell rings.

You freeze like you're in the middle of a crime scene.

A doorbell ringing at eleven at night in Lake Placid? Something must be on fire.

When you open the door, it’s Joel standing there on your parents' porch, looking anxious.

“Hi,” he says. Another meeting where you're in pajamas and he's fully dressed. “It's dangerous to open the door in the middle of the night like that.”

“Great way to start a conversation. I'm calculating how many seconds it'll take me to get to the kitchen and grab a knife.”

You get a somewhat tense smile.

“I’m still not used to these small-town habits.”

“I get it. I would never open the door for anyone after eight p.m. in New York, but here it’s normal.”

He nods, then asks,

“Were you sleeping?”

You wrap your arms around yourself as a cold breeze sweeps by.

“No, I was studying. Is everything okay?”

“I need a favor,” he says bluntly. “Sarah’s asleep, and I have to head back to New York. Can you stay at the house tonight?”

“Is everything okay?” you repeat.

“My brother’s wife just went into labor. He asked me to be there. I should be back tomorrow night.”

Your eyes widen, and Joel nods as if to say, “Exactly, got it?” You hold up a finger to ask for a minute, then run upstairs to grab your slippers, your robe, and your phone. When you come back, Joel is still on a call but waits patiently until you close the door before leading you to his house.

He lets you step inside first, and even with the urgency of the situation, it feels a little like you’re a twenty-year-old girl walking into a guy’s house for the first time, especially when Joel shuts the door behind you, finishing up his call.

The house is warm, clearly lived in by a family. There’s a big rug in the living room, a brown leather couch, and pictures of Sarah hanging in the hallway: lifting a soccer trophy, carrying a skateboard, the two of them at the beach. A line of photos shows her growing up, from a baby all the way to now.

The last photo is of her at Jewtraw Park, right here in Lake Placid.

“You can sleep in my room if you want. If that’s too weird, the couch is really good too. I left some blankets and a pillow right there,” he says, pointing to the armchair. Then he adds, “Everything’s clean. The guest rooms aren’t ready yet.”

You roll your eyes.

“I know, Miller. Relax. I’ll manage.”

“Okay. Give me your number. I’ll text you so you have mine. And if you need anything, call me.”

You say your number, and he types it into his old, barely-hanging-on iPhone.

“Thanks,” Joel says, genuine. “Really.”

You smile and give his arm a quick rub without even thinking about it.

“No problem. Just let me know if you need anything.”

After showing you where Sarah’s room is, where the extra blankets are, and telling you about ten times you can eat whatever you want, he leaves. You quickly text your mom, explaining the situation and letting her know you’re staying at Joel’s, then settle down on the couch.

Little signs of Joel are scattered around the house. The reading glasses forgotten on the coffee table, the suede jacket hanging by the door, the boots by the entryway, the faint smell of the same lotion you caught on him at the store.

You feel a little like a criminal as you get up and start quietly wandering through the rooms.

The kitchen is beautiful and organized, but there are a few dishes left in the sink. Since you’re still awake, you start washing them.

You move on to the dining room, all wood furniture and a classic chandelier, and then to a small office off to the side. It feels almost too empty except for the bookshelves. Just a desk with a laptop sitting on it, making you think it doesn’t get much use.

You head upstairs.

Sarah’s door is closed, but you walk softly down the carpeted hallway to the room at the end.

You push the door open, heart pounding like you’re about to find a monster or worse: Joel sitting on the bed saying, “Snooping where you shouldn’t be?”

Instead, you find a huge bed neatly made with gray sheets, dark curtains, and matching desks on either side. There’s a closet and a door leading, you assume, to a bathroom.

It’s empty in the way you’d expect a fifty-year-old man’s bedroom to be.

You almost give in and crawl into his bed but force yourself back downstairs, turn off the main lights, and curl up on the couch, which really is pretty comfortable.

It takes a while to fall asleep in a strange house, but when you finally do, your dreams are filled with gray beards and gray sheets.

You wake in the middle of the night to the ping of your phone. You rub your eyes, still dazed from sleep, and grab the phone from the pillow beside you.

4:47 a.m.

It’s a text from an unknown number:

“Hi. Joel here. Sorry for the hour, I hope you’re sleeping. I just got to New York. Please let me know when Sarah wakes up. I’ll need to call her.”

A sleepy smile tugs at your lips at how formally he writes, no abbreviations at all. You save his contact as Miller.

You type back:

“hey. don’t worry. I’ll let you know. everything ok over there?”

“Why are you awake?”

You don’t tell him it was his text that woke you.

“New place… light sleeper.”

“I see.”

An “I see” with a period and everything. Then another message:

“Yes, everything’s fine. I’m in the waiting room, and Tommy’s with his wife. She’s been in labor for seven hours.”

You type: “ouch. hoping all goes well. lmk if u need sth”

“What kind of vocabulary is that?”

“don’t you have bigger things to worry about, grumpy?”

The impossible happens: Joel Miller sends you a smiling emoji.

You reply with one sticking its tongue out.

His next message comes in text again:

“Tell me about your thesis.

“you’re really curious about it.”

“It’s an interesting topic.”

“sure… men and their obsession with porn.”

“I’m not obsessed with porn. I don’t even remember the last time I watched it.”

Your fingers freeze over the keyboard. This sounds way too intimate.

You type back:

“last time I watched was this afternoon.”

You get a single question mark in response: “?”

You clarify:

“for my thesis. I’m at the stage where I have to watch films.”

“Oh. How are you doing that?”

“picking stars from each decade and watching two movies for each. starting with the 2000s tomorrow.”

Joel reads your message but doesn’t reply right away, which is odd. He had been responding immediately. You wonder if something’s happened at the hospital, if everything’s okay with his sister-in-law.

You stare at the screen until it goes black. Three minutes later, his reply pops up:

“Who are the stars from the 2000s?”

“looking for suggestions?”

“No.”

You open your report from iCloud and copy the list of male and female stars from the 2000s. You send it over.

He reads it. Another little pause.

“I see.”

Then another question:

“And how are you watching? Like a documentary?”

“yeah, pretty much. I put on the films, watch them critically, and take notes.”

“And they don’t affect you?”

“in what way?”

He reads the message but doesn’t answer. After ten minutes of staring at the ceiling, you take a deep breath and type courageously:

“are you asking if I get turned on?”

Again, no response.

Still, you type back:

“i do. it’s inevitable and natural. but only starting with the '90s films. the ones from the '70s and '80s were way too gross for that.”

This time, a reply comes.

“Gross?”

“yeah. the men were really disgusting. it’s obvious they had no idea how to have sex to actually please a woman.”

“I see.”

You picture Joel Miller, tall and broad-shouldered, sitting in a sterile hospital hallway, texting you about porn while waiting for his nephew to be born.

The thought makes you smile to yourself. You burrow deeper under the blanket and decide to be a little bolder.

“do you have a favorite genre of those movies?”

“To watch?”

You frown. What else would it be for?

“yeah”

“I don’t watch them.”

“okay, but if you were going to watch one today, what type would you choose? one with a storyline, straight to the point… what? help me out for the research.”

You almost chew on your lower lip as you watch the little “typing” bubble appear and disappear three times. Finally, he sends a simple response:

“No storyline, not a lot of talking. Something filmed in the morning, in bed, right after waking up.”

“morning sex?”

“Yes.”

Before you can stop yourself, your mind fills with images of Joel’s bed, the same gray sheets now rumpled and tossed aside. The cold morning light pouring through the window, the scent of him still on the fabric, the warmth of sleepy skin, the scratch of his beard against the sensitive part of your neck.

A big hand adjusting and lifting your leg into the right position, low, sleepy moans filling the space.

You snap your eyes open wide.

“got it,” you type back, heart racing.

“Do you have a favorite genre?”

“i hate porn,” you reply.

“Okay. But if you were going to watch one today, what would you pick?”

He’s throwing your own question back at you, meaning you can’t dodge it.

You type the whole answer at once but hesitate a dozen times before finally pressing send, knowing Joel will understand exactly what you mean and exactly what you like. It’s probably not right to tell your parents’ neighbor, who’s at least twenty years older, but you don’t take it back.

“in the car. an age gap where he looks a little older than her, slightly graying, and he’s desperate for her, desperate to do things to her in the backseat.”

“Things?”

“you know what I mean.”

“Say it clearly.”

“desperate to go down on her.”

And again, he responds:

“I see.”

Your cheeks burning, you turn off your phone screen.

But another message buzzes through:

“Good choice.”

You cross your legs and lock your phone again.

The next time you wake up, it’s to Sarah poking your cheek with an insistent little finger. She’s standing over you by the couch, looking at you like you’re a science experiment.

The sunlight pouring through the living room windows makes you wonder if it’s already past ten.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, still poking your cheek.

Yawning, you answer,

“You’re about to have a baby cousin.”

Sarah squeals.

Joel calls her twenty minutes later, right after you text him—carefully avoiding rereading the messages you sent each other during the night—that she’s awake.

Afterward, you eat breakfast together, and Sarah gets ready for school, where she’ll stay until six in the evening. You wait until the bus picks her up before going back to your house, crawling into bed, and sleeping a little more.

When you wake up again, it’s time to log onto a video call with your boss, even though you’re technically on vacation.

You help your mom with some work in the garden, bake muffins, and by late afternoon, you lock the door to your bedroom, find a cozy spot in bed and open your laptop again.

2000s.

Now all the actresses definitely have implants, bleached hair, heavy makeup, thin eyebrows, and elaborate hairstyles: exactly the fantasy for any guy with a DVD player and one hand free.

But it’s also the beginning of the internet era, meaning access to all of it is even easier than it ever was with VHS tapes.

Roleplay everywhere. Boss and secretary, student and teacher, best friend's mom, best friend's dad. A fantasy world that definitely fried a lot of men’s brain circuits.

You start with the male stars.

First up is Tyler Cross. He's a tall actor with spiky, gelled hair, a tribal tattoo on his left bicep, and a defined six-pack.

You watch a POV movie, new at the time, and another where he plays the older brother’s best friend. It’s set in a girl’s pink-walled bedroom, teddy bears thrown to the side, and it’s all absolutely disgusting.

You glance at the clock after finishing Tyler Cross’s films. 5:55 p.m. You figure you’ve got about fifteen minutes before Sarah gets home, so you decide to at least start Javier Peña’s movies.

You type his name into the search bar.

The results flood in. One of the first titles you see: No Overtime for the Babysitter: Daddy Comes Home Early!

You roll your eyes. Great, now they’re coming for babysitters’ labor rights too.

You click the movie. It takes a moment to load.

The cover stares back at you while the loading icon spins.

The actress is gorgeous, with breasts you immediately envy and long black hair. Her lips, glossy and slightly open, look like she’s mid-moan. She’s one of the first actresses you’ve seen who isn’t drowning under a pound of makeup.

The scene starts with her dusting some furniture in the living room.

She’s wearing a mini-skirt and a light blue crop top made of thin fabric that shows her stomach. Definitely very appropriate attire for her job.

The sound of a door unlocking fills the room, and then it swings open.

The actress sighs:

“Oh! Mr. Peña! You’re home early!”

The camera pans to Mr. Peña. You blink at the screen.

Javier Peña has that classic '80s kind of handsomeness. He’s tall, lean but broad-shouldered, his dark hair messy in a way that somehow suits him. The thick mustache above his tight lips and the long sideburns give him the look of an old-school movie star, and you have to double-check the release date of the film. 2002.

He’s wearing a button-down shirt and a loose tie, his gray blazer slung over his left shoulder. But it’s his brown eyes that catch you, because they’re familiar. It feels like you know them.

“The meeting was canceled,” Peña says, tossing the blazer onto the couch. “My daughter’s asleep? You can go now.”

The gasp that escapes your mouth is quickly muffled by your hand when Javier Peña’s voice fills your ears through the headphones, because you immediately realize where you know it from.

The voice is a little softer, younger, with more of an accent, but it’s the same voice.

Joel Miller’s voice.

“She is,” the actress says sweetly, crossing the room. Javier looks her up and down, from her bubblegum-pink painted toes to the way her chest strains against her top. “Are you sure, Mr. Peña? You seem really stressed out. Can’t I help you with something?”

You freeze where you are, heart hammering against your ribs. Holy shit.

“Help how?” Javier asks, raising an eyebrow, pretending to be disinterested.

She smiles, grabs his hand, and leads him to the couch, urging him to sit.

You’re almost ready for her to drop to her knees in front of him, because that would be the obvious next step, but that’s not what happens. The actress — Mila, her name — circles behind the couch, leaning over him to start unbuttoning his shirt.

“You’re so tense, Mr. Peña,” she says, pouting as she undoes each button. “Taking care of the house by yourself, your daughter…”

The shirt falls open, revealing a firm, broad chest.

“So responsible… No one to help you out…” She leans in and whispers against his ear: “No one to suck your cock.”

The shocked laugh that bursts out of you is immediately covered by your hand again.

Javier’s shirt falls completely open, and he takes Mila’s hand, guiding it straight to his pants, her long red nails vivid against the gray fabric.

“I’ve got you for that.”

“Mmm…” the actress moans, massaging him through the fabric. She runs her hands back up his shoulders. “That’s right. You do.”

She moves to kneel in front of him, but Javier clicks his tongue and says:

“Take off your clothes.”

You feel a pulse low in your stomach. The actress smiles and obeys.

Once she’s fully naked, she starts to kneel again, and Javier spreads his legs wider, tossing his shirt aside.

She massages him through his pants for a few more seconds before tugging the zipper down and pulling his pants down with both hands. He’s not wearing underwear, of course he isn’t, and suddenly, you’re staring straight at Joel Miller’s cock.

Large, hard, slightly veiny, every inch of it.

Javier shifts on the couch, gathers all of Mila’s soft hair into one hand, and with the other, guides himself to her mouth, and—

Someone knocks on your bedroom door and you nearly slap the laptop closed.

“Honey, I think Sarah’s getting home from school. Aren’t you going to greet her?” your mom asks.

“I am,” you say, but your voice comes out too soft. You clear your throat and try again: “I’m going, Mom. Just a second.”

“Okay!”

Your mom leaves you sitting there, staring at the wall with wide eyes and a racing heart, so much slick between your legs you have to stand up, clean yourself, and change panties before going downstairs to greet Sarah.

She gets home, you both go into Joel’s house, you make her a sandwich, and she heads upstairs to shower. You stay on autopilot, your head still completely full of Javier Peña... and Joel Miller.

Holy shit.

The man was a porn actor.

And apparently, a very successful one, because you distinctly remember seeing that his films topped the charts for years. Is he still doing it?

You rub your eyes and fight the urge to shove your fist in your mouth and scream.

The irony is almost too much. Fate is throwing a former porn star into your lap when it knows all too well the thesis you’re writing, and all your hatred for the industry.

You order pizza for you and Sarah. You eat while watching a cheesy teenage romance movie that keeps her glued to the TV. When she’s yawning hard, you ask if she has any homework (she doesn’t) and send her off to brush her teeth and get into bed.

She hugs you goodnight and heads upstairs. You hear her brushing her teeth, then the door to her room closing.

You take a deep breath. Pull your phone out of your pocket. You type in the search bar: Javier Peña. The image results flood the screen.

Joel Miller in a thousand different styles. At industry parties in clothes that scream early 2000s, at photoshoots with other actresses, even holding up a trophy that reads—

You lean in closer to make sure you’re not misreading it.

Longest Cumshot of 2006.

Wow. Congratulations.

The Google summary confirms it: Joel Miller, born in 1981 in Arlington, Texas, to Chilean parents. Porn actor, best known as Javier Peña. Joel Miller became an advocate for porn actresses’ rights, one of the main reasons he left the industry in 2010.

One of his last public appearances as Javier Peña was in 2016, co-hosting an adult film awards show alongside Tess Servopoulos, his former career agent. Since then, very little is known about Joel Miller, though several producers have tried to lure him back with massive paychecks, even for solo work.

You hear the key turning in the lock.

You lock your phone at record speed and sit up straight on the couch, eyes wide open. Joel will probably think that you’ve been doing cocaine on his coffee table.

He walks in, shrugging out of his coat, and looks at you.

“Hey,” he says, kicking off his boots. “Everything okay?”

You nod, then try to use words:

“Hey. Yeah.”

Joel gives you a strange look, glancing up the stairs.

“Sarah’s asleep?”

You nod again.

Oh, Mr. Peña. You must be so tired. Can I help you? My God. You’re the babysitter working overtime.

“Are you really okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Um… I…” you rub your hands over your thighs. “I’m just tired. That’s all. Is everything okay with your sister-in-law?”

“She’s fine. I’ve got a nephew now,” Joel murmurs, collapsing onto the couch across from you, legs spread, hands over his eyes. “And he’s so small. I almost didn’t have the nerve to hold him. I don’t even remember Sarah being that tiny.”

“Ha ha.”

At your awkward laugh, Joel drops his hands and studies you carefully, narrowing his eyes. He watches you for a moment, like he’s seeing right through you.

Joel says,

“You found out who Javier Peña is.”

You freeze, hands clenched in your lap. Joel rubs his temple with a heavy sigh and sits up straighter.

“Which one did you watch?”

You swallow hard.

“The babysitter one.”

“You’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that, sweetheart.”

“The film’s from 2002. I think the actress’s name was Mila? She was trying to comfort you about being a single dad.”

Joel raises both eyebrows.

“I know the one,” he says with a dry, humorless laugh. “Right. Here it is. I was Javier Peña for ten years. I guess I still am, when the paycheck’s good enough. I made porn movies. They’re out there.”

“Still are?”

“Not for films. Just for appearances or special gigs at awards shows.”

“Oh.”

He says your name firmly.

“That industry is your thesis. You know those actors and actresses are real people. I’m one of them. Are you going to stop treating me like a normal person now?”

“It’s weird,” you say softly. “Sorry, Joel, but it’s weird seeing you like… that… and then coming here and seeing you being Sarah’s dad, being… Joel Miller.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not,” he sighs, collapsing back onto the couch. “I’m way too tired to be mad, honestly. We can talk more about it later if you want. I’ll even help you with your thesis if you need. But not tonight.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks for staying with Sarah, seriously,” he says, shifting back into Dad mode. “Let me pay you.”

“No way,” you say quickly.

He opens his mouth to argue, but you cut him off:

“You said you’d help me with my thesis, right?”

He just looks at you. You explain,

“I’ll take that as payment.”

Slowly, he nods. And just like that, you have a deal.

That night, you head upstairs again and lock the door.

You open your laptop, type Javier Peña into the search bar, and scroll through the films. One title catches your eye: Neighbors: The Lust Lives Next Door.

The irony.

The title is ridiculous, sure, but the movie isn’t. He’s the married woman’s neighbor, and when her husband goes out of town, Javier shows up at the door asking if everything’s alright because he heard a noise and got worried.

He’s wearing tight jeans and a short-sleeve, light pink button-down shirt.

They head upstairs to check the bedroom.

She sits at the edge of the bed while Javier kneels down to look under it, but when he straightens up again, he sees the actress isn’t wearing any panties. Of course.

Two minutes later, Javier spreads her legs and goes down on her for a good while, his dark eyes locked on hers. And you could swear the moans are real. Either that, or she’s a damn good actress.

It’s when Javier starts whispering in her ear, loud enough to be picked up by the mic, but low enough to sound private, that your own fingers hover at the waistband of your pajama shorts.

He grips her thigh firmly, legs wide open, about to sink into her, both of them watching where they meet.

“Like this?” Javier asks.

She nods.

He licks his fingers and touches her clit. Her left leg trembles slightly.

“Sensitive? You’re not gonna come again for me?”

You swallow your shame and remind yourself that no one will ever know about this.

You slip your hand into your panties.

You close your eyes, listen to Javier whispering filthy things into the actress’s ear, and feel your pulse thudding in your ears and the slickness between your fingers.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #the last of us #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction

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jessiescock · 2 years ago

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I was just smoking at the window and witnessed my neighbour (elderly woman) dump out an entire huge bowl of chips. Girl i could have eaten those

#judging by the colour they were probably cheese n onion #she like. walked out of the door through the backyard out on the street and poured them directly into the biomüll trashcan #and then neatly covered them with a newspaper #at 9 in the morning

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mystics7up · 2 years ago

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Slashers! First meeting their S/O

Slashers! x gn!reader

Includes Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Thomas Hewitt, Vincent Sinclair

Requested? Yes

Warnings: beefy murder boyfriends, fluffy shit, pre-relationship stuff, love at first sight, mentions of murder/gore/malicious intentions, violence

Michael Myers

It was Halloween night, dark eyes through holes in a white, cast of a mask staring through the second story window of an old, decrepit house

A young boy skipping by as in a blue, capped superhero, an older couple strolling on the opposite street, arm in arm minding their own in the breezy night

Eyes cast downward as the sharp ring of a doorbell shot through the old bones of the house, glint of a butchers knife tight in the grasp of the man know silently making his way through the upper hall

“Are we even supposed to be going in here?”

“Who cares, it’s tradition to check out the Myers mansion, relax”

“I don’t know, this feels wrong..”

Listening to what seemed to be two young adult, the shrill voice of one of them almost instantly striking the silent man with a headache

Michael watched from the shadows as the pair came into view, the louder of the two wearing her hair in tight pigtails, a cheerleader outfit splattered with what was obviously fake blood, a bad attempt at a murder victim

Ready to lumber from the darkness and strike down on the intruders, the man was struck to the spot he stood as you came into view, wearing another poorly, and clearly last minute, thrown on pirate costume

You were what he imagined when the perfect kill was dreamt, your face burned into his as your pictured screams of fear and pain died as did your fighting spirit, the knife once again tightened in his grip, knuckles turning a pale white, veins pulsing beneath taut skin

He wanted, no, needed to kill you

Even the thought alone send a bold chill of excitement through the otherwise lifeless body of his

“You know what would be so funny-“

The girl in pigtails spoke as she flipped around the corner, the voice shrinking in her throat quickly morphing in a scream of terror as she bumped into the large, awaiting body of the infamous Michael Myers

Although her scream was also short lived as a rough hand was immediately around her throat, lifting her from her feet and slamming her back into the adjacent wall breath knocked from her body at the impact

His other hand rose, moonlight catching the long, silver blade as it was plunged deep into her stomach, twisting, turning as her throat gave up on its scream, another shriek caused the killers head to twist like an owl

There you stood, frozen in place with hands partly covering your mouth, eyes wide, not shaking, not running, just watching as the man before you brutalized your friend

But as your eyes caught each others in the dimly lit hallway, Michaels grasp on the now corpse released, body hitting the floor with a dull thud he didnt bother to pull the knife from its placed nestled between dead flesh, not even glancing down at it

Your hands slowly fell from your face, still not shaking, but clearly stressed with sweat as you wiped your hands on the fabric covering your thighs

“I’m, sorry for breaking in”

Your voice was soft, careful but not disingenuous, Michael didn’t know how to react, unable to look away or even move

His head tilted to the left, mask bunching at the bottom, he turned on his heel and made his exit through the rickety wooden door leading to the backyard, leaving the body, knife, and you alone in the corridor

As his walk through the brisk night air flooded under the neck of his mask, the killer could feel his normally emotionless face scrunch with confusion

If hearing you scream in fear wasn’t what he thought he wanted from you, then what did he want from you?

He would have to investigate this sudden curiosity closely

Jason Voorhees

Jason was tirelessly indulging the day by sitting on the end of his cabins patio, watching the slow turn of various wild animals go by

There weren’t any campers to keep him busy, nor screams and boisterous laughter of teens trying to get their rocks off on the property, just the hum of June bugs and trees swaying beneath the gentle breeze of warm weather

That was until a shrill yelp drilled into Jason’s eardrums, bothered by the distraction from his day of calm, the man stood with shoulders squared, grabbing the awaiting machete perched against one of the patios wooden posts

Marching through the dense woods, his boots crushed leaves as he made he way to the noise from minutes earlier, hoping whoever it was was far gone

“Oh my god”

Of course they weren’t though, of course whoever this was decided to stupidly wander onto private property, clearly posted in writing on multiple trees and wire fences

Although Jason hesitated when he heard something he’d never had the pleasure of catching

“You poor thing, here I am breaking the law because of you”

Peeking from behind the thick trunk of a large oak, Jason was surprised to see a stranger kneeling in the dirt, fingers and palms cut up with minor wounds as they attempted to unwind a helpless rabbit that seemed to have gotten itself rolled in loose barbed wire

Not minding to worry about yourself, you winced as another barb caught your finger, slicing the thin flesh there as the rabbit was freed, trotting away without a care in the world

“Okay, now which way did I come in from?”

You wondered aloud, turning on your heel to go back the direction you think you came from, hoping in get back on the hiking trail you’d left behind

Jason merely watched with confusion, no malice or really any thought behind his eyes other than the urge to, protect you, from what he wasn’t sure

But he knew for certain, you weren’t someone he’d be able to forget

Thomas Hewitt

Let’s get one thing straight, Thomas doesn’t enjoy killing, him and his family was forced into it by Hoyt and his insatiable urge to feed and “care” for everyone

Most victims were easy to kill, treating him like a monster, screaming in his face curses and insults as they went out

Others he had a harder time with, the ones that just cry, plead with him for their life, promise they won’t tell the police if he lets them go

That being said, he’s never failed to kill, not once since he’s begun

That is until one summer day, when a knock at the door caught Luda Mae by surprise, wiping her wet hands on a dish towel and headed to the front door

Eyes narrowed, the older woman opened the door to reveal a young adult, you, standing there with a shy smile gracing your features, you held a pair of car keys in one hand, the other free to reach up and rub nervously at the back of your neck

“I’m sorry to bother you and, whoever else is home, but my car broke down a mile out, and I’m unable to reach anyone on my cell”

Luda Maes confusion turned to soft pity, a reserved grin taking over her lips as she moved to the left, a hand beckoning you in

“Well dear, there’s a phone in the kitchen, if you’d like I can call the towns auto shop while you wait in the living room”

Although still shaken from being practically dropped in the middle of nowhere Texas, you made your way graciously inside, thanking the woman with kind praise as you did so

Taking a seat on one of the two sofas available, your ankles crossed as you stared down at one of the keychains dangling from your car keys

You could hear the woman in the kitchen shuffling around, although you weren’t sure if you could hear anyone speaking to anyone on the phone

Curious, you slowly stood, palms sweaty as you now took a few steps from the living room, now able to hear Luda Mae speaking on the low to someone, then the sound of a corded phone clicking into its place on the wall

Heart slowing as you realized you were just being paranoid, you quickly turned on your heel to find your way back to the couch, although your trip was cut short by your feet crossing over one another, about to fall on your face when a two large hands steadied your shoulder

Gazing up, your breath caught in your throat at the absolute behemoth of a man now standing before you, a leather mask covering the bottom half of his face, thick brows furrowing as you simply continued to stare with wonder up at him

“Thank you”

Was all you could manage, voice catching as you realized your body was practically pressed up against his

“There you are dear, oh look I see you’ve met my youngest boy Tommy”

Luda Mae spoke as she entered the room, knowing look on her face as she coyly added fuel to the current fire

Pulling yourself up right and out of Thomas’ grasp, your hot face was focused on the older woman in hopes the man wouldn’t notice your sudden fluster

“Unfortunately our only truck is out with my other son, so I was thinking my boy here could be so kind as to walk you to the auto shop, you’ll be safe with him, promise”

You didn’t notice the way Thomas’ eyes followed you, too focused on thinking about being alone with a man as attractive as the one quietly standing beside you

“You’re not worried are you?”

Luda seemed to test you, but it went right over your head as you shook your head no

“He seems very reliable”

You smiled up at Thomas, unable to catch the skip in his chest as you did so

Luda Mae could only grin at the sight, ready to call up Hoyt and tell him to leave this stranger alone, as she could see a future blooming before her eyes

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent wasn’t one to leave his studio unless absolutely necessary, and even in those cases he didn’t, it wasn’t pleasant for the man

Until Bo brought home a guest, someone shaking and blindfolded as he manhandled the poor soul, although the stranger wasn’t screaming nor fighting, it was as if they’d completely given up, or knew it wouldn’t help

Vincent watched silently as his brother forced you to the ground, your knees surely hurting as they made contact with the hard, concrete floor

“Do you know what happens to people that wander where they don’t belong?”

Bo questioned menacingly, although he had a playful glint in his eye Vincent had never seen before

Silently creeping up behind his twin, the long haired man narrowed his eyes as he scanned what he could see in the dim, candle lit room of your face

The obvious old, dried tears that had found their way down your cheeks were still shining, creating lines over your soft skin

You looked to be carved of marble, painted with delicate strokes and framed with care, you were a work of art, and he hadn’t even seen your eyes yet

Placing a deft hand on Bo’s shoulder, the two exchanged looks, the shorter haired twin groaning in annoyance, although that look from before was still in his eye

Right as he was turning to take his leave, he leaned closer to Vincent, whispering to him as he passed

“I took one glance and knew you’d like them, guess I was right”

Then he was gone, foot steps disappearing as he left up the basement stairway

Vincent cautiously walked closer to you, noticing how you flinched back a bit when he made a move to pull your blindfold up, doing it slowly as to not startle you

Your watery eyes fell on his masked face, brows furrowing slightly as you glanced around the room

Vincent’s mouth soured at the idea that you were looking for Bo, of course you would be, what new comer in town wasn’t, until

“Is that man from before gone?”

You’d whispered, and if your sweet voice didn’t send Vincent into a flutter of strange emotions, your next words at the nod of, “yes”, Vincent gave you did

“Good, he scares me”

He merely nodded, unsure of how to act

“Is he going to come back?”

Vincent shrugged

Your shifted so you were sitting, wincing at the ache in your legs, eyes nervous but no longer afraid, you looked to the silent man before you

“Will you, stay here if he comes back?”

Vincent had never been so quick to nod a, “yes”

Sorry I’ve been gone for so long, but I’m back now! I’m working on what is currently in my requests but feel free to send in more!

^ me returning after being inactive for 6 months

#slasher #thomas hewitt #vincent sinclair #michael myers #slasher x reader #jason voorhees #slashers x reader insert #slashers x gn reader #slashers x reader #thomas hewitt fanfic #thomas hewitt x reader #jason voorhees x reader #Jason Voorhees fanfic #michael myers x reader #Michael Myers fanfic #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair fanfic

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natsaffection · 11 days ago

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Not like the storys. pt 2 | N.R

BasketballPlayer!Natasha x Cheerleader!Reader

Warnings: Sexual jokes, harassment, bad/toxic parent’s behavior

Word count: 4,8k

A/n: second part is here! I’m honest with you, I don’t know where it’s going. Requests are appropriated..

Part 1

You woke up to the sound of your alarm and the faint golden blur of sunlight crawling through the edge of your curtains.

For a moment, you just lay there, half buried in your blanket, cheek pressed against your pillow, hair messy from sleep. Your body felt like it hadn’t fully arrived yet, still somewhere on the back of Natasha Romanoff’s motorcycle, warm wind rushing over your arms, adrenaline curled around your ribs.

And then it all rushed back. The fact that Natasha had not kissed you. Or touched you. Or even asked to come inside..The ride, the Ice..

You blinked up at the ceiling, letting that realization settle in again. She didn’t try anything.

You let out a long, confused sigh, grabbed your phone from your nightstand, and immediately winced.

8 missed messages. All from Lexie.

Y/n???

Are you home?

Do I have to kill her?

Please say she didn’t try anything weird.

If you’re lying dead in a field somewhere, I swear-

I will haunt Romanoff in her dreams.

I’m not joking.

HELLOOOO?

You let your head fall back onto the pillow. “Oh my god.” You didn’t even respond right away. You just tossed your phone onto the bed and dragged yourself to the bathroom, still half-asleep and fully unsure what the hell last night even meant.

By the time you stepped into the kitchen, the tension is already thick. Your mom stood by the sink, arms crossed, her jaw tight. Your dad leaned against the fridge, coffee mug in hand, shoulders hunched. The second they saw you, both of them turned.

“Well, look who decided to show up.” your dad said, voice sharp and low.

You blinked. “What?”

“You came home late.” your mom said, voice clipped. “You didn’t tell us where you were. Who you were with.”

“I was at the game.” you said. “Like I told you.”

“You didn’t say you’d be out half the night.”

“It wasn’t-” you started, but your dad cut in.

“Don’t get smart.”

Your mom scoffed. “Don’t start snapping at her just because you’re still pissed about last night.”

“You were the one who-”

“Don’t turn this around.”

“I’m not-”

Your stomach clenched as the volume started climbing..again. Same script. Same fight. They always found a way to drag you into it, even when it had nothing to do with you.

“I got a ride home.” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “That’s all.”

Your mom narrowed her eyes. “With who?”

“Someone from school.”

“You think that makes it better?”

“Better than being here..” you muttered, grabbing your bag. Your dad stepped forward. “Excuse me?”

But you were already backing toward the door. “I’m walking today.” you said, voice flat. “I don’t want a ride.”

“Y/n-“

“Just drop it.” You yanked the front door open and stepped out into the cold air, pulling your hoodie tighter around you. The door slammed shut behind you. And you didn’t look back.

You’d only made it to the end of your street when-

“YOU ACTUAL CRIMINAL, I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!”

You shrieked as Lexie body-checked you from behind.

“Jesus, Lex!” you gasped, nearly dropping your phone. “You scared the life out of me!”

Lexie looked wild. Hair still half-damp, hoodie askew, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep and pure worry-fueled adrenaline.

“You didn’t text back! Not once! Not even an ‘I lived!’ message! I had to imagine you getting murdered in someone’s backyard while I was brushing my teeth!”

“I was fine-”

“‘Fine’?” Lexie echoed, narrowing her eyes. “You got on a bike with Natasha Romanoff and then dropped off the face of the planet! Do you know what that means?”

“I know, okay? But she didn’t-”

“Please don’t tell me she took you back to her place. If you tell me she lit candles and played soft jazz, I will scream.”

You groaned. “Lexie..!”

“Did she kiss you?”

“No!”

“Did she undress you with her eyes?”

“No.”

“Did she..oh my god, did she let you wear her jacket?”

You stopped walking and turned to face her.

“No. She didn’t do anything.”

Lexie blinked. “…what?”

Your voice dropped slightly. “She just drove me home. We stopped for ice cream. She asked me if I was comfortable. That’s it.”

Lexie stared at you for a beat. Then, slowly: “Okay. That’s actually…kind of suspicious.”

You threw your hands in the air. “Thank you! That’s what I said!”

You walked for a moment in silence. Lexie tilted her head, watching you out of the corner of her eye. “You’re serious?”

You nodded.

“You’re not just, like, lying to protect her?”

“No. I’m..” You hesitated. “I was ready to have to say no, Lex. I had a whole speech in my head. I was expecting her to ask to come inside. I even thought about pretending my parents were awake just to make it less awkward.”

Lexie’s mouth opened to make a joke, but then she saw something in your face- something hesitant. Conflicted. And she went quiet.

“She just said ‘good night,’” you continued softly. “And thanked me. And left.”

Lexie exhaled. “Okay…wow.”

“Yeah..”

You walked in silence for a few more blocks. Finally, Lexie nudged your shoulder gently. “So what does that mean?”

“I don’t know..” you said, voice small.

Then, after a pause: “But I can’t stop thinking about it..”

The morning passed in slow, sleepy fragments. You sat near the window in your second-period literature class, trying to focus on the passage in front of you while the teacher droned about metaphor and foreshadowing. Your notebook was open, pen idle in your fingers, but your mind kept drifting back- to headlights on the road, the hum of a motorcycle engine, and the steady warmth of Natasha’s voice in your helmet the night before.

You barely registered the bell until the students around you began packing up. In math, you managed to finish your homework without really thinking about it, mechanically solving equations like your brain was working on autopilot. Your stomach churned with nervous energy that you couldn’t quite place.

You’d replayed last night in your head a hundred times by now. The softness in Natasha’s voice. The way she hadn’t made a move. The way she had left. Not because she was uninterested- but because she cared.

You had tried to stop overanalyzing it. You had. But now it was the only thing you could feel. By the time the lunch bell rang, your nerves were stretched thin, like someone had wound a rubber band too tight inside your chest.

You walked to the cafeteria with Lexie and Emma, letting their chatter fill the space around you. You were quiet, distracted, only catching pieces of their conversation.

“…if I get one more surprise quiz I’m throwing myself out the second-floor window..” Lexie was saying. “There’s grass down there. It’ll be fine.”

“You still have your calculus packet due?” Emma asked.

“Nope. Burned it.”

You chuckled softly, grateful for their chaos. You grabbed your trays and found a spot near the back of the cafeteria. You took your usual seat near the edge of the table, back partially turned to the rest of the room. You picked at your food, not really hungry.

The voices around you melted into one large blur- until a shift in the air made you look up. Your eyes scanned the cafeteria, and found her. Across the room, leaned back in her seat at the basketball team’s table, laughing lightly at something Steve said.

But even as she laughed, her eyes drifted..and landed on you. It wasn’t obvious. Not dramatic. Just…quiet. A glance that lingered a few seconds too long. A softness that had no place in a room this loud. Your heart thudded. You looked down quickly, color rising to your cheeks.

“Again?” Lexie whispered, nudging you. “Did she just look at you again?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you muttered, too fast. Lexie leaned back and followed your gaze.

“Oh, come on. It’s obvious. She’s got, like, heart eyes.”

You shook your head, but your hand trembled slightly on your fork. The cafeteria was suddenly too loud, too warm. Something was happening..And you didn’t know how to stop it, or if you even wanted to.

Natasha leaned back in her chair, one arm resting lazily on the table edge, trying to look cooler than she felt. Her heart was doing that annoying thing again- fluttering like it had no business being that soft.

She’d only let herself look at you once..Okay, maybe twic- Three times, tops. Steve sat across from her, watching her like he already knew.

“So.” he said, nudging her with his shoe under the table. “You made a move.”

Natasha looked at him sideways. “I didn’t make a move.”

“Offering her a ride? Ice cream? Emotional intimacy?” He raised a brow. “Sounds like a move.”

Natasha tried to shrug it off, but the smile that ghosted her lips gave her away. Steve leaned in, grinning. “You liked her.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

She didn’t answer, but she could feel the warmth in her chest she hadn’t had in a long time. The kind that made her feel human again. For once, it didn’t feel like she was pretending to be something she wasn’t. That’s when Matt sat down at the edge of the table with two of his guys, talking too loud already.

“Yo, Romanoff.” he said with a smirk, unwrapping a granola bar like it was part of his performance. “Nice exit last night.”

Natasha said nothing and steve stiffened.

“I mean..damn,” Matt continued, laughing. “Didn’t think little miss sunshine had it in her. You go soft or you take her hard?”

Natasha stared at her tray, jaw clenched. Matt leaned in a little. “Did she cry? Bet she cried.”

“Drop it.” Steve said under his breath.

Matt ignored him. “You always were good at the whole ‘choke-and-stroke’ game.”

A few of the guys snorted. Natasha didn’t speak, didn’t flinch or looked up. But her hand curled into a fist under the table.

“C’mon.” Matt smirked. “She got that innocent thing going, huh? Bet she begged for it.”

Steve kicked her gently under the table. Nat. Don’t.

The bell rang. Chairs scraped against the tile. Everyone started moving, except Matt, who leaned in close, smug. “You can at least say if she was good.”

Natasha stood in one smooth motion. And punched him clean in the face. A loud crack echoed through the cafeteria. Matt stumbled backward, grabbing his nose, blood already spilling over his lips.

The cafeteria froze.

Dozens of students turned at once. Trays half-raised, mouths hanging open. Matt looked up, smiling through the blood, sick and triumphant. “Knew I could get to you.”

She stared at him coldly. No regret. No satisfaction. Just quiet rage under her skin. Then her eyes flicked up, and landed on you. Standing at your table. Staring, shocked, pale.

Lexie grabbed your arm. Emma was whispering something. But you didn’t move. You just stared at Natasha. And Natasha saw it. The way your lips parted. The way your brows pulled together. The way your body went rigid.

Fear.

——

Natasha wasn’t someone who got distracted. She was the girl who moved fast, played harder, and didn’t look back. She didn’t lose focus, on the court or off. She had control.

But ever since she’d thrown that punch, ever since she’d seen the way you had looked at her afterward- something inside her had been…off.

She sat through two classes and didn’t hear a single word. Her leg bounced nonstop under the desk. Her fingers drummed against her notebook, open to a page she hadn’t touched. Her teammates whispered about her across the room, but she didn’t turn to look. She didn’t care.

She didn’t want to care. But her brain wouldn’t stop circling around one thing: you.

The way you had flinched. The way you’d left. The way you hadn’t even looked back. Natasha hated it.

She hated the way it made her chest feel tight and her thoughts feel scrambled. She hated that this one girl, this beautiful, stubborn, impossible girl, was the only thing on her mind when she should’ve been thinking about stats, or practice, or how she’d probably just gotten herself benched for the rest of the season.

But the second she spotted your hair in the hallway between third and fourth period, walking quietly with Lexie, head down, shoulders hunched, Natasha knew:

If I don’t talk to her now, I’ll lose her.

And for some reason, that scared her more than anything had in a long time. She didn’t plan what she was going to say. She just moved.

Weaving through the crowd. Cutting between lockers. Ignoring the eyes on her, the whispers, the subtle nudges. Everyone had seen the punch. Everyone was waiting for her next move.

“Hey.”

You both turned. Lexie immediately stepped forward, planting herself squarely in front of Natasha like a human shield.

“Nope.” she said, arms crossed. “Not happening.”

“Lexie-” you started, but Lexie didn’t take her eyes off Natasha.

“I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but she’s not a toy.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?” Lexie snapped. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re still the same girl everyone warns people about.”

Natasha’s jaw tensed. She kept her voice low and calm. “I know you don’t like me.”

Lexie didn’t flinch. “I know you don’t trust me.” Natasha added. “And you’re probably right to feel that way. I’ve messed up.”

Still, Lexie stood firm. “But I’m not here to defend my reputation. I’m not here to prove anything to you.”

She finally met Lexie’s eyes.

“I just need two minutes to explain myself to her. That’s all. Please.”

Lexie hesitated. Not because she wanted to, but because something in Natasha’s voice wasn’t like before. There was no edge. No performance. Just genuine worry.

You gently touched her arm. “It’s okay, Lex.”

“Are you sure?” she whispered.

You nodded. “I just want to hear her out.”

Lexie gave Natasha a look that could’ve killed a grown man, then stepped back slowly, still hovering close as she turned the corner with a warning glare.

They didn’t speak as they walked outside, slipping through the side doors into the empty courtyard. It was cool and quiet. The leaves in the trees rustled gently in the breeze. The buzz of the school building faded behind them, and for a moment, all you could hear was your own heartbeat.

You sat on the edge of one of the planter walls, leaving a space between you. You didn’t say anything.

So Natasha did.

“I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

You looked at her. Her face was softer now, but still guarded.

“Then why let it happen?”

Natasha exhaled. “Because Matt said things he shouldn’t have. And I’ve let people say a lot of shit about me. But I wasn’t going to let him say it about you.”

You blinked. Your eyes didn’t leave Natasha’s.

“I meant what I said,” Natasha added. “That night? The ride? I didn’t want anything from you. I still don’t. I just… like being near you.”

You were quiet for a long time. Then, softly: “He’s texted me before.”

Natasha’s head turned. “What?”

“Matt. A couple months ago. He started DMing me on Insta. Said he liked my ‘cheer energy.’ Then he started sending pictures.”

Natasha’s blood chilled. “What kind of pictures?”

You looked away. “You know what kind.”

Natasha didn’t speak for a moment. Her fists clenched in her lap.

“I blocked him.” you said quickly. “But I didn’t tell anyone. Didn’t want to cause drama. Or be that girl.”

“You should’ve told me.”

You turned to her. “Why? So you could hit him again?”

Natasha winced.

“Sorry.” you said quickly. “That was…unfair.”

“No.” Natasha said quietly. “It’s fair.”

She looked down at her shoes. “I don’t like how I handled it. But I couldn’t stand the way he talked about you. Like you were something to win. Something to…use.”

Your stomach twisted at how softly she said it.

“I’ve been treated like that too.” Natasha continued. “Way too many times. I guess I just…snapped.”

A long silence followed. Then you said, “I hated the punch. But I didn’t hate why you threw it.”

Natasha looked up, startled.

“I don’t like violence.” you added. “I’ve had enough of that at home.”

Natasha’s expression changed instantly. Her voice dropped. “Are you…safe?”

You looked away. Your jaw tensed. “I’m not in danger.” you said. “But it’s not easy there. It’s loud. Mean. Sometimes I just want silence, you know? Just peace. One night where nobody is yelling.”

Natasha felt something tighten in her chest. A protective ache she didn’t know she was capable of. “I don’t want to add more chaos to your life.” she said, voice rough. “I’m trying so hard not to.”

You looked at her again. “Then don’t promise me you’re perfect. Just promise me you’ll try.”

“I will.” Natasha said without hesitation. “Even if I mess it up. I’ll still try.”

Another quiet moment. “Can I…ask you something kind of stupid?”

You looked over. “Sure.”

Natasha hesitated, almost like she was trying to decide if she deserved to ask at all. “Would you give me your number?”

You blinked, surprised. “My number?”

“Yeah. Not like for flirting.” Natasha added quickly, the words tumbling over each other. “Just so I know you’re okay. Like…after school. At night. Whenever. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but-”

You tilted your head. “You want it…so you can check on me?”

Natasha gave a small shrug, her gaze dropping for a second. “I know I’m not someone you trust yet. But that night you got on my bike? You trusted me enough to let me get you home safe.”

Your chest tightened.

“And I don’t want that to end here.” Natasha finished. “So if things ever get too loud, or you just want quiet, or if someone says something, or just..anything, I want you to know you can text me. Or call me. And I’ll be there. No drama. No games. Just me.”

You didn’t answer for a long second. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you felt something pull in your throat. That kind of raw emotion that doesn’t rise like a wave, it sinks.

“I don’t have many people who say stuff like that.” you said softly.

“I don’t say it often.” Natasha admitted. “But I mean it.”

You reached into your pocket and slowly pulled out your phone.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me.” you said, unlocking it and handing it over. “Just don’t vanish.”

Natasha took the phone like it was something fragile. “I won’t.” she said. “I promise.”

She added her number, typed in Natasha, with a little lightning bolt emoji at the end. When she handed the phone back, her fingers lingered for half a second longer than they needed to. You saved it, and smiled. A small, uncertain, hopeful smile.

Two days passed. Not quickly..but softly. Natasha and you didn’t speak much in person. Not out loud, anyway. At school, you passed in the hallways like magnets just out of reach, subtle glances, shared looks that carried more than words. Natasha would spot you coming around a corner and feel her pulse shift just slightly, like the rhythm of her heart had changed.

You would catch Natasha watching you across the courtyard and pretend not to smile, pretend you didn’t look for her in every room. You texted. Not constantly. Not performatively. Just…here and there.

Natasha: You make it home okay?

You: Yeah. Just finished homework.

Natasha: Nerd.

You: I’ll take that as a compliment.

Natasha: It was.

Sometimes you said nothing important. Sometimes it was just:

You: Sky looks good tonight.

Natasha: So do you.

You never talked about the punch again. You didn’t need to. Not yet. On a Thursday afternoon, Natasha was supposed to be focused on training. The court was loud, shoes squeaking, the echo of whistles and coaches shouting from the sidelines. Her team was running drills, and sweat was already sticking to the inside of her collar, her jersey clinging to her back.

But her attention drifted. Across the gym, the cheer squad was setting up..You were there. Black leggings, team shirt tied at your waist, hair up in a high ponytail. You were standing at the front of the line, demonstrating a clean arm formation for two newer girls, your voice calm and focused.

You looked confident. Completely in control. Natasha found herself standing still a second too long, the basketball resting on her hip. Steve nudged her as he passed. “Eyes on the game.”

Natasha smirked, shook herself off, and jogged back into play. But her gaze wandered every chance it got.

Later the gym lights faded behind Natasha as she stepped out into the crisp air. Her hoodie was pulled over her damp hair, the sleeves pushed up just enough to cool her arms as she pedaled home. She took the back route, quieter, darker, the one with more trees and fewer headlights. Her body was tired in the best way, her muscles aching in rhythm with the movement.

Home was quiet when she got there. The porch light was already on. Alexei was watering the plants in the dark for no reason, humming some weird Soviet folk song under his breath. Melina was in the kitchen, reading a book with one hand and eating slices of apple with the other.

“Natasha.” Melina called gently. “Food in the fridge. You hungry?”

“Later.” she called back, already heading up the stairs.

“Good practice?” Alexei yelled from the yard.

“Yeah.”

She didn’t stop. Just moved quietly, naturally, toward her room, like she always did. She shut the door gently behind her, peeled off her hoodie, and dropped onto her bed with a heavy exhale. The sky outside her window was deep navy, fading into black. The first stars were just beginning to show. She reached for her phone, thumb hovering over her messages, when it buzzed first.

You: They’re arguing again.

Natasha sat up slowly, her back pressed to the wall.

Natasha: What happened?

You: I don’t even know. It’s loud. They’re mad at each other. At me. At life. Whatever.

Natasha paused, staring at the screen.

Natasha: Are you okay?

You: I mean. Yeah.

Not really.

I’m just lying here with my headphones in. Trying not to exist.

She read that twice, and her chest ached. Natasha hesitated, but then typed slowly:

Want me to come get you?

The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Then:

You: Lol

Yeah come break into my house and save me like a knight in shining armor

Natasha stared at that.

Natasha: I’m serious.

You: …wait really?

Natasha: Yeah. I don’t want to make things worse.

I just don’t like thinking of you there. Like that.

There was a longer silence this time. Two minutes. Maybe three.

You: She just yelled again.

I don’t even know what I did.

I just want out.

Natasha’s heart clenched.

Natasha: Drop me your location. I’ll be outside in 15.

You: Are you sure?

Natasha: Absolutely.

The dots blinked again. Then a little pin appeared.

Location Shared: Your House

A second later, another message came through:

You: I think I already regret that.

But also…

Thank you.❤️‍🩹

Natasha was already moving. She grabbed her hoodie, phone, wallet. Slipped her boots back on. Her parents didn’t ask questions when she walked out the door.

You stood just inside your bedroom door, phone in one hand, a backpack slung hastily over one shoulder. You hadn’t packed much. You weren’t even sure what you’d thrown in. A hoodie, maybe. A charger. Toothbrush. Nothing that said I’m running away, but enough to make you feel like you could.

Downstairs, the noise had died down. Your mother was probably sulking in the kitchen. Your father had stormed off to the garage again. The whole house felt like a pressure cooker, still hissing, still dangerous, just…silent for now.

You watched through your bedroom window, heart pounding. And then you saw it. The bike pulled up slow and quiet at the edge of the driveway. Natasha, in a dark hoodie and boots, cutting the engine and glancing up toward the house like she was assessing every angle.

Your breath caught. This was really happening. You slipped down the stairs carefully, wincing at every creak in the floorboards. You didn’t bother saying goodbye. The door shut softly behind you with a click.

Natasha was already walking toward you when you stepped into the cold air, one hand reaching into the side compartment of the bike.

“I didn’t know what kind of bag you’d bring..” she said softly, “but we’ll make it work.”

You just nodded. You didn’t trust your voice yet.

“You okay?” Natasha asked.

You hesitated. Then, quietly: “I am now.”

Natasha didn’t answer. She just held out the spare helmet. You took it carefully, fingers brushing Natasha’s. You adjusted the straps yourself this time, your hands steadier than you expected. Natasha watched the movement with something tender in her eyes but didn’t say a word.

Once the helmet clicked into place, Natasha swung onto the bike and offered you a hand.

“Here.” she murmured. “One foot at a time.”

You climbed on behind her, the movement slower now, familiar but still strange. When your legs settled and your arms wrapped around Natasha’s waist, you didn’t stop yourself this time. You rested your head gently against Natasha’s back.

The motor purred to life, low and steady. The ride was quiet. Not because there was nothing to say, but because neither of you wanted to break the calm. The wind whipped at your hair where it peeked out from the helmet, and the city blurred past in streaks of orange streetlight and shadow. But you barely noticed.

You were focused on the warmth in front of you. The steady rhythm of Natasha’s breathing. The way her hands never tightened too hard on the handlebars, always careful.

Natasha didn’t say anything through the radio. But she felt every shift behind her, every tremble, every breath against her back. She knew you were holding on a little tighter than you needed to. And she didn’t mind.

They pulled up to a small, lived-in house with ivy crawling along one side and a slightly crooked mailbox. The porch light still flickered on as the engine died.

You slid off slowly, removing the helmet with shaking hands. Natasha steadied the bike, then took the helmet gently from you, storing it back in the compartment.

Natasha smiled, soft, reassuring, and led you up the front steps. “Just a heads-up.” she said as you reached the door. “My mom’s chill, but she’ll ask questions. My dad…he’s a lot. Not in a bad way. He just forgets what volume is.”

You gave a faint laugh. “Good to know.”

“I’ll keep them short.”

Natasha opened the door. Warmth hit you immediately, light, heat, and the scent of something herby from the kitchen. The TV buzzed faintly from the living room.

Natasha stepped inside first. “Hey, I’m back.”

Melina appeared from the hallway, wearing a cozy sweater and socks, her hair tied up messily like she’d been reading for hours.

“Hey-” she stopped in the doorway, her eyes landing on you behind Natasha. There was a moment of stillness. Her brows lifted, not judgmental, just…surprised.

Because her daughter didn’t bring girls home. Not like this. Melina’s eyes softened immediately. She glanced between you, reading more in five seconds than most people could in an hour.

“Hi.” she said gently.

You blinked. “Hi, I’m Y/n..”

“I’m Melina.” she said, stepping forward, offering a kind smile. “You’re welcome here. Always.”

You looked down shyly. “Thanks.”

Melina’s gaze flicked back to her daughter, amused. “Didn’t think I’d see the day.”

Natasha gave her a pointed look. “Not now, Mom.”

Melina just chuckled and squeezed her shoulder before disappearing back toward the kitchen. You followed Natasha down the hall with your backpack held tightly over one shoulder.

The house was cozy but lived-in. Books stacked in odd places, a plant or two hanging crookedly, and a faint hum of something classical playing from a speaker in another room. It felt warm. It felt safe..

Natasha stopped at the door at the end of the hall, pushed it open with one hand, and stepped aside. “Here it is.” she muttered, almost awkwardly. “It’s..not that exciting.”

You stepped in, looking around slowly. The room smelled like lavender and old gym t-shirts. The walls were covered in a mix of photos, torn posters, and little hand-written notes pinned near the mirror. There was a corkboard half-covered in ticket stubs and small Polaroids. The window was cracked just enough to let the cool air in.

It looked lived in. But more than that, it looked like her.

“You have…fairy lights?” you said, half-smiling.

Natasha shrugged, pulling her hoodie off. “Melina bought them for me. I pretended to hate them.”

You nodded, taking another slow glance around. “You didn’t take them down.”

“Noup..” Natasha said, quieter now. “I didn’t.”

Your gaze landed on the bed. It was slightly unmade. Simple grey sheets. A worn pillow with one corner permanently flipped up.

Natasha caught you looking. “I can bring in the mattress.” she offered quickly. “You can take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

You turned to her, blinking. “Wait, why?”

“Because I figured…I mean, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I wouldn’t be..”

There was a long pause. Your eyes held. You gave a soft, tired smile. “It’s fine. We can share, really.”

Natasha opened her mouth to protest, then stopped. “…Okay,” she said simply. And it was more than just okay.

Ten minutes later, you sat cross-legged on the bed, your hoodie folded neatly beside you, scrolling aimlessly on your phone while Natasha pulled out her laptop and connected it to the TV mounted above her desk.

That’s when a light knock tapped against the door. Natasha groaned. “Oh god.”

She swung it open an inch. “What.”

Melina peeked in with a tray. “Snack patrol.”

Natasha groaned louder. “Mom..”

“I brought cut fruit.. Popcorn. Also those little chocolate-covered pretzel bites you like.”

Melina stepped in fully, ignoring her daughter’s eye roll as she made a beeline for you.

“Hi, sweetheart.” she said warmly. “You need anything? Extra blanket? Phone charger? My daughter forgets to offer people actual things.”

You laughed softly. “I’m okay. Really.”

Melina sat on the edge of the bed for a moment. “You’re very polite. That’s rare in this house.”

“Mom!” Natasha growled from the door, rubbing her temple.

“I like her.” Melina whispered (loudly) to you, then kissed Natasha’s cheek on the way out.

“Be normal!” Natasha hissed after her.

Melina winked and shut the door behind her. Natasha stood frozen for a second, then turned to you, deadpan. “So that’s my mom.”

You were smiling fully now. Not teasing,just genuinely warm.

“She’s wonderful.”

Natasha raised a brow. “Wonderful is a stretch.”

You looked down at your hands. “I wish mine was like that.”

The room went quiet. Natasha sat down beside you again. “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head. “You don’t have to be. Just..don’t take her for granted.”

“I try not to.” Natasha said. “But she’s a lot.”

“I like a lot.” you said quietly.

And that was the end of that. You slipped into the bathroom to change, leaving Natasha alone with her own spiraling thoughts.

She paced her room slowly, chewing the inside of her cheek. Adjusted the pillows. Then re-adjusted them. Changed the movie choice twice. Wondered if she should ask you again if you were sure about the bed. Wondered if she should pretend to fall asleep first. Wondered if her heart had always beat this loud.

The bathroom door opened, and you stepped out wearing leggings and an oversized sleep shirt with a faded logo across the front.

Natasha blinked. “That’s my shirt..”

You looked down. “It was on the top of your folded laundry pile. You said make myself at home..”

Natasha smiled, just slightly. “Looks better on you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling either. You crawled into bed carefully, both of you moving with quiet awareness, like the wrong shift might burst the moment. Natasha stayed on her side at first, arm behind her head, scrolling through Netflix. You settled beside her, tucking the blanket up to your chest.

“Is this okay?” Natasha asked.

“Yeah..” you said softly. “More than okay.”

A few minutes passed before the movie began. Soft sound filled the room. Then you spoke again, quieter this time.

“Thank you, Natasha.”

Natasha turned her head slightly. “For what?”

“For picking me up. For letting me stay. For not making it weird.”

Natasha reached down and brushed her pinky finger against yours under the blanket.

“It’s not weird.” she whispered. “It’s you.”

You let your head rest a little closer against Natasha’s shoulder. Not touching fully. Just near.

You didn’t talk for a while. The movie played. The lights twinkled faintly along the walls.

And somewhere in the middle of it, your breathing fell into sync. Not asleep..Just safe.

Part 3

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov x reader #dom!natasha x reader #nat x reader #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha

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holyblonded · 2 months ago

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adoption day | stargirl

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader, olga rios x teen!reader

summary: you manage to make you adoption day chaotic

warnings: abandonment issues(?)

notes: the ending is a bit similar to teenage dream but this was written first and idk how else to end 😭 i almost revealed estrella’s real name but decided against it

The house is too quiet. Too quiet. Alexia’s stomach is in knots as she turns to Alba, her voice sharp but low. “What do you mean she’s not in the house?”

Her eyes flick toward the hallway, making sure Eli and Olga don’t overhear. She doesn’t want to worry them— not yet. But the urgency in her voice is unmistakable.

Alba forces a tight-lipped smile, waving casually as Eli and Olga step out to grab more disposable plates and cutlery for the party later that evening. The second the door shuts behind them, her expression drops.

“I mean that I have torn through every single room in your godforsaken house, and Estrella is not in any of them,” she hisses. Alexia’s stomach sinks. “We have to find her,” she says immediately, already grabbing her keys. “We have to be at the courthouse soon.”

Alba groans, rubbing a hand over her face. “She knows what today is. Why would she disappear now?”

Alexia doesn’t have an answer.

They search everywhere. The backyard. The front yard. The neighbor’s driveway, just in case. The park down the street. Your favorite café around the corner. Nothing. No sign of you.

Alexia’s worry mutates, twisting into frustration. She pulls out her phone— no missed calls, no texts. Not even a single, stupid emoji from you.

“She’s going to give me a heart attack before she’s even legally my kid,” she mutters, pacing the sidewalk.

Alba, just as frantic but unwilling to admit it, crosses her arms. “You think she ran?”

Alexia stops pacing. The thought stings more than she wants to acknowledge. “No. No, she wouldn’t.”

“She might,” Alba counters, voice quieter now. “She panics sometimes. Maybe it’s too much for her.”

Alexia clenches her jaw. “Then we find her and tell her it’s okay.”

They split up again, checking every place they can think of, but the clock is ticking.

The courthouse appointment looms closer.

And still, there’s no sign of you.

Alexia’s grip tightens around her phone, her breath coming short. She’s about to call the police, or hunt you down herself, or…

The front door creaks open.

Both she and Alba whirl around at the same time, watching as you shuffle inside.

You look exhausted.

Hair slightly disheveled, hoodie too big on you, shoes scuffed like you’ve been walking for hours. Your expression is guarded, your shoulders hunched—like you’re bracing for impact. But more than anything, you look guilty.

Relief crashes over Alexia in a dizzying wave. It’s quick, sharp, and almost immediately replaced by frustration.

“¿Dónde has estado?” she demands, crossing the room in seconds. Her voice is firm, but there’s a raw edge to it. “Where were you? We’ve been looking everywhere.”

You hesitate, your gaze flickering toward Alba before landing back on Alexia. “Out.”

“Out where?” she presses, hands hovering near your shoulders, like she wants to shake the answer out of you but is afraid you might break.

You shift uncomfortably. “Just… around.”

Alba narrows her eyes. “Around where?”

You glance at the floor, shrugging slightly. “Just walking.”

Alexia exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. “Estrella, hoy es el día. We have to be at the courthouse soon—”

“I know,” you say quickly.

She stops, studying you. There’s something off. Something unreadable in your expression.

“Then why disappear?” she asks, quieter now.

You don’t answer right away. The front door swings open again, saving you. Olga and Eli step inside, bags in hand. The air in the room shifts immediately, tension settling in thick and heavy. Olga raises a brow, glancing between all of you, while Eli exhales like she already knows exactly what just happened.

“You found her,” Eli notes, setting the bags down.

“Barely,” Alba mutters.

Alexia’s frustration softens, just a little. Her eyes stay on you, the fight in her fading into something warmer, something quieter.

“You’re here now,” she murmurs, reaching up to cup the side of your face briefly before letting her hand drop. “That’s what matters.”

You look away, shifting on your feet.

Olga watches you carefully. “You okay, bebita?”

You force a small smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah. Just… a lot on my mind.”

Alexia sighs. She doesn’t push. Not now.

There will be time for that later.

“Come on,” she says, nudging your shoulder lightly. “Let’s get you changed.” A small smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “We’re going to make this official.”

You nod, following her down the hall.

But even as you move, your expression remains unreadable.

You stand stiffly in front of the courthouse, fingers twisting the fabric of your dress in a desperate attempt to smooth it down, to steady your shaking hands, to control something. But nothing feels in your control.

Your chest is tight, your stomach churns, and your vision blurs slightly as you blink rapidly, trying to hold yourself together. You should be happy. This should be one of the best days of your life. So why does it feel like you can’t breathe?

A warm hand presses gently against your back, and you flinch so hard it’s obvious.

“Mi amor,” Olga’s voice is soft, laced with concern. Her eyes scan your face, taking in the tension in your jaw, the way your shoulders hunch like you’re trying to make yourself smaller. “You guys go ahead, find the room,” she tells the others, not taking her eyes off you. “I’m going to talk to Estrellita real quick.”

Alexia, already watching you closely, doesn’t hesitate. She steps forward, placing a quick, gentle kiss on your forehead, then on Olga’s, before catching up to her sister and mother.

Olga guides you toward a bench overlooking a small park, where children run freely, their laughter ringing through the air. It feels like another world—one you can’t quite reach.

She sits beside you, but not too close, giving you space, waiting.

“Alright, mi nena.” Her voice is low, soothing, but firm. “What’s going on? You’ve been quiet all day. It’s not like you.”

A sharp exhale rips from your chest— too deep, too heavy, like you’re forcing the weight of everything inside you out in one breath. Your hands clench together in your lap.

“I’m scared, Olga.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but she hears every word.

“I want this. I want to be Ale’s daughter. She’s been more of a mom to me than my real mom ever was. I want to be part of this family, officially, but I’m terrified. What if one day she decides she’s not ready? Or she changes her mind?” Your voice cracks, but you push forward, words spilling out faster now, harder to control.

“What if one day you and Ale want to start a family and I prevent that? What if I just get in the way?”

Olga shakes her head instantly, but you don’t let her interrupt.

“I can’t let that happen,” you murmur, eyes locked on the pavement like if you look up, everything will become too real. “I spent my whole life praying for a family like this, one that wanted me, that cared about me, that let me just…be me. And now that I have it, I’m scared that once it’s real, once it’s official, it’ll all just—” You take a deep, shaky breath, voice barely holding together. “Go away.”

Olga doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, she pulls you into her arms, cradling you against her chest like she’s trying to shield you from every fear, every doubt, every ghost from your past whispering that you don’t deserve this.

You feel a tear drop onto your hair.

“Mi amor,” she whispers, voice thick with emotion. “Oh, mi corazón.” She pulls back just enough to cup your face, forcing you to meet her eyes. “Listen to me, and listen carefully. You are not in the way. You will never be in the way. Alexia, Eli, Alba, me, chose you. Not out of obligation. Not because we had to. Because we want you. Because we love you.”

Your breath shudders. “But what if—”

“No.” Olga shakes her head firmly, thumb brushing against your cheek. “There is no what if. This is your family. We are your family. And that is never going to change.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until she wipes a tear from your cheek.

You let her hold you for a little while longer, letting her warmth sink into your bones, letting yourself believe, really believe, that maybe, just maybe, she’s telling the truth.

Eventually, Olga presses one last kiss to your forehead and stands, holding out her hand.

“Ready?”

No. You’re not sure you’ll ever be ready. But you nod anyway and let her lead you inside.

The moment you step into the courtroom, you freeze.

The room is packed. Not just with Alexia, Alba, and Eli. Not just with Olga.

The entire Barcelona team is there. The coaching staff. Your friends: Vicky, Lamine, Alejandro, Héctor, Pau. People who have been there for you, who have stood by you, who have loved you without hesitation.

Your breath catches, and for a split second, that familiar panic claws at your chest. But then Alexia steps forward, smiling at you with so much warmth, so much love, that the fear starts to melt away.

She reaches for your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Come on, mi Estrelleta.”

You let her guide you forward, your other hand still holding onto Olga.

The judge begins speaking, but the words blur together. Your heart pounds as the moment approaches, as everything you’ve feared and longed for comes to a single point in time.

“Do you, Alexia Putellas, accept this young lady as your legal daughter, with all the rights and responsibilities that come with it?”

Alexia doesn’t even hesitate. “Sí. Always.”

“Then by the power vested in me, I hereby declare Alexia Putellas as the legal parent and guardian of ‘Estrella’ Putellas.”

The room erupts into cheers.

And before you can fully process what just happened, Alexia sweeps you into her arms, lifting you off the ground as you cling to her, burying your face in her shoulder.

“I love you,” she whispers fiercely into your ear. “Forever. Unconditionally. Do you hear me?”

You nod against her, too overwhelmed to speak.

“I’m never letting you go,” she promises. “Not now. Not ever.”

Even though you never responded, you believe it.

The party is in full swing. Laughter echoes through the house, glasses clink, music hums in the background. The Barcelona team is here, the coaching staff, your friends, everyone who has loved and supported you. There’s warmth, celebration, and a steady stream of people hugging you, ruffling your hair, calling your name with joy.

The air feels thick, the noise pressing against your skin, the walls closing in just slightly. Your heart beats too fast, and your breath comes too shallow. You can’t explain it; it’s not sadness, it’s not fear, but it’s something. A pressure in your chest, a weight in your throat.

Alexia notices. Of course she does. She’s been watching you all night, eyes flicking to you between conversations, gauging every twitch of your fingers, every shift in your expression. So when she sees you standing by the back door, shoulders tight, eyes distant, she excuses herself from a conversation with Lucy and moves toward you without hesitation.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just nudges your arm gently with her elbow. “Come on,” she murmurs, tilting her head toward the door. “Let’s get some air.”

You nod, relieved, and follow her outside.

The night air is cool, crisp against your overheated skin. The backyard is quiet, the noise of the party muffled behind the closed door. Alexia leads you to the steps of the patio, sinking down onto them, and you follow suit.

For a while, neither of you speak. You just sit there, breathing in the fresh air, letting the tension in your shoulders loosen bit by bit.

Alexia stretches out her legs, hands resting loosely on her knees. Then, after a moment, she glances at you. “Too much?”

You exhale, nodding. “Yeah. I just needed a second.”

She hums in understanding, gaze drifting up to the sky. “I get it. Big days like this… they don’t always hit right away. Sometimes it sneaks up on you later.”

You swallow, staring at your hands. “It feels real now,” you admit quietly.

Alexia turns her head slightly, studying you. “Does that scare you?”

You shake your head, but then pause, reconsidering. “Maybe a little. Not because I don’t want it. But because… I’m not used to things like this being permanent.”

Alexia’s chest tightens. She wants to tell you that this is different. That she’s not going anywhere. That this is forever. But she knows words alone won’t make you believe it. You’ve spent too much of your life with people making promises they couldn’t keep.

So instead, she shifts closer, draping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into her side.

You lean into her instinctively, letting yourself rest against her, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath. It’s grounding.

After a while, you break the silence. Your voice is quiet, but sure. “I called you mamá in my head today.”

Alexia goes very, very still.

You hesitate, then let out a soft, nervous laugh. “I’ve never called anyone else that before. Not really. I was scared to say it out loud. But… it felt right.”

Alexia exhales shakily, and when you glance up at her, there’s something raw in her eyes, something vulnerable, something that looks suspiciously like unshed tears.

She cups the side of your face, her thumb brushing lightly against your cheek, like she’s memorizing the moment. Then, her voice barely above a whisper, she asks, “Do you want to say it now?”

You hesitate. Just for a second. And then, you take a breath and let it slip past your lips, quiet but steady.

“Mamá.”

Alexia lets out a choked breath. Then she’s pulling you into her arms, holding you tight, her hand cradling the back of your head as she presses a kiss to your temple. “Mi niña,” she whispers, voice thick with emotion. “Mi amor. Mi hija.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing yourself closer into her warmth, into the safety of her embrace.

For the first time in your life, the word mamá feels like safe.

#barca femeni x teen!reader #barca femeni x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #barca x reader #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #barcelona femeni x teen!reader #alexia putellas x teen!reader #alexia putellas x reader #olga rios x teen!reader #olga rios x reader #woso x platonic!reader #woso fic #woso x teen!reader #woso x reader #woso community #woso #⋆｡˚ stargirl

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be4chywritez · 3 months ago

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shot to the heart (and the nose) | luke hughes

luke hughes x fem!reader

You come home from college and Luke is smitten...maybe a little too smitten

beachy’s masterlist🐚

requests are open!

part two!

Growing up next door to the Hughes family meant one thing—hockey was a religion.

It was loud, it was competitive, and it was everywhere. If the Hughes brothers weren’t on the ice, they were playing in the driveway, tracking in mud from the lake, or tossing pucks against the garage door until Ellen threatened to take their sticks away.

And you?

You were the neighbor kid. Not quite in the mix, but not completely out of it either.

Your families were close—vacations together, barbecues in the summer, Christmas parties in the winter. You and the Hughes boys had spent years at each other’s birthday parties, running through sprinklers, roasting marshmallows, and competing over who could eat the most popsicles before Jim made you all go inside.

But if hockey was the Hughes brothers’ thing, quiet was yours.

Luke, in particular, had always been the opposite of quiet. He was the one making up rules for backyard games, the one yelling over everyone else, the one who would get so frustrated when you’d rather sit and watch than dive into the chaos.

He never bullied you for it, not in the way other kids might have, but he pushed—nudging you toward the action, insisting you could keep up, making sure you weren’t left out.

Jack and Quinn weren’t much different. Jack, the natural show-off, would always try to impress you (even if you weren’t watching), and Quinn, forever the responsible older brother, would make sure you didn’t get completely trampled by their energy.

Then, of course, you all grew up.

You spent high school buried in books and extracurriculars, aiming for an Ivy League acceptance letter. Luke spent it on the ice, chasing the NHL dream.

By senior year, your friendship had faded into nothing more than polite nods and see you at Christmas waves across the room.

And then you left for college.

Luke got drafted.

Life moved on.

Coming home after months at school was weird.

The air smelled the same, the roads felt the same, but you didn’t feel the same. Maybe it was the time away, or maybe it was the fact that being home again made you realize just how much things had changed.

The car rumbled up your street, your mom chatting about how good it is to have you back while you stared out the window.

And across the driveway, in the Hughes' kitchen, three heads turned in unison.

Jack was the first to react. He dropped his sandwich. Fully dropped it. “Holy shit.”

Quinn, still chewing, furrowed his brows. “What?”

Luke didn’t say anything, just stared.

Because there you were, climbing out of the car—same face, same features, but different.

College had done something to you. Or maybe you’d just grown into yourself.

Jack nudged Luke’s arm, grinning. “Dude. You seeing this?”

Luke was seeing it. That was the problem.

You were tan, your hair was different, your shorts were short, and fuck, had your legs always looked like that?

“Oh my god,” Quinn muttered, leaning against the counter. “Luke, close your mouth.”

Luke snapped his mouth shut, scowling. “Shut up.”

Jack just smirked. “Bet she still won’t talk to you.”

Luke rolled his eyes, but for once, he didn’t have a comeback.

A few days later, you were walking up your driveway when you spotted Luke in his front yard.

He had his shirt on this time (unfortunately so) wearing a Team USA tee with the sleeves cut off, and ripping shots into the net with a ridiculous amount of force.

You should’ve known better.

Really, you should have known better.

Because one second, he was shooting.

And the next—

Crack.

Right to the face.

“Holy shit!”

Luke dropped his stick so fast it clattered against the pavement. In seconds, he was in front of you, hands hovering like he wasn’t sure if he should touch you or not.

“Oh my god, oh my god, I didn’t see you,” he rambled, eyes darting between your nose and your expression. “Are you—holy shit, you’re bleeding.”

You groaned, pressing your fingers to your face. “Luke. What the fuck.”

“I swear I didn’t see you—”

“No shit.”

Luke winced. “Okay, yeah, that’s fair.” He ripped his shirt off in one smooth motion, bunching it up before carefully pressing it against your nose. “Here, hold this.”

You blinked. “Did you just—”

“Sacrificed my shirt for you? Yeah.”

“Oh, so chivalrous.”

Luke huffed out a laugh, tilting your chin up slightly to examine the damage. His hands were warm, calloused from years of hockey, and being this close to him was… distracting.

His eyes flickered over your face, studying you.

“You look… different,” he murmured, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

You swallowed. “So do you.”

Luke smirked. “Yeah?”

And that was when you realized—he was still holding your chin.

And smiling at you.

And looking so unfairly good doing it.

You exhaled sharply. “Quit smiling at me.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I feel weird.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything.

And then—

His grin widened, slow and lazy. “Huh.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said easily. “Just thinking I should smile at you more often.”

You groaned, shoving his chest. “Oh my god.”

Luke just laughed, but then his expression sobered. “C’mon, let’s go inside. Mom’ll kill me if I leave you out here bleeding.”

Before Luke could even pull you up, the door to the Hughes house slammed open.

Jack and Quinn came speed-walking—borderline running—toward you, eyes bouncing between Luke, you, and the blood dripping down your face.

Jack, of course, spoke first.

“Oh my god, did Luke hit you?”

You groaned, still pressing Luke’s (formerly white) Team USA shirt to your nose. “You say that like he didn’t just slapshot a puck into my face.”

Quinn sighed, looking so unimpressed. “Jesus, Luke.”

Luke, still crouched next to you, lifted his hands in exasperation. “I didn’t see her! I was just—”

Jack cackled, pointing at Luke like he’d just won the lottery. “You obliterated her!”

“Jack,” you deadpanned. “Not helping.”

Jack waved you off. “No, no, because this is insane. You come back from college looking totally different, and the second Luke sees you, he shoots his shot—literally.”

Luke groaned, running a hand down his face. “Jack, I swear to—”

Jack ignored him. “I mean, I knew he was gonna lose it when he saw you again, but this—this is next level.”

Luke shoved him. “Can you shut up?”

Quinn, ever the responsible older brother, rolled his eyes. “Alright, let’s get her inside before she passes out in our driveway.”

Jack smirked. “Or before Luke confesses his love again.”

Luke shoved him harder.

You just sighed.

The moment you stepped into the house, the familiar warmth of the Hughes home hit you—laundry detergent, whatever Quinn had been cooking earlier, and a faint trace of hockey gear.

And then—

“Oh my god!”

Ellen practically flew down the stairs, eyes zeroing in on your face.

Jim followed behind her, frowning. “Jesus, what happened?”

Jack, still very much enjoying the situation, grinned. “Oh, you know. Luke saw her for the first time in, like, a year and immediately tried to take her out.”

Luke groaned. “That is not what happened.”

Ellen, ignoring them, cupped your face as gently as she could, careful not to touch your nose. “Sweetheart, oh my gosh! You’re hurt!”

Jack, ever the instigator, added, “She is hurt, but also—she looks amazing, right?”

Ellen’s eyes flickered over your face—well, the parts of it that weren’t covered in blood—and beamed. “Oh, honey, you are stunning! Look at you! College has done wonders for you.”

You blinked. “Uh—”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “Ellen, she’s bleeding.”

Ellen waved him off. “Yes, yes, I see that, but look at how grown up she is!” She turned to Quinn. “Quinn, tell me she doesn’t look gorgeous.”

Quinn, handing Luke an ice pack, huffed out a laugh. “She does.”

Jack smirked. “Luke sure thinks so.”

Luke whipped around. “Jack, I will actually—”

Jim chuckled, finally stepping in. “Alright, El, let’s fix her up before we start matchmaking.”

Luke, still looking like he desperately wanted to disappear, guided you to the kitchen table and sat you down. “Okay, let me—uh—yeah, just—” He fumbled with the ice pack, hands slightly shaky.

You raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

He swallowed. “Yeah. Just—quit looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like—” Luke exhaled sharply. “Like that.”

You smirked. “Why?”

“Because I can’t stop messing up my sentences when you look at me like that.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything.

And then—

Jack howled. Quinn raised his eyebrows.

Ellen gasped like this was the best news she had heard all day.

Jim sighed, rubbing his temples. “Jesus Christ.”

Luke groaned.

And you?

You just smiled.

It was going to be a great summer.

part two!

#be4chywrites #nhl x reader #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes fic #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes

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littlemissmiller · 11 months ago

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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑮𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝑵𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝑫𝒐𝒐𝒓

Pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

Summary: (au) (Joel is dad to a 9 year old Sarah) Joel has been your neighbor for some time and you and him have become friendly. In an attempt to spend more time to him (and a desire to show off your summer body) you throw a pool party…

Warning: 21+ (drinking), smut, fluff, friends to lovers, use of nicknames (babydoll, baby, darling), p in v, ass eating, cowgirl style, fingering, couch sex, porn with a plot

Work count: 4.1k

A/N: hi all! the official first day of summer is today and i got inspired by a pool party i went to with my mans so i just had to write this cute lil smutty, fluffy story. i have a billy request coming and hopefully i get ch 3 of Summer Highs out soon (i know i said it would be soon don’t trust me on a release date which is why i don’t do them) ok that’s it! much love and enjoy ❣︎

───────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────────

It’s always a hot summer in Texas. It would feel weird if it wasn’t, but this year it feels like the earth is a legit bun in the oven. The whole neighborhood is feeling the heat, so given you have a pool in your backyard, you invite people over for a summer kickoff. Of course it has nothing to do with the fact you are desperate to see Joel Miller in nothing but a pair of swim trunks. From just his work shirts alone, you could see how tight his shirt hugged his muscles. How toned his back was whenever he would sweat through it doing yard work. You would always wave over to him from across the street, occasionally bring him water or lemonade while he worked. And today, your excuse for seeing him was to invite him to your pool party. You catch him outside after work, in his garage tinkering around under his truck. You stroll across the street and walk in. You knock on the side of the garage walls and Joel slides out from under his Silverado.

“Well hey there!” He beams, striding towards you

“What’s up cowboy.”

“Not much, waiting for Sarah to come home from soccer camp.” He informs

“Oh keeping her busy.”

“Well between so and the library reading contest she’s more or less keeping herself busy. Determined to get those Astro tickets. I promised we would do a road trip and she reaches thirty books by the end of June and wins the two tickets. She’s already at twenty five. She has a whole strategy.”

“Wow. Good for her. Well I hope she’s not too busy this weekend…” you state

“Oh yeah why’s that” he smiles, leaning his arm against the garage and above your head. You feel totally lost here with him looking at you how he is. His big brown eyes, so curious and pleasant, simply wondering what you have to say. He raises his eyebrows in anticipation.

“Well I sent out an evite a little bit ago, but I wanted to come tell you in person that I’m having a pool party Saturday. I thought we could all beat the heat ya know.”

“Yeah we‘ll be free.” He steps back, taking a rag from his waist and wiping his hands. He heads toward his garage fridge and gets out two bottles of water, offering you one.

“Thanks. So you do have your own water.”

“Yeah I always keep that fridge full. Especially with Sarah and her friends I practically always got Gatorade.”

“So you just like my water better?”

Joel smiles at you, combing his hair with his fingers. You watch his muscles flex and wish that you can be wrapped in them. He starts to look through his tool box and nods.

“You could say that. So Saturday you said? What time?”

“It starts at 12, but you can stay for as long as you’d like.”

“I’ll talk to Sarah, but I have a feeling she'll say yes. She loves you, so any excuse to see you, she’ll take.”

“I’m sure.”

“We’ll see ya Saturday then.” He winks and disappears back under his truck

You waltz out of the garage and back to your house. You trot inside gleefully and close the door behind you. You could jump, squeal, practically combust. Not only did you just figure out Joel had his own drinks on deck whenever he works, but always accepts an offer from you no matter what. God he must like you. He must. You hope you're not thinking too much into it but, you couldn’t help but think when he said “She loves you, so any excuse to see you, she’ll take…” he really was talking about himself. You bite your lip and roll your eyes. You want him so badly. So bad you feel like you are going to explode. You lean your head back against the door and sigh.

Saturday comes around soon enough, and you spend the whole evening and next morning preparing for the day. You clean your house, chop lettuce, tomatoes and onions for burgers, cut up a watermelon and make a macaroni salad. Even though you hadn’t explicitly asked for his help, you had a feeling Joel would want to help grill and you’d gladly take it. You prepare a cooler with a few beers and some water and put it in your garage fridge. Next you set up the pool area. You lay the cushions on the pool chairs, unwind the umbrellas and set out a few pool noodles. Everything looks perfect and your first guests start arriving around 12:08. More and more people arrive and at around 1:30, you finally see Joel and Sarah pulling up. He walks in with his own cooler and a swim bag. He approaches you while Sarah runs off to the other neighborhood kids.

“Well hey cowboy! Glad you could make it.”

“Yeah sorry we are late. Work called last minute and I had to help them order some more flooring for our site.”

“No worries. But these people are getting hungry and maybe you could help grill. I hate to put you to work…”

“Ain’t no trouble darling.”

“Ok I’m going to change. The patties are already formed, just in the fridge.”

Joel follows you inside and heads into your kitchen, poking his head in the fridge. You walk upstairs to your bedroom and change into your swimsuit. You had gone out that week and picked out a new suit. It was white, a two piece, the edge frilled, and it shaped your figure so well. You spin around and admire how it sits on your ass. The back had a cheeky build, and totally gave the viewer an idea of how your cute little ass looks. Not to mention the way it rides up, exposing your cheeks slightly, it’s perfect and you can’t wait for Joel to see you in it. You put your jean shorts back on and find one of your white, open-knit, pool coverup and a red, and a worn USA baseball cap. You pull your ponytail through the loop of your hat and spin around one last time.

Rushing down the stairs, only to find Joel already outside starting the grill. You sigh in disappointment. You take a beer from your fridge and try to open in on your own. Then Joel walks back inside. Even though your back is turned to him, he can tell you are struggling.

“Need help?”

You jump and turn around, your tits bouncing slightly as you turn, which Joel notices. He also seems slightly speechless as you turn to face him. His sentence cut off, face frozen, as if you stole the words from his mouth.

“Uh yeah, thanks.” You hand him the bottle and he takes it, uncapping it like it’s nothing. He hands it back to you and you take a swig.

“Oh hey so because I was so outta sorts getting out the door, I totally forgot to get sunscreen. You got any, Sarah is itching to get in the pool.”

“Of course” you run back up to your bathroom, find a 50 SPF bottle and head back down stairs. Joel calls out to his daughter and she comes rushing inside. At the sight of your face she enthusiastically calls your name and rushes towards you. You hold her in your arms.

“Hey sunshine!”

“We brought brownies!” She proclaims

“Oh did your dad make them?”

“Mhmm. Well he helped, I really was the baker!” She insists

Joel lets out a playful chuckle and rolls his eyes in amusement.

“Yeah, especially with all those eggshells you had to fish out?”

“At least I know how to preheat the oven.” She claps back

Joel smirks and then looks at you. He has always appreciated how loving and kind you are to Sarah. He appreciates knowing that when she’s with you, she’s in more than good hands. And you adored her as well.

“Hey! let her get that sunscreen on ya.”

“I’m fine! I’ll stay in the shade!” Sarah protests but before she can scurry off you’re already squirting it into your hand, applying it to her shoulders.

“You know you don’t have to listen to him. I thought you’re supposed to be the fun one!” She whines, and you smear her face. She scrunches it up in displeasure.

“I am the fun one. This is called fun in the sun, sunshine.”

She groans and pulls her face away.

“You know I think I saw a bomb pop with your name on it out in the garage fridge, if you can still hang in there for one more second.” You promise. “Ok there. Top shelf in the garage. Bring a few for the other kids. Ok?”

“Yes!” She states firmly and rushes off into the garage

“She just loves to keep ya busy…”

“Tell me about it.” Joel rolls his eyes “you uh…you look nice…” he swallows nervously

“Thanks, it’s new. I got it for today actually.”

“Oh really. Trying to impress someone?” He asks

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You quip back, smirking “how’s those burgers coming along”

“Grills still heating up, this is really nice of ya to invite everyone. Sarah hasn’t really had much pool time with soccer.”

“Well you two are invited over anytime.”

“Appreciate the offer. What else do you need for these burgers?”

“Here” you state, turning to the fridge and opening it.

You grab the toppings, cheese, and condiments and follow him outside. As Joel grills, you make your way around, chatting with your fellow neighbors. Eventually you get in the pool with a playful “go on sugar, I’ll holler at ya when they are ready” from Joel. As you strip off your top and shorts, Joel checks you out from across the pool. He can’t help but let his eyes linger on the curves of your body, the way your bikini bottoms hug your ass, and how nice and perky your boobs sit on your chest.

You notice him checking you out, your own eyes hidden behind your sunglasses. You try not to look so much, but with his back to you, it’s easier to admire his broad shoulders. And you have to admit, Joel is absolutely radiating domesticity. You could easily get used to this sight. Sarah splashes around you, pretending to be a mermaid looking for pearls and you throw sinking rings for her to dive for. Joel catches you playing with Sarah, and smiles. The smell of hamburger meat fills the air and Joel calls to you. You throw some more rings in to keep Sarah occupied and head out of the pool.

“How are these, little lady?” Joel asks as you approach

“Fantastic! Let’s put cheese on half of them.”

“You got it!”

People start to gather for food and you help Sarah dry off and get her a plate.

“Cheese or no cheese baby?” Joel asks Sarah as she approaches the grill

“Cheeeese!” She smiles, showing off her big smile to her dad

“What about you doll?” He asks you

“Same as her.”

After you eat, you wait a while to get back in the pool. You lay out with a few of the girls from the neighborhood Wine Club. As you chat, Joel admires the way the sun glimmers off your body. With most of the food served, Joel joins his daughter in the pool. You watch as he takes off his shirt, gawking over his bare chest. His shoulders cut into his neck so sharp and clean and you can help but want to feel how strong he is. And You smirk to yourself, happy to finally see him exactly how you wanted to. And he looks damn good in his turquoise-green trunks.

“I’ll be right back…” you excuse yourself, striding over to Joel, swaying your hips

“Can I get you a drink? I’m getting another beer, and maybe one of those brownies I heard about.”

“Oh I want one!” Sarah exclaims

“If you get out you’re getting more sunscreen on ya babe..” Joel promises

“She can bring me one and I can eat in the pool!”

“No, no baby. C’mon.” He argues, lifting Sarah out of the pool and onto the pavement.

“Awww!” Sarah whines, swinging her arms and legs.

You hold her hand and take her to the food, you grab a towel, wrap her in it and get her a small plate. You place a brownie on it and hand it to her.

“Can I have two?” She bats her eyes

“Go ask your daddy…”

She waddles over to Joel, squatting down to ask him. He rolls his eyes and nods and she trots back to you.

“He said I can!”

As the afternoon turns into evening, more and more people head back to their homes and pretty soon the sun is setting. You start to clean up, picking up plates and empty bottles and taking them inside the house.

The last few neighbors pop in to thank you and say goodbye and behind them is Joel.

“Hey…need some help?” Joel asks you

“Oh you’ve done more than enough. Y’all headed out?”

“I uh...sent Sarah home with the Adler’s. They said they’d watch her for the evening until I got back.“

“Oh! Well I would have loved to say goodbye to her.” You frown

“I bet she would have too, but she passed out on my knee even with everyone running around. Danny wanted to get his Ma home anyways…” he explains

He walks up to the kitchen counter and places a few empty beer bottles down. You smile and thank him. He helps bring in a few more bottles and follows you around with a trash bag as you pick up plates and plastic silverware. After everything is cleaned up and the pool is closed up, you and Joel head inside.

“Well I don’t wanna keep you from Sarah much longer.”

“It’s ok, unless that’s your way of kindly kicking me out, then by all means I’ll head out.” He smirks

“No no, you can stay if you like…”

“You sure?”

You nod and he closes the sliding door leading out to the pool, locking it.

“I don’t have much beer left, but you seem like a whiskey guy to me.” You imply

“I sure do.”

You pour him a glass and he leans over your counter. He smiles and he holds the glass to his lips and sips.

“I really appreciate ya Joel.”

“It’s no trouble.”

There is a brief moment of silence as you take a sip of your whiskey and gaze into his big brown eyes. You can’t help but feel he’s looking at you in the same way. A wave of desire washes over you and just as you're about to speak, possibly trying to make a move, Joel strides over to you.

“Ya know if ya ever need my help, I’ll always be willing. Whatever you need…”

“You’re too sweet Joel, I feel like I need to make it up to you.”

“Maybe you can, baby…” the words slip from his lips and steal your breath away. You gasp and move in closer to him.

“I’m sorry, can I call you baby?”

You nod wordlessly.

“Yeah? Well then baby, kiss me…”

You lean up, cupping his face and pressing his lips against your own. He holds your face in return, rubbing his thumbs against your cheeks and moaning into your mouth. Your hands move to cup his neck as you move your face, deepening the kiss. Joel clutches your jaw, pulling you closer and raising you onto your tippy toes. You chuckle against him. This is finally happening. You’re finally kissing the man you’ve dreamed of. Ever since him and Sarah moved in, you have wanted him. It was no secret. Perhaps that’s why the Adler’s offered to watch Sarah. To give you this moment. And you’re ever so thankful.

Joel’s calloused palms move to your waist, slowly trailing down your body, feeling the sides of your bare skin. You hadn’t bothered putting your swim shirt back on after the pool and you were grateful. You welcome his fingers and let out a girlish giggle, his feather light touch overwhelming.

“How late do you wanna stay?”

Joel checks his watch. It’s 8:10.

“I told the Adlers I would be back by 9 so I mean…is that enough time for you…”

“I’ll take whatever you give me.” You smile against his face, kissing his cheek.

With that he returns his mouth to your own and he moves to cup under your shorts. He squeezes your ass and moves his hands under your thighs. In one swift motion he picks you up and is moving you both to your couch. You and him stumble into it and he sits down with you on his lap. You gasp and pull back.

“Ok that was fucking hot Miller, my god could you get any sexier.”

“You know what’s sexy…” he implies, pulling on the front of your bikini top, snapping the strap

“You like it?”

“You look like an absolute snack in this thing darling. And your ass, fuck I couldn’t stop looking at it by the pool.” he pants

“Glad you noticed. I was trying to impress you if you didn’t pick up on that when I told you.”

“Oh I did, and it worked. It definitely worked.” He sighs, sealing his words with another searing kiss.

You rock against him as his mouth moves with yours. You simply can’t get enough of him like this and he desperately wants to devour you. His hands wrap around your back, pulling you flush against his chest. He moves to squeeze your ass again, fingers dancing underneath your jeans. He grabs and gropes you, causing you to whine and whimper into his mouth.

“I love those pretty little noises you make, baby. I can’t wait to hear what other noises you make for me.” He whispers

He pulls at the hem of your jeans, tugging on them until they slide down your ass. You stand up, pulling them down your smooth legs. He starts rubbing the back of your thighs, moving his hands up and down and settling them underneath the cheek of your ass. He pulls your waist close to his face, your pelvis practically grinding up against his nose and lips. You delicately place your hands on his shoulders as he admires you.

“Let me see that cute little ass of yours again, babydoll”

Then suddenly you are spun around and he grips the strings of your bikini bottoms slowly pulling them down. As he does, he kisses the bear skin that’s being revealed to him until his lips are consuming your ass. You let out a sigh, arching your back slightly as his mouth finds your core. He dives in, placing his hands on the meat of your ass and nuzzling into your cheeks. His soft lips began to kiss your folds, and you buck up against his face. He growls against you, groping your cheeks and diving in to taste you. His mouth and tongue finds your clit and he begins to lap at it. He’s so hungry for you. So desperate to drink up your juices like a sweet nectar. Your legs quiver slightly and Joel notices. He wraps his hands around the front of your thighs, steadying you , while simultaneously pulling you closer to his mouth. He pulls back quickly, replacing his mouth with his fingers. He rubs the sensitive bundle of nerves feverishly, cooing as you moan and whine.

“Tastes so good. So fucking good baby.” He whispers.

He mouths at your pussy, his saliva mixing with your juices, making you so wet. You’re throbbing into his mouth and he places a few chase kisses to your cunt, before pulling away. He takes his shirt off and tosses it aside. He gives your core a few more open mouth kisses then spins you around once more, and you take off your top. You slowly pull the dainty string, letting your bikini top fall off you and onto his lap. He moans, clutching the top in his hand. You move to straddle him and he tosses the top on the ground.

Before you can put your weight on him, he bucks his hips, taking his trunks off. His cock springs forward and he takes his incredible length in his hand. He slowly pumps himself and you lower your ass onto his thighs. You don’t quite sink into him yet, wanting to appreciate this moment with him. He cups your ass and you clasp the back of his neck. He leans forward to press feather light kisses along your jaw and neck. Then his actions get more aggressive as he starts to manipulate your breasts. You mewl and arch into him. Your entire body starts to slowly rock against his, teasing him with your wet core on his cock.

“Fuck I want you. I can feel ya. So wet.”

You nod, biting your lip and Joel loves his hand down in between your legs again. He plays with your clit for a moment, before sinking a finger in you. You buck up on him, and steady yourself on his shoulders. He pumps his finger into you, loving the way your heat and juices consume his digit. He adds another one, and you feel so incredibly full.

“You ready for me?” Joel murmurs against your neck.

“Mhmm, please Joel. I’ve wanted this for so long!” You gasp as he removes his fingers. He wraps his hand around his cock, guiding it to your entrance. The tip pokes in, then you engulf the rest, taking his full length in you. He lets out a staggering moan as he works his lips down to your collarbone and valley of your breasts. You move your hips, slowly grinding on his cock and your tits bounce in his face. He chuckles and looks up at you. He sits back, holding your hips as you ride him.

“Fucking look at you girl. So gorgeous my god.”

You giggle in return, feeling up your body and playing with your boobs.

“That’s it, put on a little show for me.”

You bounce on him, continuing to feel your body and then you touch your clit, swirling it around in between your fingers. You let out a long, breathy moan, tilting your head back.

“Mmm Joel, Joel Joel Joel….” You hang his name as he squeezes your ass harshly. He helps you move, shoving your body onto his cock and moving his hands to hold your hips.

“That’s it. Oh my god you’re perfect…”

You learn back slightly, rolling your hips and tummy. He splays his hands over your waist, his breath hitching. He loves watching you move. He loves how you feel and needs more. Joel moves expertly to stand up, keeping himself buried inside you and, placing you on your back, you yelp as he lays you on the couch. He dives in for your lips again. He crawls on top of you, wasting no time shoving his length into you. Cupping your face. He rocks his hips, his cock filling you up once again. He speeds up, drilling into you. Your legs fold up to your chest, giving him better access to your pussy. As he thrusts into you, his beautiful eyes meet your own, his gaze thirsty for more. He rests his forehead against you and pants.

“You close?”

“If you touch me again. Play with me a little then I’ll come… please Joel…”

“Yeah? Like this baby?”

He aggressively rubs your core, his hand in sync with his hips. You nod and let out a series of incoherent babbles. You move against his hand and cock, a pool of ecstasy filling your stomach and drowning your senses. Your heat builds and builds until you break. You clench down around him, your breath leaving you as Joel’s mouth falls onto your own. With a few more of his own pumps, his seed is spilling inside you.

“Oh shit” he curses “fuck baby it’s just you felt so good shit I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine I’m on the pill.”

“You sure it’s ok?

You nod and he kisses you deeply, lips pressing firmly on your own. You moan, holding his face.

“You just might be the most perfect thing on the planet, ya know that?”

“Whatever you say.” you chuckle

“I know this may come off as formal given what we just did, but I really wanna take you out for a drink sometime. Like an actual date. If you want?”

“Yes Joel, I’d like that very much.”

꧁•☀︎•꧂

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bussyyeukie · 5 months ago

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butcher!simon x student!reader: after moving to a little town in the middle of nowhere to work on your studies and finish up your degree, you seemed to frequent the butcher shop. Not that you were a great cook or anything, but you were an anatomy student, and practicing on the slabs of meat was helpful for dissection practice and stitching and such, it just wasn’t the same on fake skin (even if taking the odd cuts did make a few patrons look at you funny). But the quiet butcher was always happy to help.

There was something about the town that made you feel uneasy walking down the streets at night. It was a relatively quiet town, nothing really ever happened, and if it did everyone knew about it. A quiet town in the woods, typically basked in fog in the winters and baking in the summers. Everyone knew everyone, and it wasn’t often someone new came to town–especially not for long. The old people of the town said there’s a beast in the forest, something big and angry. Snatching up those who didn’t respect it’s domain.

You thought it was silly. Nothing had happened to you yet, but then again, you didn’t disrespect it’s domain.

You assumed that meant littering.

You’d moved to the town 4 months prior, almost finished with your degree, opting for an online course, renting out a place just on the outskirts of town from an old woman’s daughter, who had recently moved the old lady to an inpatient care facility. She’d hoped you’d keep the place warm while they were gone.

You had agreed, and moved in later that month. It was a tiny place, two beds, one bath with a large living room, a backyard that had the forest behind the wooden fence surrounding the property. Two stories but a relatively short staircase, narrow too. It was definitely a house owned by a strange old lady–taxidermy littered the place, dark wallpapering, and an abundance of books. Not that you were complaining, you always took to the weirder decorations yourself. Although you did end up taking the screaming fawn off of the chest that was in front of your bed. Swearing you could hear it crying at night.

The whole place had just lost the mothballs and soup scent, when you’d first moved in it was almost overwhelming. You’d left every window and every door open for hours. Lighting candles and washing the bedding in the guest room about 5 times. Emptying a bottle of perfume on it and on the sofa.

But besides that, it was a lovely little place, the sun shone through the windows in the mornings, and it didn’t get unbearably cold at night. Not yet anyway. Many locals told you that the deeper into winter it got the worse those old houses by the woods held up.

You had a 65 year old offer to help you fight the chill your second week there. Causing a fit of laughter from you and some laughs from the others sitting with him. A waitress at the diners bar apologizing for his behavior. You waved it off, the old man was no threat and it had given you a good laugh.

After about a month in town the locals started warming up to you, making friends with the woman who ran the bookstore. She claimed it was nice having an intellectual in the building for once. She’d even ordered some new books just for you, spending time talking about the new ones on the shelves or whatever ran she’d end up going on. There was a cashier at the local grocers who seemed to be enamored by you. He would watch which line you’d go to and make sure he was checking on that one by the time it was your turn. The waitresses at the diners and cafes liked you as well, you tipped good and chased off crazies when they’d become a bother.

Not to mention the butcher.

The big, meaty handed butcher who made his cleaver look small and swung with force to crack the wood cutting board. The butcher who wore a surgical mask when you’d seen him, shirt consistently blood splattered. Even with the leather apron he wore, the thick liquid managed to stain him. His eyes were sunken with dark circles and had a dead look to them. Shoulders broad and his back casting a dangerous shadow over his work as the dingy lights of his shop hit him.

You remembered the first time you’d ventured in. Nearing your first month there, your intrigue stroked when you overheard a conversation about the brutish butcher.

“There’s something wrong with the boy,” one of the old women wandering the baking aisle had said. Shaking her head, “He’s like the dead I tell you, doesn’t speak much, big lad but he lumbers around…don’t think i’ve ever seen him outside of that shop! Just stares…”

You remembered how you’d nearly dropped the box you were holding, enraptured by the conversation behind you. Hastily steadying yourself and snapping forward as the two women glanced your way.

The shop wasn’t big, just a small tiled area for people to stand, the counter, and the meat display. It opened up more behind the counter, where some meats were hanging heavily from hooks, and knives were in abundance. The lights of the shop yellowish and flickered when someone closed the door too hard. It was cold, and smelled of flesh and smoke. Cigarettes and bloodiness. A glass display of meats. All thick and red.

Of course, the butcher was hard to miss. The first time you’d gone in, there were a few people already there, chatting mindlessly with each other or with the butcher. You stood with your bag slipping off your shoulder, coat zipped up, colorful scarf sloppily tucked into it, one end hanging out. Your shoes clicked on the tiles, and you couldn’t shake the faint buzzing sound that echoed in the building.

You remembered the weight of your bag on your shoulders, and how you’d nearly plopped it at your feet as you looked at the meats in the case.

Frankly, you didn’t know what they were, what cuts were what, hell you didn’t even know what animal they’d come from. It all looked the same to you.

Looking up, tucking some hair behind your ear you met eyes with the hulking man. Blank brown eyes that sat set and unmoving. Your own widening at the sheer size of the man. How silently he’d shown up. There was one other person in the shop at that point, but the bell rang as they walked out, muttering on the phone as they did.

A silence falling upon you two. Your eyes darted down to his rugged nose, crooked and strong, and then to the dry, cracked lips under it, a scar running through the top one that tugged at the skin slightly. A subtle peek of teeth under it. His mask pulled down and rested just under his lips. Brows pinched together as he stood there. His skin was pale and discolored under the light. But you were sure yours was as well.

“Um,” your voice sounded out of place as you spoke, breaking a sacred silence, “This is silly but, I don’t know anything about meats…what’s easy to cook?”

You tore your eyes away, almost painfully, and looked at the case in front of you. Watching a thin trail of blood drip down from one of the cuts, following the path that had already cut a red line. Stopping for a moment before it dripped down lower into the case.

Your question went unanswered for a minute, before there was a distinct breath in from the man in front of you.

“Pork tenderloin,” the voice startled you, almost drowning the lingering buzzing completely. Rough and deep, it fell from his mouth, “You can grill it or roast it, inna pan too. Just go’a season it.”

He leaned forward, easily leaning over the case, and pointing to one of the cuts, his thick arms resting against the glass. Looking up at you through his messy brows.

“Oh,” you smiled at him, he smelled of blood and cigarettes, just like his shop. The scent was almost different when it came off of him, warmer, “Thank you. Could I have one of those please?”

He didn’t move, just looked at you, then licked his lips, standing back straight.

“Yea’,” he opened the case, the glass whining as it moved.

His thick hands grabbed the meat, the meat squishing under his fingers, a drip of blood leaking from it as he moved.

Jerking his head over to the end of the counter, “Move over ‘ere.”

You walked over, shouldering your bag a bit, reaching into your pocket to grab your wallet.

His back was to you, the sounds of paper crunching filling the space. His back was wide, blocking out the light under him, not a trim V taper–but big. Thick and wide and obviously strong. You could see his triceps working under his t-shirt, you could see his lats flexing and his traps bunching in a strong mass as he reached up for twine. It was beautiful.

He reminded you of anatomy models you’d use, ones where you could see different weights and different levels of atrophy and hypertrophy of the muscle. You’d always favored the big ones, bulked muscle, rich with fibers and snapping with strength.

Almost being cracked out of a trance as he turned around, briefly noting his front looked just as strong, a thick chest and his stomach solid as it pressed against the shirt. It wasn’t really a tight shirt, you think he just filled it out. He was obviously well fed.

He placed the neatly packaged meat in front of you, the twine tied in a bow on top of it.

“You’re new in town, ain’t ya?”

Nodded, you gave him a tight pressed smile, “Yes sir, been here almost a month.”

He didn’t react to it at all. Just stared.

“Hm.”

You nodded awkwardly, shooting a glance off to the side, then back to him, “Thank you, how much do I owe ya’?”

Tilting his head slightly the butcher looked you up and down.

“$10.00.”

You pulled out a beaten $10 from your wallet, a voice in the back of your mind asking why it was so cheap. Maybe meat was cheap here? Maybe he got a lot of customers and didn’t need to jack up his prices. You handed it over and felt your stomach lurch when your fingers brushed his.

He didn’t seem to notice, but you swore you broke out into chills the second you touched his cold hands. Like he lived in a freezer.

“Thank you,” you picked up the meat, and held it carefully in your arms as you put your wallet away, “It looks delicious. I hope I don’t ruin your good work with my bad cooking.”

You chuckled at your sorry joke, and felt your cheeks flush a bit when he didn’t react…again.

Before you could turn away he spoke up again.

“Sear it in a hot pan an' finish cookin' in the oven for about 20 minutes. It’s ready when the internal temperature reaches abou’ 145°F…”

Nodding your head, you tucked a loose chunk of hair behind your ear, “Oh! Thank you, I’ll let you know how it turns out–if it isn’t too bad, might not say anything if I bomb too hard.”

He snorted a silent huff of air out of his nose, like it was supposed to be some sort of laugh at your even worse joke.

He didn’t say anything more, you slowly took a step back, the doorbell ringing as someone walked in.

“Thank you again,” you smiled kindly as you turned, the man on he phone was now looking at his screen and shaking his head, running a man through his hair.

You had failed to notice the way the butcher licked his lips again, brows pinching further and curling his lips up slightly before he turned to the man on the phone. Missing how he snapped at the man that he needed to come back in 20 cause the shop was closed.

Your meeting with him grew more frequent, bordering on once a week. He’d tell you how to cook the meat you bought, and you would. Rather poorly, but you were improving. Slowly but surely.

It turned into him having the meat already cut and wrapped by the time you got there, giving it to you with instructions. They were usually very vague but he’d hit all the important steps. He spoke more too, the more you insisted on having conversation with him, the more you two actually had conversations. It quickly became a highlight of your week, you almost got a smile out of Simon–he told you his name the fourth meeting, said it got annoying hearing you call him Butcher–when you had tripped coming in the door once, barely catching yourself.

He even offered to cook something for you sometime. You quickly took him up on the offer, since you still couldn’t really cook, and he was probably worlds better than you at grilling.

Never paying much mind to how blood he’d be sometimes, dried blood lingering under his nails, probably just came with being a butcher. Right?

Or that he’d charge you half of what he did to others, and always gave you the best cuts. The cuts were even better the next week when you’d come in in a tank top or a pair of shorts or anything low cut. He was taller than you, and he already had to look down to talk to you so you never noticed the lowered gaze, and you were too engaged with talking about anatomy and the cellular makeup of different tissues to notice he wasn’t listening.

Didn't matter anyway, just gave him more time to stare at you.

#was thinking abt making this a series but idk #call of duty fanfic #cod mwii #xreader #call of duty ghost #ghost simon riley #cod x reader #cod headcanons #butcher!ghost #appalachia #simon ghost x reader #butcher simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you

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thebluediner · 5 days ago

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MRS & MRS O'CONNELL

fbi agent! billie x international spy! reader

through the hushed tones on the phone and back and forth whispering lay a unsuspecting tideous house in the suburbs of los angeles. the streets were awfully peaceful only disrupted by the little giggles of little kids on one house's backyard and the water sprinkler nurturing the flowers. the two mistress's of the house eased into their own work.

you pranced around the house with an apron on and some kitten heels clicking on the marble floors with a high sharp ponytail as you worked your way around the kitchen preparing dinner. your dark eyes narrowed as billie's figure made it's way out of her study.

carefully like a feline creature they traced her state of being. the way one hand found it's way in the pocket of her work slacks with another messing up her dark hair in a lazy excuse of a low ponytail. her white collared shirt was messy her tie long gone and a few buttons opened.

''I'm having somebody over in a sec-'' before she could even finish her sentence the bell door ringed alarming you as you quickly shifted your eyes towards the door with an arched brow.

''are they staying over ?'' you questioned your eyes moving back to her just as fast. her oceanic eyes lingered on yours for a minute before she shook her head as her answer before she approached the door.

the door swung open as the stranger with a familiar voice came into the house shoes noticeably staying on already knowing who it was, your nose scrunched in disapproval. billie smelt your disapproval before she could even see it on your face but she shrugged it off this was a work thing anyways he'd be out of here in a matter of minutes.

a small greeting was shared between billie's director in office and you of-course with your eyes scanning his feet focused on the shoes he's walked everywhere in all to discard the dirt in your house. a small smile here and small talk there just enough for billie to successfully drag him down the hallway back into her study and shut the door behind her.

you turned around taking the meal out of the oven placing it on the kitchen counter to let it cool before your phone rings. not your ordinary smartphone but the small digital flip phone placed on your gaiters vibrating against your thigh. you quickly pulled up your skirt revealing the device lighting up before you grabbed it to answer.

'' los angeles on the line'' you quoted one of the rules of answering any calls coming from this device.

''the break-in at headquarters was identified... '' the female voice on the other end of the call announced but her voice faded nearing the end which was unusual. normally the calls were straight forward especially if it was for emergencies.

'' I'm listening...'' you informed taking off your shoes before wandering away from the kitchen to some place isolated and far from billie.

'' individual was identified through forensics by the sample left over at the scene of the break-in as female'' your ears perked immediately at that notation. your heart rate was faster than usual clearly a sign of fearing the unknown or maybe confirmation to something you already suspected.

''blue eyes , height of five feet ten , dark hair, white as of race, an identified fbi agent... you don't need me to continue do you ?''the voice over the call that belonged to your longtime sort of assistant sometimes blurring the line into a friendship.

last week an attempted break-in occurred in one of the headquarters in los angeles by some undetected , at the time, person. you were immediately called in for work and left billie with the lame excuse of getting some groceries for the house at a specific place because of the quality. when you got there it was chaos with protocols being activated right after being triggered to ensure that nobody actually infiltrated the building.

the only good thing about that day was the fact that some blood was shed by the perpetrator after they got slightly stabbed by security. you saw the footage and the way they fought it all looked too familiar even with the attempted coverage but you pushed the gut feeling down. you didn't want it to be her.

even when you got back home that evening billie wasn't home and when you called her assistant he blabbered about her being possibly hurt from a work mission. upon seeing her it kind of all came together because her stab wound being in the same exact place wasn't a coincidence.

''you knew it was her right. you never miss these you have a gift for it'' she confirmed before a small laughter echoed before she turned the line off.

''baby, you okay ?'' billie called out from afar looking at you from the other end of the house. on instinct your phone moved away from your ear being fisted by your hand as you hid it behind your back before swaying to face her. a forced smile on your face as you met her piercing eyes before nodding with a small affirmative answer.

your feet quickly walked towards her your eyes on hers with every step you took as if trying to assess if she knew anything about you like you did with her. her eyes were too neutral for her to not know anything and the way they raked over you like you were under inspection rather than being admired gave it all away.

she knew something

a/n: let me know what you think

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thebeast-dennis-etcetera · 8 months ago

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Alibi

The morning had gone seemingly well, having the day off, you were able to take care of a lot of errands you had been putting off such as pulling all of the weeds from your backyard that managed to weasel their way back in even after drenching them in weed killer.

You were so engrossed with picking them and listening to one of your favorite podcasts, you almost missed hearing the doorbell ringing. Taking the gloves off, you paused your podcast and went inside to answer the door, slightly surprised to see two very professional people standing outside.

"Good evening ma'am. I'm Special Agent DiNozzo with NCIS and this is Agent McGee, mind if we ask you a few questions regarding Karen Moss?"

You shifted your weight nervously, stomach turning at the sound of your friends name.

"What's wrong? Did something happen?"

They shared a solemn look between the two of each other, telling you everything you needed to know.

"Her body was found this morning a few streets away and based on her call history, you were the last person to speak with her before her death. May we ask where you were last night around 11pm?"

You covered your mouth in shock, not believing that they just told you that your close friend died, let alone was possibly murdered and know were questioning you as if you might be a suspect. You thought back about the time they were referring to and memories of Jethro and you tangled together in your bed sheets popped into your mind. You thought about telling them, not sure if they even worked with Jethro, but decided on giving them the simplified version instead.

"I was here. With my boyfriend.."

"Is he here now to verify your whereabouts?" DiNozzo asked, taking a small peek over you as if he'd catch a glimpse of someone fleeing. Were all NCIS so suspicious?

"No, but I can give you his number. His name is Leroy Gibbs. His number is-

"Wait, sorry. Leroy Gibbs?" Agent DiNozzo interrupted, facial expression disbelieving. "Grey hair, high and tight haircut, broody mysterious Leroy Gibbs?"

You chuckled a little at his choice of words to describe your boyfriend, seeing how well he made an impression on people.

"Well not usually broody around me but yes, I guess you could say that. Why? Do the two of you know him?"

Once again, the two agents shared a look, this time one of confusion and awe.

"Uh, could you just hang on one second," DiNozzo asked. "I'll be right back."

You stood there with Agent McGee who looked like he wanted say something, but didn't as Agent DiNozzo walked a few paces, pulling out his phone and dialing a number.

"So was Kathy murdered? You said her body was found. When I talked with her last night, she said she was on her way to meet up with someone for a blind date," you asked McGee who was focused on the phone call Agent DiNozzo was having.

"Well Abby was able to go through the Lieutenant's phone and her number was the last dialed. We were just following- Uh yes- Well I wasn't sure- Of course boss, I'll tell McGee."

Agent DiNozzo came back over before murmuring to Agent McGee.

"Gibbs wants us to bring her in for protection. I told him you'd explain to him why we questioned his girlfriend without letting him know."

"What do mean, me? You're the one that had Abby look up the phone records."

"Just take one for the team McProbie. He's still mad at me for the whole coffee incident. Plus, you owe me."

You watched the two supposed Federal Agents argue like siblings, neither one of them wanting to be in the line of Jethro's mood and honestly it was kind of funny. Jethro never really talked much about his team but you had only been seeing him for a few months and 9 times out of 10, the two of you weren't doing much talking when you saw each other.

You decided to break up the little tiff the two of them were having in order to save some time.

"Alright, well while the two of you sort all that out, I'm going to change and lock up the house before we leave."

"Sounds good," Agent DiNozzo responded before going back to bickering with his partner.

- - - -

You took another sip from the little paper cup of water Agent David had given you as you waited in the conference room. She wanted to know about you and Jethro but you didn't divulge much information, knowing Jethro liked his personal life kept close and unknown for the most part. It wasn't long before the door opened and your boyfriend walked in along with Agent DiNozzo and David. You decided against giving Jethro a hug or kiss in front of his subordinates, although the both of them looked like they'd love nothing more than to see that happen.

You all sat down at the conference table except Agent DiNozzo who was wound up tighter than a jack in the box.

"Did Kathy give you a description of this blind date she was seeing?" Jethro started the questioning with. You spoke about everything you knew from the phone call you had with Kathy, tearing up towards the end, still not believing your friend was dead.

Jethro reached out to hold your hand and give you a tissue to wipe your eyes with, making his agents stare in interest at the caring gesture.

"It's like I'm in an alternate Gibbs reality," DiNozzo whispered to Agent David.

Jethro shot him a look before speaking. "Why aren't the two of you putting out a BOLO on this guy?"

"On it boss," Agent DiNozzo spoke quickly, leaving the room with Agent David following close behind, shutting the door after them.

"I think you should stay with me just in case until we catch the killer," he offered, standing up.

"Ok," you squeaked, not wanting to do much talking anymore.

"Come ere," he ordered softly, pulling you to your feet and into his arms for a hug. You accepted it eagerly, breathing in his scent, calming you down a bit.

Once you were better, the two of you walked out of the room and into the squad room, not expecting to be stared at by almost everyone there.

"What kind of reputation do you have with the opposite sex to make everyone look at me like the new zoo exhibit?" you asked Jethro, making him chuckle.

"They're just being nosy. Ignore them."

Jethro stopped Agent DiNozzo from asking anymore questions about the two of you as well as pulling you away from a very animated Forensic Scientist that seemed to have had entirely too much caffeine.

Jethro accompanied you back to your house where you packed a bag before driving you to his house, making a drawer available for you in his bedroom.

"I get my own drawer now. Things are really becoming serious, aren't they?" you teased him.

"Hey, I'm not the one who told my agents that I was your boyfriend," he retorted.

"Should I not have?" you asked genuinely worried that you had overstepped a boundary. He pulled you into his arms, staring into your eyes and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I don't mind the title. Just know that they're gonna have a million questions for you now," he stated, referring to his very curious agents. You smiled, giving him a peck on the lips and loving the new stage you both were now in.

"That's alright. I'll be sure to tell them how you love it when I give you back scratches while we cuddle together and watch movies."

Your joking was cut short as his fingers pressed themselves into your ribs, effectively tickling you till the both of you were on the bed, him hovering above you.

"You know, had it not been for you, I wouldn't have had an alibi for last night," you told him, running your fingers through his hair.

"Must of slipped my mind but," he murmured into your skin, kissing your shoulder. "I don't exactly remember how last night went. Maybe you can help jog my terrible memory."

Laughing at his playfulness, you played into it, pulling him in for a passionate kiss, ready to remind him exactly what happened that night.

#gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs #ncis #ncis fanfiction #agent gibbs #mark harmon #ncis request #jethro gibbs x reader #ncis imagine #jethro gibbs fanfiction

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leclercstars · 1 year ago

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advantage, zweig.

college!art donaldson x college!patrick zweig x reader based on this request

Summary: You've been into Art for years, but after he misses out on your senior awards ceremony, your feelings completely disappear. Seeing you out with a new guy certainly didn't help Art feel any better either. Warnings: mentions of alcohol, drug usage, kissing, mentions of sex.

You had been friends with Art and Tashi since you all were in the 5th grade. Spent hours on the playground together and in each other’s backyards before tennis consumed all three of you. When you all committed to Stanford, the joint going-away party your parents threw was unforgettable for quite a few reasons.

There had never really been any romantic tension between any of you. You and Tashi always had different types, and Art was sort of a self-proclaimed fuckboy so neither of you wanted anything to do with that. At least neither of you ever let it show. You had a sort of evergreen crush on Art, that seemingly persisted through every phase of your lives. From playing spin the bottle in basements to sneaking out for real parties in high school, the silent yearning you had for his touch never fully went away. Even when you had other boyfriends, shamefully, you always caught yourself thinking of Art when you listened to playlists they had made you. So when you walked him out to his car alone after your party, both of you single, Tashi preoccupied with talking to the adults, you knew you couldn’t pass up the opportunity. Bathed in the yellowy light of the street lamp, you leaned up against his car, wearing a low-cut white mini dress that did a good job of showing off your assets. Exactly what you wanted in this moment. It was 10pm, and the summer breeze had picked up, making your nipples pique through the thin fabric of the little dress. Art slowly stepped towards you, saying nothing, the lighting making his features dark, shadowy, lustful. His hands found the curve of your waist and pinned you against the chrome car door, tongue snaking its way down your throat with a passion that you had never experienced before. You tangled your hands in his hair, never wanting to let go of him or this moment. You kissed for what felt like hours, but as soon as he pulled away you already missed the taste of his lips against yours. He rested his forehead on yours, eyes closed, thumb rubbing your cheek. And then he got in the car and drove off.

And that was it. You never spoke of that moment again. You never told Tashi. That was it. And it was eating away at you. Your insides were constantly being mauled by a hunger for the feeling of his hands on you again. It was like a drug. A moment that had happened two years ago, and you constantly wanted another hit of that feeling. You all stayed friends, and you started to wonder if Art even remembered that it happened. It became harder and harder with each passing day to just act like things were the same, even when you had boyfriends of your own. You felt awkward bringing them around Art, knowing the way you felt. You still texted him all the time, hoping every notification was one from him. He had never been able to tie down a serious girlfriend, but spent quite a bit of time going on dates, which Tashi thought was trashy. “You can’t just keep leading girls on!” she would constantly groan. Boy, if only she knew. You kept yourself distracted from your own emotions by throwing yourself into school work, knowing that would at least pay off eventually. You excitedly texted Tashi and Art when you learned you were earning a distinguished senior award, and both of them promised to come to the ceremony. Tashi showed up 10 minutes early, always eager and overly punctual. 5 minutes passed, then 10, then 20. No sign of Art. He wasn’t responding to either of your texts, and Tashi started rubbing your back, knowing how excited you were about him being there. You had all done everything together for so long, and Art was missing out on the most important moment of your college career. How could he? This man you had loved for so long suddenly exposing his true colors sent a shock throughout your entire body. It was like waking up from a deep sleep, your feelings for Art slowly dissipating into the air around you. You heard a knock on your apartment door late that night. It was Art, standing there with flowers, wearing his sweat-stained Stanford tennis t-shirt.

“I am so sorry.” “I don’t care Art,” you snapped, starting to close the door when he put his hand out to stop you, forcing himself inside. “Get out of my house,” each word dripping like venom off your tongue. “At least let me apologize, I overslept.” “You don’t get to just oversleep an important moment in my life and then expect me to act like it never happened,” you were choking back tears, not wanting to appear vulnerable in front of the man who hurt you so badly. “You’re gonna throw 10 years away for this? For one moment?” Art’s emotion was visceral, slicing through the thick tension hanging between the two of you. “I loved you Art,” you said matter of factly. “But this isn’t the only time you’ve “overslept” and no one who is wasting my time is worth any of mine.” He stood there, mouth agape. Tears welling up in the bottom of his eyes. He looked like a sad puppy, which was making it harder and harder for you to remain stone faced.

“What?” he said softly, voice quivering. “Get out, Art.” you choked. You couldn’t do this right now, just wanting to push him out of your apartment and out of your life. He threw the flowers on the table and left, slamming the door behind him. The wilted flowers still sat there two weeks later when you were bringing Patrick through the door, drunkenly stumbling with him to your bedroom. Tashi had set the two of you up after you spent hours crying to her about Art. “You can’t spend the rest of your life buried in a pint of ice cream,” she said. Obviously, it went well, as you watched him slip the condom out of his wallet before you shut your bedroom door.

Things were far from serious between you and Patrick. You couldn’t stand the thought of experiencing real emotion for anyone at the moment. Patrick was fun, he was sexy. He loved going out and he was always happy to provide you with drunk cigs. Patrick showed up right at the perfect moment on Friday night. You were already drunk and all that tequila had gone straight to your clit. It was like he had a magnetic field around him, pulling you closer and closer with each passing minute. You met on the dance floor, your ass finding his crotch pretty easily as he pulled you in, the bumping techno song intoxicating you even more on him.

“Oh hey that guy over there sits next to me in class!” Patrick waved and grinned before getting back to feeling you up. It was Art. Standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching you bump and grind with a guy who he thought was a random classmate. Your phone pinged and you sneakily pulled it out to read the text. It was from Art.

“I’m pretty sure he does coke.” You rolled your eyes and glared at him.

“I don’t really care Art.”

“I’d be a much better dance partner.” he shot back

Your stomach fluttered a bit at that, but you suppressed it. Remembering why you had distanced yourself from Art in the first place. “Let’s get out of here” you whispered to Patrick.

The two of you waded through the crowd, hand-in-hand, and you were sure to choose a path that led you directly by Art. You walked past without glancing at him. Once you reached the door, you saw him standing there still, watching, mouth drawn in a tight line, brows furrowed.

You had never felt so satisfied.

dividers by @.cafekitsune

tags: @fangirlinc @nuhteyam

#challengers #challengers movie #challengers fic #art donaldson x patrick zweig x reader #challengers throuple #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig smut #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson fic #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x art donaldson #patrick zweig imagine #patrick zweig x reader #challengers x reader

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please-destroy · 5 months ago

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The Reader In The House Across The Street From The Woman In The Window

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 3.9k .

You buy your new house without thinking it through.

It is perfect for a first time buyer, the realtor assures you. Good schools, friendly neighbours, quiet streets.

The problem is not the house. The problem is you. You live on your own. Suburbia is immediately lonelier than you expected.

Your neighbours smile politely at you as you move in. They do not welcome you any further into their community. You know it’s intentional. You feel their assessing gaze; they can tell that you don’t fit.

You work from home. You wanted to escape a boxy apartment, you wanted to have a spare room to write in. Suddenly, all that extra space feels unimportant.

The housewives of your neighbourhood gather throughout the day like flocks of birds. Small clusters huddle by fence posts. They each wear different clothes, different hairstyles. Somehow, they all look the same.

You spend the first few days trying to ignore them as you go about your usual routine. Sometimes, you glance out and see that they are nodding towards your house. You are the subject of gossip, conjecture.

Already, you begin to scroll through house listings online. You wonder how you could have made such a naive mistake.

Now that you’ve seen your neighbours, you are sure that this is not your neighbourhood.

You have not seen all your neighbours.

A week has passed. You are up very late, sitting in the spare bedroom turned makeshift office. The silent, empty street is reassuring as you try to finish an article for tomorrow’s deadline.

She catches your eye. You stop typing.

Her long, dark hair is haphazardly tied back. Her face is wan like the moonlight. She is dragging a heavy garbage bin out to the curb. She looks exhausted.

Her pyjamas only highlight the irony of her obvious tiredness. For a brief moment you wonder if she is sleep walking.

She walks back to her house. She pauses on her porch step. She runs her fingers through her hair, letting it fall loose and long. Then, she reties it just as messily as before. She is startlingly beautiful.

Before she reenters her house, the woman turns and looks up at your window. Your heart arrests when you see her small smile . You feel unsettled, as if she could sense you thinking about her.

She is ethereal, bathed in the dim light from her own porch.

She goes back inside, closing the door softly behind her.

You take her cue and go to bed yourself. You can’t stop thinking about her smile.

The next day has a different energy to it. You try not to stare out of the window. You try not to think about the woman. You speculate briefly that you might have invented some nighttime apparition. Then, you remember her eyes, how they took your breath away. You couldn’t have imagined her.

She does not join the flock of housewives during the day. You notice now that the group always face pointedly away from her house. Sometimes, they throw a scathing look behind them. You feel increasingly sure that she is not their friend. You like her more for it.

The weekend arrives and her quiet house seems more awake. You hear kids playing in her backyard.

You meet friends for a Saturday brunch. You drive back to the neighbourhood where you used to live. The drive feels too long. You feel out of the loop already, sitting quietly as your friends refer to a spontaneous get together that did not include you. You certainly don’t make up for your past absence today. You barely speak, picking at your food. Your friends keep up the conversation without you.

You wonder at how being surrounded by people can make you feel so lonely.

You have been looking for excuses to leave your house ever since you moved in. Now suddenly, you wish you were back home.

You try not to think about her when you drive back to your house. You try not to hope that you will see her again.

Your timing is, for once, perfect.

She is sitting on her front porch step, hands cupped casually around a large mug. Her eyes track two boys on bikes, racing each other enthusiastically down the street. Her hair is in a loose braid today.

She smiles at you as you drive past her house, turning into your driveway at a snail's pace. When you step out of the car, she nods her head familiarly, eyes locking momentarily with yours.

You can’t help yourself.

You walk over. Your heart races and you feel like a shy child again; palms clammy with nerves.

Her smile is a little forced when she anticipates your approach. She smooths it away after a moment, her expression turning neutral and polite.

You realise that she is bracing for a tiresome social situation. You realise that she does not want to talk to you. You feel desperately self conscious, unable to stop your feet moving forward.

You give an awkward wave when you are standing at the edge of her front yard. She lifts a hand from her mug and copies the action. Her fingers are unthinkingly precise. They catch your focus and you wonder at her delicacy, if she was a dancer in another life.

You press your hand to your chest, not knowing what else to do.

‘Y/N’ You introduce yourself.

‘Wanda.’ She echoes, mirroring your gesture again.

Closer to her now, you can see that weariness is etched in the light lines around her eyes.

You pause unsurely. You don’t know what to say.

You know instinctively that she doesn’t want small talk. You don’t want it either.

You think her smile in the moonlight said more than any small talk could. Maybe that’s why you feel like you already know her.

Wanda’s gaze flickers briefly to her children and then it moves back to you. She doesn’t try to break the silence.

After a moment, her head tilts slightly and you feel like she's daring you to speak. You understand suddenly why the other housewives do not like her.

You can’t help but smile. It is nice to not be the only outsider.

‘Can I sit?’ You ask simply, nodding at the porch step.

A flurry of emotions swirl behind Wanda’s eyes. Surprise is the only one you recognise.

In response, she moves wordlessly along the wooden step, leaving space for you.

You sit down next to her. Heat crawls up your neck at your boldness and at her sudden proximity.

You can hear her quiet breathing. Wanda ignores you and you try to copy her actions. She sips her drink and stares out at the street. You lean your head against the railing and pretend to do the same. You watch her shoulders relax as you settle into the moment together.

The near-silent introduction is unorthodox, to say the least. You can tell how much she likes it.

After ten minutes, Wanda clears her throat.

‘That’s Tommy.’ She tells you, pointing at the faster boy on a bike. ‘And that’s Billy.’ She continues, moving to the boy in hot pursuit.

Billy catches his Mom’s pointing. His face lights up, and he waves back eagerly. You watch Wanda’s face soften, her fingers curling back around her mug.

She takes a sip from her drink a moment later. Her mouth twists into a grimace.

‘It’s cold.’ She says as she stands up.

She pauses at her front door.

‘How do you like your coffee?’ She asks simply.

When Wanda comes back out of the house, she is carrying two mugs.

She has made your coffee just right.

You leave when the boys come inside for their lunch. Chattering excitedly, they pause only to say hello to you. Wanda brightens immediately at their presence.

Her eyes are filled with a warm kind of love. It is intense to see the sudden change in her countenance.

She shoots you an apologetic smile as you turn to leave. She touches your arm briefly in a silent goodbye.

Her fingertips are still hot from the mug. They leave a phantom imprint on your skin. Her touch follows you back to your own house.

You next see her the following night.

Only two houses have their lights on after midnight. Yours and Wanda’s.

You open your blinds when you sit down to write. You tell yourself that looking out onto the empty street helps you work. You think you might be lying to yourself. Wanda’s living room emits a soft golden glow.

It is 2 am when her curtain twitches. Any focus you had on your work evaporates immediately.

Wanda is sitting on her sofa, her TV is playing a sitcom rerun in the background. Her eyes are closed as she presses her temple against the cold window pane.

For a moment, you think that she is crying. Her pain seeps across the street and into your house. You turn away, trying to refocus on your work.

Your heart pounds in your chest, filled with an icy fear. A wish to never feel like her. A wish to pretend that her sadness isn’t true.

You know that you can’t pretend. Neither can she.

A minute later, you close your laptop and turn back to the window.

Wanda is staring unseeingly out at her front lawn. Your chest feels heavy with her despondency.

You think of the way she smiled at her children; she is someone else now.

She plays with the frayed edge of the curtain.

You startle when her eyes flicker upwards, catching you suddenly in her stare. You can tell that she is just as thrown by your presence.

Her eyes dart nervously, never quite landing on you. She leans back from the window, ready to shut the curtains again.

Unthinkingly, you lift your hand, acknowledging her with another awkward wave.

Wanda’s eyes soften. Her fingers hesitate at the edge of the curtain. After a moment, they lift lightly from the fabric and grant you a small wave in return.

You stand up and hold two fingers in a silent request for her patience.

You hurry downstairs to your own living room. You turn on your television, switching to the same channel as Wanda. The same sitcom rerun crackles to life on the large screen.

You lift your blinds and look back across the street.

A smile stretches slowly across Wanda’s face as she realises what you have done. She adjusts herself to face you, propping her chin on her hand.

Her eyes track your television through the window. Your eyes track her instead. You let your chin rest against the back of your sofa.

You think that she seems to be speaking to herself. Your head tilts automatically as you try to read her lips. After a moment, you realise that she is mouthing the lines along with the actors.

Your sudden grin is too bright for the darkness. Wanda’s eyes flicker to you and she ducks her head in self conscious acknowledgment.

Exhaustion hits you not long after. Reluctantly, you turn away from the window, settling down on your own sofa.

You should feel uncomfortable, knowing that she is looking in. Instead, it feels reassuring. You have never felt less alone.

Slowly, you succumb to the heaviness of your eyelids and the certainty that Wanda’s company is something you only want more of.

You dream about the sadness that is embedded in her eyes, even when she smiles.

The morning sun wakes you only a few hours later. You cringe at the painful brightness as you move instinctively to close the blinds.

Wanda’s sons are sitting with her in the front room now, both bleary eyed and in their pyjamas. They are eating bowls of cereal, captivated by the morning cartoons playing on the TV.

Your eyes sting painfully with lack of sleep. You wonder how Wanda is functioning at all.

You nap away the rest of the morning.

You wake properly at 11, filled with a new resolve.

You don’t give yourself the time to chicken out.

Before you know it, you are walking across the street. You climb Wanda’s porch steps and knock on her door.

Wanda’s guarded expression slips away when she realises it’s you. Her shoulders slump with a barely repressed exhaustion. She sighs quietly and gives you a tired smile.

You realise that you want to take another step forward. You want to hug her.

Wanda rests her head against her door as she waits for you to speak. The soft gesture brings another rush of affection from you. You try to ignore the shaky feeling in your chest.

‘Hi.’ You begin, clearing your throat.

Wanda gives you her familiar wave. You feel uncomfortably warm as your gaze accidentally lingers on her fingers.

‘Do you want to get coffee?’ You ask in a strangled voice.

Again, you get the impression that you have surprised her. Wanda straightens and she regards you thoughtfully.

‘You want to go out?’ She checks and you nod in response.

Indecision flickers across Wanda’s face. She looks behind her at the mountain of laundry, piled at the foot of the stairs.

‘I need to change.’ Wanda tells you determinedly, a moment later. You glance down at her plaid pyjama pants and try not to blush. You nod again, moving to wait in the entryway as she flits up the stairs.

Wanda returns quickly. She seems harried, nervous in a way that you haven’t seen before. She smooths her clothes unnecessarily. Her hair is tied back and it makes her look younger. So does her oversized green plaid shirt.

She is unassumingly beautiful. It arrests your heart like the first time you saw her.

She catches your lingering stare whilst she descends the stairs.

When she is standing close to you, Wanda looks self consciously down at her outfit.

‘I haven’t gone out much since my husband died.’ She confesses, pushing up the large sleeves of her shirt.

Her words reverberate inside you. Her eyes meet yours and all the air leaves the room.

You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what to do. You grab her hand and squeeze it suddenly.

‘You look good.’ You tell her, hoping it is enough.

You walk outside together, instinctively in step as you walk over to your car.

The drive to the coffee shop happens in silence. Wanda’s fingers tap against her leg.

The barista takes your order and you find a seat together by the window. A window seat is meaningless, there is nothing to look at. The coffee shop faces onto its own parking lot.

Wanda watches the outside world anyway, sipping her coffee. You are patient, letting the ambient music fill your mind for a moment. You need the coffee almost as much as Wanda does. Every time she brings the mug to her lips, her eyes close in a momentary expression of bliss.

You think that she is perfect.

Pale, weary and grieving. Your heart tugs with a feeling it cannot help.

‘You really liked that TV show last night.’ You comment randomly when Wanda finally puts her mug down.

‘I love American sitcoms.’ She tells you simply, with a nostalgic smile.

‘You’re not from here?’ You ask, curious at the phrasing of her answer. Your mouth widens in embarrassment when you realise your clumsy question.

Wanda laughs once. The sound sends a shiver down your spine.

‘No.’ She tells you. ‘I’m from Sokovia.’

She watches you expectantly, waiting for you to do the math in your head. To calculate that she was a child during the war there. She is right, you count back the years automatically.

‘That must have been hard.’ You say carefully.

Wanda’s eyes flash with sadness. In that moment, you are certain that her grief has never settled.

‘I have lost my whole family.’ She tells you in a tight voice. You don’t have time to speak before she shakes her head.

‘I have my boys.’ She corrects herself immediately.

‘You do.’ You agree softly. You remember Billy’s eager wave at his mother. You realise that he has likely lost his father. Your heart twists with sympathy for something that you can’t fathom.

‘What are they like?’ You ask instead.

Wanda takes a breath and then you watch a miracle happen.

Her words flow suddenly and easily. Her stories make you sure that she is as much their best friend as their mother.

Her fingers dance in front of her as she gestures unthinkingly, painting vivid stories from their childhood.

Her voice is like water and you feel it rushing over your skin.

For the next twenty minutes, you watch Wanda’s heart open in front of you. You are captivated.

When the barista comes to take your empty mugs, Wanda remembers herself. She smiles at you self consciously. Her face relaxes as she reads your expression.

She reaches across the table, she covers your hand with her own.

‘Thank you.’ She says. ‘This was nice.’

You know she is telling the truth.

Your shoulders brush as you walk back to your car.

Wanda tilts her head back against the car seat as you pull out of the parking space. The easy silence between you brings a rich comfort.

You next look over when you stop at a traffic light. Wanda’s eyes are closed. Her breathing is even.

You take the longer route back, letting her sleep.

Your mind is reeling. Your heart is not your own.

Your car creeps into your driveway. You know that you have to wake her. You feel guilty at the thought. Wanda has turned away from you in her sleep.

‘Wanda.’ You try gently as you reach out and touch her hand.

The flash of red light is instantaneous. Despite your seat belt, you are thrown against the car door. Your body makes a harsh thud against it. Wanda’s eyes are turned toward you now. They are glowing red.

A scream builds in your throat. Red energy is emitting from her, like some kind of radiation.

You scramble panickedly to unclick your seatbelt and escape the car.

It is the slamming of your car door that brings Wanda back to herself.

She blinks her eyes back to green as she looks around in confusion. You can tell that she does not recognise her surroundings.

She notices you at last, backing away from her in fear. You freeze, waiting to see what she will do. A voice in your head tells you to run.

You feel sure that there would be no point.

Wanda looks down at her hands as if they are stained. A tear slides slowly down her cheek. All at once, she seems human again.

You are still scared when she opens the car door.

‘I fell asleep.’ She says and her voice cracks.

You don’t remember how to speak.

‘I’m sorry.’ Wanda whispers and another tear falls down her cheek. She hurries back across the street, arms wrapped tightly around her chest.

You flee to the safety of your house as soon as her back is turned. You are sure that she can hear your shoes crunching on the gravel.

Your hands won’t stop shaking. You pace your hallway, unable to decide what to do.

Eventually, you slow down and start to cry. You sink to the floor and stare at the ugly wallpaper that you have wanted to take down since you moved here.

Wanda is a monster.

Goosebumps flare across your skin as the words ring inside your head.

You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes as you cry harder.

There is an emptiness beneath your ribs like you have lost something. Fear begins to fill the cavity left in your chest.

You sit with the discomfort that somehow you still want to be near her. You feel trapped by her sweet smiles, by her tears and her tired eyes.

Reality hangs in an uncomfortable balance.

She is a monster and you have started to love her.

That evening, you don’t make any pretence at writing articles or meeting deadlines. You sit in your office, unwilling to shut the blinds and unable to look outside. Uncomfortable thoughts of Wanda still echo in your head as you try not to flinch when a car door slams outside. You hate your empty house. You watch the shadows lengthen against the undecorated walls and see them as symptom of what you are. If loneliness is a disease, you are undoubtedly contagious.

The small truth flickers, that this is what makes you dangerous to Wanda too. There is no cure for being left behind.

When the dark night is defended only by the streetlights, you find yourself walking to the living room. You leave your blinds open as you fall back onto your sofa.

The TV light flickers in a way that hurts your tired eyes. You do your best to ignore the needle prick sensation. You sit rigid with the temptation to turn around. Your heart thunders with an almost paralysing fear.

From behind, you sense the sudden weight of a stare that you are too scared to face. You switch the TV channel to American sitcom reruns.

You are dancing on a thin line.

In the early morning, you finally let yourself turn around. There is no one at Wanda’s window, but you can see the fading condensation marks of someone's breath against the glass.

You wake with a bright sun burning against your eyelids. There is a moment of disorientation when you see the digital clock display at the bottom of the TV screen. It is already afternoon. Time has begun to lose meaning.

You don’t let yourself watch out of the window as you pull yourself together for the rest of the day. You try to ground yourself in a semblance of reality. You convince your wandering mind to return to the task of your next looming deadline. You send half-hearted texts to your once important social circle.

You pretend to ignore the tremor that shoots through you when you hear a front door open and close across the street. Your fingers go still against the keyboard of your computer.

After a moment you take a deep breath and your ribs lift with an influx of something that's no longer fear.

You force yourself to look out of the window.

Wanda is sitting on her front porch step. Her hair is pulled back and the bright sunshine illuminates her pale skin. You breathe out slowly.

Wanda’s cheek is pressed against the railing, her eyes are closed with a tiredness that looks more like pain. There are no children playing in the street to keep an eye on.

You wonder if the rest of the neighbourhood is watching the same scene as you. You try to imagine the words shared in the houses surrounding you.

You leave your own house a few moments later. Wanda’s eyes flicker open at the sound of your door.

When her eyes meet yours, you recognise the fear. There has been a cavity beneath her ribs for much longer than you.

You lift the full coffee mugs you’re holding, in lieu of a greeting. Your steps are measured with the care of your task.

You watch relief pull her lips into an automatic smile. You see her fingers twitch against her thigh with the instinct to wave.

You sit next to her on the porch and offer her a mug.

Your shoulders touch.

You forget to be scared.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x you #scarlet witch x reader

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giuseppe-yuki · 3 months ago

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rancher!oscar piastri x reader headcanons

random headcannons for my fic come over, baby! (shameless promo 😔) *headcannons might not make total sense without reading aforementioned fic

the farm

after The Situation™, mama piastri is more than welcome of your presence at the family home

door has to be OPEN during the day though (she sends basil to guard the door)

you and hattie become besties and bond through bullying oscar <3

you hang out on their family farm during breaks from college so much nicole has assigned you chores to do as well

namely watering the garden and collecting the eggs in the early morning

oscar loves tagging along (only so he can take the chance to make out with you behind the chicken coop cause he can't when his sisters and his mother are in the house with y'all)

y'all are banned from the atv to travel around during morning chores because.. yeah.

when fall comes, apple picking in the family orchard!!!

although you may be a city girl, you know how to make a bomb apple pie

nicole makes cider :)

its nice to drink, curled up in oscar's bed with a classic movie illegally streamed on his laptop.

(most of the times, the movie doesn't get watched, anyways)

the apartment

your parents live in a fancy schmancy apartment in the city

they're always away on business trips or vacations so you basically have free reign to use the apartment when they're away

when you invite oscar for a "sleepover" in the apartment when your parents are in malibu for a random vacation, he gets excited at the prospect of seeing how you grew up in the city

baffled of your lack of backyard

no fresh eggs 💔 ? ?

"jesus christ, can the cars SHUT UP?" - oscar at 12am

he likes to watch the shiny supercars that sometimes pop up on the streets below rev their engines and zoom past your balcony

gets a little sick from looking down from a high height though, since the apartment is located near the 20th floor

"holy cow, do you think this is what being a cloud feels like??" - oscar leaning dangerously precariously off your balcony

college

when you both are not at oscar's house for break or your family apartment in the city, you both are at school

oscar studies engineering (duh)

since you study a whole nother field, you are located on the other side of the campus, which is kind of annoying

he likes to walk you to your classes even when that means he is going to be late to his own lectures.

(he knicks the notes off of his mate lando, anyways)

commonly sends you stupid videos in the middle of your lectures

often takes you out for lunch in his banged-up weird-orange pick-up truck that most likely has engine problems

study sessions in the library!! (he gets overwhelmed by your flashcards and you almost cry looking at his physics problems)

when essays are written and worksheets filled out, you sleep at oscar's dorm (the RAs in your female-only dorm crash out if they find out - god forbid - a boy is in your room)

oscar likes kicking his poor roomie (lando) out for a few hours when y'all get more intimate lmaoooo

a/n: lil headcannons to fill in the time while i work on my full fics :)

as always, my inbox is open to all your thoughts, headcannons, or questions for any of my works! (no fic requests please!)

#f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf fic #f1 imagine #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri x you #op81 x y/n #op81 x reader #op81 x you #💬

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tsukumomei · 3 months ago

Note

OKOKOK in my mind in the “puppy love” fic, reader is moving to spain

and then three years later sae comes to spain cause he gets scouted by re al you know the story

and so they meet again ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 (they have cute “dates” if you will, where she shows him around spain and what not 🤭)

now idk if you’re taking requests at the moment, or even want to write a part two for this, but i (and many others i feel like) would LOVE to see this!

no force though, if you do wish to write it take your time, and if you don’t it’s all fine too!

much love, xoxo 💋

a/n: This is actually insane because this is EXACTLY what I had in mind for a bonus part! I was originally going to end it when they saw each other again, but I took your request and wrote about their dates too. Enjoy! Mwah! I wouldn’t consider this a part 2, though—if I ever write one, it’ll still be from Rin’s POV. But I’m open to writing more bonus parts for this fic, so feel free to send me an ask! ^^

—RIGHT WHERE WE LEFT OFF

ft. Sae Itoshi

a bonus chapter for Puppy Love

synposis: Sae moves to Madrid after getting scouted by Real, but he has two problems. One—he hates it. The city feels unfamiliar, foreign, nothing like home. Two—he’s determined to forget about you. But the harder he tries, the more his own mind betrays him—because no matter what he does, everything leads him right back to you. wc: 3.1 k

The shuffling in Sae’s carry-on grows more frantic as he impatiently searches for that notebook from you.

It was the first thing he stuffed into his bag.

Flipping through the worn pages, his eyes finally land on the last one—covered in messy scribbles, but the only thing that stands out is a single line written in red ink at the bottom:

"Wait for me. ❤️ Y/N"

Sae presses his thumb against the words, as if touching them could somehow bring back the past. Could somehow make you feel real again.

He leans back into his seat, staring out at the endless stretch of sky beyond the plane window, but it’s not Madrid he’s thinking about. It’s you.

This morning, back at the house, he’d been kicking a soccer ball around the backyard, the steady thud of leather against concrete filling the quiet air. Rin was there too, watching him with a knowing look before finally speaking up.

"Nii-chan, it was just puppy love."

Maybe it was. Maybe Rin was right.

But if it was just puppy love, why is it still lingering?

Why did he still worry—that if you ever came back, that you’d be mad at him for not being there?

It’s been three years.

The chances of seeing you again were close to impossible.

—

Sae steps into his new apartment in Madrid, rolling his suitcase inside as his manager gestures around the space.

“This is your living room,” his manager begins, flipping on the lights. The apartment is modern, minimalistic—exactly what Sae expected. “Kitchen’s over there. Fridge is stocked for now, but you’ll need to do your own groceries after this week.”

Sae nods, setting his bag neatly by the couch.

“The bedroom’s down the hall,” the manager continues, walking ahead. “Bathroom’s connected. There’s a desk if you need to study or review game footage. Wi-Fi’s already set up.”

Sae peeks into the bedroom—plain, clean, nothing extravagant. Just a bed, a nightstand, and a small window overlooking the street below.

“You’re across the hall?” Sae asks as they return to the main area.

“Yeah,” his manager confirms, crossing. “If you need anything, just knock.”

Sae scoffs lightly. “I’ll be fine.”

His manager gives him a once-over, then exhales. “Good. Then I’ll leave you to settle in.”

With that, the manager steps out, leaving Sae alone.

The moment the door clicks shut, Sae gets to work. He unzips his luggage, methodically putting his clothes away, setting his toiletries in the bathroom, and neatly stacking his training gear by the closet. He takes mental notes of what he needs—more food, basic supplies, maybe an extra pillow.

Once everything is in place, he pulls out his phone and dials home.

His mother picks up almost immediately. “Sae?”

“I just landed and got to the apartment,” he informs her, his voice steady. “Everything’s fine.”

“That’s good,” she says warmly. “Have you eaten?”

“I will soon.”

“Don’t just eat whatever’s fastest. Make sure you’re getting proper meals.”

Sae hums in acknowledgment before adding, “Tell Dad I made it safely. And Rin, too.”

“Of course,” his mother says. There’s a brief pause, then a softer, knowing tone in her voice. “It feels real now, doesn’t it?”

Sae leans against the counter, staring at the empty space around him. His new home. His new life.

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

After a few more exchanges, he hangs up, setting his phone aside.

His eyes drift to his carry-on, to the one thing he hadn’t put away yet.

The notebook.

The worn cover, the slightly frayed edges—he traces them with his fingers before flipping it open once again. The pages are filled with your handwriting, messy yet familiar, scrawled with thoughts and doodles from years ago.

It’s ridiculous, really. He hasn’t seen you in three years. He has no idea where you are, if you’re still in the same country, if you even remember him the way he remembers you.

But memories flood in anyway. The afternoons spent at the park, your determined expression when you first crashed his soccer game, the way you always talked too much but somehow, he never minded. The way you scribbled on his arm once with the same red ink you used to write—

"Wait for me. ❤️ y/n"

Sae exhales sharply and shuts the notebook.

Maybe it really was just puppy love.

He stands, grabs his wallet, and heads for the door.

He needs to get out, get familiar with the city. He’s going to live here now, after all.

—

The city is foreign, unfamiliar—Sae hates it.

He was never one for traveling. The only reason he’s here is to play soccer at an international level, but outside of that, it feels suffocating in a way he never expected.

The streets are too loud yet too quiet at the same time. He doesn’t understand the conversations happening around him, the unfamiliar syllables blending into meaningless noise. The people pass by in a blur, all strangers, none of them acknowledging him beyond quick glances.

It’s not like he’s stupid enough to get scammed—he’s careful, always aware of his surroundings. But that doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t belong here. It doesn’t change how frustrating it is to have all this free time and nowhere to go, no one to turn to.

The city is alive, buzzing with movement, but it only makes the loneliness feel sharper.

—

Today marks his second week in Madrid.

Sae realizes just how useless he is when it comes to directions.

The sun is already beginning to set, casting a golden glow over Madrid, and he has no idea where he is.

The street signs might as well be in a foreign language—which, technically, they are. He squints at them, but the unfamiliar words blur together, useless in helping him find his way. And as for Spanish? Well, he knows about as much as a toddler forming his first sentence.

Great.

Of course, it’s at a time like this that he remembers you.

Because you were always the human GPS between the two of you, navigating streets like you had a built-in map inside your head. You always knew the right turns to take, the fastest shortcuts.

And right now? Right now, he is the one most in need of that skill.

Rin thinks Sae is perfect, so he probably doesn’t even know about this little flaw of his.

Sae scoffs to himself, shaking his head. It’s ridiculous that, even now, when he’s supposed to be moving on, he still finds himself thinking about you.

He exhales sharply, pushing the thoughts away.

Enough.

With renewed determination, Sae steps onto the crosswalk, telling himself—again—that it’s time to leave his childhood love in the past.

But by the time he reaches the middle, doubt creeps in—just enough for him to hesitate, just enough for him to misstep.

And just enough for him to accidentally bump into someone walking from the opposite direction.

"Perdón," the girl mutters, barely sparing him a glance—until she does.

She stops short, eyes widening in surprise.

"Oh."

Sae blinks.

"It’s you."

For a moment, the city fades into the background. The people rushing past, the hum of conversation, the faint honking of impatient drivers—it all disappears.

You look different now. Your hair is dyed, a little wavier than before. A stylish bag hangs off your shoulder, outfit effortlessly put together in a way that makes you stand out even in the middle of Madrid.

But to him, you’re still the same stubborn girl who once barged into his soccer game with Rin, the one who never asked for permission—just demanded a pass like you belonged there. The one who never looked at him like everyone else did.

Your eyes are the same. That’s what catches him the most. Time has changed a lot of things, but not that. They still hold the same warmth, the same quiet confidence.

Sae wonders if he looks different to you, too. If you notice the way his shoulders have grown broader, the way the exhaustion lingers under his eyes. If you can tell that beneath all the fame and titles, there’s still a part of him that never stopped waiting for you.

Neither of you speak. Just stood there, caught in something neither of you were prepared for.

Sae exhales, then—without thinking—extends his hand toward you

But before you can take it, a sharp whistle cuts through the air.

"¡Oye! Move it!"

The traffic officer’s whistle cuts through the air, snapping both of you out of your daze.

Startled, you both turn at the same time, realizing the light has already turned green—and you’re still standing in the middle of the crosswalk.

Reality has always had a way of interrupting you two, hasn’t it?

Sae clenches his jaw, frustration flickering across his face. Meanwhile, you weren’t handling it any better—because instead of just walking away like a normal person, you were flipping off the traffic officer and hurling a wooden spoon at him.

Where did you even get that? Sae has no idea. And honestly, he’s not sure he wants to.

But then he feels you grab his arm, yanking him across the street as you break into a run—both of you fleeing from the traffic officer, who Sae can only assume is cursing you out in rapid Spanish.

And just like that, his expression softens.

—

“Whew, that was close,” you say between heavy breaths, still catching your breath from all that running.

Sae glances at you, unimpressed. “Maybe if you didn’t throw a spoon at him, we wouldn’t have to run.”

You roll your eyes, waving him off. “Oh, please. That guy already hates me. This isn’t even the first time, you know.”

Sae raises a brow. “Not surprised.”

You nudge him with your elbow. “Hey! Rude.”

He exhales sharply, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “What did you do to piss him off before?”

You smirk, tilting your head playfully. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Sae gives you a look—unamused but intrigued nonetheless. “I would, actually.”

You grin, pretending to think. “Let’s just say… it involved a churro cart, an old lady, and a very, very unfortunate slip on my part.”

Sae stares at you for a moment before shaking his head. “You’re a menace.”

You flash him a cheeky smile. “And yet, here you are, running away from traffic officers with me.”

He huffs but doesn’t argue. Because, somehow, you’re right—because he’s relieved that he can finally talk to someone other than his manager, and just as relieved to see that you haven’t changed at all.

Isn’t it ironic? The very day he decides to finally let go of your memory, fate throws you right back into his life.

But something nags at him. You haven’t asked about Madrid, about why he’s here. It’s like you’re not surprised at all, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to bump into him on the street.

Sae narrows his eyes slightly before speaking. “Hey, you’re not gonna ask?”

“Ask what?” you blink at him, confused. Then, as if remembering something, your face lights up. “Oh! Where are my manners?”

Before he can react, you throw yourself at him, wrapping him in a warm embrace.

Sae stiffens, caught completely off guard. But before he can say anything, you sigh dramatically against his shoulder. “I missed you so much! I can’t believe you followed me all the way to Spain. Oh, you really do love me.”

He clicks his tongue, exasperated. You’re being an idiot again—definitely pushing it.

But he doesn’t argue. He doesn’t deny it.

Instead, after a brief hesitation, he exhales and wraps a single arm around you, listening as you ramble on like no time has passed at all.

—

“Maybe I should put a tracker on you.” you tease, walking a step ahead of Sae as you lead him through the narrow streets of Madrid.

He exhales sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I would’ve figured it out eventually.”

You throw him a look over your shoulder. “Yeah, sure. After getting lost for another three hours.”

Sae doesn’t bother denying it. Instead, he follows as you turn into an alleyway, stopping in front of a small, unassuming café tucked between two buildings.

“This place has the best tostada con tomate in the city,” you say, nodding toward the café.

“The old man inside—Rafa—he always yells at me for ordering too much, but then he sneaks me an extra pastry for free.”

As if on cue, the door swings open, and an elderly man steps out. His eyes land on you, and a slow grin spreads across his face. “¡Ah, mira quién es! La niña que me arruina el negocio.” (Ah, look who it is! The girl who’s ruining my business.)

You laugh, stepping forward to greet him. “Don’t lie, Rafa. You love me.”

Rafa scoffs but affectionately ruffles your hair before turning to Sae, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. “¿Y este quién es?” (And who’s this?)

“My amigo,” you reply smoothly, though there’s a glint of mischief in your eyes. “He just moved here, so I’m showing him around.”

Rafa studies Sae for a moment before nodding in approval. “Bien. Come inside. I’ll make sure he eats something decent.”

Sae barely has time to protest before you’re dragging him through the door, the scent of warm spices and grilled meat immediately filling the air. The restaurant is small, a little tucked away from the busier streets, but it’s lively, filled with laughter and the soft hum of conversation.

When the food arrives, you dig in without hesitation, taking a bite and immediately letting out a dramatic sigh. “Oh my god,” you moan, clutching your chest like you’ve just ascended to heaven. “This is it. This is what happiness tastes like.”

Sae raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You sound ridiculous.”

“You sound jealous,” you retort, shoveling another bite into your mouth. “You haven’t even touched your food.”

Sae watches you for a moment. The way you eat so shamelessly, without a care for how you look, is something he vaguely remembers from when you were kids. Some things never change.

“I’m just letting you be the poison tester,” he mutters, finally picking up his fork.

You roll your eyes. “Please. If Rafa wanted to kill me, he would’ve done it years ago.”

Rafa, passing by, snorts. “She’s not wrong.”

Sae sighs, finally taking a bite. He won’t admit it, but it’s good. Really good.

Just as you’re finishing your plate, you glance at your phone and stand abruptly. “Be right back. Don’t go running off without me.”

Sae only scoffs in response, watching as you disappear towards the bathroom. The moment you’re gone, Rafa leans against the counter, wiping his hands on a towel before turning to Sae with a knowing smirk.

“She talked about you before, you know,” Rafa says casually.

Sae tenses slightly. “Did she?”

Rafa nods, chuckling. “Not by name. Just 'some guy I used to know who’s hopeless with anything besides soccer and even worse with emotions.'”

Sae huffs. “Sounds like something she'd say.”

Rafa shrugs. “Well, if you’re sticking around, you better get used to her dragging you everywhere. She’s got a habit of making lost people feel at home.”

Sae doesn’t respond, just looks at him, expression unreadable. Rafa only chuckles, shaking his head as he wipes down the counter.

A moment later, you return, eyes narrowing the second you spot them. “What’s this?” you ask suspiciously, sliding back into your seat. “What were you two talking about?”

Rafa smirks, tilting his head towards Sae. “Oh, nothing much. Just sharing stories.”

You gasp dramatically, pointing a finger at Sae. “You weren’t talking bad about me, were you?”

Sae finally speaks, deadpan. “Wouldn’t need to. You embarrass yourself enough.”

You scoff, reaching over to steal a piece of food from his plate. “Unbelievable. I leave for one second, and you two become best friends conspiring against me.”

Rafa laughs. “Don’t worry, querida. He’s not that easy to befriend.”

You nod sagely. “That’s true. I had to force him to like me.”

Sae rolls his eyes. That was true for most people, but definitely not for you.

He liked you from the get-go, like there was a gravitational pull towards you that he just couldn't escape from.

The day continues like that.

You don’t take him to the usual tourist spots—the grand plazas or famous museums. Instead, you show him the Madrid you love.

A tucked-away bookstore where the owner lets you sit and read for hours without buying anything. A tiny family-run tapas bar where the food is cheap but incredible, and the owners greet you like family. A rooftop spot where you swear the sunset looks better than anywhere else in the city.

Everywhere you go, you introduce him like he belongs there.

By the time the sky turns golden, Sae realizes something.

This isn’t just a city to you. It’s a home.

And for the first time since moving here, Madrid doesn’t feel so unfamiliar to him anymore.

Maybe it’s because he’s finally seeing it through your eyes.

And maybe that so-called puppy love Rin kept telling him about is beginning to grow into something more.

a/n: "Puppy Love" is the one and only beloved Sae Itoshi fanfic franchise that will remain untouched by despair. I wholeheartedly believe that at some point during his four years in Spain, Sae had his dreams crushed and utterly heartbroken. But in this au? nah. no angst, no career-crushing disappointments, Just endless, tooth-rotting fluff and relationship bliss. The kind of soft, sweet moments Sae would never admit he enjoys. Because for once, he deserves to have something go perfectly right.

#(っ´ཀ`)っcienefics #blue lock sae #bluelock #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi #itoshi sae #itoshi sae fluff #sae itoshi fluff #itoshi sae x y/n #sae bllk #bllk sae #itoshi sae x reader #sae x reader #blue lock itoshi sae #itoshi sae x you #sae x you #blue lock

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bloodyrib · 4 months ago

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Valentine's Day may be 27 days away, but that doesn't mean you can't celebrate right now! This fic is about your relationship with a certain clown named Art and a romantic getaway. But remember, with him you get roughness and softness, the best of both worlds. This is my first long fic and it's very kinky but I hope you all enjoy! (NSFW 18+, TW for cutting)

Word count: ~6200

It was the Friday before the weekend you had been waiting for. It had been a bit of a struggle to get your boss to accept your time off request, but after some convincing, they finally acquiesced. One weekend off won’t hurt, you thought to yourself, especially after all the hard work you had put in during the holidays. It was the middle of January now, and there weren’t that many customers coming into the department store anyways.

You were in the breakroom standing by the sink and sipping a cup of coffee when one of your coworkers came in and started chatting with you. You both talked about how nice it was to finally be able to relax a little after the rush of the holiday shopping season. The conversation then shifted to what you were planning to do during your time off. “I’m not entirely sure, I’ll have to see. Do you have any ideas?” you asked, stirring the coffee stirrer in a counterclockwise direction. A grin appeared on your coworker’s face and she responded, “Why don’t you go to The Pines? It’s this hotel up north with great views and the reviews about it were good! My husband and I were doing some searching online for where to go during summer vacation, as we always plan way in advance, and we’re set now! You should definitely go this weekend! A-a-a-nd you can go with your mystery man who you still haven’t told us about and have a nice enjoyable time!” She winked and playfully elbowed you in the arm. You let out a soft chuckle. This mystery man you who had been dating for a few weeks now would remain a mystery to your coworkers for the foreseeable future. You were a private person and didn’t want your nosy coworkers, especially this one, to know who you were dating. Though eventually, they did end up finding out. This time, however, you were with someone that no amount of explaining would make sense to them as to why you were with him. This someone was a clown.

You remember the first time you met Art. It was a cold late December evening and you were washing dishes. You stared out the window and watched the cars pass by on the street. A blanket of snow covered the neighborhood, and everything glowed softly under the warm orange streetlights. You had the same routine everyday: eat dinner at 6 pm, watch whatever was on the television for a few hours, and then go to sleep at 8 pm. Your routine was like a grandmother’s, but you liked it, especially since most of your life you felt like you had lacked one. Life was more in order now. You turned off the faucet and wringed out the sponge when you heard some noise coming from the back of the house. It sounded like someone was going through your trash. You felt a bit uneasy but wiped your hands on your jeans and started walking towards the sliding glass door that faced the backyard. You pushed the curtains back, turned on the outdoor light, and opened the door. What you saw surprised you.

It was a man dressed in a black and white clown costume covered head to toe in blood sifting through the large recycling bin propped against the side of the house. You noticed a large black garbage bag on the ground next to his enormous clown shoes and wondered if that was your trash bag. When the light came on, he stopped and turned his head to look at you. You saw he had a little black hat on the left side of his head. He also had a little black dot on the tip of his nose. His mouth and eyes, covered in black paint, widened and he looked more shocked and surprised than you. His mouth then turned into a smile, his teeth horribly rotten and yellowed. He took one hand out of the recycling bin and waved to you. The fingerless gloves were stained with a deep red color and his fingers, also stained with the same color, curled up and down repeatedly.

You didn’t know what to make of this. Halloween had been over for a while now yet here was a person who clearly hadn’t gotten the message and thought it was funny to act in this unsettling manner. You were about to ask him what he was doing and if he needed help when he suddenly stumbled back a bit. He caught himself by grabbing onto the bin with one hand. The clown put his right hand to his head and looked like he was about to faint. You figured he must have been in some sort of bad accident with all of that blood on him, but he seemed overall fine except for some dizziness. As concerned and scared as you were, your heart was telling you to bring him inside and tend to him. Something about him was enticing. For reasons unknown to you, he reminded you of the animals you had taken care of throughout your childhood: the newborn kitten found abandoned in your grandfather’s rose bushes, the baby pigeon with a broken wing underneath your best friend’s treehouse, and the dog found with a sprained ankle in your middle school’s parking lot. You had nursed them all back to health and were considered a healer by your friends and family. Here was someone that needed help, and it felt wrong to leave him outside or spend extra time waiting for the ambulance which could cause his condition to get even worse, as emergency services in your area took a while to arrive anyways. Though there was a lot of blood, his costume seemed intact and his skin had no visible open wounds. None that you could see at least from where you were standing. The clown frowned and lowered his chin, looking at you with pleading puppy eyes, and then wrapped his arms around himself. He started shivering and then pointed past where you were standing, as if asking you to bring him inside. You saw the bloody footsteps leading from the corner of the house up to him, his shoes having left deep imprints in the snow. You gave in and opened the door wider, moving to the side. The clown’s frown turned into a smile and he gently bent down to pick up the garbage bag. He swung it onto his shoulder, wincing a little. When he reached the entrance, he tipped his tiny hat at you, which made you let out a small laugh. He entered inside and you closed the sliding door behind you.

Art healed surprisingly fast. You thought feeding him your mother’s chicken noodle soup contributed to that, as it had personally healed you from many illnesses and heartaches you had dealt with throughout your life. You figured out slowly he was like a stray cat, completely avoiding water at first, keeping somewhat of a distance from you, bearing his teeth when he was upset, and giving you the occasional bap with his paw, or hand, when you did something he didn’t like. He also came and went as he pleased, sometimes being there on the couch when you came home from work, and other times having disappeared from the house entirely when you woke up. It was irritating at first that he never spoke. It felt like playing a game every time trying to figure out exactly what he wanted, but over time you understood his facial expressions and hand gestures better. You did like how quiet the house remained even with two people in it now. Not even in your wildest dreams did you think that a 6 foot something clown would show up one day in your backyard and then start living with you, but it ended up happening that way.

Art brought a new routine to your life, one that became centered around catering to his each and every need. You and Art started getting closer over time. He would leave less often and started being more affectionate, curling up next to you while you watched a movie and wrapping his arms around you. You didn’t know his name but called him Clowny or Mr. Clown. You eventually learned that his name was Art when after you and him were done being intimate, he took a scalpel from his trash bag and cut a slit into your forearm, shoved his finger into it, and wrote out each letter onto your naked stomach. This wasn’t the first time he had used his tools on you, as you learned that nothing made him hornier than the sight of your blood. Your body was one thing, its curves and softness enticing to Art in every way, but to see it bleeding from cuts and scratches that he had caused that he would either lick up using his tongue or have you lick up from his fingers was another. You enjoyed how much pleasure you got from pain, with Art acting like a teacher guiding your mind, body, and soul to new levels of arousal and satisfaction. Your brain raced every time he gave you that look, his eyes becoming halfway closed and his mouth turning into a devilish grin, wondering what he had in store for you. You both complemented each other. Like yin and yang. Like the black and white of his costume.

You were finally off from work and in bed in your fluffy grey pajamas. The website for The Pines hotel was open on your laptop. Art was next to you, cutting into a doll he had gotten from somewhere, probably stolen from a neighbor’s kid or toy store, with a pair of scissors. He had a hacksaw and hammer on the blanket between the both of you. He enjoyed playing with and using his tools in made-up scenarios before he fell asleep. Last night, he took a potato from the fridge, drew a smiley face on it with a black marker, and glued pieces of your hair onto it that he had cut off while you were asleep. He kept injecting it with a large syringe, the liquid eventually leaking out and onto the bed, and then stabbed it multiple times with a rusty knife. After he was happy with the potato's makeover, he threw everything into his garbage bag he kept by the bed and passed right out. Like you, he had a nighttime routine, but unlike you, he was a heavy sleeper. Not even a hurricane could wake him up.

“Why don’t we stay here over the weekend, Art?” you inquired, pointing at the screen and looking over at his direction. He stopped cutting and examined the screen. You explained to him what they offered and went to the section describing the rooms. You scrolled until something caught your eye: the Honeymoon Suite. The room looked beautiful, with pinks and reds all throughout, and there was even a heart-shaped jacuzzi. Your heart fluttered imagining yourself there with Art. The two of you, embracing each other in a bath of bubbles without a care in the world. He sensed your excitement and clapped his hands together, extending his finger and touching the screen while nodding. Your weekend was set. It was time to pack and head to The Pines tomorrow.

You stepped out of the car with your suitcase in hand and looked ahead at the hotel. It was the late afternoon and the sun had already set. The cold air seeped into your jacket and made you shiver. Art was getting his bag from the trunk. He didn’t pack any extra clothes and was in the same costume that he wore when you first saw him, except now it had been washed. You had offered to go to the store and buy him some new clothes, but he declined, shaking his head and folding his arms across his chest. He didn’t even let you wash his costume again. He was strange, you thought to yourself, but he was yours and you were his. After Art slung the bag over his shoulder, you both headed to the entrance. The hotel was large and reminded you of a ski lodge. Its exterior was eggshell white with pecan brown lines outlining the windows and walls, and the roof was also painted the same brown color. The awning had a sign on the front with the words “The Pines” written in thick black lettering. Two pine trees adorned each side of the sign. As you both walked to the glass lobby door, Art quickly ran forward and opened it for you. He was always chivalrous, something you appreciated and hadn’t seen in any of your exes. You thanked him and entered the lobby, a gust of warm air hitting your face and warming you up immediately.

You walked to the front desk while Art took a seat at a blue lounge chair, placing his bag in the other chair next to him. Art picked up the orange throw pillow that was on the chair and placed it onto his lap, rubbing his gloved hand up and down on the shiny fabric. The man at the front desk was an older gentleman. His gray hair matched his gray mustache, along with his gray blazer and gray sweater. A gray man indeed. His behavior, however, was anything but dull. He clapped his hands together and exclaimed, “Welcome to The Pines, your very own personal paradise! How can I help you today?” He grinned widely and stared at you, waiting for a response. His name tag read “Mr. Lockwood.” You let out a soft chuckle and responded, “I’m Y/N and I made a reservation yesterday.” Mr. Lockwood clapped his hand together again before searching up your name on the computer. “Ah, I see you’ve booked the Honeymoon Suite! How exciting, a great option indeed! Is your partner here?” You turned around and pointed to Art. Mr. Lockwood looked over at Art and kept his smile. Art looked over at him and waved enthusiastically. Mr. Lockwood let out an uncomfortable chuckle. You quickly said, “We just came back from a…clown convention, yeah! We both had the same outfit on but I got tired of having it on so I changed. Busy day!” You grinned, hoping he would give you the room key already so you could get out of there. Mr. Lockwood glanced again at Art and then looked down at his desk, retrieving the room key. His smile was a bit dimmer than before. He handed it to you saying “Third floor. Once you step off the elevator, walk all the way down. It’s the room at the end of the hall. You two enjoy your stay, and welcome again to The Pines!”

The Honeymoon Suite looked even better in person. The bed area had pink neon lights built into the white ceiling, making the ceiling and fuchsia-colored walls glow. Thick ruby red curtains adorned the wall behind the bed and the wall-length window past the bed. The floor was covered in soft dark red carpeting, reminding you of velvet. The big circular-shaped bed, underneath a large crystal chandelier, was covered in white cotton sheets adorned with rose petals. Two champagne glasses and a bottle of champagne in a steel bucket sat on a small glass cylindrical bedside table. A pink throne armchair with gold trim was near the table. A flat-screen television was on the wall opposite the bed. You looked to your right and saw that the carpeting ended and a floor of white marble started. The heart-shaped jacuzzi was not far from the bed. It was the same deep red as the curtains and encased in white marble with steps leading to the top. Rose petals were strewn everywhere. A box of chocolates, a bouquet of roses in a clear glass vase, and a bottle of bubble bath sat on an ivory-colored cabinet near the jacuzzi.

You felt your face get hot, thinking about all the fun you and Art would have here. Before you could look at Art to see his reaction, he pushed you to the side and ran to the bed, dropping his bag on the floor and jumping onto the bed on his back, spreading out his arms as he did. You never did get over how tall he was. Even with such a large bed, his feet touched the ground. You laughed as Art picked up the petals from the bed and threw them in the air above him, each one delicately landing on his face and body. He picked up and threw the petals again, overjoyed with how they danced in the air like tiny fairies before landing back down.

You gazed at him longingly, tilting your head to the side and examining him as if he was an alluring sculpture at a museum. You hadn’t been with him for that long but he had made your life so much better with his mannerisms and love. Even when he had gotten on your nerves, your frustration melted away when he gave you a light kiss on the cheek or placed his strong hands around your waist as you laid on your back and pulled you closer to him, your legs wrapping tightly around his slender frame as he fucked you with so much passion you saw twinkling lights on the ceiling, same as the chandelier lights in this suite. You loved how focused he was, his rich green eyes transfixed on you and making you feel like you were the only person in the entire universe that existed to him. His fingertips gliding gently over your nipples and legs felt like you were being touched by rose petals, smooth and silky against your skin. He reminded you, however, that roses also have thorns. When you were on all fours with your backside pressed against him, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you up, turning your head around and made you watch him carve his name into your lower back, adding a heart around the letters. You felt the blood trickle down until it reached his cock, still throbbing in your ass. He pulled it out and reinserted, using the blood as lube, and went faster and faster until you both came at the same time, the cum and blood mix spilling out from you and onto the floor. You were Art’s property, and he marked and used you as he pleased. You were also his serenity, a calming force in his life that had been up to this point chaotic. When he was feeling particularly upset one day, you offered him a gift that you had received from a friend: a cream-colored stuffed bear with a black bow around its neck. His eyes lit up and he took the bear and snuggled his head on it. Art also enjoyed snuggling his head on your chest and listening to the blood pumping in your heart, the rhythmic beats soothing to him and eventually lulling him into sleep. Remembering these moments almost brought tears into your eyes. No one had ever made you feel the way Art did. His complexity attracted you. You trusted him and offered yourself to him fully and completely, a bond that felt stronger than the strongest glue in the world. You came back to your senses when Art turned the television on and started browsing through the channels, one leg crossed over the other and a hand underneath his chin as he watched each show carefully. You brought your suitcase in and closed the door behind you.

You and Art had just finished watching a cooking competition. Art himself was very competitive, always running ahead of you to get to bed first or frantically shoving your clothes from the dryer into a basket. While watching the show, he would frown when a judge liked the food of a contestant Art didn’t like and silently laughed when another contestant made a mistake. He would get especially excited seeing the knives and even got up from the bed and reached into his bag, pulling out one and pretending to chop vegetables at first, and then walking over to the television and pretending to stab a contestant on the screen. You smiled at him and he smiled back at you, placing the knife back into the bag and climbing back in bed. In the end, the contestant that Art liked won, and Art clapped gleefully and bounced up and down. “Aww, look who won! Isn’t that great?” you asked, giving him a hug and placing your head on his shoulder. He placed his head on yours and hugged you back. You turned the television off and got out of bed, placing your feet into the peach-colored hotel slippers on the floor.

You wanted to finally relax in the jacuzzi. It had been a long drive and your car seats were uncomfortable. Art fiddled with the radio station for the first half of the ride, switching back and forth between channels and settling on one for a little bit before changing it again. You told him to stop and he glared at you and turned to look out the window, clearly upset. You instantly felt bad but remembered you had brought an assortment of coloring books and crayons with you, ones that you had bought from a bookstore after you had caught him coloring the upstairs bathroom mirror with your expensive lipsticks and bottles of foundation. You told Art that you had a surprise for him and pointed to the glove compartment. He raised his eyebrows and opened it, finding the books and crayons and kicking his feet excitedly as he pulled them out. As you drove, he had his right leg on the ground and the left one propped up on the seat, using his knee as a table to color. He placed the coloring books close to his face, doodling intently as if he was a scientist working on a formula. Art enjoyed art, and it made you happy that he was content with simple things like this. He remained occupied the rest of the way.

Art remained in bed and watched you walk past the jacuzzi and to the bathroom. You opened the door and saw that the bathroom was pearly white, shining in the mirror lights. You changed out of your clothes and put on the robe that hung from a hook on the wall, the silky lavender-colored fabric gliding over your bare arms, legs, and breasts. You looked in the mirror and adjusted your hair before heading out. You were expecting the jacuzzi to have already been full of water and bubbles upon arrival, but understood that everyone had their preferences. It was up to you to set up everything based on what you and Art liked.

You found the control panel on the right side and pressed the “on” button. The jets started with a loud whooshing sound. Art got startled. “It’s okay! it’s just the jets,” you said reassuringly. You put your hand in the water to check the temperature. You enjoyed scalding hot baths and showers but for the very few times that Art let you wash him, he preferred lukewarm water. You adjusted the temperature setting on the panel. After the water was the right temperature, you poured half of the bottle of bubble bath into the water. A rough estimate on how much to pour would be fine, and there was nothing wrong with having too many bubbles. You checked on Art to see what he was up to. He was fixated again on his tools, admiring a dirty box cutter covered in dried blood. After a while, the tub was full and the bubbles were fluffy and white like clouds. You couldn’t wait to get in. But first, you had to convince Art to get in with you. You had tried to make him take a bath or shower with you many times but the one time that he did, he stood in the far corner of the shower, away from the spray of water from the shower head, and watched you wash yourself before leaving after a few minutes. You were hoping to have more action with him this time around. “Art, come over here baby,” you said in a seductive voice, hoping he would turn his focus away from the box cutter and onto you. He turned to look at you, his facial expression slack. You ran your hands through your hair and over your chest flirtatiously, using a bent finger to beckon him forward. He continued watching you with the same expression when he shifted his gaze to the jacuzzi and saw the bubbles. His eyes grew large and his mouth turned into an O-shape. You noticed and exclaimed, “Yes look, it's bubbles! Come here!” Art dropped the box cutter, which landed on the carpet with a thud, and quickly ran over.

His eyes glimmered as he watched the bubbles sparkle under the overhead light and bob up and down on the water’s surface like boats. He started popping some of the bubbles and then scooped up a handful, cupping them with both hands before blowing them back into the water. He took more and then turned and blew them towards you, beaming afterwards. You laughed and playfully splashed some water at him. Art put his hands up to block the water but some got onto his costume. His smile faded away and he stared at you, folding his arms across his chest and looking to the side with an upset expression on his face. You sighed and said, “Oh c’mon! No need to pout!” Art didn’t budge. You started to get a little frustrated, but you had to think of a way to get him to be happy again. You glanced over at the jacuzzi and started to untie your robe. It dropped to the ground lightly, and Art gave you a side-eye before facing you. His arms remained folded as he looked you up and down, an ever so slight smile beginning to appear on his face. You climbed into the tub using the stairs and settled into the middle, resting your back along the jutting curve of the heart. The bubbles almost reached to your chin and you used your hands to spread them around. You bit your lip and kept eye contact with him. Art dropped his hands and his eyes became halfway closed, his mouth turning into a devilish grin. You blushed as he started undressing himself.

Art kept his fingerless gloves on. He was fine with getting them wet with all different kinds of liquids and substances. He probably even preferred them to be like that. He bent down to take his shoes off. He rarely took his shoes off and even used to sleep in bed with you with his shoes on, but after he kicked you by accident one night resulting in you landing on your face onto the hardwood floor, you now required him to take them off before going to sleep. He pulled each sock off and flinched a little as he placed his feet on the cold marble floor. Then, Art reached to his back to unzip his costume. You added a string to the zipper after watching him struggle to unzip it before.

The costume landed on the ground lightly like your robe, and you looked at him up and down like he had done to you. His skin was so pale it was almost glowing and his arms rested at his sides, thin like his legs. His cock was lengthy and thick. You guessed it was somewhere around 9 inches. Your mouth started watering like it did every time you saw it. He tasted like salty cotton candy and metal, and you badly wanted to experience that taste again. Art always kept his hat on however, and hated anyone touching it. One time when he was giving you head, you accidentally pushed the hat off and he immediately stopped, scowling at you and smacking your hand away before readjusting it. He resumed pleasuring you but became even more aggressive, as if it was punishment for messing up the arrangement of his hat. You very much liked it when he got mad and took his frustrations out on you.

Art now climbed up the marble steps, almost having to tiptoe as they were tiny for his feet. He cast a huge shadow over you before settling into the water on your right side, a bit further than you had expected. Art poked some bubbles with his fingers and used his hands to move the water around. “You like bubbles, don’t you Art? I’ll buy some for you when we get home,” you said, scooting over to him. You extended your arm and set your hand slowly on his shoulder. He nodded his head. Suddenly, he grabbed your hand and pulled you to him swiftly, adjusting you so you sat in his lap with your back against him.

Art grabbed your breasts from behind and squeezed them while licking your neck, his tongue gliding over your skin like butter and the saliva dripping down onto your collarbone. You let out a soft moan and placed your hands over his, caressing his knuckles as he caressed your nipples. He was getting hard under you, and you shifted your weight and reached down. You started stroking him, his cock veiny and pulsating in your palm. Art took one hand off your breast and grabbed your throat, pulled your head back, and kissed you while shoving his tongue into your mouth. A rush of sweet acidity flooded in and sent a wave of energy through your body. It was like you just had a shot of a powerful energy drink. The tiredness drained from you and you instantly woke up.

He took his tongue out from your mouth and lifted you by the waist, moving you to the side. He readjusted you to face him and pushed you onto his cock, a crazed look in his eyes. You let out a loud gasp as he thrusted into you. The water started sloshing quickly as you bounced up and down on him, the bubbles moving in a frenzy to different parts of the jacuzzi. Art’s mouth hung open and his eyes were fluttering. The way that he kept pushing deeper and deeper into you, you thought he would go past your stomach and eventually reach your heart. He never ceased to amaze you with his length. You could barely talk, the only thing escaping from your lips were sounds of pleasure. After some time, you glanced past Art and looked at the closed bathroom door. Your eyes were getting blurry and your face was boiling, a sign that you were about to climax. You started bouncing on Art’s cock faster. The water and bubbles were spilling out of the jacuzzi now, landing loudly onto the floor. You had to remember to be careful when stepping out of the tub and to not slip and fall. He had shifted his hands from your throat to your ass and then to your waist, squeezing you harder and harder. His grip on you had become painful, but the smirk that was plastered on his face made you even more wet. Your eyes locked onto Art’s eyes. They shone like emeralds in a sea of milk. You felt yourself getting lost in them, a world that he only gave you access to. A world where it was only you and him. Your breathing became more rapid until finally you orgasmed, letting out a cry while holding onto Art's shoulders. Panting, you wiped the sweat from your forehead.

Art pulled his cock out of you and got up. He stood over you like a giant, holding his dripping member in his hand and pointing to it, meaning he wanted you to suck it. You moved closer to him and got on your knees, pressing your lips to his swollen head and parting them open. He silently gasped. The taste of soap, cum, and some of your juices mingled in your mouth as you started to roll your tongue over his head and along his shaft. Thick saliva dripped down your chin and hands as you took more of him inside your mouth.

You then used your right hand to bring his balls closer to you, playing with each one with your tongue and fingers, while your left hand jacked him off. Art’s eyes were now at the back of his head and he almost stumbled backwards but stabilized himself. You inserted his cock back to your open lips and just as you were about to continue sucking him, he shoved it to the back of your throat roughly and you gagged, tears forming in your eyes. Art pulled it out and gave a menacing look, then silently laughed and pointed mockingly at you. He grabbed the top of your hair and rammed his cock again into your mouth, but this time even farther until you felt that the tip had reached your esophagus. He pulled it out once more and you fell back a little into the water. You almost threw up but realized you were aroused again, the throbbing sensation between your legs having reignited like a wildfire. Art took great pride in pushing you to your limits and beyond. He knew you could take it and more like the good plaything that you were.

You started to reach down between your legs with one hand when Art grabbed you by the arm and dragged you back up to him. He pried your mouth open with his hands and stuck his cock into your mouth once more, going back and forth rapidly as if your face was a fleshlight. You tried to pull back to get air but he pinched your nostrils shut with one hand and grabbed the back of your head tightly with the other. Art bared his teeth like a rabid animal, his eyes dancing wildly with madness. His prey drive was heightened, and he made sure he ravaged you like the ferocious predator he was. The room started becoming darker as the lack of oxygen was starting to affect you. Art then let go of your nose and pulled his cock out abruptly, causing you to fall back fully into the water. The soapy water rushed into your nose and you immediately got up, coughing and sputtering. As you were trying to collect yourself, Art moved towards the cabinet, tossing the roses from the vase and onto the floor before smashing it on the cabinet top. You screamed, “Art what are you doing?!” He grabbed a shard of broken glass and came towards you. Before you could react, he bent down and slashed your left cheek with the glass, causing you to wince and put your hand to your face. It hurt like hell.

You saw him standing there grinning, his chest moving up and down rapidly, while holding a bloody piece of glass. His cock was twitching and his eyes had a tint of red to them. You felt blood gushing from the wound and tried your best to stop the bleeding. Art started stroking his cock and came on your cheek, the cum seeping into the cut. You let out a yelp as it stung. He continued to cum and spread it around, decorating your face until it looked like a frosted cake. Art looked extremely happy. He used his thumb to wipe the blood and cum from your cut, inserting it into your mouth after. You held onto his hand while licking it clean, the intoxicating flavors dancing on your tastebuds. You both kept eye contact with each other. When he felt you had cleaned it thoroughly, Art removed his thumb from your lips, a line of spit trailing, and booped the tip of your nose with his index finger. He used the same hand to pat your head, something he always did after he was satisfied with your performance. You watched him slowly turn, walk out of the tub, and grab a towel to dry himself off. After putting on his costume, socks, and shoes, he sauntered over to the bed, sat criss-crossed, and turned the television on. It was another cooking competition and you saw Art clap his hands in excitement.

You decided to stay in the jacuzzi a bit longer, laying back and gazing up at the ceiling, a small sigh escaping your lips. You were beyond exhausted but felt more alive than ever, a wave of contentment washing over you. You put a finger to the cut on your face. It had stopped bleeding and the pain had subsided. You weren’t sure how you would explain to your coworkers and boss on Monday where you got that cut from. You could come up with an excuse about how your sister’s tabby cat scratched your face, or you could say you were trying to get a knife unstuck from tape on a package and you accidentally sliced your cheek. Either way, you didn’t have to worry about that now. You and Art still had another day at The Pines. You started thinking about what Art would do to you tomorrow, and you felt blood rush to your face. Mr. Lockwood was right. Here, it really was your very own personal paradise. ♡

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