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ellecdc · 3 months ago

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Off the Clock

PT!Remus x team medic!reader who lets Remus help her out off the clock [2.2k words]

CW: flirting, fluff, suggestive content, brief nonsexual nudity [?], socks and sandals, based off of stupid sexy pt!remus who wasn't supposed to be so sexy

“You doin’ alright there, doc?” Remus asked casually as he leaned against the door to the team gym sans the team as you tried and failed to stretch out an angry muscle in your back.

“Yeah.” You let out - half groan half appeasement as you unfurled yourself from your quasi-yoga pose attempt at trying to unkink some knot in your back that was starting to make it painful to breathe. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

Remus nodded as he narrowed his eyes at you before heading towards the medic’s office. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Then why’d you ask?” You laughed breathlessly as you laid face down on your gym mat, wincing at the twinge radiating from your middle back down to nearly your tailbone.

“Maybe I just like hearing the sound of your voice; ever think about that?” Remus called back, still in your office as you heard him shuffling about.

“You like listening to women lie to you, Lupin?”

You heard him snicker at that and couldn’t help the smile that took over your face, knowing that eliciting any type of reaction from your usually inhibited physical therapist didn’t come easily.

Well…not your physical therapist…the team's physical therapist. But he was on your team…the medical team, so, well, you sort of liked to claim him anyways.

“I don’t know if I like listening to women lie to me,” he started as he crouched beside you, “but I’m quite good at it.”

You opened your eyes to see he had changed out of his more formal work wear into a pair of loose fitting joggers and a team long sleeved shirt that fit him like skin. You couldn’t believe he hid that body under all of those team hoodies and dress shirts.

“What hurts?” He asked as you felt a gentle yet warm and assured hand land on your back and begin brushing soft strokes along your spine.

“M’back.” You mumbled into your arm as your face pinched in discomfort.

“Well yeah.” Remus agreed, but it wasn’t chiding, rather his hand seemed to still on a part of your back that emanated heat as he stared unseeingly into the gym as if he were mapping out the muscles of your back in his head. “Jeez that’s sore, hm?”

You hummed in agreement and tried to breathe around it. “Think I’m gonna have to call a chiropractor or something.”

Remus’ pinched brows seemed to pinch further as he moved his gaze to yours. “Well now I’m offended.”

“What? Why?” You tried to laugh, though quickly groaned as it left your ribs feeling like they might crack under the pressure. Remus made a tsking sound as he resumed gentle circles on the sore part of your back that you both pretended not to hear.

“You have a perfectly good PT here and you’re going to call a chiropractor?” He deadpanned.

“You’re not my PT, Remus.” You murmured quietly.

“And you’re not my doctor, but did you not stitch my hand up after that incident with the skates?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“Yeah.”

“-but you’re part of the team, and it was an incident that happened with the team…” You argued, though it sounded feeble even to your own ears.

“You’re as much a part of the team as I am, doc.” He murmured softly.

“I’m fine, Lupin; honest. I probably slept on it weird or something.”

“Or you insisted on unloading the bus back in New York in the freezing cold without stretching properly first and pulled something.” That was chiding.

“It’s my job to help the equipment crew.”

“Within reason, doc. Any more arguments?”

“You’re off the clock, though; you’re not going to even be paid for this.” You whined.

“That’s actually better for me; means you can’t sue if I make it worse.” He paused as he allowed you to huff a small laugh. “Any other questions or are you going to let me help you?”

“How do you know I didn’t stretch?” You grumbled, lifting your head from your crossed arms when Remus didn’t answer you.

His hand continued its ministrations as he stared at you with an unreadable expression on his face. “Did you stretch?”

You held his gaze for as long as you could muster before letting out a petulant huff and hiding your face in your arms again.

“Up you get.” He ordered as he stood up slightly, taking your elbows in his hands and helping you straighten as you spent the majority of your effort not groaning like the decrepit old women you felt like.

Remus - with his skin tight shirt and his grey sweats and his gentle yet assured hands and his dulcet tones and sweet encouragements - led you to one of the private examination rooms that had a massage table set up in it.

“Rem…” You tried, but he simply encouraged you forward by the small of your back.

“Take this…” Remus murmured as he pulled at your shirt, pausing as he moved a finger below the strap of your sports bra through your athletic top gently before his hand disappeared altogether. “-and this off for me, okay?”

And before you could protest, he was gone.

You got your shirt and bra off with some difficulty; a pained breath with your shirt and a slight whimper at your bra that had you contemplating just cutting the damn thing off when you finally slid it over your head.

That would definitely not be going back on tonight.

You tucked yourself between the warm bedding and lied face down on the table. You’d hardly had a moment to realise the blankets were still warm from the dryer when there was a gentle rap on the door and Remus opened it a crack.

“You good?”

You hummed in agreement as he came in and closed the door behind him.

“Are you wearing socks in your birkenstocks?” You murmured as you saw his feet appear below the face rest of the massage table.

“Okay, your eyes are supposed to be closed.” He muttered, but you could hear the smile in his voice as he tucked the edge of the blanket into your waistband and pulled your pants slightly lower on your hips.

“Are they? I didn’t realise that was a requirement.”

“If you keep it up I’m going to go get Black and Potter’s lotion from the fridge for you.” Remus threatened as he grabbed a bottle of lotion from a bowl of water before smoothing the warm contents over your back.

“You put lotion in the fridge?”

“Only for Potter and Black.”

“Why?” You asked through a moan you would have been embarrassed about had Remus’ hands not felt like being touched by a sexy bloody angel.

“We’ll see how funny they think it is to cling wrap our entire office, won’t we?”

You let out a surprised laugh that turned into a groan that Remus quickly rectified by applying light pressure to the sore section of your back.

“Pranking them back, why didn’t I think of that!?”

“You just stay away from those hooligans, hm? I’ll take care of them.”

“Doctors orders?”

Remus took a steadying breath as he worked out a stubborn knot in your back. “I think it’s the erector spinae muscle.” He grunted under the pressure he was using.

“I love when you talk anatomy to me.” You hummed, relishing in the snort of a laugh from Remus as he moved his hands back down to the bottom of your spine to work over the muscle again.

“You’re impossible.”

“In a good way or a bad way?”

Remus was quiet for a moment as he considered your question. “In the best way.”

You hardly had a moment to reply before his sock-birkenstock combo was visible beneath the table again and he was working the muscles from the opposite direction.

The room felt heavy and warm; between Remus’ presence, his skilled and knowledgeable hands, the soft blankets below you and the fact that you were consciously working to not notice the way his hands felt on the delicate skin on your sides below your shoulders before your ribs, or the way his fingers seemed to inch slightly further below your waistband with each pass every time you made him laugh.

“I’m going to fall asleep if you don’t stop.” You murmured drowsily into your arms, and you could feel the puffs of air along your back when he breathed out a laugh before smoothing his hands over your back once, twice, three times more before releasing the blankets from your waistband.

“Do you feel any better?” He murmured as you sat up, awkwardly holding one of the fuzzy throws over your torso causing him to turn quickly and grab your shirt and bra.

You took both from him but tossed the bra back towards the chair it’d been sitting on before dropping the blanket and pulling the shirt over your head.

Your muscles felt hot and sore, but no longer tight; rather like you had worked out and needed to rest now.

You pulled your shirt down over your torso to see Remus with his hands in his pockets as he looked down at his feet with what looked to be a raging blush even in the low lighting of the room.

“Way better, Rem.” You sighed gratefully.

“Good,” his voice cracked before he cleared it, “yeah, good, good.”

“Good.” You whispered with a smile, and he finally looked up to meet your eye.

He offered you a half smile and scuffed the toe of his birkenstock on the ground. “Don’t be going shy on me now, Lupin; not now that I know what you can do with those hands.”

He let out a loud laugh as he threw his head back and dragged his hands across his face. “You’re impossible.”

“The good kind.”

He let his hands fall only to rest them on his hips as he smiled at you. “The best kind.”

You beamed at him, and he beamed right back.

“You weren’t getting paid for this, right?” You whispered; if Remus was confused by your question, he didn’t show it.

“No.”

“What does that make us, then?”

He sucked in a breath and answered on the exhale. “Friends.”

“So…” You started as you reached your hand out to fiddle with the hem of Remus’ sinfully tight shirt between your fingers. He stepped closer to you, now standing between your legs where you sat perched on the edge of the table.

“So?” He murmured back, two hands settling tentatively on the sides of your thighs.

“So.” You repeated, squeezing your eyes shut as you lost your nerve.

“Don’t be getting shy on me now, dove.” He teased as one of his hands moved to cup your jaw; horrified to think he might feel the heat beneath your cheeks or the hummingbird speed at which your heart was beating. “Not now that I know what you look like without a shirt.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you watched his eyes flit between yours as well as your lips.

“What did you call me?” You whispered instead of giggling like a fucking school girl.

His cheeks pinked again, but his smirk grew as his gaze stayed glued to your lips.

“I went to call you doc and…switched it to love halfway through,” he let out with a slightly nervous chuckle, “I guess…I guess it sort of turned into dove.”

He’d barely finished his sentence before you were grabbing a fistfull of his shirt and pulling him into you as you pressed a searing kiss to his lips. He let out a surprised yet pleased hum as his hand cupping your jaw moved to the back of your neck where he grabbed a fistfull of hair, and his hand that had been on your thigh moved to squeeze your hip.

You kept his shirt within your fist but allowed your other hand to rove along his chest up to his shoulder before moving it to trace the muscles in his back, forcing him that much closer so that your hips were flush with one another.

You made a nearly embarrassing keening sound as you brought both of your hands up to the back of his neck and pulled him impossibly closer to you; swallowing the hum of approval leaving his lips as he granted you access to his mouth.

The two of you broke apart though neither of you deigned to give the other space as Remus simply rested his forehead against yours as he caught his breath.

“Still okay?” He breathed out as he loosened his hold on your hair and trailed his thumb along the expanse of skin behind your ear, the hand on your hip brushing along the waistband of your pants.

You hummed in agreement as you let your hands explore the hard lines of his body appreciatively.

“So, ‘dove’, eh?” You asked as you moved your gaze back to his face only to see his eyes already steady on you.

A small chuckle. “I guess so.”

“I like it.” You admitted.

“The name?”

You nodded your head back and forth in a so-so manner as you fiddled with the tawny curls behind his ears. “Among other things.”

Remus hummed in understanding, leaning forward to kiss you again that was mostly soft giggles and teeth as the two of you smiled stupidly at each other.

“I like it, too.”

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javier-pena · 2 months ago

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three's a crowd

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader x Joel Miller

Word Count: 9.9k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’re in love with Frankie and he is in love with you, but you both have no idea how to act on it. Until Joel Miller comes along.

Notes: I started writing this fic in June and it was supposed to be a fun little summer thing and then stuff happened and now it's October - but here it finally is. There isn't really much I can say about it except that Dani @alexturner saved the whole thing by pointing out that the final fic wasn't really like what I had talked about while discussin the idea with her and after editing it, it's much, much better. I also had a lot of fun talking about Frankie's and Joel's backstory with you, Dani 🤭 maybe I'll write that one day ...

“D’you wanna fuck her, Miller?”

BEFORE

It must have been two years ago, or maybe it was three. Your hair was longer, you had just broken up with your boyfriend of five years, had just moved to a town where you didn’t know a single soul. “A fresh start is what you need.” That’s what your therapist said to you when you cried your heart out after Derek dumped you and moved in with his new girlfriend a week later. But she hadn’t been talking about this, moving halfway across the country, all the way from Maine, where the winters are cold and the air is always salty, to Texas, where it almost never snows and the tornado sirens make you run for cover.

That’s how you met Frankie, sweet, smiling Frankie. Your truck broke down in the grocery store parking lot and he jump-started it. He stuck out to you because he was wearing a pale blue baseball cap, bleached from countless summers under the hot Texan sun, and not a cowboy hat like all the other men around. You bought him dinner at that steak place that would become your favorite, and after three shots of tequila you opened up to him. He held you when you started to cry, took you home, slept on your couch when you asked him not to leave.

You’ve been friends ever since.

He showed you around San Antonio, he flew you to Enchanted Rock in a helicopter he rented, he even took you to Mexico where you found out he speaks Spanish fluently. He helped you fix the roof of your bungalow when it started leaking. You, in turn, took him to the cinema, made him watch horror movies that made him squeal, dragged him along to a rodeo, taught him how to ride a motorcycle when he told you he had always wanted to learn. The two of you just clicked. It felt right.

Now, after three years, you can’t imagine your life without Frankie in it. You don’t remember who you were before him, and you don’t want to. He’s your best friend, and you’re his. Where one of you goes, the other follows. And of course, people mistake you for a couple, of course they ask, “And what about your girlfriend here?”, they say, “You’re lucky to be dating such a nice young fella”. You always laugh, correct them lightheartedly. But sometimes you wish they were right. You love Frankie as a friend, more than you ever thought you could love anyone, but sometimes you want more.

You almost got that more about a year after meeting Frankie. One of his friends, Santi, was in town, and you went out with a group before taking advantage of the hot tub that came with Santi’s motel. There were drinks involved, one thing led to another, and suddenly you found yourself straddling Frankie, wearing nothing more than a bikini, your fingers tugging on his curls, his hands roaming all over your body. It didn’t go any further than that, and the next morning he dropped you off at your house with his usual, “See ya ‘round.” He never talked about it and neither did you. He was probably regretting it and you didn’t want to lose him over something like this, so you left it all unsaid.

He started dating someone soon afterwards, first Arabella, then Bessie, and you hated them both, even though they were probably decent women. Luckily, neither relationship lasted long because it hurt. You didn’t tell Frankie, acted perfectly civil around them, but it felt as if your heart had been dropped from a great height and had shattered against the pavement. You had to ease that pain with a couple of meaningless one-night-stands but they couldn’t take your mind off Frankie buried deep in another woman when it should have been you. And when you told him about Billy and Carson and Hank and Landon and Clara to provoke him to do something, he just shrugged it off and said, “I’m glad you had a nice evening.”

Frankie is single now, and so are you, and life is good. It isn’t always easy, but it’s a far cry from how it was in Maine. You’ve made peace with the whole Frankie situation, realizing it might just be enough knowing you’re the most important person in his life, even if you’ll never have him completely. This way, there also won’t be a messy breakup, hurtful things said in anger, actions you can never undo. You’re content with being Frankie’s best friend, and that should be enough.

It's summer now, one of the hottest on record. The AC in your bungalow broke and Frankie wanted to help you fix it, but then he got busy at work. That was almost a week ago, and you use these circumstances as an excuse to hang out at Frankie’s place as much as possible. He doesn’t mind. He has a big pool in his backyard that he always shares with you, and he loves your company. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he’s putting off fixing your AC on purpose.

You’re floating on your back, eyes closed, the sounds around you muffled by the water. Frankie is lounging in a chair by the side of the pool, resting in the shade after a hot day. Every time you glance over at him, his eyes are closed. That gives you the freedom to truly look, to see him how not many people are allowed to see him.

You take a deep breath and dive, floating weightlessly for a few seconds. It’s so easy to imagine this to be your life, Frankie to be your boyfriend. If he were, nothing would be different. You’d get to use your shared pool, watch him doze in the shade, help him prepare dinner later, laugh at his corny jokes … Your heart squeezes when you realize you have all of that and still it isn’t enough. What’s missing is riding him by the side of the pool, your bodies sticky with sweat. What’s missing is kissing his neck while he’s watching the brazier. What’s missing is knowing he’s yours and you’re his, come what may.

There’s a shadow by the side of the pool, and you scramble upwards, breaking through the surface with a gasp. “What?” you ask, smiling up at Frankie, shielding your eyes from the sun with your hand.

Frankie gives you a thumbs up. “Just making sure you’re not drowning.”

You’re treading water as you say, “Would you jump in and rescue me if I was?”

He laughs. “I’m pretty sure you’re a better swimmer than me.”

“I’d make it worth your while.” You wink at him.

He lowers himself into a crouch so he’s closer to the surface of the water, closer to you. “How?”

“Ever heard of mouth-to-mouth?”

He laughs one of those laughs that comes from deep inside his chest and shakes his whole body. “Leave it to you to make saving someone’s life sound sexy.”

“But it is sexy,” you say emphatically. “Imagine pulling me from the pool, your big, strong arms wrapped around me. I think you’d stay calm and collected; you’d know exactly what to do. Any woman who doesn’t fall for you after that would be a fool.”

Frankie dips his fingers into the water and flicks some of it in your direction. You squeal and try to duck, but the drops still hit you in a quick shower. “Shut up,” Frankie laughs.

You use your whole hand to try and shove the water back toward him. You miss. “Stop it,” you tell him, no weight behind your words, a broad smile on your face.

“Hey!” he shouts. “Don’t make me come in there, young lady.”

He always makes you laugh when he calls you that, the air of authority he puts into his words. You’re not that much younger than he is, but he always acts as if you’re 20 years his junior, while you have started calling him “gramps” to rile him up.

You propel yourself backward, away from him toward the opposite side of the pool. “You’re too chickenshit.”

“Oh, just you wait.” He starts to pull his shirt over his head, his cap that he always wears getting caught in the hem of the neckline. You really try not to but you can’t help looking at his soft belly, the white skin such a stark contrast to his tanned arms. You wonder what it would be like to touch him, what sounds he would make in response to the difference in pressure, if you were using your nails or –

“Am I interruptin’ somethin’?”

You don’t mean to, but you squeal at the sudden appearance of a strange man next to Frankie. You were so preoccupied staring at your friend you didn’t notice someone else approach.

Frankie lowers his shirt. His cheeks are slightly flushed. “Joel!”

You glance between the two men, but neither of them offers an explanation. Instead, a heavy silence settles itself over this already muggy afternoon.

Finally, the stranger, Joel, speaks. “Is this a bad time or –?”

“No, no,” Frankie quickly assures him while you bite down a harsh, “Yes, it is”. Frankie runs his palms down his shirt, trying to smooth the creased fabric. “I just … I had no idea you were in town.

“Well, I am,” Joel replies in a tone of voice that rubs you the wrong way. “I thought I’d drive by, see if you’re home.”

Frankie glances at you, seemingly only now remembering your presence. “This is Joel Miller,” he says in an oddly formal voice. “We sometimes work together.”

“Hi.” You raise your hand out of the water to wave at Joel, the smile you put on not reaching your eyes.

If you had to guess, you’d say Joel was older than Frankie by at least five years, maybe even ten. He’s taller too, broad-shouldered where Frankie tends to fold in on himself. His graying hair is slightly too long, but his graying beard makes him look handsome, especially when he gives you a twisted half-smile as if he’s fully aware of what he just interrupted and is taking pleasure in your discomfort and annoyance. You want him to leave but with a clench of your stomach you realize you also want him to stay.

“She your girlfriend?” Joel asks without pretense, nodding at you in a way that makes you clench your fists.

Frankie chuckles awkwardly, a sound you only heard a few times before and always hated. He lifts his cap with one hand to scratch his scalp, then shakes his head. “No, we’re just friends.”

Joel shifts, rolls his shoulders ever so slightly. “Nice to meet you, just friend of Frankie’s.”

Can’t say the same about you, you want to say but if there’s one thing you learned from your years spent in the south is that there is nothing more important than hospitality. “You too,” you say instead, and start kicking the water, doing laps in the pool. If you ignore him, maybe he’ll leave soon.

But Frankie opens a beer bottle for him and Joel sits down in the lawn chair next to him, taking a big swig. You try to ignore them as best as you can, but you can’t keep your ears from straining to catch snippets of their conversation.

“… between jobs … just a couple o’ nights …”

“… go out tomorrow … bar in town …”

“… broke up with me ‘cause she … her friend …”

Sometimes Frankie laughs in a way he only does when he wants to impress someone. Usually, you can see it too, usually you admire the same people but there is something about Joel that makes alarm bells ring in your head. And you don’t like the way Frankie behaves around him. You don’t want to call it submissive because you hate that word, but it feels as if he’s putting up a front for Joel, not saying what he really wants to say, not doing what he really wants to do.

But then sometimes Joel’s eyes are on you, his gaze hooded, and he doesn’t look away when you catch him staring. There is something in the brazen way he does it that makes you crave more, and you’re a little bit disgusted with yourself for wanting that. You don’t know this man, and you don’t like what you glimpsed so far, but when he asks, “Any chance of you joinin’ us, sunshine?” you’re so very tempted to say yes.

“I wanna shower first,” you answer, pushing yourself up on the edge of the pool. Joel’s eyes immediately shoot to your chest while Frankie’s are glued to his bottle, his fingers busy picking at the label.

“Don’t keep us waitin’,” Joel says in a tone of voice that grates on you and makes you tighten your jaw. You want to flip him off, and he knows it too because he raises his half-empty bottle to you. You wish Frankie would say something, or at least acknowledge your presence, but a loose thread on his jeans has caught his attention now. Your chest tightens with annoyance and, even though you’re loath to admit it, hurt, and you huff at Joel before grabbing your towel and making your way toward Frankie’s house. You feel Joel’s eyes burn a searing mark into your back.

You have no right to feel the way you do, you tell yourself as you work shampoo into your hair. Frankie can be friends with whomever he wants to. This is his house and he can let himself be treated however he sees fit. And you’re not dependent on him to defend you against a jerk like Joel, you can manage that all on your own. Besides, it’s not as if Joel is going to be around for long, he will most likely leave after another beer or two, so there really is no reason for you to get so worked up about it.

And yet …

You turn off the water with a quick jerk of your hand.

Stepping out of the shower, locating a fresh towel, it’s like second nature to you. You briefly bury the face in the soft fabric, inhaling the clean scent of Frankie’s detergent, a scent that will always bring you comfort. Then you pull one of the several dresses you keep at Frankie’s house over your head before using the towel to superficially dry your hair. It comes away smelling like him, which sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

You’ve come to terms with it, you really have. Yes, you sometimes dream about kissing him, yes, you can’t stop fantasizing about what the two of you would be like as a couple, but what you have is nice. And it feels like it should be enough, which should count for something, right?

“Took your sweet time in there, sunshine.”

You jump, only registering Joel’s presence leaning against the opposite wall as you pull the bathroom door closed behind you.

“There’s a half bath next to the kitchen,” you tell him, avoiding his searing gaze. “You know, if you need to go.”

You try to scurry down the hallway and back out into the garden, but Joel pushes himself off the wall and steps into your way. “I don’t,” he answers. “I was looking for you.”

You sigh and look up at him, hoping he’ll notice your mild annoyance. “Why?”

“Frankie’s busy with dinner.” His gaze sweeps you from your damp hair down to your bare feet, widening as he notices your dress is slightly too tight at your chest. “And you look like good company.” Before you can come up with a snide remark, he’s two steps closer and his hand is suddenly resting on your waist, his palm hot to the touch even through the fabric. “You’re certainly prettier.”

The sudden contact, his brazen approach catches you off-guard. It’s been years since a man has treated you like this, and many years more since you were free to do with that whatever you wanted.

“Come on.” Why is his voice so low suddenly? “Cat got your tongue?”

You roll your eyes. “N-”

But before you’re able to finish the second short sound, the thumb of his free hand is on your bottom lip and he starts to pull it down. “Let me check.”

Before your brain can consider all your options, you bite down on his finger, hard, out of reflex, drawing a hiss from him. He pulls back, steps away, shakes his hand. But that sleazy half-smile is still firmly fixed on his face. “Oh, you’re a little fighter, is that it?”

You take a step closer to him in an attempt to intimidate him, but he doesn’t budge. “I just don’t like it when people touch me without my permission.”

“I bet that sweet little pussy of yours is tellin’ a different tale.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You shove him, both palms hitting his chest, and he loses some ground.

He tries to snatch your wrist but you’re too fast for him. “Careful, sunshine. Don’t irritate me.”

“Why?” You push your chin forward in defiance. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Oh, I have some ideas.” Joel reaches for your waist again, but you manage to step back quickly. He balls his hand into a fist. “I just ain’t sure you’d like them very much.”

“Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

“I’d like to teach you some,” he shoots back.

The sound of Frankie clearing his throat makes you jump. He’s standing behind Joel, just inside the sliding door that leads into the garden, a cocktail shaker in his hand, an apron covering his chest. “Drinks are ready,” he announces, his voice tense. Then he turns around, leaving you to wonder how long he’s been standing there and how much he heard.

Your stomach curls tightly with shame. Not because of anything he might have overheard or because of anything you did, but because you liked the way Joel talked to you, you liked that he decided he wanted you and went for it. You liked being close to him, feeling his uninvited touch on your body, hearing him say those lewd things. And all the while you forgot about Frankie, for the first time in months.

Joel glances at you and some of the shame must show on your face because he says, “If I kissed you right now, do you think he’d punch me?”

And just like that you’re back to feeling the slow grating of annoyance, like nails scraping down a chalkboard. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you huff before pushing past him and stepping back out into the garden.

The evening light is softer now, the heat feels less oppressive. The sun has begun to dip toward the horizon, and Frankie’s shadow is long against the grass as he waits for you to rejoin him by the pool. You want to put on your brightest smile for him, want to show him how much you appreciate everything he is doing for you, but with him you never have to pretend. Your face lights up when you see him whether you want it to or not, your steps quicken, your heart feels full of happiness. Even someone like Joel can’t ruin that, no matter how hard he might try.

“All clean?” Frankie has a lopsided grin on his face and a martini glass in his hand. When you nod, he hands it to you. “I made it just the way you like it.”

“Thanks, honey,” you tease and playfully kiss his cheek.

“This one’s for you.” Frankie hands Joel a tumbler full of amber liquid.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Just whiskey?”

“You seem like a whiskey kinda guy,” Frankie answers with a shrug before taking off his apron and hanging it over the backrest of his lawn chair.

“What are you having?” you ask, sitting down on one of the sun loungers Frankie keeps next to the pool.

Frankie lightly shakes his beer bottle. “I’ll stick with this for now.”

You glance from him to Joel and then back to him as both men remain standing, clutching their drinks. “Well, this is nice and relaxing.”

“Sorry,” Frankie mumbles and lets himself fall back into his chair. “Long day.”

Joel chuckles and steps forward, but instead of choosing the chair next to Frankie’s, he sits down on the sunbed right next to you. The rough denim of his jeans scrapes against your naked thigh and you scoot away from him, clearing your throat. Joel doesn’t seem to have noticed; his eyes are fixed on Frankie.

“You never told me you had a nice place like this,” he says, vaguely waving his hand at the pool and the manicured lawn. “I would’ve come over much sooner.”

“Where do you live?” you ask before Frankie can say something.

Joel chuckles before taking a sip from his whiskey. “You know what would go great with this?” He pulls a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of the back pocket of his jeans, conveniently having to lean against you to retrieve it. You push back, refusing to make yourself small. He holds the pack out to you first, but you shake your head. He doesn’t offer it to Frankie.

“She asked you a question.”

Your eyes snap from the sight of Joel lighting a cigarette, the filter hugged firmly between his lips, to Frankie, who has his elbows propped up on his knees, a thumb and forefinger wrapped around the neck of the beer bottle, holding it precariously.

Joel takes a drag from his cigarette and exhales slowly. The smoke tickles your suddenly very dry throat. “I live here and there,” he finally replies. “Wherever work takes me.”

“Okay, so where do you currently live?” you probe.

Joel waves his hand around. “Y’know …”

“What he means to say is that he’s currently between houses,” Frankie clarifies, a slight tension in his voice you haven’t heard before.

“Oh, so you’re a bum?” Is Frankie’s face lighting up with satisfaction at your comment or are you only imagining that?

Joel takes another drag. “I’m whatever you want me to be.”

It was bad enough that he had no regard for your boundaries when Frankie wasn’t right there next to you, but he can’t expect you to just take it now that Frankie is this close. You try to stand up, but his hand closes around yours and pulls you back down next to him, the force of it making some of your drink spill.

“Hey!” you protest loudly, but he only slings his arm around your shoulder.

“His girlfriend just kicked him out,” Frankie goes on, pretending he didn’t notice what just went down. “He cheated on her with her best friend.”

“Couldn’t have been a very good friend then.” You pick Joel’s heavy arm off your shoulders and let it fall down next to you.

Joel shrugs. “If I see somethin’ I want, I take it.”

“Must be lonely, going through life with that mindset,” you observe, watching him as he stubs out the cigarette against the tiles surrounding the pool.

“Depends on what you want out of life, I s’pose.”

You glance up at the slowly darkening evening sky, currently a soft, darkening blue, then take a sip from your very strong martini. “And what is that?” you ask, watching a bird glide across the sky.

“D’you wanna fuck her, Miller?”

AFTER

“Yes.” It comes out rough and breathless and eager, and suddenly your blood is rushing in your ears. You have no idea when the evening shifted to this, but you suppose it was inevitable from the moment Joel walked in. You just didn’t think Frankie would be the one to ask the question.

You glance at Frankie, sweet Frankie, who always respects you, always treats you like you’re royalty, and you see something in his gaze you’ve never seen before, a sort of strangled curiosity, like he’s desperate to find out where this might go, but unsure if he can handle the way there. You smile at him, and you nod, and his pupils dilate immediately, setting your heart pounding. That’s all he needs from you, and all you need from him.

Frankie puts his beer bottle on a small table next to his chair, leans back, crosses one leg over the other, ankle resting against his thigh. “Tough luck, pal,” he says, and next to you Joel stiffens. “You can kiss her though.”

For a moment, you’re right back there in high school, a bottle pointing at you, your friend Ines grinning at you from across the circle, Billy licking his lips nervously. But you’re all grown up now, you’ve played these games a million times, should know their rules by heart. Then why are your hands so sweaty?

Joel doesn’t waste any time, doesn’t even wait for you to turn toward him. His hand is already at the back of your neck while your eyes are still on Frankie, and his lips have found yours while you’re still trying to decipher the look in Frankie’s gaze. The kiss is rough, almost unpleasantly so, and you can taste the nicotine and whiskey on Joel’s tongue that claims your mouth with hungry licks. Joel’s whole body is pushing against yours, and you push back, pressing your chest against his, making his concentration slip briefly. You use this moment of inattention to gain the upper hand and bite his lip, less violently than you bit his finger but hard enough for him to inhale sharply. Maybe even hard enough to draw a little bit of blood.

Joel shifts, tightens his hold on your neck, and pushes up against you even more, like he’s trying to get you to lie down and submit to him. Resisting his efforts gives you a feeling of power you’re unable, maybe even unwilling, to control. You’re still trying to come to terms with the newness of the situation, with the shift that has taken place, but you know exactly what you want, and that is not to give up one inch to Joel without making him work hard for it.

Joel’s hand is on your naked thigh now, tough callouses rubbing against smooth skin. Just like his kisses, it almost feels too violent, but then you remember Frankie’s hands roaming your body in that hot tub, the way the water hadn’t managed to soften his skin. You remember how much you wanted him that night, and suddenly you wish Joel would touch you more.

As if he can read your thoughts, Joel’s hand is suddenly at the underside of your breast, cupping it through the fabric of your dress, his thumb finding the nipple so confidently as if he has touched you a million times before. Your body responds to the touch immediately and you lean into it, your lips parting in a stifled moan. The pad of his thumb rubs across your hardening nipple, rolls it through the dress and the bra you’re wearing, and you should push him away, make him feel like his efforts are futile and he has no effect on you whatsoever, but it’s been too long. Too fucking long. You’re on fire, unpleasantly so, feeling like you’re burning up too fast, like the flames have barely touched you and you’re already turning to ash. You press yourself into Joel’s touch as your jaw slackens, and he grabs your breast and squeezes it roughly while pushing his tongue into your mouth with the sole intent of making you gag.

“Hey!” Frankie’s voice is sharp, but when you flinch away from Joel and glance over at him, he’s still sitting in his chair holding his bottle of beer.

Your ears feel hot with shame as you refuse to acknowledge Joel’s presence and avoid Frankie’s gaze. Frankie was the one to suggest the kiss, Joel made the first move – then why do you feel such shame? Like you’ve been caught cheating? Why do you feel it’s wrong to –

“What?” Joel asks, interrupting the spiral you’re about to slide down.

Frankie squeezes the neck of the bottle, his skin making a wet sound against the glass. “We said kiss.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see that sleazy smirk return to Joel’s lips. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a little second base.”

Frankie seems to consider this, his eyes fixed to the ground beneath his feet. You wish you could tell what was going on in his mind, but your heart is still racing like you’re being hunted for sport and your body is screaming for Joel to put his hands on you again, and all of that is too much to read Frankie.

Frankie holds out a hand to Joel. “Cigarette,” he says, and Joel obliges. You watch Frankie light it up and take a deep drag, a sight so unfamiliar it makes you eager to commit it to memory. “So you really wanna fuck her then?” he finally asks.

There is a pressure low in your abdomen that makes you shift against the lounger.

Joel only laughs, crude and hoarse, as if deigning that question with an answer is below him. “Where did you get that idea from?”

Frankie takes another drag, a short one this time, before glancing directly at Joel’s crotch. You follow his gaze to find a bulge there, one that definitely wasn’t there before, straining against the stiff fabric. When Joel’s eyes find yours, you make sure he sees you lick your lips. His jaw twitches.

Frankie leans back comfortably in his chair, some of the ash from the cigarette landing on his pants. He brushes it off with a flick of his wrist. “I’ll let you fuck her. But you’re gonna do exactly as I say.”

You think you must have entered a parallel universe or another dimension. For a short while at least. None of it makes sense: the cigarette in Frankie’s hand, the way he talks and what he says, that man next to you who is nothing more than a stranger, who had his tongue in your mouth two minutes ago, and that all of this makes you wetter than you can ever remember being. But then Frankie’s eyes meet yours, dark pupils blown unfamiliarly wide, and yet there is something in them you recognize – this isn’t a stranger who is looking at you, this is your best friend. No matter what happens next, he’s going to look out for you. All you need to do is trust him.

Next to you, Joel shifts, adjusting his crotch. He licks his lips. “Yeah.” He nods. “Okay.”

Your eyes are on Frankie now, heart racing in your chest, mouth completely dry, as you wait for what comes next. Your brain is running hot trying to go through all the possibilities of what Frankie could have Joel do to you, but all you come back to is Frankie kneeling in front of you, spreading your legs. Joel is nothing more than a shadow beside you, watching with a hungry gaze.

Frankie leans forward and reaches out his hand as if he means to touch you, but then stops himself and leans back. “You don’t have to do as you’re told.” The softness in his voice catches you by surprise, but he goes on before you can analyze it. “To start, do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

You glance at Joel, at how stiff his shoulders are, and you face him, trembling fingers pulling his shirt up where it is tugged into his jeans. Up and up you pull it until he has to raise his arms for you to get it off, and then you finally see his body betray his nerves as his chest flushes a deep red. There is a scar on his left collarbone, old and slightly brighter than the skin around it, there are some sparse, dark gray hairs on his chest, and his stomach is so much firmer than Frankie’s, so much less inviting.

Joel huffs and your gaze shoots back up to his face. “Kinda boring, don’t ya think? Pullin’ off my shirt when you could’ve done anythin’ to me?”

You won’t let him get to you, not like that, not when Frankie’s eyes are on you. “There’s no shame in me enjoying myself by taking things slow,” you retort. “I know your first move would’ve been to stuff two fingers into me but where’s the fun in that?”

“Oh, you’re gonna see where the fun in that is when you’re comin’ ‘round ‘em,” he replies with that infuriatingly sleazy smile darkening his face.

You lean in just a tiny bit closer. “Only if Frankie lets you.” God, that thought turns you on so much your head starts to spin.

Once you recover, Joel’s right hand is cupping your jaw, his grip firm, while his thumb rests against your lips. “Someone should stuff that mouth o’ yours.”

You open your mouth then, until his thumb is only pressing against your bottom lip. You let it slide in past your teeth until you can feel it on your tongue, heavy, tasting like nicotine. You close your lips around the digit and suck on it, your cheeks hollowing, your tongue massaging it. The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches. Somewhere to your right, you hear Frankie’s chair groan.

The sound of Frankie’s voice interrupts you. “I want you to take off her dress.”

With a wet plop, Joel pulls his thumb out of your mouth and then starts pulling at the straps of your sundress, pushing them down your shoulders.

“Slowly,” Frankie adds, his voice calm as if he’s talking to a semi-feral animal.

Joel moves you so both your feet are planted firmly on the ground, then shifts so he’s behind you. He finds the zipper at the back of your dress and begins to pull it down, torturously slowly as if there is something he wants to prove to Frankie. As more and more of your skin is revealed, he brushes over it, calloused fingers making you shiver. His hands feel so much like Frankie’s, and yet not at all like him. Frankie would be soft and gentle too, but he wouldn’t scrape you with his short nails, he wouldn’t tremble like it takes everything in him not to devour you whole.

The fabric of your dress glides down your shoulders and back, and comes to rest around your hips. It isn’t anything Frankie hasn’t seen before – your breasts are still covered, after all – and yet there is something in his gaze when you look at him, a strange kind of longing, like desire that has been kept in check for so long it has become second nature to him. You can see it in the flare of his nostrils, in the darkening of his eyes, in the way his bottom lip trembles briefly before he darts out his tongue to wet it. And yet he sits there, watching, his body unmoving like it has been trained not to give in.

“Take off her bra.”

Even Frankie’s voice is controlled and even. You shift, pulling back your shoulders and pushing out your chest in an attempt to get him to break, but his gaze shifts from you to Joel as he waits for the other man to follow his orders. Joel doesn’t need to be told twice. He flicks open the clasp at your back with one hand and your bra falls away. You push out your chin, willing your face not to heat up.

Frankie’s throat works as he swallows, a small crack in the otherwise impenetrable wall he has put up. “You’re perfect …” His voice, too, cracks on the second syllable and he coughs. “Wouldn’t you agree, Joel?”

Joel doesn’t reply. Instead, he cups one of your breasts again and squeezes the nipple tightly between his thumb and forefinger, making you arch you back as a small stab of pain shoots through you. Now that the protective barrier of fabric is gone, you can feel just how rough his skin is against your sensitive spots, how his callouses catch in places your own fingers smoothly glide over. Your head falls back against his shoulder as he pinches your nipple again, as he begins to roll it roughly, pull on it from time to time to hear you hiss.

Joel’s chest rises and falls against your back, hot skin pressing into hot skin, his breath caressing the back of your neck. He runs his nose from your earlobe all the way down to your shoulder, then back up again, but before he reaches the starting point, he sinks his teeth into your neck and bites down, drawing a shivering gasp from you. And then he doesn’t let go. He bites down harder, holding you in place, while cupping your breast with his entire hand, kneading it until your world tilts.

You’re not aware of how desperate you are to find purchase, but the garden and the pool and the sky above right themselves when your hand finds Joel’s thigh. The denim is rough beneath your palm, but he is a rough man so it doesn’t surprise you. What does surprise you though is how hard you have to fight to keep yourself from bucking your hips.

“Joel, stop.”

For just a short little while you had forgot Frankie is there with you, but his voice reminds you with brute force. And when Joel does as he’s told and you are left with nothing to distract you, all you can do is look at your best friend, at his fingers wrapped around that cigarette, and wonder what it would feel like to have him play with your nipple instead of Joel. The painful way your heart constricts at that thought utterly catches you by surprise.

Frankie takes a final drag on his cigarette, flicks the butt away, and clears his throat. “You’ll only do what I tell you to do.”

You shift, the fabric of your underwear rubbing against your clit sending a bolt of desperation through you, mixing with that unbearable longing to create a heady, dangerous cocktail. “Frankie, please.”

Frankie takes you in, and you have no idea what he sees, but he runs his thumb across his bottom lip and asks, “Do you want him to touch you?”

Joel runs his fingers up and down your arm, his touch so light it feels like torture. You try to squirm away but he keeps you trapped against his chest.

You exhale shakily. “Yeah.” There’s a brief moment of hesitation, one that makes your heart flutter as you decide whether you should keep going. You do. “God, I’m so wet.”

Joel’s wandering fingers close around your upper arm like a vise.

But Frankie keeps up his walls. “Show me how wet she is, Joel.”

You don’t think there has ever been a moment in your life where you were more turned on, a single moment where you were less in control of your body and your desires. You try to stand up, your legs trembling like you just finished a marathon, hands wrapped around your dress, ready to pull it all the way down. Joel doesn’t even let you straighten your back. He pulls you back against his chest and wraps an arm around yours before running his free hand down your stomach, not seductively or teasingly but as if he has a task to fulfill. You’ve barely registered the sensation of his fingers against your lower stomach before he has pushed them past the fabric bunched around you hips and into your underwear, and this time you lose the battle against your own body. You roll your hips into his touch as your eyes flutter shut, you push and push, moans and whimpers urging him on. He doesn’t need to be encouraged – he rolls your clit beneath his index finger, just like he rolled your nipple, before dipping it lower, pushing past the muscles at your opening and up into you.

Before you can make sense of it all, he removes his hand and holds up two fingers right in front of your eyes, glistening with your slick. Your chest heaving, you try to catch your breath.

Frankie’s eyes are wide open. “What does she taste like?” he asks, his voice rough as if he hasn’t used it in quite some time.

Joel rubs his thumb against his index and middle finger, toying with your slick. “Don’t you want to find out for yourself?”

Frankie nods so slightly you can’t be sure it really happens, then hides behind a smirk, and you feel something unbearably insisting curl up tightly in the pit of your stomach. “You tell me.”

Suddenly, Joel’s fingers are at your lips, pushing into your mouth. You open up, surprised by the sudden intrusion, and then his thick digits are pressing down against your tongue, making you gag. Tears are filling your eyes, and spit drips out of your mouth as you feel Joel’s hot breath against the shell of your ear.

“Tell him.”

You can’t, not even if you wanted to. Not because you can’t taste yourself on Joel’s skin, not because you can’t talk with his fingers filling up your mouth, but because Frankie flies out of his chair, brow furrowed and fists clenched. Before he can come to your aid, you close your hand around Joel’s wrist and push his fingers even deeper into your mouth, not breaking eye contact with Frankie, not even for a split second.

Joel presses down against your tongue and you suck on his fingers eagerly, but none of that matters to you. The only thing you care about is the red flush creeping up Frankie’s neck and into his cheeks, and the way he keeps closing the distance between the three of you until he’s standing right there, close enough for you to reach out and run your hands up and down his thigh.

Frankie’s hand is warm and heavy as it closes around yours, pulling Joel’s fingers out of your mouth. You gasp, unable to prevent a thin thread of spit from connecting your lips to Joel’s hand. It winks out of existence a second later when Frankie’s mouth clashes against yours, drawing another gasp from you, one that releases months and months of pent-up longing, one that originates deep in your chest but almost dies on your lips, stifled by wonder.

It isn’t a soft kiss, it isn’t even particularly well executed since your teeth clash painfully and Frankie pushes too hard too quickly. He also tastes more like Joel than himself, of beer and cigarettes, but none of that matters. He could have given you a small peck on the cheek and it would have been the greatest kiss you had ever shared with anyone. You feel his breath against your cheek, a shaky exhale, and before you can stop yourself, you find yourself fisting his shirt, fingers clenched so tightly you will never be able to let go again. That is all you ever wanted, all you ever prayed for, and now that you have it, you never want to lose it again.

Eventually, Frankie pulls back ever so slightly and whispers against your lips, “Summer, that’s what you taste like,” and it’s such a corny line it should have you rolling your eyes, but instead you crane your neck and seal your lips to his again, high from the feeling of your tongue in his mouth. He huffs and pushes up against you, but he’s not close enough – there’s still so much space between you. You reach up and grab the collar of his shirt and pull him even closer, but suddenly rough hands grab your arms and hold you back forcefully.

“I wanna go first.” It isn’t a request, that much is clear.

Frankie pulls back and smiles down at you, his face soft and open, searching for any indication you don’t want to do this anymore. Even though you’ve never wanted anyone as much as you want him right now, the thought of him watching while Joel fucks you, utterly in control of the situation, makes you clench around nothing. Frankie can tell – he switches back to his neutral mask in the matter of a second. “You didn’t do as you were told …”

It isn’t a threat, but it might as well be.

Joel hooks a thumb into your mouth and pulls down your bottom lip. You try to bite him again, but he is prepared this time, holding you in place. “Let me come in her mouth at least.”

Frankie grabs Joel’s wrist again and pulls his hand away from your face. “No.”

You have never heard him use that voice before, that kind of voice that makes you snap to attention, that voice that commands people to follow him. You shift, trying to rub your thighs together, but it’s just a primal reaction you have no control over. All your attention is on Joel trying to pull his wrist out of Frankie’s grip, and on Frankie holding him in place, the muscles in his arm straining.

“I’m going to sit back down, and you’re going to fuck her.” Frankie’s voice is so calm it sends a shiver down your spine. “Slowly,” he adds, letting go of Joel’s wrist. “And if you make her come before I tell you to, there’ll be consequences.”

Every muscle in your body tightens. You’re too wound up to rationally consider what Frankie is proposing, too wound up to think about how much you want this and what that might mean. You glance behind you to catch Joel’s reaction, to see if he’s just as affected by Frankie’s proposition as you are, just in time to watch him lick his lips.

“And I get to fuck her however I want?”

Frankie’s gaze shifts to you. It’s nothing more than a glance, a quick check-in, and you nod, just as quickly, just as imperceptibly.

“Yes,” Frankie answers.

Next thing you know, you’re up on the lounger, knees and hands braced against the soft pillows, faded from long summers under the hot Texan sun, focusing on the sounds of Joel unbuckling his belt. You feel your throat tighten at those sounds, leather scraping against skin, metal clicking against metal, but your mouth is too dry to swallow. Joel unzips his jeans, then there’s a rustling sound, followed by a deep, needy groan. It’s enough to make your heartbeat stumble over itself with excitement. You try to turn your head and glance behind you to see what he is doing, but Joel catches your movement and forces your head down, firm grip at the back of your skull.

“Stay.”

To your right, you hear the sound of Frankie shifting in his chair. He doesn’t intervene.

Joel grabs the bunched-up fabric of your dress with both hands and begins to tear it with quick, jerking movements, ruining it. It falls away and glides down to the ground where it comes to rest next to the lounger, leaving you almost completely exposed to Joel. And Joel doesn’t hesitate. He pushes the thin fabric of your underwear aside and sinks into you with one deep, calculated thrust you can feel in your chest.

Your fists clenched, your head hanging low, you try to take it, but his thrusts send shudders of pain up and down your body. It’s not unbearable, and it shouldn’t surprise you; he fucks like he does everything else – rough and with an edge of violence to it – but the stretch is uncomfortable, and the thrusts are greedy, so much so you wish he had surprised you after all.

“Slow down,” Frankie orders, and you lift your eyes to him. A muscle twitches in his jaw, and when Joel does as he’s told, he watches you closely, searching your face for any signs of the discomfort lessening. You shift, your body adjusting to the feeling of being so full, and when Frankie asks, his voice low, “You okay?” you realize that you are. You’re more than okay, actually. Two more shallow thrusts from Joel and you’re completely relaxed.

“Yeah,” you answer, just for Frankie to hear and his lips quirk up in a smile.

“We’re good,” he tells Joel.

Joel’s open palm lands against your ass cheek catching you unawares, as does the moan you let loose at the sudden burst of pain. Frankie swallows, or at least you think he does – you can’t be sure with your eyes flutterin shut. You push back against Joel, eager for more, pulling him deeper inside of you with a greedy clench.

“The way you’re clenchin’ ‘round me makes me think you’ve never had dick before.”

Joel’s voice comes out restrained, the words are punctuated by more slaps, one harder than the last. Their meaning is lost on you as you are reduced to a babbling mess, unable to retain anything that is happening outside of your desire for him. You gush around his cock, hot and wet and wanton, and somewhere between the thrusts and the grunts, you hear a chortle.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t ya.”

That chortle is what pulls you back into yourself, and you risk another glance behind you, hoping that this time he will let you see. He does, and you watch him pound into you, both hands on your hips, denim pulled just low enough to free his cock, dark hairs curling just above it, streaked with bulging veins. He has one knee braced against the lounger, one foot firmly planted on the ground. You almost hate yourself for being so affected by that sight, but you can feel everything tighten, your body begging for release.

“Fuck,” you groan, your voice breathy. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna –”

With a condescending smirk, Joel reaches for your clit. “Go ahead, sunshine.”

You close your eyes, focusing on how you’re clenching around him. You’re so, so close, you can almost taste the release on your tongue. Your mouth hangs open, a moan begins to emerge from someplace deep inside your chest and –

Joel’s hips falter and still, and you can feel yourself flutter desperately around him, but it’s not enough. You glide along his length, coming down from the edge, frustration blossoming in the pit of your stomach. Joel’s fingers rest uselessly against your swollen clit, still as the rest of him, and whenever you try to grind yourself against them, his touch lessens.

“Joel …,” you whine, opening your eyes to look back at him.

It’s not Joel your gaze lands on. It’s Frankie, standing right there next to the lounger, one hand on Joel’s head, fisting his hair, pulling on it so his chin is raised high, his neck exposed, a thick vein pulsing near its base. Joel is breathing heavily, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t try to free himself, while Frankie looks down at him, darkness clouding his features.

“You’ll do as I tell you or I won’t let you come inside of her.”

Frankie lets go of Joel’s hair with a shove to drive home the point. Even now, freed from his restraint, Joel doesn’t fight back. He glares at Frankie as if he’s imagining beating him bloody, but he does like he’s told, removing his fingers from your clit to dig them back into your hip. He picks up the pace again, thrusts a little shallower than before, drawing a sigh of relief from you, scratching that undefinable itch Frankie restraining Joel like that triggered in you. That itch you don’t want to examine too closely right now but that you know you’ll return to.

Frankie pats Joel’s shoulder, two firm raps against the straining muscles. “Good boy.”

You clench so hard around Joel he must notice, but he doesn’t remark on it. He resumes the steady snapping of his hips while your eyes fall shut and drop down to your elbows, those two words floating around your mind like an echo.

Good boy.

A desperate little whimper escapes you, one at least Frankie seems to hear, because he runs two knuckles up and down your spine in a movement that is meant to calm you but shoves you toward the edge with a violent jolt. He must know what he’s doing to you, there is no way he hasn’t noticed. And it should fill you with shame, it should make you resent him, the way you lie bare before him, showing him the most vulnerable parts of yourself, but it only makes you want him more. You open your eyes to find him standing right next to you. This close, you can see how tight his pants stretch over the bulge you hadn’t noticed before, how you think you can even make out a dark spot of precum forming against the fabric. You lick your lips.

“Frankie, please.” Your voice is rough and broken, laced with desperation.

Joel shoves into you so violently you feel the thrust in your throat, but he doesn’t say anything.

Frankie leans down and places a soft kiss against your temple, then runs his thumb across your furrowed brow. “Just tell me when you’re ready.”

You whish you could tell him you’ve been ready ever since he suggested Joel should fuck you, but you can only laugh, a broken sound followed by a hard swallow.

Frankie straightens his back, his eyes bright with excitement. “I see.” He makes his way back over to his chair and sits down, the wood groaning beneath his weight. “Go ahead, Joel.”

Joel picks up the pace, making every thought, every doubt you might have, instantly disappear from your head. His fingers find your clit again, rubbing you hard, and after that it doesn’t take long at all. After that, you let out a deep moan and push back against Joel so hard it makes him lose his rhythm, but it doesn’t matter. You’re coming, pulling him deeper into you as he fucks you through it, letting you squeeze him as you sink deep into pleasure, losing track of your body’s movements.

You come back to the surface when you’re spent, and everything feels sore and tender, but Joel doesn’t stop. There is a burning between your legs now and you hiss, reaching back for him.

Frankie is there next to you again, cupping your cheek. You have no idea when he approached, what made him leave his role as spectator this time, but you instantly relax when you feel his touch on him. “Just a little more,” he murmurs, calming you. “You can take it, I know you can.”

You watch him squeeze the bulge in his pants, and giving it another, harder squeeze when Joel grabs your wrist and pins it to the small of your back. The proof of how much he’s affected by you is enough to chase away the discomfort and rekindle the fire in the pit of your stomach. Your eyes glued to the bulge in Frankie’s pants you wonder what it would be like to feel him thrust into you, chasing his release, to feel him take what he needed from your body, fueled by how much you want him in return.

Finally, Joel stills and spills into you, groaning as his orgasm sparks through him. But your eyes are locked to Frankie’s, as neither of you dares to look away.

THE OUTCOME

The neon sign of the motel casts deep shadows into the cabin of Frankie’s pickup. Your gaze is fixed to the flashing letters, promising vacancy. A car rushes past, its tires whispering against the concrete, still hot from the Texan summer day. You try to ignore the tightness in your stomach, but when a door falls shut with a rattling bang somewhere nearby, you feel that sound like a punch to your gut.

“That was fun,” Joel says from the backseat. He stretches his legs, kicking his foot against your backrest. “If you ever wanna repeat that …” He lets the offer hang there in the air between you.

Frankie grabs the steering wheel tightly, the wood groaning under his skin. “We’ll know where to find you,” he finishes the sentence.

Joel braces both hands against your backrest and leans forward so his lips are close to your ear. “I think I’ll stick around for a while, so if you ever wanna grab some drinks, sunshine …”

Only half-listening, you reply, “Whatever,” fighting down the nausea you’ve been feeling ever since you climbed into Frankie’s truck.

“Whatever,” Joel echoes with a huff, opens the backdoor, and climbs out. “You know, I’ve had better,” he adds, before shutting the door with a loud bang.

“Hey!” Frankie barks, but you shake your head, and Frankie lets him walk away.

It doesn’t matter what Joel says to you. You couldn’t care less. Because as soon as Frankie starts the car, he’ll drive it straight over to your place, say goodnight without really looking at you, and tomorrow, he’ll pretend that none of this happened. Just like he did before. And as much as you hate that thought, you’re going to have to live with it.

As Joel climbs the stairs to the second-floor landing of the motel, you say, “You’ll want to take me home now, right?” It’s best to get it over with as quickly as possible.

The wood groans again, but this time from Frankie loosening his grip. He takes off his cap and runs his fingers through his ruffled curls. You don’t look at him, but you study him out of the corner of your eye, trying to read his face. He puts the cap back on, then slings his arm across the backrest of your seat. “Actually … I was hopin’ you’d come back to my place.”

The nausea you’ve been feeling pricks up its ears with interest and then curls up into a tiny ball, tugged away in a corner of your stomach. “Oh?” you say. And that’s all you manage before he closes the distance between you, his left hand cupping your jaw, his lips brushing against yours, tentatively, asking for permission. You give it to him by fisting his shirt, pulling him toward you, by smiling against his lips, exhaling all the tension in one short giggle, full of relief. He strokes his thumb across your cheek at the same time as you open up for him so he can brush his tongue against yours. You find yourself mirroring him, hand on his cheek, thumb running over the stubble there, relishing the feeling of him being so close.

You pull away first, and he follows you, mouth slightly open, chasing another taste. “What are we gonna do at your place? Do you have more friends who want to fuck me while you watch?” you ask, high from the feeling of his tongue in your mouth, from that promise that he won’t forget about any of this in the morning.

A neon flash lights up Frankie’s face, once, twice, as you watch his cheeks darken with a flush. He takes his time, studying your face closely. “No,” he says, his voice a low rumble, so unfamiliar it draws a smile from him, “I want to fuck you myself.”

If you enjoyed the fic, I'd love to hear from you 🥰 feel free to leave a comment or drop into my inbox anytime ...

dividers by @saradika-graphics

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #frankie morales x reader x joel miller #frankie morales x you x joel miller #triple frontier fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #i need to stop with these insanely long fics lmao

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hydrobunny · 2 months ago

Text

i remember it all too well

tags: angst, post breakup, flashbacks, journalist reader, angst angst angst, it's all too well come on now

a/n: happy belated birthday sae itoshi

your world pauses the day sae itoshi is spotted with a new girlfriend.

the photos are blurry, paparazzi shots taken from at least one building over. it doesn't matter. you would know the curve of his arm around a waist in a thousand different lives.

you have to admit she fits him. even as your hands shake, you can't deny that they look happy- something the two of you weren’t so good at.

it doesn’t stop you from harboring too-many amounts of memories all the same.

you met him before he had joined the world of the superstars, but after he had already been something greater. (you think that if you had met him before everything, you two would’ve fared better.)

by the time you two had locked eyes, he was already changed. something inside of him had shifted, turning away from everyday life and facing immortal legacies instead. you had falsely believed you held a place in it.

you should’ve known better, right from the very first words he spoke to you.

“you’re not supposed to be here.”

you pause, looking up from your phone to face the voice.

cold eyes glare down at you, beautiful in color. the boy - because he can only be around your age, barely leaving the teenage years at most - they belong to is just as annoyingly beautiful. you think you should recognize him.

“excuse me?” you ask, offense rising. “i know where i’m supposed to be.”

his eyes only narrow. “is this another shitty tactic? i said i was done with interviews.”

“good for you, dude.” you roll your eyes, pushing past his shoulder. “why anyone would ever want to interview you, i have no idea.”

as you leave, you can feel his gaze on your back.

you blink, shaking yourself out of whatever that was. it's not good to linger on the past. (your therapist had told you that.)

still, she has also told you that one couldn't grow without recognizing what exactly they had to grow from.

perhaps that's why you find yourself rummaging in your bedside drawer for a deeply buried box, the ends of your fingers numb.

when you open it, you’re met with nothing but a handful of flimsy keepsakes. from fraying bracelets to notes to polaroids. all of them are snapshots of a relationship no longer yours, artifacts of what used to be your heart.

in each flashback, sae itoshi lingers.

the next time you met him, you had learned that he was supposedly a household name. (never in your household, though.)

the great hope of japan’s future -despite what he himself had to say about the country.

you’re a little embarrassed by what happened. still, you refuse to take all the blame.

“sae itoshi,” you blurt out. “you’re here.”

those stunning eyes flicker to you, and he actually pauses. recognition actually stops him.

“you’re the one who was lost,” he says, mildly. “not pretending to not know me this time?

you flush. “in my defense, i didn’t know you. i don't do the sports section.”

he raises an eyebrow. “then why am i still seeing you?”

before you can respond, your boss comes rushing through the hallway, sweat beading on his brow.

“itoshi-san!” he blusters, barely sparing you a glance. “we’re so glad you’re here! is the intern bothering you? your interview is in the next room over, so if you just want to follow me- we're so grateful you decided to give us your exclusive.”

something twitches on sae’s face. “intern?”

offense rears its head in your chest. “what-”

“i’ve changed my mind,” sae interrupts mildly. he turns to you, taking hold of one of the many pens lying on your desk.

ask you and your boss watch in bewilderment, he leans down and scrawls something on your notepad.

“she’ll get the exclusive,” he says, straightening back up. “when she isn't an intern anymore.”

and he turns and walks out of the building, leaving nothing but a string of numbers on a sticky note.

the same sticky note rips between your fingers. once you start, you can't stop yourself, until all you're left with is a pile of bright yellow scraps.

you move onto the next item. a wiry black wristband; one half of a forever missing set.

you had been dating sae itoshi for exactly one month. all of your friends still thought it was as some long-standing elaborate joke. at certain times, you couldn't believe it yourself either.

despite it all, despite every little memory you can pore over for hours at a time, you can’t pinpoint the exact moment when things changed.

it’s a strange truth, one you’ve struggled to come to terms with- but it's a truth. if someone were to ask you when your relationship with sae soured, you wouldn't be able to say.

perhaps it wasn't a singular moment. maybe it was a long time in the making, like how a banana slowly browns- until one day, it’s rotted.

either way, one form of heartbreak or another, the truth was this:

you and sae itoshi had ended.

#hydrobunny #blue lock #blue lock x reader #sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae x reader #blue lock angst

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tehrogueva · 2 years ago

Note

Ngl, if nightmare ever became doc's client I can totally see him getting dragged in by dream without his consent

Doc: not necessarily. Anyone could come in for any reason. Regardless, they are welcome.

Rogue: (With Dreamtale especially, I'm trying to walk the line of representing a good mix of both canon and fanon. It is a trick process cause no mater what, one side of the Dreamtale fan base is going to be upset.

It would be easier to use Au version of Dream and Nightmare, like say for example OSD Dream and Nightmare by @calcium-cat. OSD Nightmare would actually be excellent to go into cause of how he's changed with the events of the story.

But then I still want to address what the Canon Dream and Nightmare went though, cause OMG it would make for good angst in a therapy session!

I think I'm going to stay as close as I can to canon for their origin, but maybe add some of the more accepted fanon bits to flesh them out. Still unsure and working on it.

I'm doing a lot of research into all the characters I'm going to be using in the Therapist!Sans series. I at the very least want to do the character's justice within their canon, but also with the wider accepted fanon. It's a really tough balance, but definitely going to be worth it.)

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a-v-j · 7 months ago

Note

HEY HEY HEYYYY

...

What.. erm... what does Averse- o-or- Snap- or Anti (I only remember this three AM SICK OKAY-) erm-

What do they think about... y'know... the balance of the multiverse... yk.... like- do they respect it? Or try to? (Absolutely not trying to promote a new UTAU called BalanceTale which will be an absolute masterclass... no... absolutely not... I'm... just asking this randomly.... it would be a coincidence if a AU this perfect existed....)

- Absolutely not Lalone, random anon, I swear it's not them it's me- I'm not them- I-.... bAnAnAs

#ask avjverse #newverse #averse_auto #dust!auto #anti #anti_error #anti_error!sans #snap #therapist!swap #the sansational sleep specialist and therapist snap #A.U.T.O #anon asks

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juustokaku · 3 months ago

Text

Confidentiality - Chapter 1. - yandere!ATEEZ OT8 x f!reader

Introduction: Joining a peer support group for mentally ill was a good idea for the last two times you were there. Then it's only natural for the third time to go well too, right?

Pairings: yandere!Hongjoong x reader, yandere!Seonghwa x reader, yandere!Yunho x reader, yandere!Yeosang x reader, yandere!San x reader, yandere!Mingi x reader, yandere!Wooyoung x reader, yandere!Jongho x reader

A/N: This is my first fan fiction I have posted in years! I'm sorry that the beginning might bore you but I'm trying to make the next chapters more interesting. This was more of an introduction than the real story. Also, please, forgive me for my English. It's not exactly immaculate since it isn't my first language. Thank you to everyone who might stumble across this and read!

Word count: 3 207

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first time you had been shaking in your boots. The next time you had been shaking as much. And now, hopefully for the last time, you were still shaking.

“What are you doing here? This is private property,” a relatively old lady opened the door you were standing behind and furrowed her thin brows.

It was winter, and you were cold already, but the chill that ran down your spine at the woman’s words made you almost visibly shudder. Did she not remember you?

Your hands inside your mittens squeezed into fists. Anxious tears welled up in your eyes. As usual, you couldn’t handle people being angry or even stern at you.

You would have probably run away in a couple seconds, but the woman smiled at you suddenly and pushed the door wide open.

“I’m just joking, dear. I remember you.”

She was supposed to be a mental health professional but still she dared to joke like that while aware of your struggles. You felt a bit irritated but didn’t dare to show it to her. She didn’t mean to scare you.

As you stepped inside the house your anxiety levels settled down for a moment. You felt a little more comfortable despite the fusty smell. The room was designed to look inviting and homey probably to make the patients relax. It was kind of like visiting a grandma which made you feel nostalgic.

“I’m glad you decided to join again,” the woman smiled sincerely as you took off your boots and set them neatly on the shoe rack.

You nodded, “I’m a bit anxious but eager to receive some help again.”

It was the third time you had joined a peer support group for people who were suffering from mental health problems. The same woman who was in front of you had held it every time. You thought she was some kind of therapist but weren’t sure anymore. It was always hard for you to remember the introductions, because your mind was an anxious mess when meeting new people.

She led you to the familiar room where all the previous support groups had been held too.

10 armchairs were placed in a wide circle. Their colors were restrained and mild so that people who had sensory issues wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. Well, they would probably feel uncomfortable here anyways due to other reasons, but it wouldn’t feel as insufferable as it could if the chairs were all bright, neon version colors of rainbow.

The lighting was comforting and warm, a stark contrast to the cold lights of a hospital.

As you were taking in the feelings of the room, the woman started speaking.

“Uh, I have to tell you something,” she started, sounding apologetic, “All the other group members are new. None of them have been here before.”

“Oh. Are any of them aggressive?” you asked nervously.

The information that you hadn’t met any of the other patients stressed you out. What if one of them was aggressive and attacked you?

“You worry too much, Y/N. They’re as stable and gentle as little lambs.”

“If they were stable, they wouldn’t be in this group.”

The woman chuckled a bit, her dimples showing as the corners of her lips rose in amusement.

“Trust me. Everyone is kind and calm,” the woman assured you.

Suddenly a man barged in and declared, “I have arrived! Get ready for trouble!”

Your heart almost stopped and a fight-or-flight response was close to being activated. But after the initial scare he gave you settled down, you stared at the man with surprise and nervousness.

Despite his attention-demanding entrance, his looks were a little less extra. He was really handsome though. He had black hair and casual clothes but your attention was caught by his mischievous dark brown eyes and a little mole under his eye.

“What’s your name?” the man noticed your staring and rushed to you before you could run away.

You barely remembered your name when the man was suddenly in front of you, a bit too close to your liking. Somehow you managed to mutter out your name to him.

“Ah, Y/N. I’m Wooyoung,” the man introduced himself, “You have beautiful eyes.”

If you didn’t forget how to speak when Wooyoung asked your name, you definitely did now. How were you supposed to answer when a stranger complimented your eyes out of the blue?

Wooyoung continued inspecting your face and expressions intently.

“Thank you... You have very... interesting eyes as well,” you smiled sheepishly.

“That sounds almost like an insult,” Wooyoung pouted, “Aren’t my eyes beautiful too?”

Oh no. Did Wooyoung think you didn’t think of his eyes as beautiful?

“No, no! I mean yes, your eyes are beautiful. I just didn’t want to sound like a creep by complimenting you too much.”

Wooyoung grinned at you, “Don’t worry. I know what you meant.”

What was wrong with everyone, joking around like that? You had your first mini heart attack earlier when you thought the woman didn’t recognize you and now Wooyoung made you think you insulted him gravely.

You took a seat on one of the armchairs. Wooyoung sat down next to you, staying quiet but glancing at you sometimes. Pretty often, to be honest. All of the time, actually.

The woman started talking with him but you couldn’t focus on listening to their conversation at all. Just fiddling with your fingers nervously as you imagined how the other patients would be like.

One by one, all of the patients arrived. Two of them were late which irritated you. You just wanted to get this session over with already.

You didn’t dare to look at anyone but you had noticed to your horror that all of the other patients were men. Maybe they would gang up on you after this session and beat you up. That’s what men did, right? You had read a lot about those kind of things on the internet.

“Alright kiddos,” the woman started, “My name is Charlotte Abbot, and I welcome you to this peer support group.”

None of you were “kiddos” anymore but young adults. Charlotte probably just felt a lot older with all those wrinkles on her face.

She went on and on about how the group works and the importance of confidentiality. A few members of the group didn’t focus at all and were looking around curiously to see who were the people that had joined the group.

“Who wants to introduce themselves first?” Charlotte asked.

Wooyoung raised his hand and started talking before Charlotte could give him a permission, “My name is Jung Wooyoung. My favorite color is black. My favorite fruit is strawberry. I like dancing. I like taking photographs. I like cooking. I like-”

Charlotte interrupted him, “Thank you, Wooyoung. Let’s give everyone a chance to introduce themselves briefly before revealing more.”

An extraordinarily stylish man raised his hand before he started speaking.

“I’m Kim Hongjoong. I’m the CEO of my own fashion brand.”

You almost gasped out loud. No wonder he was so stylish. He looked cool both in appearance and attitude. The look on his face was so focused that you bet he was a hardworking man.

“My name is Choi San. I am a personal trainer. Nice to meet you all,” a man sitting one seat away from you introduced himself politely.

You could definitely see that he was a personal trainer. His looks probably distracted all his customers from working out to look at him.

“Jeong Yunho,” a tall man next to you smiled kindly, “I’m a police officer but I do a lot of volunteering at animal shelters as well.”

You almost let your heart melt at Yunho’s words but you reminded yourself that he could be lying to make himself look more trustworthy. He could actually be a mastermind criminal who’d lure you into his trap with his promises of playful puppies and cute kittens.

“Choi Jongho,” another man simply said.

Everyone waited for him to continue but he stayed silent.

“That’s it?” Wooyoung asked.

“Shush, Wooyoung. If Jongho doesn’t want to say anything more yet, he doesn’t have to,” Charlotte reminded gently.

“Song Mingi. But you can call me Mingi. Or Mingus Dingus,” another tall man chuckled.

“Mingus... Dingus?” Wooyoung repeated, holding back his laughter. A couple other men in the room snorted too.

Mingi looked a little offended and explained, “It’s my stage name. I’m a rapper.”

You wondered what was behind Mingi’s sunglasses. Why did he wear them inside in the first place? Was he trying to hide something else than just his eyes?

It was clear that none of them were here to hurt you. But all of these new people were making you nervous. No matter how disrespectful of you was it to suspect everyone, you couldn’t help yourself.

“My name is Park Seonghwa. I like Legos and Star Wars,” a strikingly handsome man smiled sheepishly.

His interests surprised you with their innocence. One would expect that an adult man with those godly looks would be partying and sleeping with models instead of nerding away with Legos and Star Wars. It was adorable though and made you feel ever so slightly more at ease with him.

Silence filled the room as everyone was waiting for the next person to introduce themselves. Only the ticking of the clock on the wall could be heard. The silence felt uncomfortably long and you started wondering why no-one spoke.

“Could any of you two introduce yourself?” Charlotte’s voice caught your attention.

You almost wanted to cry out of embarrassment as you realized you were one of the two who were left, and you had been just sitting there like a fool. It shouldn’t be such a big deal but your ears flushed red nonetheless.

There was a man who hadn’t introduced himself yet either. His gaze was turned to the floor. As if that wasn’t enough of a sign to tell he was uncomfortable, his body was tense and hands wrapped in front of his stomach as if to protect himself.

“I’m Y/N. I like...” you paused. Someone could be here to gather information about you or use your information against you in the future. You couldn’t tell them anything too personal.

“I like dogs,” you finally said. Damn it, that was too personal! Now that psycho police officer could lure you into a dog shelter and torture puppies in front of you just to make you suffer.

Speak of the devil, Yunho smiled at you, “I like dogs too.”

You fought the urge to scream and run away. His smile was charming but that was expected from a psychopath. Those kinds of people were good at manipulating. You had read a lot of books about it in order to protect yourself better.

Nonetheless, you still smiled back nervously.

“What’s your last name?” San asked.

To be truthful or not to be: that is the question. You had purposefully left that part out of your introduction because you didn’t want to tell them your last name. What would anyone even do with that information?

“Brokelsony,” you answered.

Wooyoung snorted, “That’s not a real name, doofus. You just made that up, didn’t you?”

You got caught. Your days were numbered now. How could you ever come back after everyone knew you lied to them?

The way your eyes widened and you clutched the arms of the chair confirmed everyone that you lied. Liar, liar, pants on fire. Except you wanted your whole body to burn, not just your pants.

“Come on, what’s your real last name?” Mingi insisted.

Wooyoung joined in with a louder voice, “Yeah, we told our last names too!”

“What are you so afraid of?”

You were stressing out, gasping for air and digging for some explanation for your lie but you couldn’t think. All the noise and pressure made you dizzy.

Suddenly Jongho chimed in, “You two chose to tell your full names out of your own will. It’s not an obligation to reveal your last name, so leave her be.”

Everyone was shocked more or less. Jongho, who had been so quiet otherwise, had spoken up and defended you.

He could have been embarrassed or regretful to have all the attention directed to him now but there were no emotions on his face. Only unwavering tranquility was like painted on his whole body.

You couldn’t have been any more grateful to Jongho for the shift of attention and for being the voice of reason. The least you could do was to send him an appreciative smile so you did that.

He did not respond to the smile.

You really hated this day. Being embarrassed wasn’t an unknown experience to you but this felt just straight up humiliating.

“Well, we have our one last patient. Would you introduce yourself?” Charlotte asked gently.

It was definitely not a nice feeling for him to be the last one and have all the attention on him, you thought as you looked at the last man left.

After a few moments he raised his gaze from the floor... only to look at his hands. At least you could see his beautiful face and birth mark a bit better now.

“Yeosang,” the man spoke.

Yeosang sounded almost apologetic like he was sorry that he was supposedly wasting everyone’s time by telling his name. You really felt for him.

“Look what you did, Y/N. He learned not to tell his last name either because of you,” Wooyoung chuckled and received a scolding look from Charlotte in response.

Charlotte looked around the room, probably taking in everyone’s names, and nodded.

“You all have different issues like all people do. Even though some of you may have similar experiences or diagnoses, don’t forget that you have your own story to share, no matter how insignificant it may seem.”

A few people nodded, acknowledging her words. You did too although you did not agree with her statement.

Your story wasn’t meant to be shared. There wasn’t even anything to share. That’s what you wanted to believe at least. That you were completely healthy and normal, and that nothing bad had ever happened to you.

“During next week we’ll start opening up more but today it’s time for something more exciting...” Charlotte smiled mysteriously, “Get into groups of three.”

What was this? A pre-school? You did not want to talk to anyone. This was supposed to be a form of therapy not a blind date!

You felt your palms sweat in nervousness. Who would you want to be in a group with? Or a better question, who would want to be in a group with you?

The stress of realizing that probably no-one would agree to be with you made your chest tighten up. You cursed Charlotte in your mind for causing this.

Every second felt excruciatingly slow but fast at the same time as you saw Hongjoong and Seonghwa already forming a group. You would be the last one left. No-one would let you into their group willingly.

“Do you want to be in my group?” someone behind you asked like an angel who descended from Heaven to save you from the fate of being left out.

Once you turned around, you froze. It was the Devil instead.

Yunho stood there, towering over you, with that smile on his handsome face again. It was suspicious how kind he was.

“Sure,” you nodded despite your head screaming at you not to. Carefully inspecting his expressions and movements, you decided he would be trustworthy enough now that there were other people in the room with you.

“Awesome! Let’s go find another groupmate,” Yunho gestured you to follow him.

So, you did follow him as he walked towards Yeosang who was standing by the wall, looking clueless and lost.

You felt grateful that Yunho had chosen Yeosang out of everyone left because he seemed like the least aggressive person there. His arms were muscular but you wanted to believe he wouldn’t use them for anything else than carrying heavy grocery bags for old ladies.

“Yeosang, do you want to join-” Yunho started but got interrupted by Jongho who had appeared behind you two.

“Y/N. Join my group.”

It was enough of a shock already to have Yunho ask you to be in his group, but now that Jongho wanted you in his group as well, you felt lost.

You probably looked stupid as you were glancing between Yunho and Jongho, trying to figure out the situation, lips slightly apart.

“No can do, dude. She’s mine... my groupmate, I mean,” Yunho crossed his arms.

Even Yeosang raised his head to look at the scene with you as Yunho and Jongho started disputing.

“Although you like dogs, you don’t have to treat her as one,” the shorter man sneered, “You’re not her owner, cop.”

Yunho furrowed his brows. You thought of him as scary even when he smiled, but now that you saw him getting irritated, you felt horrified. What if he had a gun with him? He was a police officer after all.

“I didn’t mean it that way. I just want you to find your own groupmates instead of stealing mine.”

“Why are you so keen on keeping her?” Jongho raised a brow.

“Why are you so keen on stealing her away from me?”

Yunho’s question was just the right one to make Jongho silent.

A slightly irritated expression crossed Jongho’s face but he just shrugged and said, “Don’t ask me.”

“Who else should I ask then?” Yunho asked, confusion mixed with annoyance in his voice, but he received no response as Jongho just walked away.

You watched Yunho’s expression from the side while he was still distracted by his own thoughts and emotions.

His lips were pressed together tightly and ears bright red. It was clear he tried to control himself and his reactions, but you weren’t convinced by his act at all.

You got to see him properly only when he swiftly turned around to face you. He did not touch you, thank God, but you were still terrified when you saw the look in his brown eyes. The same, usual smile was on his lips as he looked down at you but it was still vastly different. His eyes weren’t warm. His eyes were burning hot, full of fierce fire he had been hiding under the facade of a kind police officer who loved helping animals, and who knows what other lies he had come up with.

His body towered over yours as he looked at with those eyes that made you want to curl up into a small ball and defend yourself like a hedgehog.

But you weren’t a hedgehog and you couldn’t push out spikes to protect yourself as Yunho leaned closer.

“I’m glad you didn’t run off with Jongho,” he chuckled.

In the blink of an eye his expression was back to that weirdly cheerful one, as if you had imagined everything.

Everyone was horrible. You were scared and worried. But you should have expected something like this already, you thought to yourself.

After all it was just like you told Charlotte: if they were stable, they wouldn’t be in this group.

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Chapter 2. ->

Masterlist

#kpop fanfic #kpop x reader #kpop #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez fic #jeong yunho #choi san #kim hongjoong #kang yeosang #jung wooyoung #park seonghwa #song mingi #choi jongho #kpop yandere #ateez yandere #yandere x reader

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abilouwrites · 3 months ago

Text

DONT WAIT FOR THE TIDE

JUST TO DIP BOTH YOUR FEET IN

“You really wanna go on a road-trip?” I ask Buck as he throws a duffel into his Jeep and then more gently tucks my duffel next to his, I look out at the cold greys and harsh blues in the sky. The clouds threaten to launch a downpour any moment, “it’s the middle of December Buck”

“Yeah, yeah it’ll be good for us to get out of town for a while. See the coast. San Fran and Santa Cruz” He rambles, I’ve seen him rushing but he’s never been so eager to kick it before.

“Buck I lived in San Jose, I know all those places. I’ve been there before. What’s this really about?” I inquire as he opens my door and helps me in then proceeds to jump into the drivers side and we speed off.

“I just, everything at work has been so crazy lately and I just need to blow town for a little while. And I thought, why don’t I do that with my favorite lady who knows all the best spots” he reasons brushing through his loose curls as we slow at a traffic light.

“Ok..” I shrug a little; I’ve been with this man long enough to know when to push and when to not, “how’s Eddie doing?” I ask, “losing his wife must’ve been hard” I pick my knee up and place my feet on the dash before Buck swats them down, “I’m in my socks!”

“That is how you break your pelvis and your legs so feet where they go babe” He corrects gently, moves a hand from the wheel to gently caress my thigh. Covered in my Stanford crewneck and leggings with my fuzzy Christmas socks on. I’m a little more comfortable than if I was in jeans and a hoodie.

“Alright alright, but Chris is good?” I ask turning my head as he looks at the GPS.

“Yeah, he misses his mom and Eddie’s shut down a little bit but I think with some therapy he might start coming back.. Athena and Bobby have been helping out with dinners n stuff” he explains, checking over as he merges into the freeway.

“That’s good, god I love those two. Real good people” I nod a little shifting in my seat as Buck continues driving.

“I was thinking, Santa Cruz, we go see your parents, San Fran, then drive back. Skip LA and just head straight to San Diego?” He asks looking over. Just a peeking glance at my expression before he turns his attention back to the road.

“Buck, y’know I love you but it’s gonna be freezing in San fran and Santa Cruz and driving past home Buck what’s up? I’m gettin worried” I peek over at him, seeing a large sigh from his chest.

“I’m scared. To go back. That I’ll get hurt again. Or someone else will get hurt again. I’m starting to think I’m just full of bad luck” He breathes a little looking in the rearview mirror before speeding up slightly.

“Oh” I don’t really have anything to say, no words to comfort him, no piece of advice to say ‘I’d been there, I know how you feel’ because I don’t know how he feels. I don’t know what it’s like to die on the job, or to see my friends face death, “I can’t tell you that I’ve been there and give you advice” I admit, “baby, the best I can do for you is to tell you that I’m here for you. And we have about six hours for you to tell me all about your feelings”

I see a faint smile and he shakes his head, “nah, I don’t need you to be my therapist, but I appreciate it.. more than you know” He tugs at his earlobe and sits back a little.

We sit in silence, I’ve got my AirPods in and watching the view. Bucks hand shifts from the steering wheel to my thigh where he just holds it.

We arrive in Santa Cruz at sunset, the beach is cold and the sand pricks at my toes as I slip my socks off, “come on bucky” I smile a little, it’s been years since I’ve been to this beach. I grasp his hand, he falters slightly before following after me. A quick surge foreword as he drops my hand then lifts me over his shoulder. I gasp slightly and grip onto his shirt, “Evan!”

“You run too slow, y’know I’m trained to run carrying a hell of a lot more than what you weigh” He sasses slightly, lowering me as the waves lick at my feet. It’s a re-assuring smile he gives me as he leans in and kisses me softly.

I smile into the kiss and wrap my arms around his neck. Locking my fingers into the soft blondeish brunette curls, “y’know. I didn’t realize how much I needed to get out of the city until I actually got out” I murmur as he turns and we stand side by side. The waves crashing into my ankles, starting to wet the edges of my leggings. The water starts to soak into Bucks jeans. He holds my hand, stuffing it into his hoodie pocket. I lean against his bicep, his finger rubs against my thumb.

“Good trip then?”

“Definitely”

#louiseabilenewrites #911 abc #911 show #911 fanfic #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #evan buck buckely

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nhlclover · 8 months ago

Text

YOU SHOULD PROBABLY LEAVE WILL SMITH

pairing: will smith x fem!reader

word count: 3.54k

summary: will finds himself unexpectedly confronted with his past when you reach out to him

warnings: set in the future-ish when will is a part of the sharks, angst, exes getting back together, drinking wine, heated make out that becomes briefly nsfw, unresolved ending, lots of worldbuilding, not a lot of dialogue

Will shut off the water, pulling the towel off the rack, and wrapping it around his waist. Stepping out of the shower, he grabbed a rag to wipe off the mirror that had fogged over with condensation. His reflection gradually emerged amid the dissipated steam. Fatigue and depletion etched onto his features as he gazed at himself. He ran a hand through his damp hair, feeling the weight of the day settling on his shoulders.

The grueling morning practice, compounded with the evening's game, had begun to exact its revenge. His right shoulder throbbed with soreness, and his calf threatened to give way under the strain. Though he had hoped the searing heat of the shower would alleviate his aches, it seemed evident that the team's physical therapist would be needed to ease his pain.

As he stepped out of the bathroom, the cool air of the apartment greeted him, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the shower. Will hesitated by his bed to check his phone. His thumb scrolled through the notifications he accumulated during his forty-five-minute shower, pausing momentarily when your name appeared, drawing his attention. Will clicked on the notification, pulling up your shared texts. His breath caught in his throat as he read the message, you asking to catch up.

Will’s mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions and questions, unsure of what surprised him the most. Was it that you still had his number after all this time and after everything that had transpired between the two of you? Or perhaps it was the unexpectedness of you reaching out, breaking the silence that had settled like a brick wall between you. Even more unexpected was the fact that you were seemingly in San Jose. Last Will heard, you were off exploring some islands off the coast of Australia.

As Will hesitated over the keyboard, both bitter and sweet memories flooded back. What would he say? How could he begin to untangle the tangled threads of your past? Despite the pain it might bring, a part of him longed for the connection you once shared. The wreckage of your relationship weighed heavily on his mind as he deliberated, thumb hovering over the keyboard. He knew better than to invite you over, replaying every scene from their time together in his mind. The shared laughter and intimacy were contrasted with the pain and bitterness of your breakup.

He remembered the early days when everything felt effortless. Your laughter was like a melody that he never got tired of hearing, every delicate touch of yours igniting a fire within him that he didn’t think would ever dim. It felt like you were safely together in the honeymoon phase, destined never to end. However, tucked away with those memories were also the ones from the end of the relationship. Shadows of unresolved arguments and eroding trust seemed to cloud the rose-coloured lens through which Will viewed those memories.

The break up wasn’t sudden, but rather the culmination of months of strain, the slow disintegration of infatuation as time wore on. You found yourselves trying to hold onto something that was slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. The relationship became delicate, the both of you afraid of shattering the fragile peace you clung to. You tiptoed on eggshells around each other, scared of setting off the ticking time bomb that was every argument. Everything soon began to crumble the longer you grasped at straws. Communication became strained. Trust, once strong as bedrock, became as delicate as glass in trembling hands. No matter how much you tried to rebuild and mend the cracks in the foundation of your relationship, it decayed in front of your very eyes.

In the end, you both walked away. The love never vanished between the two of you, but you stepped back because no matter how strong that love was, it couldn’t mend what was already broken. The relationship left behind a trail of emotional wreckage, something neither of you had yet to fully escape despite time passing.

As his thumbs hovered over the keys, Will felt the weight of the unresolved sitting heavy on his shoulders. Every unsaid word, the unfulfilled promise of love and the promise to stay. He knew that responding to your text would only reopen old wounds, feelings that he had tried desperately to bury were bound to bleed out.

The love that dared to remain despite the turmoil took over him. He longed for the familiarity of your presence, the comfort of your touch that he knew would be still burning like an ember. The ensuing chaos was inevitable. It was part of the prophecy written in stone. Chaos followed both of you wherever you went.

Against better judgment, Will’s fingers descended to the screen, sending you his address and extending the offer to come over, to which you agreed.

As he stood in his bedroom, towel clinging to his damp skin, Will suddenly realized the water droplets pooling around his feet, as he stood at the foot of his bed distracted by your sudden appearance. Hastily, he shed the towel, the fabric dropping to the floor with a soft thud, and he scrambled to clothe himself. Each garment he picked up felt wrong, inadequate somehow as if he needed to impress you with his clothing. He changed once, then twice, finally settling on the third choice, which was ultimately simply blue jeans and a white t-shirt.

Will quickly attempted to restore order to his apartment, a task long overdue. The once-tidy space had succumbed to the chaos of life, with the remnants of weeks gone by scattered haphazardly. Hockey had claimed the majority of his time, leaving little room for domestic upkeep. Will went from room to room, gathering stray articles of clothing and corralling them into the laundry basket. The dishwasher became a receptacle for the remnants of meals hastily consumed between games, the clatter of dishes echoing through the now-quiet space as he restored a semblance of order.

As he made his way to the bedroom, his eyes fell upon several articles of clothing strewn across the floor. He shoved all the articles of clothing into the laundry bin, then headed to make his bed.

Pausing mid-stride, Will found himself standing before his rumpled bed, a sense of absurdity washing over him. Why was he bothering to tidy his room? The question lingered in the air, a silent reproach to his futile efforts. After all, you wouldn't be seeing it… right? And yet, despite the logic of his thoughts, he continued to tidy the space, pristinely tucking the sheets into place.

Minutes felt like hours as he waited for your arrival. Apprehension gnawed at him. He knew there was a risk in inviting you over given everything that had transpired. But undeniable and unavoidable longing pulled at his heart, a yearning to bridge the mile-long gap that had slowly grown between the two of you. Questions pounded at his mind, threatening to bring on a headache. Was this the right thing to do? Maybe this would bring you closure? Or would this just reopen the old wounds that took Will months to scab over?

Every sound outside his apartment made Will jump to the peephole to check if you were outside his door. His heart pounded in anticipation, at the idea of seeing you. Part of the healing process for you resulted in removing Will from all social media. The only updates of him you received came through news of his hockey career, the only updates about you Will received were from friends of friends. He wondered how you changed. If you changed.

The delicate knock on his door pulled Will from his imagination. He didn’t even check the peephole, knowing that you were the only possible person who could be on the other side of the door.

When he opened the door and caught sight of you standing there, all uncertainties seemed to fade away. At that moment, there was only you — the person he’d missed more than words could express. The one he had been longing to hold, to talk to, to be with.

You appeared almost unchanged from the girl he had last seen two years ago. Your face retained its familiar features, now with a sun-kissed glow and a touch of maturity. Despite the subtle differences, Will felt confident he could still trace the constellation of freckles he once knew so well. The worn Reeboks, which he had constantly begged you to throw out cause they gave you blisters, stubbornly clung to your feet. Your hair, now shorter, fell just above your shoulders, making you look older. You had new piercings, a notable stud on your nose.

Her dad probably nearly killed her for that one, he thought.

Despite the changes, Will thought you were still just as beautiful as the day you met.

The door opened wider and you stepped inside, it clicking shut behind you. Will gestured towards the couch, silently inviting you to take a seat, which you did without hesitation. For a moment, silence filled the room, thick with unspoken tension. Your gaze wandered around his apartment, noting the familiar sight of old jerseys and team photos adorning the walls. Sensing the need to ease the atmosphere, Will broke the silence with the only words that came to mind.

"Want something to drink?" he asked. He attempted to sound casual despite his heart threatening to beat out of his chest.

You almost jumped at his voice, a sound you’d become a stranger to. Was it possible it had gotten deeper?

"You got wine?" you replied with a teasing lilt, a faint smile playing on your lips.

Will almost melted at your voice, a sound he’d become unfamiliar with. Was it possible it had gotten sweeter?

"I do actually," Will answered, a soft chuckle escaping him.

Despite it being a joke, you asked for a glass, and he poured it with a practiced hand, albeit into mugs as he had no wine glasses.

"You drink wine now?" Will asked, taking a sip of his own glass he’d poured.

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, a sound that tickled Will’s ears. "I guess I do," you replied.

"What else has changed?" Will asked.

You paused briefly, considering his question. A lamp in the corner casts a soft glow onto the apartment, turning Wills’ blond hair golden.

"I guess a lot has changed since we last saw each other," you acknowledged. You swirled the wine in your mug, watching it slosh around. Will nodded, his gaze fixed on your face, noting all the subtle differences. You took his silence as a gesture that you should continue.

"I travelled a bit," you told him. "I went to Thailand and Vanuatu with my friend Gabby… on the way back I finally went to Germany like you said I should."

Will couldn’t help but let a small smile tug on his lips. He’d played in Germany at the U18s a few years back and once he’d met you, he knew it was a country you’d want to visit. He’d recalled the sights and the excursions he’d done to you several times, trying to convince you to visit the country one day. You’d told him you would, but never did before you broke up.

"And?" Will prodded.

"I loved it… just like you said I would."

Will always knew you best. He had an intuitive understanding of your unique quirks, being able to predict your habits with uncanny accuracy. It was as though he had a direct line to your thoughts. Your go-to order at the campus coffee shop? He could recite it by heart probably even after all the years had passed. The way you fiddled with your rings when you got nervous — something he saw you doing as you spoke — or the way you would braid your hair when thinking or lost in thought.

"And you?" you asked, turning the conversation to him. "What’s changed in your world?"

Will’s mood is briefly dragged down, your words a subtle reminder that the two of you exist in different worlds now. No longer ours, but yours.

Will told you about hockey, the one constant in his life. He told you about leaving Boston when he got called up to San Jose. He told you about Gabe, Ryan and all the other guys from BC and what they were up to. Friends you would’ve once called yours too, but you’re not quite sure you’ll ever call them that again. In quiet exchanges over refills of wine and shared memories, you began to realize how much you had both changed, yet how much remained the same between the two of you. You slipped into easy conversation, a nostalgic reminder of your early days together.

The wine disappeared as your stories spilled. It grew late, the hour slipping well past midnight, however, neither of you made the move to end the night. At that moment, the boundaries between night and day, past and present, blurred into insignificance.

Will draped his arm across the back of the couch, bringing his mug up to his lips. Your gaze instinctively gravitated towards his hand which sat mere inches from you, the closest you’d gotten all night. Your eyes traced the contours of his fingers, the veins in the back of his hand. Yet it’s his wrist that captured your attention, adorned with a familiar bracelet. The wooden beads had faded over time but you know it’s the same one. You shifted closer, reaching out, and thumbing the beads between your thumb and forefinger. A jolt of energy surged right to his core as your fingers softly brushed his skin.

"You kept this?" you asked, a little surprised that he hadn’t completely rid himself of every bit of your presence when you split.

Will’s eyes stayed locked on your fingers, putting his now empty mug on the table. "‘Course I did," he said. "Some things are too precious to let go."

Will didn’t mean for it to be a reference, but his words applied to both situations. The bracelet, a gift from you after you came back from a spring break trip to Costa Rica, had become a good luck charm for Will. He wore it in one match, having a multi-point game. During the next game, having forgotten the bracelet back in his room, his passes seemed to keep missing, pucks bounced off his blade, and he repeatedly found himself on the bruising end of crushing hits. He determined that it was the bracelet that had been the cause of his good luck in the first game, so he never took it off. Despite Will having subsequent bad games, the bracelet stayed. Even after you broke up, Will desperately trying to erase you from his life, memories of you being too much to bear, he kept the bracelet.

Will finally brought himself to tear his gaze away from the gentle pressure of your fingers against his wrist, meeting your eyes that were fixed on him. Your eyes, dangerously soft, spoke about a million words in a silent language. It was a look he was familiar with, one that hadn't lost its impact despite the passage of time. Amidst the intensity of your gaze, a sense of doubt crept into the back of his mind. Was this the right thing to do?

"It's getting late," Will remarked, though his voice lacked conviction.

"I know," you said softly. A beat passes before your whispered confession comes out. "I don’t want to go."

"I don’t want you to leave," Will admitted, his voice betraying the longing he could no longer conceal.

Reaching out, Will gently took your hand in his, the touch igniting a familiar spark. Your fingers intertwined effortlessly as if no time had passed. His thumb traces slow, deliberate patterns across your knuckles, each movement a silent declaration. With each caress, your heart quickened, the warmth of his hand sending shivers down your spine.

Your eyes flicked down to his lips, tracing the subtle curves that were faintly stained from the cheap bottle of red you'd shared. The dim light of the room cast shadows, accentuating the allure of his mouth, and a soft sigh escaped your lips, betraying the pull of desire that lingered between you. Will felt the tension mounting, his heart pounding in his chest as he met your gaze, the depth of emotion reflected in the depths of your eyes.

As if guided by an invisible hand, Will shifted forward, bridging the space between you until your faces were just a heartbeat apart. Will’s nose gently brushed against yours, his delicate lips hovering over yours as he cautiously gaged your response, waiting to see if you would retreat. When you didn’t, his hand tenderly cupped your chin, pulling you in until your lips collided in an all-familiar kiss. Your lips moved together, finding the rhythm that had once been second nature to the both of you, the pain and bitterness of the past melting away.

Your tongue delicately parted his lips, tasting the wine that lingered in his mouth. Will groaned into the kiss as he felt your tongue on his. His hand fell from your chin, going down to your hip, holding it tightly. As you detached your lips from his, Will's chest rose and fell heavily, his lungs aching from the lack of oxygen. Your lips traced a path of soft kisses along his jawline, up to his ear, teasing him with delicate nibbles on his earlobe. Will’s breath hitched in his throat, escaping in choked moans and soft cries. Will reached over, gripping your thighs and pulling you onto his lap. His hands went down to your ass, holding you in place on top of him.

Will placed quick kisses along your neck to where your pulse point beckoned, as you tipped your head back to grant Will complete access. He teased the sensitive spot, your moans vibrating against his lips. Every needy, seductive sound you made caused Will to harden underneath you. You felt him straining against his pants, pressing into your core.

Will scooped his hands under your thighs, lifting you off the couch. You trusted him as he guided you out of the living room and into his bedroom, all while not unlatching his lips from yours. Your back hit the soft comforter as Will gently lowered you to his bed. You both recalled the things that got you off. You remembered the way he got off on being praised, stroking his ego with your carefully chosen words, while he remembered that you got off on hearing every desperate noise that escaped his mouth.

As the night deepened, the air hung heavy with the scent of desire. Each breath you shared echoed with the rhythm of two bodies wrapped together, lost in the moment of ecstasy. Skin met skin with primal urgency, ripples of pleasure coursing through every nerve ending. Outside the world slept, unaware of the passionate reconnection unfolding within the four walls of Will’s bedroom.

In the hazy embrace of dawn, Will stirred from his slumber, the first rays of sunlight painting the room in a soft, golden hue. His eyes fluttered open, landing on you curled into his side, your hand delicately resting on his bare chest. With a tender gaze, Will studied your features, illuminated by the soft morning light. Your face was serene in sleep, every line and curve etched with a quiet beauty that captivated him. He reached out a hand, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch feather-light as though afraid to disturb the peace that enveloped you. A tender smile graced Will's lips as he admired you, a wave of affection and longing melting over him.

Time seemed to stand still as Will's heart swelled with a mixture of emotions. Memories once again flooded Will’s mind. He remembered the way your laughter used to fill the room, how your smile never failed to brighten even the darkest of days. Those moments had become distant echoes, clouded by the turmoil of the end of your relationship. However, at that moment, with you curled into his side, everything felt familiar again. The once-forgotten, out-of-reach relationship was now back in front of him as if no time had passed at all.

But amidst the tender moment, a nagging fear lurked in the depths of Will's thoughts. He worried that the blissful moment was too fragile, too fleeting and that it was moments from slipping away like a dream upon waking up. He knew that reality waited just beyond the confines of the intimate cocoon. Will silently prayed that you’d awaken and choose to stay, that the warmth of your embrace will linger a little while longer.

Will wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you into an embrace. You stirred slightly but stayed in your slumber. Will was aching to stay suspended in what felt like a stolen moment, something that didn’t belong to him and was on the precipice of being ripped from his grasp. Desperate to prolong the stolen moment, to freeze time and remain in the refuge of your togetherness, Will succumbed to the lull of sleep.

#will smith hockey #will smith #nhl #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey imagine #boston college #san jose sharks #will smith imagine #gabe perreault #ryan leonard

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