#pedro characters

[jinxispunk]

agent javier peña 🥀

[joelsflower]

little present | bfd!joel x f!reader

an: okay i know we’re in APRIL lmaoo sorry but i was listening to last christmas by wham! and the whole idea came to me. enjoy tho!! read it now!! reread it in december!! do whatever!! hope u like it!! :^) so yeah this is christmas themed a bit. sorry. also i apologize if i’m still mistaking “in/on/at” a bit too much, i’m still learning the language :/ hope it’s not too bad and doesn’t influence badly on your reading tho! no beta ops

wc: around 2.5k i believe?

tw: titty sucking and pussy fingering combo (yay!), beginning of blowjob but that’s it, soft dom!joel, older!joel (i imagine him on late 40s/early 50s and reader on early/middle 20s but up to you), best friend’s dad, teasing reader, teasing joel, teasing me, teasing you, reader is able bodied, afab but not described; there’s one part where “your smaller body” is used but in no way to describe reader, just to point she was smaller than joel. image also does not describe reader, only for visuals. no y/n. ALSO. weather not described!! shout out to us latinas who go through christmas sweating and panting 🫡 it can be snowing too tho up to you

🌹🌹🌹

You knocked three times on the door; unsure if it would sound impatient or even be heard due to the loud music and chatting coming from the inside. Sarah didn’t lie about the whole family coming this year for Christmas.

By the look on Joel’s face when he opened the door, your three knocks sounded more like the angels singing.

His big brown eyes lit up like candlelight when they found you. For a moment, you stood there in silent, letting him get drunk in your sight and you in his. The puffy bags under his eyes let you know it was a rough week, a rough week without you. The raspy, yet-to-make scruff adorning his cheeks and neck inciting your skin without even being near it. His calloused knuckles gripped the doorknob and the muscle on his bicep swelled, making your mouth water.

You let your eyes dance from his salt and pepper curls and finally to the little bit of chest peaking from the deep red plaid shirt, and when your eyes found his he broke the spell, letting out what seemed to be the first breath he took since he opened the door.

“Hi, sweetheart. Didn’t know Sarah invited you.” he shrugged weirdly, hand resting on his hip and the other on the door, like he was nervous. Due to college and construction, it’s been around one week since you’ve properly seen each other — it seemed like a whole year.

“Oh, hey santa” you joked, soft voice coaxing his tired ears, nodding to the santa hat hugging his curls. Suddenly, it was like he remembered he was wearing it and took it off, shoving it in his back pocket while making a face, biting back a smile when your giggle hit his ears.

“Uh- yeah, I wasn’t on the plans I think,” your fingers carved on the plate in your hand, and he gave you a “stop that” face, “she just called me last minute. But I have this!” you shook the plate of cookies a little, making it be noticed.

“Didn’t need t’bring anything, ya know. Just you’s enough.” silence once again put itself between the two of you, and if you were losing your mind, Joel could bet he was losing his a lot more harder. Opening the door to find the only sight that could relief his tired eyes on a beautiful red dress that hugged your body perfectly, matching see-through black thighs that allowed him to see just enough to drive him crazy and the need for comfort that he could well read in your gaze was not on his list, but was definitely a present.

Not being able to properly talk or touch you was feeling more like being on santa’s badlist, though. And maybe it was what he deserved, he thought, for fucking his daughter’s best friend and enjoying it so much.

You brought him back to life. What was he supposed to do if not give you the world and the best orgasms in it?

“Uh- come on in, then” he shook his desire away, holding the door open and watching as you passed by him.

One foot past the door and the chatter got louder. Uncles and sisters and cousins of cousins of cousins — there were a lot of Millers in this world, and all of them would be a problem if you wanted just a bit of closeness to Joel tonight.

“Thank you, Mr. Miller,” you looked up at him shyly, hoping treating him more formally would get you away in case anyone heard anything. Joel, on the other side, could not be less subtle while losing control of how hard he closed the door when your silky voice hit his ears, saying his name, thanking him. Just like you did when he held your wrists up your head and made your foggy bambi eyes roll back your head.

“Here,” he took the santa hat in his hands, stepping closer to put it in your head. The way his fingers carefully put your hair behind your ear set your body on fire, just the slight brush of its tips on your earlobe, the soft but swift strokes on your scalp to put your hair in place sending cold breezes up and down your spine.

“I missed you,” you whispered, lashes flourishing while your fingers boldly played the buttons of his flannel. You just needed to touch him.

But he didn’t answer right away, too focused on “putting the damn thing on your head”, which translates to an excuse to caressing your face and being close enough your sweet, peachy smell invaded his nostrils and messed with his brain chemistry.

“All done” your glossy eyes and quivering lips broke his heart in a million; all he wanted to do was take you in his arms right there. “Later, angel” he reassured you, taking your hand off of his shirt and giving you a softer look, that you knew was his way of apologising and comforting you for now. It was too risky, you knew that too.

“Oh gosh, you’re here, finally!” Sarah jumped on you for a hug, scaring the two of you, her bubbly energy warming you up. “Jesus dad, knew you’d hate it,” she gestured to the hat on your head, filling your mind with thoughts of him. “C’mon, you need to meet cousin Maria!” she dragged you away, the only thing connecting you to Joel being the lingering gaze you’d share for the rest of the night.

🌹🌹🌹

“Ha! Remember that, brother?” Tommy laughed about a story old enough to be your age; about one time him, Joel and their other cousin Frank went fishing and something apparently went wrong, you weren’t really paying attention though.

Not when Joel’s hand had found your knee under the table.

You just had to sit by his side cause Sarah wanted to be close to Maria that was close to Tommy that was close to someone else and the seat by Joel’s side ended up being the only one empty.

“Sit there by dad’s side, he doesn’t care. Here, gimme this,” she took the plate of sweets from your hands, setting it on the table. Joel, who was praying someone could come save him from hearing the same story for the 10th time, made space for you to pull the chair and accommodate your smaller figure by his side.

Around ten minutes into chatting with Sarah and Maria and taking food from left to right on the table, you felt his knee brush yours. The simple warmth of physical connection between the two of you made your whole body vigilant, in hopes for some more.

“Ya should be there, Sarah. Never not funny seeing your old man struggling t’get some fish” Tommy looked towards you, meeting Sarah’s and Maria’s giggles. Joel bit back a laugh, it was funny, yes, but he didn’t want to look like a stupid old man to you. That’s when you met him with a small smile and a brush of your thigh on his, inviting his hand to instinctively envelope your knee.

“Oh, I’ve seen him struggle to do less, believe me”

And I’ve seen him do more with the stamina of a teenage boy, you thought.

Joel’s hand snaked up a bit more into your leg, always careful to not be seen, but stern enough to make you feel him, invading the area of your inner thigh and dragging your dress up a little. The warmth of his large palm against the material pressing at your skin was driving you insane, the way his fingers were digging into your soft but covered flesh and his thumb squeezing at your outer thigh making your core pulse and the hairs at your neck stir up.

Mine, ran through his head.

“Both of you are on my badlist tonight, hope y’know that” he seriously pointed at Sarah and Tommy, giving them an angry-like look and the ones around you bursted laughing. You reached down a hand to lay on top of his, your smaller fingers gripping his much bigger pointer one, his thumb immediately brushing your hand, his way of saying “you’re not”.

🌹🌹🌹

“I think I need some air” you told Sarah as you got up from the couch and released her hand. Your tummy was full and your eyes were starting to get heavy. From the other side of the room, Joel’s eyes followed you to the balcony.

The peace of the outside of the house was everything you needed, trying to keep your mind from the trap of going into the Joel Joel Joel Joel to risky risky risky spiral. The moon lit up the sky and kissed your rosy cheeks, the singing of the crickets taking you away from all the buzz.

Just when you closed your eyes and breathed in the december air, you jumped when a strong hold surrounded your waist, the warmth of his chest hugging your back.

“Jesus, I— they’ll see us” you panicked.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” his other hand spread to pet on your tummy, paired with a kiss to your temple, “I checked, no one’s near. Wouldn’t want t’share you with anyone though, would I? Looking like my own little cherry on this dress” his fingers gripped the dress deep, sliding it up and down your waist a bit.

“I missed you so much” you turned around in his hold, arms wrapping around his neck and tugging at the curls at the base of his scalp. On your tiptoes you glued your body to his, closest as you could get, taking in the strong smell of his cologne that made your insides twirl. One of his hands danced down your spine to rest on your lower back, while the other held the back of your neck.

“Oh angel, missed you too, s’much. Can’t go a day without thinking about you, little one.” His deep voice whispered on your ear. Joel firmed his feet on the ground and swayed your bodies slowly left to right, calming you down. “Thinking about holding you, having you with me. About hearing your voice call me from the other side of the house and moan my name when I’m knuckle deep inside ya’”

“Joel!” You snapped his arm a little, staring into his eyes in disbelief.

“Am I lying?” he looked down at you with his rounded brown eyes, the same that could get you on your knees, mouth hanging open, with this exact same look he was giving you now. You shook your head slowly, fingers anchoring his shirt, “know you love it, baby, I love it too. Shit, should’ve found a way to see you earlier. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He rested his forehead on yours.

You distanced your head back and looked towards the living room, checking to see if you were still safe from prying eyes “want more of you,” you whispered.

Joel smirked, “Later baby, ‘kay?”

You stared up at him, no confirmation.

“Hm? Can you be my good girl and be patient?” He held your chin up with his thumb and pointer, forcing your gaze to be on his and nowhere else, “G’na be worth the wait, promise. But you need to be good f’me. Can you do that?”

“I can” you murmured, eyes closing as his hands found your sides and gave them a firm squeeze.

“Know y’can, darling. My best girl.”

🌹🌹🌹

“Shhh, c’mon angel. Know these precious little sounds belong to me only,” Joel’s deepened voice vibrated on your neck, his teeth grazing the soft skin and making your head go foggy.

It was a combination of it all, to be honest; his hot mouth and beard on your neck, you only in your underwear and thighs and him fully clothed, his thumbs mercilessly circling your nipples through your bra and his very hard bulge grinding against your pussy and his whole weight pressing you down against his bed.

It started when you both came back to the living room — in separate moments, of course — and then you needed to go the bathroom but the one downstairs was occupied and Joel suddenly needed to check on something very important in his room.

“P-Please, Joel,” you cooed, the pool in your cunt becoming unbearable, your wetness overtaking your poor excuse of panties and messing the front of his jeans.

“‘S okay baby, gonna take care of you,” he gave your mouth a peck, hands releasing your stiffed nipples to hold your face in his hand so his tongue could invade your mouth. “I’ma bad old man, ain’t I? Making my little girl wait for so long to feel good. Fisting my cock the whole week, thinking ‘bout this pussy swallowing me in. Bad, bad man.” you shook your head no in a desperate side-to-side move, fingers gripping his shoulders, as if taking his shirt off, but his force was pinning you down just right.

A sudden grind of his hips into yours and tears pooled on your waterlines, your hands stilling and your throat holding back a moan while Joel groaned at the feeling of his hard cock rocking against you. “That’s what you want, isn’t it, princess? To feel so, so good?” Another desperate nod. “Shh, c’mon baby. G’na make you cum for the week we lost.”

Joel used his hands to lift you by your armpits and sit you against his headboard, lowering his body and dragging your lacy thighs with him, torturously slowly. Now he was face-to-face with your covered pussy, “oh, poor baby. Feel her, angel,” he pressed his thumb up and down your core, your wetness gluing your panties to your slit, overflowing a bit around the lacy edges. “So desperate to be touched, ain’t she? Just waiting for me to take care of her. I will baby, don’t worry. Been such a good little girl f’me. Gonna stuff you full in a minute”

He finally tangled his fingers on the thin stripes of your panties, but first giving the little bow on top of it a little kiss. “My little present,” he murmured, more to himself then to you, but smirking when your core pulsed with his words.

The moment Joel’s fingers slid the lace down your legs and his hot breath ghosted your pussy, you were a goner; all your fuzzy brain could focus on were the strong pressure of his tongue on your clit and his fingers patiently circling your hole.

“Let me in, angel,” he begged and started to push two of his digits inside your pussy, his head now on the level of your cleavage, keeping himself from missing the reaction of his own little Christmas angel being finger fucked by him.

Your eyes screwed shut and your mouth fell open, making a little “o” shape when two of his thick fingers spread you open all at once, making you just so full. “My tight little princess,” he cooed, looking down at your pussy swallowing his fingers in and out, your juice covering his knuckles with each pump, deeper and deeper. The slick sounds of the obscene act you two were dwelling in almost distracted you from hearing Joel’s “who’s pussy is this?”

Instead of answering, your smaller hands held his face and pulled him into a kiss, a very wet, hot kiss, his tongue making home for itself inside your mouth and twirling around your own, teeth grazing at your lower lip hard enough to leave a mark and soft enough to leave you wanting more.

“It’s yours, Joel,” you finally gave him what he wanted, a string of spit connecting the two of you.

“Tha’s my girl.” He curled his fingers to brush at that spot that made your head cloudy and the back of your eyelids starry, pulling the sweetest, most desperate moan from your wet lips (both of them). “And tha’s my pussy, hm?” He watch attentively as your eyes got too hazy and your mouth too open to process what he was saying, “poor little thing, so good can’t even think straight.”

You caught Joel by surprise though, when your hand found his clothed cock, giving your best to grab at it as hard as you could, stroking him with your palm and thumb. Even so lazily, the action drove him crazy enough to lose himself in your neck, fingers still fucking your pussy full and beard leaving marks all over your skin.

Joel allowed himself to get lost in the feeling of your hot, pulsing cunt strangling his fingers and your small hand palming his cock to lower his head a little bit, teeth pulling your excuse of a bra to the side (or trying).

“J-Joel,” you plead, the delicate lace of your lingerie ripping like paper in between his teeth.

“G’na get you a new one, love. Lot’s of new ones.” He spent no time, greedily sucking one of your tits into his mouth, tongue languidly abusing your nipple. His mustache hurting the soft skin of the area while his warm spit and velvety lips caressed the burn.

Feeling your pussy pulse and pull him hard, Joel increased the pace of his fingers inside you and directed his attention to your other boob too, his spit lingering all over your chest. “Pussy gripping me real tight, baby, wanna cum, don’t ya? I’ll let ya, c’mon. Cum all over me, little girl.”

And you did. Pussy squirming his fingers and almost making them a part of your own body, lips hanging open with nonsense babble followed by muffled moans and cries, nipples stiff and hard by the overstimulation.

His own little present, as he himself put. All for him.

Joel helped you calm down with sweet kisses to your cheeks and lots of “did so good to me, my little angel”, “missed you having you like this”, “my best girl, makes me so happy, baby”.

“Y’with me?” he nosed at your temple and noticed your eyes turn brighter, the small nod of your head bringing you back to a fully conscious state of mind.

“Open.” he positioned the tip of the fingers that were once inside you on your lower lip, your mouth instinctively hanging open to welcome him inside. “That’s it, ‘atta girl,” he rewarded as you sucked his fingers clean from your own mess, realising why his eyes became so dark with the action.

He hadn’t come yet.

You pulled your mouth from his fingers and kneeled between him and the bed, hands gripping his bulge shamelessly.

“Still gotta clean you up, angel. C’mon, we can do that later. Jus’ wanted t’take care of you.” he held your chin up to gather your attention, a failed attempt, you knew he needed it as much as you.

“‘S okay, I wanna. Just gonna suck on it a little.”

“My sweet girl,” Joel complimented as his palm held the whole side of your face, your bambi gaze distracting him while you worked both his pants and underwear down his legs.

With your mouth only inches away from his girthy, veiny cock that was proudly bouncing in front of your face, you gripped at the thick hairs at his base and gave the swollen, ruddy tip a mouth-open kiss, silky lips enveloping the head while his precum oozed down your tongue and a deep groan left his throat, your fingers gripping his base as your thumbs caressed his balls. You found his gaze again, pulling the most sincere, grateful and innocent look you had.

“Merry Christmas, Joel.”

🌹🌹🌹

[thetriumphantpanda]

Lost In Our Vices | Marcus Pike (Masterlist)

Series Summary | The rejection to have him as a PhD supervisor had stung, but not enough to put you off the idea altogether. Professor Pike was your academic hero and whether you could study under him or not, it didn't matter. Little were you to know that you would end up doing more than just studying under him in the end.

Pairing | Professor!Marcus Pike x Student!F Reader

Series Warnings | Dubious ethical relationship, academia and it's related bullshit (I'm still a lil bitter from my MA don't mind me), museum and art gallery visits, gratuitous descriptions of London because it is my city and I love it, conversations around cultural restitution, explicit smut including oral sex (f&m receiving), unprotected PiV, rough sex, dirty talk, soft Dom!Marcus, soft!Marcus, allusions to difficult familial relationships, consumption of food and alcohol, no use of y/n, check chapters for individual warnings.

Authors Note | Professor Pike will see you now.... this has rotted my brain for far too long and I'm so excited to share this all with you. Big shoutout to @hier--soir, her professor Joel is the reason this exists, we need more hot professors doing dubious shit and this is my contribution. Also thanks to @undercoverpena for listening to me scream about him. And finally thanks to @saradika for the beautiful divider.

Follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs for writing updates

we were caught up and lost in all of our vices in your pose as the dust settled around us

Chapters

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

[syd-djarin]

thinking about the infamous womb broom…

[tieronecrush]

has anyone ever considered how each pedro character would handle no nut november?

[joelmillers-whore]

Couldn't Help It

summary: getting sick was not part of the plan and letting your boyfriend frankie take care of you while you’re sick was definitely not in that plan either. 

word count: 2.4K 

series or one-shot 

warnings: no warnings for this one. just some sweet ol’ fluff for you all today. some mild swearing i guess, frankie morales x f!reader

A/N: this is my first frankie fic so please be nice lol. not that y’all wouldn’t be. this is just a very short fic to start off with, i promise i’ll write some smut for him next time. enjoy and don’t hesitate to comment, reblog, and leave a like.

tags: @hellishjoel @ilovepedro

You’d felt it the night before, the burning and the scratchiness in the back of your throat. You tried to ignore it, tried to will the start of your illness away. You had popped every godforsaken pill out there and took enough sleeping medicine to knock out a small elephant, determined to head it off at the pass. 

Nothing seemed to help you and now you were confined to your bed, fighting against a pounding headache and racking up a killer fever. You could have probably pushed through the ailments, continued on like nothing was wrong and completed your thesis as normal. 

But pushing yourself to your limit time and time again, staying up until the early hours and only nabbing a couple of hours of sleep was surely the main reason why you were sick now. It was your body's way of telling you to slow down. 

For months, you had been running on fumes, trying to get to the end of the tunnel after so many years of rigorous schooling. You’d never needed a break, or never wanted to stop and take one, and now you were being forced to. 

Although now, school seemed like a distant thought, actually, every thought seemed distant, like they were just on the outskirts of your mind, clouded in a sickness-induced fog that you couldn’t seem to wade through, no matter how hard you tried. 

Every limb felt heavy as you attempted to maneuver around your apartment, you felt weak and tired and on some level, even vulnerable. You couldn’t function normally, you couldn’t even do something as normal as drink water. This definitely wasn’t your run-of-the-mill common cold, you’d thought. This had to be the thing that wiped out the dinosaurs. 

You tossed and turned in your bed, trying to get comfortable, your body aching and your ears ringing. You had to periodically swallow, on account of the build-up of pressure in your ears, which was proving to be annoying. 

Sweat clung to every surface, feeling unbearable as you become either too hot or too cold, casting your blanket off of yourself and then pulling it back over you a minute later, your body succumbing to a full body chill. 

Your lids dropped closed, the call of sleep loud enough now that you couldn’t ignore it. Sleep seemed like a good idea, a great idea even, and you let yourself slip under with little resistance. 

You didn’t know how long you had been asleep for, it could have been minutes, it could have been days, but all you knew was that you were feeling somewhat better. You were still a far cry from being a hundred percent, but it was something. 

It was still difficult to swallow, and your throat was still scratchy and dry, but now, your head wasn’t pounding and your body temperature was starting to regulate itself. You were coasting along with your high fever, a daze settling over you as you stripped off your layers, trying to cool down. 

Still feeling groggy from sleep, you hadn’t heard the door at first, but your ears perked up when it got louder, your body jolting up in bed at the incessant pounding coming from your front door. You groaned, wondering who it could be. 

You certainly weren’t expecting anyone and you sure as hell were going to be pissed if it was your creepy neighbour again, wanting to ask you out for the millionth time. Sliding out from the warmth of your covers, you really, really didn’t want to see anyone right now, not when you probably looked like something that crawled out of a sewer. 

Hoisting yourself up from the bed on wobbly legs, you padded out of your bedroom, crossed the apartment, and pulled open your door. Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head, surprised to see who had been on the other side of your door. It was Frankie, your boyfriend. 

Frankie had been to your apartment before, but only briefly and you had thought that he had forgotten your address entirely. It wasn’t as if he was an unwelcome sight, quite the opposite actually. He stood straight, tall, and he towered over you. His unkempt curls peeked out from underneath his signature baseball cap and a weak smirk was present on his face. 

His arms were crossed but his aura was anything but unpleasant. His light green button-up was stretched tight across his chest and bulging arm muscles, pulling the material so snuggly that you thought it would rip and if you were feeling better, you would have liked to see that happen. You still wanted to, if you were honest with yourself. 

Frankie’s coffee-brown eyes were blown, a tick of worry flooding them as he looked at you— only you. Your heart hammered in your throat, an air of restlessness settling over you at the realization that Frankie was worried about you, for some reason. 

You hadn’t been dating each other long, it had only been about four months, but the way that Frankie always seemed to look at you, with adoration and a soft protectiveness, similar to how he was looking at you now, made your stomach erupt with an incomparable amount of flutters. 

You leaned your head against the frame of the door, eying Frankie as he analyzed you, and studied you like you were his favourite book. It should have unnerved you, the intensity of it, but the idea of him being so concerned with your well-being calmed you. 

“Hi”, you said, your voice coming out raspier than you were expecting. 

Frankie inched forward subtly, his hand mindlessly drifting to your hip, “Hey”, he paused. His eyes flicked down the length of you, those bushy brows creasing, “Are you okay?”. 

Your lips tipped up at the sides, pulling into a light smile. All you could do was hum your reply, suddenly overcome with tiredness again. 

“I was worried ‘bout you. Haven’t heard from you in two days”, Frankie muttered, trying to hide how worried he actually was about you. But at this point, even if your current state, you could pick up on his different cadences. 

Your eyebrows knitted together, “Has it really been two days?”. 

Time almost seemed to stand still when you were sick, the concept foreign to you when you couldn’t even think straight. 

He nods, his pupils blown and fixated on you. “What’s going on?”. 

You chewed on your lower lip, tugging at the sensitive skin harshly as you debated your next words. It was a simple enough question and it deserved a clear, simple answer. But for some reason, when you opened your mouth to speak, nothing came out. 

This was the first time that Frankie had seen you like this— had seen you as this frail and feeble version of yourself, and you didn’t like it. Because this wasn’t who you were and it wasn’t who you wanted to be thought of as. Someone who needed to be helped and someone who always needed saving, and you definitely didn’t want Frankie to see you that way. 

So instead of giving him the direct answer, you opted for, “Nothing, ‘m fine”. 

Frankie scanned your face, his face twitching imperceptibly, like he didn’t believe you at all. 

“You’re not”, he tightened his grip on your hip, “You don’t look fine”.  

You forced a chuckle from your throat, thinking that the garbled noise was close enough to pass as a laugh, “Thanks...”. 

He sighed, shuffling his cap on his head nervously, “That’s not what I meant... I just meant, you don’t look like yourself”. 

His other hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb running across your cheekbone softly, lovingly. Your eyes flitted closed at his touch, soaking in the feeling and almost moaning from how good it felt. But you held yourself back. 

It was becoming increasingly difficult to continue holding yourself up, your weakened strength waning the longer you stood. You needed to sit down, or rather lie down, but with Frankie there, you couldn’t exactly escape to your bed without admitting to him that something was wrong with you. 

Pushing yourself off of the door, you shuffled to the living room, plopping down on the couch with a small groan. Frankie wordlessly closed your door, following you deeper into your apartment. He stood above you, pulling his cap off and running a hand through his already tussled curls. 

The action was more mesmerizing than you wanted to admit, and you found yourself licking your dry lips. 

Frankie smiled down at you, his eyes gleaming in the low light of the lamp that was next to you. His deft fingers raised to your chin, tipping your head up so that your eyes met his, “You’re not feeling well, hm?”. 

You shook your head, still adamant about remaining strong, “Told you, I’m fine”. 

Frankie’s face fell, those gleaming eyes losing their shine, “Don’t lie to me. I thought we didn’t do that with each other”. 

Your gut soured at the thought. It was true, you never wanted to lie to Frankie and still keeping him at arm’s length was killing you. But it wasn’t like you did it on purpose, not consciously anyway. A string of shitty ex-boyfriends who had left their mark on you made you weary of trusting anyone you were seeing. 

But Frankie wasn’t like any of them, he wasn’t like anyone you’d ever met actually. He was kind and he was the best man you’d ever known. He didn’t force you into situations that made you uncomfortable, or manipulate you emotionally just because he could. 

And he didn’t deserve to be shut out. You rolled your shoulders back, taking a stabilizing breath. “This is humiliating”, you mumbled. 

Frankie’s lips twitched, his fingers still holding onto your chin, “Why?”. 

“Because...”, you sighed, avoiding his eyes, “I just... I’m not used to needing anyone”, you paused, trying to get out what you were thinking without stumbling over your words, “It’s just been me for a long time, and I’ve always been able to take care of myself”. 

Your eyes flitted back to Frankie’s, your face heating with embarrassment at your confession. You thought you’d see anger or hurt in his eyes, but he was still smiling down on you, only faint amusement on his face. 

“Well, get used to it because you’re not alone anymore. So, let me take care of you. Because I want to”. 

Your breath came out shaky, only now realizing that those were the exact words that you needed to hear. Emotion bubbled in your chest, constricting your throat and rendering you speechless. 

You simply nodded, while Frankie’s fingers slipped from your chin and he grabbed your hand instead, helping you to your feet and leading you back to your bedroom. Even though you had only been awake for a short while, your mind and body were already exhausted, and by the look on Frankie’s face, he knew it. 

He lifted the covers over your body, leaning over and kissing your temple, humming sweetly as he pulled back. He turned, heading out of your bedroom, when you took hold of his hand, stopping him. 

“Will you stay?”, you asked, meely. The feeling of needing someone so much scared you, but the look of pure giddiness on Frankie’s face overtook that unsure weight on your chest and replaced it with something infinitely lighter. 

He nodded, “‘Course, just wanted to get a wet cloth, might help bring down your fever”. 

Frankie’s hand drifted to your forehead, the back of it laying flatly against your skin, cooling it down significantly already. You let your eyes drift closed, nodding absentmindedly as Frankie’s hand stayed where it was for a little longer. 

“Be right back”, he whispered, leaving your side temporarily. 

You’d fallen back asleep sometime after he left, dazed sleep taking over you. Your eyes only cracked open slightly when you felt your mattress dip and a cold sensation on your forehead. You tried to mumble something, but it came out jumbled. 

Frankie smoothed back your hair, stroking your head rhythmically as he spoke, “Shhh, just rest. I’ll be right here when you wake up”. 

His presence and the feeling of his subtle touch against your clammy skin were enough to lull you back to sleep. There was something inside of you that had always yearned for this, for the closeness outside of sex. The intimacy of a relationship. Frankie wanted to be here, he wanted to take care of you, and he cared for you in a way that your past boyfriends hadn’t, that much was clear. 

Your heart clenched in its cavity when you felt Frankie lower himself onto the bed, behind you, and scooted closer so that his front was flush with your back. His arms wrapped around you, his face nestled into the crook between your neck and shoulder. 

He peppered scratchy kisses along your exposed skin, his trimmed facial hair tickling your exposed skin. 

“You didn’t have to stay”, you mumbled. Only now recognizing that you had been asleep for the whole night, the sunlight cascading in and bathing the whole room with light. 

“Couldn’t help it, I needed to make sure that you were okay”. 

You turned your body around in Frankie’s grip, letting your head fall against his shoulder, your eyes meeting his inky irises. The light bounced on one side of his face, lightening up his features and highlighting the most memorable parts of him. 

Like his slightly crooked nose that you loved to dot with kisses, his smile lines that you couldn’t help but trace with your index finger. Or his loose brown curls that you loved to run your hand through and tug on roughly when he kissed you. 

Your hand met his cheek, stroking it gently. You leaned in, planting a small kiss onto his lips. He smiled against you, deepening it and slowly devouring you. 

You pulled back, “Thank you”. 

Frankie dragged you closer to him by your waist, pulling you into his atmosphere. You felt safe and comfortable lying in his arms, embracing the quiet moment between you two. Maybe it was comfort you were feeling but maybe it was something deeper, something you had been afraid to admit until now. 

You were falling in love with Frankie Morales, you were sure of that now. And you didn’t think you’d be able to stop it, not that you really wanted to. But that was a confession for another time, right now you were falling asleep in his strong hold, content and intent to keep yourself close to him for as long as he’d let you.

[papurgaatika]

howdy howdy buddies!! happy frankie friday!!! *eagle screeching in the distance*

NOW LET'S TALK ABOUT THAT MAN!!!!!

isn't he just so dreamy *wistful sigh*

Frankie comes home with his hair buzzed once while he was still active duty and you have to remind yourself that it's just hair and that it will grow back, but you find yourself in mourning bc it's just so,,,, short (he apologizes by letting you tug at it from between your legs)

He does not wash that hat yall. That hat is probably so musty and you're worried it contains a brand new ecosystem, but he refuses to wash it and just buys a replacement when it gets too bad

Despite what a lot of people think, it is a firm belief in my mind that he's a good cook. I think he spent a lot of time in the kitchen with his mom growing up and so after he enlisted and was eating whatever they gave him he made sure to perfect his skills and recipes so he wasn't surviving on takeout unlike someone else *cough cough santiago cough cough*

He's not an ass or tits guy. That man loves Tummy. He LOVESS kissing all over your stomach and makes sure he's holding you so that he can feel how soft you are when you're laying in bed together.

And do NOTTT get him started on if you're wearing something a little more form fitting and he can see every curve and dip and roll of your body?? He'll stare for as long as he can and he feels like he's died and gone to heaven

Even when he isn't working out super regularly, he's always. doing. squats. He doesn't necessarily care about staying as fit as he did when he was still in the army, but his ass is important to him. It's the one thing he never skips

yes I am well aware this is a photo of javier, HOWEVER his ass looks really good and it is kinda giving frankie so just imagine okay. They have the same face its not that hard

He's an insomniac and also an early riser, but I think he isn't caffeine dependent. He likes coffee 100% but he doesn't need it, even if he got like 3 hours of sleep the night before

He's a crier. Oh my god he's such a crier. You put Pride and Prejudice on one night, not really expecting him to enjoy it all that much, only to look over at him and he's sniffling with tears in his eyes (it isn't even a sad movie??) He never lives that one down.

100% gets turned on by watching you do mundane tasks that require some strength. He's getting hard watching you carry all the grocery bags up to your apartment so you don't make two trips or if he sees you really going at whisking some cake batter. The idea of you just having and using muscle has him weak in the knees

ANYWAY

they're kicking me off the stage so this is all yall get from me about him........

*for now*

peace and love buddies <3 <3

[xxhypersomnia]

Welp.

Hollywood made that pretty clear didn't they....

[jinxispunk]

prince oberyn martell ☀️

[thetriumphantpanda]

LOST IN OUR VICES | ONE

Chapter Summary | A chance encounter with a handsome stranger sets off a chain of events that could all end in disaster. It's hard to say no when it feels so good though.

Pairing | Professor!Marcus Pike x Student F!Reader

Chapter Warnings | Dubious ethical relationship between a professor & student, Marcus tells a lie, mentions of food and alcohol, mentions of academia, academic failure and strained parental relationships, gratuitous descriptions of London because I live here and I love it, some heavy making out and some heavy petting, no use of y/n.

Authors Note | WELL HERE SHE IS. I have no idea how to tell you how much I am loving this so far. Professor Pike has well and truly rotted my brain so y'all have to suffer with me okay? It's gonna be fun, I promise. I would LOVE to know what you all think about this so feel free to scream at me incumbents, reblogs and asks! As always, a huge thank you to @undercoverpena for reading this over and making sure it isn't utter tripe. ILY. And to @saradika for the beautiful divider.

Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs for writing updates.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

He’s seen her there every day he’s visited the past month. Sitting on the bench, looking up at the same sculpture - a woman carved from marble - sketching into a notepad. He stands this time and watches as her finger tucks some hair behind her ear, brushing it out of her face. She looks up and tilts her head a little, eraser end of her pencil sitting between her teeth as she thinks, tracers a portion of the statue before her head is back down, looking at the page as she continues to draw.

She’s beautiful, there’s no denying it, she’s been beautiful every time he’s seen her. There’s something lonely about her too, the way she sits there on her own, artefacts and artworks for company. She’s just like him really, uprooted from a life he was no longer satisfied with, four years of a PhD and now the letters of Dr before his name. Moved to London, a new city, a fresh start as he’d coined it to his family, but he’s been here three years now, and not one thing that he wanted from his move have materialised. He knows the therapy was good for him, he knows that his haste to find someone was probably what was making him scare people off, but he doesn’t much like the other side of the coin either - a modest flat in London to himself, a small group of friends who sit around and drink beer and droll on about their academic passions, but no-one he can really call his own right now.

Dr. M Pike. Professor of Art History. That’s what his doorplate says, one of many in the small corridor at UCL. Three years and he’s still not quite sure how he made it here, or if it’s really what he wants, but it beats whatever he was doing back in D.C. that’s for sure. It had seemed like the best thing to do at the time, but when Lisbon had told him she wasn’t coming, everything about it seemed wrong, soiled somehow, by the life he’d built in his mind being torn up by someone who, looking back, had never really wanted him in the first place.

He thought about talking to her the first day he’d seen her, but then realised he was actually here to prepare for one of his teaching seminars, so squirrelled himself away to another room instead. The second time he’d seen her, she’d looked too engrossed on whatever she was working on, and then every other time, he’s convinced himself she’s here for peace, not to be bothered by some random man. But there’s something about the way she is today that makes the pull harder to resist, so he says fuck it, shoves his hands into his trouser pockets and walks over.

“You come here often?”

It’s an American accent that pulls you from your work. His voice jolts your hand, makes you press your pencil into paper too hard and at the wrong angle. You suck in a deep breath, try not to think about the hours of work he’s just ruined by startling you. You’re about to turn around and complain when he comes into your vision.

He’s tall, broad shoulders covered in a light dress shirt, two buttons undone so you can see a flash of tanned skin and a smattering of hair. It’s tucked into dark jeans, a belt keeping them tight to his trim waist. And then there’s his face - a beard, but only just and friendly brown eyes, a full mouth too. He’s handsome, there’s no way around it.

“Sorry, that was awful,” The mystery man scratches the back of his neck, “I just come here a lot and I think I’ve seen you here every time for the past month.”

You smile at that, that you’re someone he’s been picking out amongst the crowd of tourists who always come here, someone familiar to him, even if he’s not the same to you.

“I’m just working on something.” You shrug, letting your palm slyly cover the sketch you’ve been making.

The man walks in front of you slightly, takes a seat on the vacant spot on the bench and looks up at the woman carved from marble, “She’s beautiful.” He muses.

“She is.” You agree, looking over the curves of her hips, the way the marble has been carved to make it look like her clothes are wet, sticking to her breasts like she’s just climbed out of the Aegean Sea.

“You like sculpture then?”

“I do,” You nod, turning your body a little towards him, “It’s not my first artistic passion, but I’m studying for my PhD at the moment and it’s all about the female form in marble.”

“Brains as well as beauty,” He smirks a little at you, “Sounds interest though, where are you studying?”

“UCL,” You beam, because you’re proud, it wasn’t easy, you’d been rejected for your first choice research project the first time around, encouraged to choose something else from the feedback, but you were there now, and that’s what mattered, “What about you?” You ask, “What do you do that means you have to be here as much as me?”

He shrugs a little, “I teach.”

It’s vague but you don’t press, he owes you nothing, so you let it lie. You turn back to the sculpture in front of you, when your stomach grumbles. You look down at your watch. It’s 2pm and you’ve not eaten anything yet.

“Hungry?”

“Starving.” You reply meekly.

“Want to grab something to eat?” He asks, “I know a great Italian place in Soho if you fancy it?”

You look at him, eyes tightening a little. It’s been so long since anyone has shown you an ounce of interest, and now the beautiful man in a shirt and dress pants wants to take you for lunch, it all seems a bit too good to be true. But, you can hear the voice of your therapist tell you to say yes to more things, take more risks in life because not all of them are going to turn out to be bad, so you flip the front of your notepad over to cover your drawing and reach down to pick up your backpack.

“Lead the way.”

He doesn’t disappoint. Over the course of a glass of wine and a bowl of olives, you coax out his name. It’s Marcus. He’s got a PhD in Art History and moved to London from D.C. three years ago. He lives alone, near Notting Hill, he likes it because he can go searching for antiques on the weekend. He wants a dog, but he spends too much time out of the house to justify one. He likes to read and he can cook, but prefer eating out or ordering in because he’s not mastered the art of cooking for one.

When a waiter sets down your second glass of wine and your food - gnocchi with pesto and bacon for you and carbonara from Marcus, he turns the conversation back to you, sipping wine as he ask you where you live - Willesden Green, so not far from you - who you live with - myself, my dad was so proud I got into my course he pays for my rent, it’s the only way he can show he loves me - what you like to do with your free time - free time? When I have it, I read, or I walk, or I sit and draw sculptures in museums.

You don’t know whether it’s the wine or not, but the dark winter sinks in, outside cloaked in black, lights dimmed inside, and it makes him even more handsome than he was before. He makes you laugh, with his stories of his own PhD stress, how he would walk the streets of D.C. at 3am to get coffee and pancakes on his way back from the library and then collapse into bed and sleep for two hours until his alarm would wake him up and he would go all the way back to the library to do it again.

“If I ever get to that point,” You muse, stabbing a piece of gnocchi onto your fork, “I don’t think I’ll have the will to make it through.”

“You seem far too organised to me to fall into the bad habits I had.” He shrugs, looking at you over his own glass of wine as you take a bite of your food, too busy watching him to really notice the angle of your fork, green sauce smearing on the corner of your mouth as you fight it into your mouth.

Before you have a chance to reach down and grab the napkin from your lap, Marcus is reaching over the table, using the pad of his thumb to wipe the stray sauce away. It’s something that under any other circumstance would make you feel uncomfortable, but all it really makes you want to do is kiss him, especially when he apologises profusely for being so forward.

He pays for dinner, insists on it really, hidden behind the excuse that he knows how hard it is to live whilst studying. He takes you for cocktails at a bar on the end of Old Compton Street - orders himself an old fashioned whilst you opt for an amaretto sour. The bar is dark and busy, the only seats are in a corner, sat so close together your knees are touching and your shoulder is slightly leaned into his side.

“So, you said you got rejected from your first choice course?” He muses, taking a short sip of his drink.

You shrug with a nod, “I wanted to research the impressionist movement,” You start to explain, “I love Monet and Renoir but I think my research application was too broad,” Sipping your own drink you carry on talking, “There’s a great academic at UCL, Professor Pike, I was desperate to have him as my supervisor, but it wasn’t meant to be.”

You turn your head a little, watching as Marcus swallows on nothing, quickly taking another sip of his drink.

“It’s okay,” You hasten to add, “I guess if I’m not writing thousands of words about it, it won’t make me hate what I love most.”

“Smart,” Is what he says with a smirk, “You would have given him a run for his money anyway.”

“Do you know him?” You ask, “I know all of you academic types are familiar with each other.”

He swallows on nothing again, “I’ve heard of him but I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

You both order another drink, sit around talking about nothing much at all, slowly moving closer as the bar gets busier, you tell yourself it’s just so you can hear him better, but he smells good, some kind of musky cologne that suits him really well, so you don’t complain about soaking it up.

When it gets late, he offers to take you home, keep you company on the tube. You know it’s not really necessary, you’ve never felt particularly unsafe walking home from the station, but if it means spending more time with him, then you don’t really mind. He lets you take the only free seat on the tube, standing in the aisle just in front of your knees so he can keep talking to you, and when you reach the other side, he walks close to you, puts a hand on your lower back which you can feel through your jacket when a group of people walk past you a little too close. He even insists on walking you to your door.

It’s quiet in the building, like it usually is. It’s only recently been built and you think you’re one of only a few people who are currently living there. You pluck your keys from your coat pocket when you reach your door, leaning your back against it.

“This is me.”

“Nice place.”

“Yeah, although I usually prefer places with more character.”

He’s stood right in front of you, rocking on his heels, that same nervous hand on the back of his neck as this afternoon, “I know this might seem weird, but would you like to go on a date sometime?”

You can help but snort a laugh, shaking your head a little, before you meet his eyes, “This wasn’t a date?” You ask coyly.

He smirks a little, cheeks flushing a little, “Did you want it to be a date?”

“I wouldn’t have let you take me for lunch if I didn’t,” You say, “But there is one thing missing.”

“Oh yeah?” He hums, “What’s that?”

Instead of speaking, you take a step forward, hands gripping the lapels of his jacket as you press up onto your toes and plant your lips on his. It’s clumsy and it’s impulsive, but you’ve wanted to do it all day. You can feel his arms wrapping around your back, dragging your body flush to his as he opens his mouth against yours right as you do the same. He tastes like mint from the gum he’s been chewing and the whisky from his drinks - it’s all you can think about as he walks you back, presses you against the door as his tongue meets with yours.

You’re thankful no-one is around. Your arms move from his jacket to wrap around the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the curls there as you tilt your head to one side, a slight smacking sound from your lips as the disconnect, only to come back together seconds later. He’s good at this, you think, as his hands drop from your back to rest in the pockets on the back of your jeans, palms warm through the material. You can feel him squeeze you there a little, and you’re so close to saying fuck it and inviting him in, because if his lips are this good against yours, you can’t imagine what they’d be like in other places.

Marcus is the one that pulls away from you, resting his forehead gently to yours. You’re both breathless and you’re itching to press your mouth back to his.

“I should go.” He breathes against your mouth, pressing his lips to your in a chaste kiss.

“Yeah,” You agree, “You should.”

He steps back, takes the warmth of his palms with him, but reaches in to his pocket and hands his phone to you, “Put your number in here and I’ll call you.”

So you do, press the eleven digits into his phone along with your name and then kiss him once more before he’s turning on his heel and walking away, leaving you with a dull ache between your thighs that you’re working on relieving within five minutes of getting inside. You’re fucked.

Marcus curses himself as he settles into the seat on the bus. It’s late enough that it’s not too busy, no-one sitting next to him as he leans his head back and runs his hand over his face. He already knows he’s fucked up. The words Professor Pike and rejected from my first choice spinning around in his brain as he watches parts of North London flash past the window on his ride home.

Why hadn’t he stopped it then? He knows the rules, knows that even though he doesn’t teach her, any kind of relationships with students, no matter how mature, are off limits. And how is he supposed to keep the facade up now? It’s only a matter of time before she puts two and two together and figures out who he really is.

You’re sweet and you’re smart and you’re fucking beautiful and the best kisser he thinks he’s ever met. You have so much in common with him that it actually hurts him a little and one stupid choice to keep lying to you and the fucking ethics policy are going to keep him from something he thinks would actually be fucking good for him.

He thinks for a second, pulling out his phone and looking at your contact card that he should probably just delete your number. It’s for the best for everyone. He could avoid the museum for a while, keep his head low on campus, he knows he can avoid you. But with his finger hovering over the delete confirmation, he finds he doesn’t have the strength to do it. Stuffs his phone back in his pocket and tries to will his mind to forget the way you’d gasped into his mouth when his hands had squeezed at the swell of your ass, or the way your lips had been soft against his when he’d kissed you.

Then, led in bed, frustrations sorted by his own hand, he picks up his phone and damns himself to hell with a single text.

How about a walk around the National Gallery and dinner this weekend?

[syd-djarin]

Treat Me Like A Slut - jack "whiskey" daniels x f!reader

warnings: explicit 18+. *MDNI*

a/n: I got the title of this from the Kim Petras song with the same name. It inspired the filth below.

y'all already know by now my sister in smut @katiexpunk helped me flesh out deets & all that. couldn't do it without you bestie babe. <3

word count: 4k+

summary: Jack returns home from a mission. You have a surprise and a request for him.

tags:  Jack calls reader a slut multiple times (at her request), masturbation (m and f), size kink, unprotected P in V, oral (m and f receiving), cum eating, orgasm denial, codewords, dom/sub dynamic, pet names for reader (sugar, baby, sweet girl, kitten), reader calls Jack cowboy, references to Jack being a trained killer, reader buys and wears lingerie, established relationship, brief mention of anal play, Creampie !!!!, no physical descriptions of reader, excessive use of Daddy, rough sex, ankle biting, toe sucking, a whip gets mentioned, size kink, spanking, one (1) titty slap, Jack has some funny lines in this one, bruising, and finally Jack is just a menace in this one – sweet and kinky AF.

smut after the cut.

Jack hates jerking off. 

Well, he hates jerking off when he could have you. Nothing can replicate the feeling of your lips on his cock or being buried deep inside your pussy. He fucks his cock in his fist anyway, not that he has much of an option at the moment. Sweet, salacious memories of you flood his brain as he tries to melt deeper into the mattress and he attempts to forget the past few weeks. This mission has been long and drawn out; time he would rather spend with you. 

You’ve been dating for three months now and can’t stay away from each other. Like a moth drawn to a flame, Jack wants to constantly be in your orbit. When he first asked you on a date, you both agreed to take it slow. “I don’t wanna pressure you, sugar,” he said, and you had agreed that slow is good. You quickly learned that neither you, nor Jack, know the concept of the word. Your first date turned into an entire weekend together. Once he had sampled a taste of your sweetness, there was no going back. 

It’s been an agonizing week for Jack. He’s always had a flair for the dramatics, but you can hear it in the tone of his voice that he isn’t exaggerating when he says this week has nearly killed him. Sure, being a Statesman is dangerous and he flirts with death on the daily, but being away from you? He’d rather be given the Old Yeller treatment than to have to be without you. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he moans, taking a final few tugs at the silky smooth skin of his hard shaft before cum erupts out of him and onto his toned belly. “Fuck,” he says, letting out a long sigh, hand still on how pulsing cock as he stares at the ceiling wishing you were here to lick the spend off of him. 

***

You were able to keep yourself busy and enjoy your alone time at first, but as the week went on, you became more impatient. Needy. 

Tonight, your apartment feels smaller than usual, the air thicker, as you pace back and forth across the hardwood floor. The book you had been engrossed in lay forgotten on the coffee table, its characters suspended in a world you couldn’t quite bring yourself to re-enter. Your mind was too focused on Jack. 

You check your phone for the umpteenth time, the minutes ticking by at an excruciatingly slow pace. The silence in the apartment echoes the restlessness in you. You feel a knot tightening in your stomach, a want, a need, a feeling of unease. 

An orgasm might help, you think, but no matter how hard you try, your methods of self-pleasure never seem to fully satiate you. Sure, you’ve made yourself come a dozen times this week, but it’s not the same. You’re spoiled now; Jack’s expert hands, mouth, and god his cock have taken your pleasure threshold to new heights. He’s given you the best orgasms of your life, and now what you’re able to accomplish on your own is slightly abysmal. It’s infuriating or splendid, you can’t decide which, that he seems to know your body more than you do. 

Despite knowing it won’t help, the siren call of your cunt wins over.  As you lay on your shared bed, engulfed in the smell of his cologne still clinging to the pillowcases, the faint buzz of your vibrator and your sweet little sounds that drive Jack crazy add new noise to the silence. You imagine Jack and the slow, tantalizing drag of his cock in and out of you as you fold like a house of cards letting the aftershocks of your orgasm lull you to sleep. 

Just one more day until he’s home. 

***

The first light of morning filters through the curtains, kissing the room in a soft glow, you stir from your slumber. You let out a big good morning stretch, and clear the sleep from your eyes. As you sit up, the duvet cascades from your shoulders and you take a moment to bask in the quiet beauty of the morning. Today’s the day. 

The list of things you have to do before your cowboy comes home already starts running through your mind like the end credits of a movie, and you spring out of bed and get ready for the day. 

As you stroll through the downtown area, with only one bag in hand, you just so happen to walk by a lingerie store. Call it chance or fate, but the sexy tight number in the window catches your attention. 

“Hey there sweet pea, what brings you in today?” the older woman greets you as you walk through the doors to the shop. She doesn’t particularly fit the vibe of the store, but her presence is a bit disarming. Of course, you’d shopped for lingerie before, but always online and never in person, so you’re a tad nervous. 

“Oh, hi – uh, well I was just out running some errands,” you say, slightly lifting your bag as if to signal this isn’t planned before continuing, “the piece in the corner caught my eye, would it be possible to try it on?” you ask, your eyes dropping to the floor as you tuck a loose piece of hair behind your ear. 

“Oh sure, honey, that’s a gorgeous one!” You smile and give her your size, and she tells you to look around the shop for anything else you might like to try on. You grab a handful and she leads you to the dressing room, telling you her name is Darla and to holler if you need any different sizes. 

You save your favorite, the one from the window, for last. As you slip into the ensemble, the fabric feels luxe against your skin. It’s a lacy, scarlet red babydoll with a thong to match. You admire yourself in the mirror, letting your palms playfully dance over your curves. Any nervousness you feel walking into the store is slowly replaced with a new sense of confidence. Lost in the fantasy of how he’ll respond, there’s a little flutter in your stomach. 

“How’s it going in there? Need any help with the laces?” Darla asks. You’re not sure if it’s in her job description to be so kind to her customers, but you like her. 

“Great – I, I think I found the one,” you say, opening the curtain to let her finish fastening you into the fabric. 

“Oh honey, you’re a knockout,” she says, and you feel your skin warm at the compliment. “Your man’s in for a real treat.” 

Yeah. He really is. 

***

Once home, the hours seem to pass by slower than molasses, as Jack would say. 

You decide to take an ‘everything’ shower to kill time and to compliment your new purchase. You have the time, so you decide to go the full nine; you put on a hair mask, exfoliate, shave, and gua sha your face. You giggle as you remember Jack watching you do it once, except he couldn’t say ‘gua sha’ correctly, mispronouncing the ‘gua’ as ‘goo’. 

You moisturize your body in your favorite body butter, the one that Jack thinks smells delicious, and paint your nails to match the lacy number you’ll be donning this evening. Pampering yourself like this, giving yourself the self-care you’ve been needing, amplifies the arousal that’s been brewing all day. 

You illuminate the room with a warm flicker of candles, their soft glow creating an ambiance to the room around you while the dulcet tones of your favorite vinyl grace the air at a low volume. You slip into your red number and put the finishing touches on your look as you admire yourself in the mirror. You look hot, and you know it. 

You’re ready to pounce on Jack as soon as he walks in. 

Suddenly, the unmistakable jingle of his keys in the lock alerts you that he’s finally home. You hear the little creak of the door as he pushes it open, and then the commanding cadence of his boot-clad footsteps, a sound you could identify any day. You feel a buzz course through your body at your excitement as you take your place on the bed. 

“Honey, I’m home,” Jack echoes through the entryway. 

“In here!” you respond, throwing your voice in his direction. 

As Jack swings open the bedroom door, his jaw practically descends to the floor in sheer astonishment, his bag meeting the ground with a resounding thud. A stunned silence envelops the room, his dark brown eyes riveted on you, unblinking and filled with an intensity that leaves him momentarily speechless, while a palpable hunger reflects in his watering mouth.

Holy. Fuck. 

“Hi baby, I missed you,” you purr, your eyes locked on his, as you crawl on all fours like a tigress to her prey to finish greeting him, “did you miss me?” you ask, all flirt and no question in your voice, rising to your knees on the mattress to give him a better look at your body. 

He must have died and this is heaven. There’s no other explanation for the beauty that is you before him. 

He approaches you, his broad hands finding your hips as you interlace your fingers behind his neck. With his body pressed against you, you can already feel his rock-hard cock twitching in his tight, nearly painted-on jeans. 

“You have no idea…” he growls in the nape of your neck before pulling away to eye you in a ravenous manner that makes your heartbeat in your pussy. 

One of his hands leaves your side, and he reaches up to angle your chin towards him. He looks you in the eyes in a way that makes you feel like you’re the only woman in the world, his eyes saying all of the things his mouth isn’t. He smiles at you for a moment before he leans in and plants his lips on yours. He begins to kiss you languidly, and you both let out soft moans in unison at being in each other’s presence again. His groomed mustache tickles your lips, making you giggle into his mouth. 

He pulls back, fiddling with the hem of the baby doll. “You wear this just for me?” he asks, his warm hand splaying on your tummy.  

“Mhmm,” you respond, but it comes out sounding a little more like a moan than a reply. “I wanted to surprise you,” you confess while looking down at where his hand meets your stomach, “wanted to look sexy for you, Agent Whiskey,” you look back into his eyes, giving him a little wink, your allure calling out to him; snatching him up faster than any lasso ever could. 

Jack normally doesn’t like his work to bleed through to his personal life, but hearing your honeyed voice call him Agent Whiskey is enough to make him abandon all the rules. 

“Darlin’,  ya always look sexy to me, like a goddamn sex kitten,” he drawls, leaning in to plant tender kisses on your neck, his grazing his teeth over the soft skin of your neck. You giggle, playfully swatting at him. “‘M serious, you are divine,” he adds, divine coming out more like deevine.  

You may be the sex kitten in his eyes, but he’s the one lapping you up like a bowl of milk. His hands roam over the tight fabric that graces your body, and you get lost in the feel of his touch. His grip on you is tight, even though you’re fully pressed against him, he wants you closer. His need, his lust, awakens something carnal in you, causing you to lose control of your tongue as you all but word vomit, “Treat me like a slut.” Well, we probably could have eased into that conversation. 

He pulls back and eyes your face in disbelief –  this must be heaven – before a knowing smirk washes across his face. “Is that what you want, hmm? Want Daddy to get rough with ya, baby?” The hand that’s gripping the soft flesh of your hips begins to migrate down to your ass. 

You whimper; becoming putty-like in his hands, more than ready to worship at his altar. 

“Tell me, baby. Use your words like a big girl,” he urges, squeezing your ass with more force. 

“Yes, daddy,” you choke out, “I want you to be rough with me, please…please.” 

“My pretty girl wants me to treat her like a slut, then that’s what she’ll get,” He removes the hand on your hip, and the other from your ass, before guiding them to find yours. He interlocks your fingers together and looks at you a bit more seriously this time. You see the darkness that flickers behind his eyes. You know Jack is a dangerous man – a trained killer – but he’d never hurt you. No, this darkness is something different, it’s an insatiable desire to consume you in every way possible, to give you anything you desire.  

“Wanna set some rules first, ‘kay?” he says, his voice low. You nod. 

“If at any point you want me to stop, slow down, don’t like something, whatever, you tell me, alright? You remember our code word?” he asks, and you nod again. “Good. Now, you don’t get to touch me unless I tell ya to. You don’t get to come ‘til I tell ya to. Got it?”

“Yes, daddy, I understand,” you respond. He lets out another knowing smirk and palms himself through his jeans. 

“‘M gonna take good care of ya, baby girl. Now, you gonna show daddy what a good little slut you can be?” he asks. 

“Yes, daddy. Wanna be a good slut for you.”

You’re a little surprised at how quickly you slip into submission, although you shouldn’t be. Not when it comes to Jack. He’s a master at getting what he wants, and you’re not sure if there is anything that you wouldn’t do for him. 

“Good girl. Now, off the mattress and get on your knees,” he orders, already unbuckling his jeans to free his wicked big cock. 

You do as he says, feeling yourself sink your weight onto your shins and the coolness of the hardwood beneath you. “Open your mouth,” he says, his heavy cock in hand, stroking it to get it to full length. 

You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, patiently waiting for your next instructions.  

He continues to stroke himself, looking, admiring, the gift of a woman that sits before him. As he pumps himself, he takes a few steps forward so that he’s hovering above you. Your big doe eyes look up at him, and you’re drooling at the sight of him like you always have.  

His thumb ghosts over his red and weeping tip, and he uses it to collect the dribble of precum that has beaded through his slit to wet the tip of his cock.  He taps the mushroom head of it onto your tongue a few times, a sticky string of saliva trailing between him and your tongue with each lift before he eventually plants the tip fully in your mouth. Your lips lock around him, and you begin to moan, reveling in the heady taste of him. You want so badly to move, to take him deeper into your mouth, but he hasn’t told you to do so. He tangles one of his hands in your hair, firmly pulling; not too gentle, but not too rough, either. 

Jack slides your mouth off of him. He’s admiring your present state; spit and precum smeared across your mouth and down your chin, hair disheveled and your eyes delirious from lust. 

“Change of plans,” he says, offering no explanation as to why he’s suddenly depriving you of sucking him off. 

“Don’t worry ‘m gonna take of ya, like I always do,” he says, kicking off his boots and shucking the rest of his clothes to the floor, “hands and knees on the bed, baby.” 

You don’t need to be told twice. You’re clambering over yourself to follow directions, legs unsteady from your agonizing need. 

Jack drops to his knees behind you, takes his thick finger, and slips it into your crack, under the lacy string situated between your cheeks. He pulls back on the thin string and releases it, the snap causing a pleasant sting against your skin. 

“Soaking wet,” he hums, ‘always so fucking wet, you perfect girl,” he rasps,  running that same finger through your seam, along the drenched lace, causing you to whimper. “Who’s got you so wet, baby, hmm?” he asks, knowing the answer, he just wants to hear you say it.

He lands a light swat on your ass when you don’t answer him. It sends a shiver through your spine, more arousal dripping into your thong. 

“‘M not gonna ask you again. So tell me, who’s got your pretty pussy so wet, baby?” 

“You, Jack, always wet for you, only you,” each word comes out shaky, so aroused you might collapse if Jack doesn’t alleviate the ache soon, “Daddy, please,” you cry.

Kneading the flesh of your ass he grunts in approval. “S’right baby, you’re mine. All mine.”

Jack pulls the thong to the side, revealing your dripping cunt to him. He spits down, trailing from your asshole to your clit, your legs clench in response. You’re using all your might not to move. This doesn’t go unnoticed by him, after all, it is his job to notice things; even on the subtlest level. 

Ghosting a fingertip over your tight ring of muscle, rousing you, “You like it when I touch you like that? Touchin’ your other slutty lil hole?”

“Y-es, fuck,” gritting out through ragged breaths. He files that information for later, a smug grin plastered on his face. 

He swipes his tongue from your clit up your entrance. He moans in response to your taste like you’re the best dessert he’s ever had; you whimper from the spark of pleasure of the warmth of his tongue. He teases you a few more times by lightly skimming up and down, licking you from your clit down to your aching hole. You can’t help but squirm, rocking your hips back to meet his mouth, chasing your high. He smacks your ass again, a reminder to keep still. 

“Need more,” you whine pitifully, his grip on the back of your thighs is now ironclad, blocking you from gaining more stimulation that isn’t provided by him. 

He halts his movements and pulls his face away from your pussy, but still close enough that you can feel his hot breath when he speaks, “I know I don’t need’ta remind you to use your manners.” 

“Please, daddy, I need more, fuck, fuck, fuckkk!” you desperately cry.

“Good girl, askin’ so nicely,” punctuated by shoving a thick finger into your weeping entrance. 

Jack pumps his finger in and out at a steady pace, all while flicking his tongue across your throbbing clit. When he thinks you’re relaxed enough, he slips in a second finger, and the added sensation and drag against your soft walls has you barreling towards the edge of your orgasm. 

He can tell you’re close by the way your cunt grips down on him, tightening like a trap, one you never want him to leave. He slows his pace, edging you until you’re writhing in his grip.  “Daddy, please, please let me come,” you’re heaving, covered in a sheen of sweat. 

“My little slut gets to come when I tell her she can,” he torts. 

Once he senses you’re no longer as close to finishing as you were, he slowly picks up his tempo once more and the attention he places on your clit brings you right back to the boiling point. Your fingers card through his dark locks as you hang on to him for dear life, doing your best not to come without permission.

“J–Jaa-Jack,” you cry, “I can’t hold on much longer, I’m going to come, I need to come.” 

He wants to continue to edge you all night, but the growing ache from his neglected cock begins to get to him. As much as he wants to continue to devour you, his blood-filled shaft has other plans.

“Alright, you can come, let me hear you, pretty girl,” he whispers against your mound before his lips find their home around your clit, and his tongue begins to circle against it in just the right way. With his permission, you let out a sigh of relief; your orgasm washes over you like the ocean onto the shore, it’s loud and strong. 

Jack gathers the slick seeping out of you onto his fingers and sucks it off, his eyes fluttering shut as he savors the final taste of your release. “That’s finger lickin’ good, baby,” he says. You might feel inclined to cringe at that, but you’re too fucked out to mind, but a little giggle escapes your chest at the comment. Only Jack could find the perfect balance of vulgarity and humor. 

He drops both of his large palms to your thighs and begins to massage them with a soothing amount of pressure, grounding you through your floaty, blissed-out state, and it’s not before long that the need for more returns. He gently pecks soft kisses on your lower back, murmuring praises against your skin. Such a good girl, you did so good for me, my sweet and pretty girl. He’s sensual and sweet amidst the dominance he’s displaying, the duality makes your heart beat fast and your pussy flutter. 

He rises to stand and positions himself behind where you’re bent over. He strokes his heavy cock as he marvels at how good you look like this, bent over, ass up, just waiting to be stuffed full of him. He lines the tip of his cock up against your wet and waiting cunt to gather a little bit of your slick on the head of him before he begins gliding his cock up and down through your messy folds. The sensation on your somewhat sensitive clit makes you let out a small little whimper. 

“Want daddy to fuck you, pretty girl?” Just like before, he already knows the answer,  he just wants to hear you beg for it, beg for him. His ego is as big as his cock. His words are as much of a tease for him as they are for you; his resolve begins to crumble further with every moment he’s not buried to the hilt inside you. 

“Yes!” nodding your head despite the way it’s still spinning, “please—” 

“Think she can fit it,” he asks, not giving you a second to answer as he drives the length of him inside you with no restraint. Your body jolts forward on impact and he clutches your waist, pinning you in place. Both of you are unmoving, gasping to catch your breath as you adjust to his size. It’s a stretch every time and you delight in it. “Course she can, cuz my girl is a perfect little slut,” he says, dragging his cock in and out of you with ease as your wetness coats him.

‘Fuck, baby. You feel so good, it’s like this pussy was made for me, just fuck, just for me,” he says, willing himself to not bust inside of you already, but it’s hard.  Having you like this, at his mercy, coupled with the time he spent away from you, he’s shaking in his proverbial boots. 

You start to reach your hand behind you to hold onto his arm, but stop, remembering the rules. You don’t get to touch me unless I tell ya to. 

Jack beats you to the punch, “Go on, darlin’, grab hold’a daddy. You’re gonna need it.”

Just as soon as you wrap your hand around his forearm, he pulls almost out of you entirely before slamming back into you, the tip of his cock punches your cervix and you let out a little welp. The intensity of the relentless pace he has set has you breathless, keyed up, on the edge of another orgasm. He continues to fuck in and out of you, plowing into your pussy at a devastating pace; no mercy to be found. 

Lecherous sounds echo through the bedroom; Jack’s hips slapping against the flesh of your ass, the wet squelch of your pussy, guttural groans and whines. 

“Such a good fuckin’ slut for me, kitten… you take this cock so good, so fuckin’ tight, Jesus…” Jack rambles in between his thrusts. 

“Tell daddy how it feels,” he commands, landing a sharp smack against your ass. “Feels so good, daddy, mmm, feel so full,” you sputter,  an octave higher than you usually speak. 

“Yeah I know, baby girl,” he pulls out, manhandling you onto your back, jerking your legs over his shoulders before he slams back into you in a matter of seconds, the intensity of it causes your tits to bounce and Jack loves the sight of it. The angle has his cock punching your cervix brutally and deliciously. Your cunt grips him tighter as you watch the way his jaw goes slack as he pummels in and out of you. He can use you like this forever and you’d be fine with it. 

Jack turns his face to graze his teeth across your ankle, then bites the soft flesh, eliciting a yelp from you. The look in Jack’s eyes is voracious. He’ll never have enough of you. 

“Eyes on me, baby,” he growls, gently slapping one of your tits through the cups of the babydoll to redirect your eyes into his. Locking eyes with one another while Jack ravages you has you hurling into another orgasm. 

“Fuck, I’m so close, daddy,” just shy of shouting. 

A cheeky grin breaks out on his face as if he’d gotten an idea just now. Jack lifts one of your legs off his shoulder and holds it steady, your foot now directly in front of his face. Without warning, he shoves your middle two toes into his mouth. 

“Jack!” You actually shout this time. A mix of surprise and bliss. 

“Scream my name as loud as you need to, sugar,” he teases, but admittedly, he loves seeing how loud he can get you to cry out his name. 

He runs his warm tongue along your ticklish toes and you’re done for. “Can I come daddy? I’m so fucking close, please I need to come…” panting like a dog in heat. 

“C’mon give it to me, pretty girl, gimme another and I’ll fill you up with my cum,” he encourages. He’s not far off from where you’re at. “Been such a good slut for me tonight, soak this fuckin’ cock…” 

He’s rutting into you with such great force, you know you’ll be sore tomorrow. That thought is the last push you needed; you’re clenching around Jack while you’re coming; entering a rapturous daze. 

“Oh fuck, Jack—fuck, ah!” mewling loudly. Your juices drip out of you onto his cock and the sheets. He loves how messy your pussy is. 

“That’s it baby, mmmm such a sweet mess you made for me…” cooing at you. 

He slows his speed way down, but keeps the thrusts deep, helping you ride out your second orgasm of the night. 

A few hard, deep, slow thrusts and Jack is spurting his spend in your pussy. 

“Fuuuuuuuuuck, baby,” halting his movements, resting his forehead against yours. The sticky sheen of sweat clings in the air; the distinctive smell of sex permeating the room.

He showers your face in tender kisses, leaving no patch of skin untouched. You adore the way Jack will fuck you within an inch of your life and will be caring and attentive afterwards. 

***

Both of you lie still tangled in each others’ arms, Jack breaks the silence, “Maybe I should leave more often,” in that post-sex-husky-raspy voice you love so much. 

“Nuh-uh, this week sucked without you. Leave for that long again and it’ll be you getting treated like a slut,” you taunt. You giggle uncontrollably, still under the effect of your climax. 

He puffs out an exhale of relief. He’s not convinced you have a dominant bone in your body until you reveal that you purchased something else in addition to the red number still lingering on your body. 

“You should see what else I bought,” you say, your voice suggestive enough to perk Jack’s ears up from his nearly fucked out comatose state. He opens one eye and looks at you with an inquisitive face. You let out a smirk, and jump up from the bed, a bounce in your step, as you walk over to the dresser across the room. 

Jack’s jaw actually falls to the floor this time when he watches you reveal a long, black, leather whip. 

“My turn, cowboy.” 

[romanarose]

I wanna shout a few writers in this fandom that I don’t think get nearly enough appreciation

@beefrobeefcal @millerscoffee @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @ozarkthedog @alwaysmicado @koshkaj-blog @pimosworld

I know I’m missing a lot but these peoples Pedro fics are all fantastic and deserve more recognition 10/10 recommend

[backtothefanfiction]

KINKTOBER '23

okay, so we're doing this.

Just a series of kinky smutty short stories for the whole month of October! We are gonna revisit a few characters and play with a few new ones. It's gonna be fun.

I have laid out a plan which will be below the cut. Do let me know if you wish to be tagged. These will be posted everyday, I'm trying to get ahead of myself now so they can all be queued up to go. New chapters of The Angel In The Garden of Evil will still go out on Wednesdays and Fridays as this is going on, so on those days there will be double content.

So here's the plan...

Partner Swap - Peter Parker x Harry Osborn's Wife

Roleplay - frat!Peter Parker

Creampie - Frankie Morales

Cock Warming - Professor Parker

Office Sex - Peter Parker (V excited about this one*)

Somnophilia - Agent Whiskey

Anal - frat!Peter Parker

Face Sitting - Javier Pena

Threesome - Frankie x Santi x Magpie

Lingerie- bfd!Dave York

Age Difference - Joel Miller

Sex Tape - frat!Peter Parker

Edging. - Max Phillips

Food Play - Frankie Morales

Thigh Fucking - mob!Peter Parker

Sex Toys - Joel Miller

Orgy - The Spider Crew

Dirty Talk - frat!Peter Parker

Mile High Club - Javier Pena

Breeding - dilf!Peter Parker

Squirting - Pedro From Across The Street (Calls)

Outdoors - Joel Miller

Daddy/Mommy - dilf!Peter Parker

Marking - frat!Peter Parker

Mirror Sex - Agent Whiskey

Cuckolding - mob!Peter Parker

Phone Sex - Dave York

Getting Caught - Frankie Morales ft. Santiago Garcia

Sensory Deprivation - Oberyn Martell

Bondage - Peter Parker

Praise - Professor Parker

Let me know which story you are most excited for. And as always, if you want to be tagged, make sure you put it in writing for me!!!