#this man showing up with his ass and taking my morals with him. like he wasn't already doing that the minute i was ready to accept | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anastasiabowe · 6 months

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𝙍𝙄𝘾𝙃 𝙂𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙇𝙀𝙈𝘼𝙉 — As a broke college student, it’s not wrong to want a rich boyfriend! That doesn’t mean you’re a gold digger, or will stoop so low you will ruin your worth, it just means you want a man who will take care of you, and guess what? You found him.

note: this will be a 3 part series! First one I’ve ever made and may be my last! So please not too much on these writings! Luv you!

𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏 𝙄 𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏 𝙄𝙄 𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏 𝙄𝙄𝙄

Content Warnings: language, suggestive content

Nanami is a man of morals. He usually keeps his hands and eyes to himself, he holds the door for anyone, women especially, he respects boundaries, and if anything that causes him to think inappropriately he will kindly excuse himself to make sure he doesn’t seem like a creep. But Nanami is just like any man.

Nanami longs for a lover, a wife. He desires children, a family. But in this cruel, sick world, he can’t find a woman who wants him for him. Nanami is one of the top 10 richest men on the planet, he not including himself, but his company in that title.

Every woman he has attempted to date tries to put on their best “I love you for your heart not your money!” act, but it slips the second they tell him “oh no! I forgot my wallet!”

Nanami knows every trick in the book, he knows the look women give him when they are impressed by his wealth, he knows the lip biting they do to show interest in his looks, he knows the voice and excuses they say to make him fall down to their feet, which he never once has done nor will do. He knows it all. So dating people that have seen him before he’s met them makes it all the more boring.

So, when Nanami’s friend, Haibara introduced him to dating apps, he obviously was shook.

“You really had no idea there were dating apps?” Haibara blankly looked at him. Nanami bit his thumb in uncertainty.

He grumbled a little “no.” And his friend smiled. “Then sign up! What can you lose? They don’t have to know what you look like.”

Nanami hated that idea. “No, I want them to know who I am.” His firm voice erased that idea completely from his friends plan.

“Well, 80% of this world knows who you are, that wish you want isn’t going to happen.” Nanami sighed knowingly, just tired from his sad lonely life.

“Haibara, thank you for this..” Nanami thought carefully of his words. “Great discovery, but I think it’s best you head home and I sleep on it.” Haibara understood, and firmly grabbed Nanami’s shoulder on his way out.

“You’ll find her, I know you will.” Nanami placed his hand firmly on Haibara’s in a thank you, and Haibara left.

After Nanami heard Haibara leave, he hurriedly sat down on his couch and opened the dating site.

“RICHTON THE DATING APP FOR THE WEALTHY!”

Nanami quickly laughed at the cringe advertisement, but it was a popular app, so something was working.

Nanami put in his information and had to choose which photos to put on his profile. He chose the first decent ones he could find, not caring too much about perfection, and he was brought up with the interests slide.

He clicked three random ones and pressed continue. The app asked to use his camera to verify his age and photos. Nanami positioned the camera to where it said to and he was verified. The app welcomed him to a very ugly woman.

Nanami had skipped the tutorial at the beginning and just swiped towards the X like he has seen on TV. This app was the definition of a gold diggers dream. Rich men pay to speak with women that aren’t even all that.

Nanami swiped and swiped towards the x. No woman looked like a decent women. They all looked like they seduce men or are prostitutes, maybe both. Nanami frowned seeing all the half naked women.

“Should I really be on this app?” He thought to himself. He continued to swipe, heart sinking each swipe to the left seeing women who don’t know their worth. Ass in the camera more than their face just to get a quick buck. Nanami swiped one more time ready to turn his phone off, and his thumb froze.

A girl with straight hair smiling in what seems to be senior photo. She was in a white summer dress posing in a daisy field. The beach was calm behind her and he couldn’t help but stare at her smile. She seemed so pure, so innocent and that was exactly what he was looking for. He swiped right on her profile and it opened up a message saying:

“YOUR FIRST MATCH! SEND HER A MESSAGE WITH THE AMOUNT YOU WOULD LIKE TO SEND!”

Nanami saw a text box and a drop box. The drop box has let Nanami type in the amount he would like to send. The minimum was 5 dollars. He typed in $100 and pressed on the text box.

His thumbs again froze. What should he say? Should he compliment her? Introduce himself? Nanami combined them. He typed.

“Hello, my name is Kento and I couldn’t help but be in absolute awe seeing your photos. You are absolutely beautiful.” He sent it without looking back, this was already hard enough.

Nearly instantly you saw his message and typed.

Y: “Oh my god, you did NOT have to send that much money!”

He imagined your voice as he read your message. He chuckled to himself like a madman and he started typing back.

N: “I wanted to, you are so beautiful, I couldn’t help myself.”

He nervously tapped his thumbs on the side of his phone waiting for your response.

Y: “I really do appreciate the compliment but $100 is too much, I can’t accept that!”

N: “Too late, I want you to have it, I want to talk to you.”

Y: “You can’t talk to me for free!”

N: “That’s not how this app works..?” Nanami was confused.

Y: “Oh, right.. I forgot you have to pay to chat.”

N: “Please don’t be alarmed by the money, I’m not running out anytime soon😂”

Nanami cringed at himself for using such an emoji, but he wanted you to feel at ease.

Y: “Thank you, you really didn’t have to though. I won’t stop saying that.”

N: “Then let’s change the subject. Why are you on this app?”

You saw his message but didn’t text back. Did he ask a triggering question? You soon started typing, and his nerves came back.

Y: “You know, a broke college student who needs a little extra cash😅”

He chuckled, for a girl who didn’t want a hundred bucks, that’s sure what she was looking for.

N: “Haha, so you won’t mind if I send more?”

Y: “Don’t send more! I’m not that broke😭”

Nanami smiled. He smiled as if you were really there. He imagined having this conversation with you and how hard you would make him laugh with your silly remarks.

N: “Don’t worry, I won’t 😂, but it’s not like you’re going to stop me.”

Y: “I’ll send it back😜✌🏾”

N: “I’ll send it back!”

Y: “And I’ll send it again, it will be a whole thing if you make it💀”

The fact you both were arguing over money is crazy, Nanami never argued with a woman about sending them money. They usually do a “oh no you don’t have to do that!” But will eventually accept. You on the other hand are just outright refusing. Nanami is now intrigued by you.

N: “If you won’t accept my money via here, how about dinner? I’ll pay, and I won’t argue about it when we get there.”

You again took your time typing, very obvious you are unsure.

Y: “Okay… but where are you tryna take me?”

N: “I was thinking…. Hermes?”

Y: “You’re joking!”

N: “What?”

Y: “I can’t afford that!”

N: “You’re not paying.”

Y: “Still, I can’t make you pay for that!”

N: “I want to pay for it, I eat there all the time.”

Y: “Not for two☹️”

N: “I’ve paid for 10.”

Y:“Kento..”

N: “Y/n, please. I want to meet you. You intrigue me, I’ve never met someone like you. I don’t want to seem like a begged, nor do I want to pressure you, but I would love to meet you and enjoy a nice dinner with you.”

Nanami felt desperate even though he just met you not even an hour ago.

The long response time again happened, and Nanami felt like he blew it. The once time he felt like he actually found someone worth the time, he blew it.

Y: “Okay.”

Nanami’s heart fluttered seeing your message.

N: “You will have dinner with me?”

Y: “Yes! I’ll have dinner with you😂”

Nanami felt like a little boy again. He hadn’t felt this excited to ask a girl out since never and it felt good.

N: “How does tomorrow sound? I know that’s soon, but it’s the only day my schedule isn’t busy.”

Y: “Yeah, tomorrow would be great!”

N: “Alright, I’ll see you then!”

Y: “See you!”

The next day Nanami felt different. His head was somewhere else, somewhere lighter, happier. He felt… excited? He wasn’t sure, he hasn’t felt this way until his first client offered him half a million dollars as he started his journey in this company.

Nanami played more upbeat music, very different from his normal taste, and he swayed and stepped with every beat to the song as he ironed his clothes. He had opened windows and instead of wincing from the sun hitting his eyes, he smiled.

“What a beautiful morning.” He thought to himself. Nanami must have been in a different place that he didn’t even know was so negative until now. He was looking forward to a dinner with someone. He hasn’t felt that way in years and he just wishes he could meet you right then and there.

Nanami nearly put on his freshly ironed clothes and grabbed his briefcase and blazer. He locked his garage door and headed straight to his black Porsche that he usually doesn’t drive, but today, why not?

Nanami drove to work with a smile on his face. Haibara greeted Nanami as he stepped out of his car and a valet stepped in for him.

“Good morning.” Nanami smiled and Haibara walked beside him.

“Good morning…” Haibara stared at Nanami’s face.

“Did something happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you win the lottery? What’s got you so happy?”

“Haibara.” Nanami stopped and turned towards his friend, “Thank you.”

Haibara wanted to laugh, he didn’t even do anything, right?

“for what” Nanami smiled at Haibara.

“For showing me that ‘app’. I’m going to meet someone for dinner tonight.” Haibara smiled at Nanami.

“That’s great, Kento! What’s her name?”

“Y/n.”

“Hm, is she pretty?”

“Beautiful.”

“Is she rich?”

“Eh..”

“Is she young?”

“Kind of.”

“What do you mean by ‘kind of?”

“She’s… 20..” Nanami purses his lips waiting for Haibara’s reaction.

“20?!” His eyes were wide and he laughed. “You’re 34!”

“She’s very aware of my age.” Nanami said not amused by his friends reaction.

“I mean, hey, if a woman 14 years older than me asked me out, and she was hot, I’d go out worth her too.” Haibara threw his hands up in a ‘what can I say’ pose and Nanami rolled his eyes.

“We meet at 6, so I just need to get through today.” Nanami said more to himself. The happy facade started to break, and he felt the butterflies pool in his stomach.

He was nervous. He hasn’t been on a date with someone he actually wants to meet in over 10 years. He doesn’t remember how to be charismatic, he doesn’t remember how to be enticing and interesting. Work has been the only topic that’s been keeping his conversations alive. He doesn’t talk to anyone about anything personally other than Haibara and that is hard enough.

Haibara saw Nanami. He knew Nanami for nearly 6 years and this was the look of nervousness. He’s seen it countless times, but that’s only because he knows him. He can tell from the slight twitch in his jaw and the subtle fidgeting with his hands.

“Come on Nanami, let’s go to my office.” Nanami nodded and followed Haibara.

In Haibaras office, he gave Nanami tips.

“Now I have met countless women. Hard to believe, I know, and I know how to get them wanting more.” Nanami cringed at the thought of his good friend seducing women.

“I’m not trying to get anything from her, I just want to hold a conversation and hopefully get to know her more.”

“Alright, I got you.” Haibara walked over to his whiteboard and wrote “NANAMI’S FIRST DATE”

“This isn’t my first date, Haibara.”

“I know, but you’re acting like it is.”

Nanami nodded in agreement, and Haibara clapped his hands together.

“I have cancelled all meeting that require you to be there, and will have your secretary fill in for the ones that don’t. We have all day to get you ready for your date, alright?”

“Ok.” Nanami replied. Nanami felt silly sitting in the chair and listening to his younger friend teach him how to act right on a date. Nanami usually lets the women talk since he usually doesn’t care too much about them. He usually just lets his colleagues recommend a woman and set up a date. Nanami regrets every single dollar he wasted on the money thirsty women. But he wants to try with you. He wants to talk to you and let you talk. He wants to actually get to know you, maybe even go on more dates and hang out.

“Ok, first step. Do NOT let them talk the whole time. Even if they ramble, try and have a mutual conversation. Sometimes when they ramble, they think it’s because you aren’t interested and they will want to make sure you're still intrested” Haibara took in a huge breath, “OR they are nervous.”

Nanami nodded.

“You just have to read their body language.”

“Well, how will I know if they are nervous or not?”

“You’ll know. If they look around when talking, when they cover their face when talking, when they hold their hands in their lap, if they look tense, come on, you know what nervous looks like.”

Nanami nodded again.

“Use your words, this is practice. Don’t just nod your head,” Haibara mocked him by aggressively nodding his head “say things like ‘I agree’ or ‘I’m listening’ or ask them about whatever they’re talking about so they know you’re listening.”

“Okay.”

“And don’t just say ‘okay’.” Haibara mocked again. “Try and be more creative! Let’s practice.”

Haibara sat down in his seat and tried his best to look more feminine.

“So yeah, me and my friends went mini golfing and I didn’t know what to do so I just sat and watched them play.”

Nanami sat there. What did Haibara want him to say? Haibara looked at him, waiting for a response.

“Oh, well that is very sad.” Nanami said unsure. Haibara sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Yep, might as well pay the bill and leave.” Nanami sat there dumbfounded. What was he supposed to say?

“What should I have said instead?”

“Nanami, I can’t tell you what to say, but that would have sent her home crying. You sounded like you didn’t care. You should say something along the lines of ‘did you ever end up knowing how to play mini golf?’ That will at least let her know you’re listening.” Haibara stood up and sighed.

“We have a lot of work to do.”

After many hours of preparing, Nanami’s watch chimed. It was 5:30 and he needed to head home and change.

“Thank you Haibara, this was very helpful.” Nanami shook his friends hand and headed towards the front of the office.

“Don’t try too hard! Just let it come out naturally!” Haibara cakes out to Nanami. Nanami smiled back at his friend and Haibara sighed.

“Please don’t screw this up.”

#nanami x you #jujutsu nanami #jjk nanami #nanami smut #nanami kento #nanami x reader #kento nanami #jjk kento #kento smut

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highvern · 2 months

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Espresso

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

Genre: smut

warnings: dom/sub dynamics (switches back and forth), public fondling/exhibitionism, dry humping, fingering, breath play, oral sex (all the kinds), swallowing, spitting, degradation (reader calls herself a slut, hoshi has a moral dilemma about it), spanking, vaginal sex, anal sex, unprotected sex, double penetration, sex toys (butt plug, dildo)

Length: ~8.3k

Note: a new chapter for my horangdan queen @horanghater hope you enjoy pookie. and thank you to @c-oupsie for beta reading!! now i must go repent for forty years.

series m.list: Houdini [s], Green Light [s, f], YUCK [f], Talk [a, f, s], Casual [a, s, f], Mine [f, s]

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Sweat beads at the small of your back under the high sun, the churning waves of the sea echoing in the distance. Your boyfriend is somewhere down in the shallows. He could only sit still on his towel for so long before wandering off to find shells. Last time you looked up from your chair he was chasing minnows across the tide pools.

“Excuse me,” a gruff voice breaks through the wind.

Your eyes land on a man about your age. Maybe older. His gaze prickles down your body, leering at the stretches of exposed skin. In Soonyoung words, you can wear whatever you want, he knows how to fight. You wish he was here now, not down by the water. Not with how creepy this dude is.

“Can I help you?” you ask, eyeing him over your sunglasses.

“I was wondering if you’re from around here?”

“Nope,” you dismiss.

“So you don’t know any good places to grab a drink later?”

“Not at all.”

“Listen, I was just—“

“Can I help you?” Soonyoung interrupts. He’s less than intimidating with the lines of a cheap snorkel etched into his cheeks and a bucket full of shells. But his cheery demeanor is replaced by protectiveness you’ve only witnessed on rare occasions.

“Hi, baby,” you coo.

“Hi,” Soonyoung greets, dropping a kiss to your forehead and staking claim the end of your chair for himself. “And you are?”

“Leaving,” you supply for the stranger before examining the contents of the bucket. “Ooo, this one’s pretty.”

Soonyoung watches the other man stalk away, refusing to look back at you until he’s long shrunk in the distance.

“No, I don’t know who he was.” You answer the question you know he’s dying to ask.

“I don’t care about him,” he lies. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you assure.

Soonyoung shows you all his goodies: plenty of shells, a sand dollar, some sea glass. The entire time his hand creeps up your thigh, the familiar feeling of skin on skin without the usual edge. He just likes touching you. Whenever you’re in arms reach he likes the comfort of making sure you’re real. An arm over your shoulder, his head in your lap, the one time you two argued and Soonyoung kept his foot touching yours because you insisted on sitting as far away from him as possible on the battered couch of your apartment.

“I think you’re getting a little crispy out there.” You trace the constellation of freckles dusting his shoulders from so much time in the sun, pink skin hot to the touch. “Hand me that sunscreen.”

You cover his upper body in a thick layer without much protest from Soonyoung. He happily continues presenting his haul, waiting for your oohs and ahhs before moving to the next piece as you tinkle your fingers across his collarbones.

“Can you help me too?”

He takes the tube without argument, covering his hands in white while you present your back.

Soonyoung smooths the cream over your shoulders, down the length of your spine to the flair of your hips — methodically massaging into your skin and working any knots he encounters along the way. No one is around for a good fifty yards and the shade of the umbrella obscures how your ass arches into his palms.

“Make sure you get it under my suit too, I heard you can burn through the fabric.”

“Oh?” He chokes. His fingers dip under the hem of your bottoms. There isn’t much skin covered by the tiny red bikini. If you had it your way you’d be sunbathing naked with no one but your boyfriend to see. But public nudity isn’t welcomed on a beach no matter how deserted it appears. You’ll have to settle for doing so back at the house you two rented for the weekend.

Need screams through his touch, rough hands squeezing your ass, fingers spreading your cheeks apart not so subtly. He can’t see anything but his thumbs creep beneath the hem and that’s more than enough for a spiral. The inside of your thighs receive the same treatment, Soonyoung pushing and pulling suggestively while you hum content.

He straddles the back of your thighs. The thin strings of your top are no match for his dedication, pulling taunt as he reaches to work a fresh handful of sunscreen into your sides, fingertips ghosting the sides of your breasts.

“Soonyoung,” you sigh. You arch your ass again, pleased to find the weight of his cock eagerly greeting you through his shorts.

“We can’t,” he gasps.

You knew he’d say that. But no one is around. No one would see. If he pushed his shorts down and your bottoms to the side it wouldn’t look any different than what you’re doing now. You two could be quick and pretend it never happened except for the stickiness of his cum staining your bathing suit.

But Soonyoung isn’t the exhibitionist. You are.

“Please,” you beg.

It won’t get you much but your boyfriend can’t resist the temptation when you’re pliant under his hands. Soonyoung pulls at your hips until your back meets the plastic of the chair. The pink of his chest has nothing to do with the sun over head and everything to do with the way your top has twisted around your breasts, barely covering what it’s meant to. Which isn’t much at all. Taut nipples peeking around the edge of the fabric teasing him to dip down and taste.

“Fuck.”

Under the guise of covering you in sunblock, he squirts some across your stomach. It resembles something far less appropriate for current circumstances, especially with how he kneels between your splayed legs, both of your chests heaving. The greasy glide of lotion carries his hands straight to your chest. Your top is pushed up and out of the way, fingertips cruelly teasing your breasts.

The umbrella is perfect cover, and even if it wasn’t the only other person you’d seen all afternoon deserved to see how shameless you are for Soonyoung. How eager he is for you. The way neither of you can think of anyone else outside this moment with the band of his swim trunks stretching under your wandering hands and his teeth bruised lips.

Someone has to call chicken first. You won’t because you love the attention and your boyfriend won’t because he loves giving it to you. But you have to. Because Soonyoung would never live down the embarrassment of actually fucking you in the open if you were caught. You’d never stand a chance at talking him into doing it again, even if in a more secluded place where the chances of being seen really are zero. So you pull away first. Hands returning to your sides, propping yourself up to plant a kiss on his heart.

“Go cool off,” you command. He pinches your nipples again for good measure; a rough tug you’d beg for in the privacy of his bed. But right now, you both need a breather. You swat his hands away, flopping back onto the chair and closing your eyes. “Go.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m pretty sure if I stand up I’ll pass out.”

“Well if you stay here someone is gonna catch us with your dick in my mouth so pick.” You run a hand back down his front to punctuate the threat.

The heat of his body disappears, Soonyoung up and sprinting towards the water without a second glance.

You right your swimsuit, not that there’s much modesty to be protected, and doze into a fitful nap. The ache in your gut lingers, mind plagued by images of your boyfriend, some real and some pure fantasy, fucking you on the beach chair. Waking you up with rough thrusts of his cock, a hand over your mouth the only thing to keep everyone from turning to watch. And even that’s not enough. You dream of a crowd, faceless people circled around where you two go at it. Soonyoung fucking you face down like you’re nothing more than a hole for him to dump his load into. Or you riding his cock until he cries from coming so many times but refusing to begin for mercy.

As the heat of the day crescendos so does the raging boil of want in your veins. It’s well past noon and the few people that were at the beach have long left by the time you open your eyes. Soonyoung is still in the water, floating through the waves. Each step down towards the sea foam threatens your resolve. You won’t fuck him. Not in the nasty ocean. Not on the public beach. But there’s still fun to be had.

Broad tanned shoulders and a mop of pale hair are the only things you can see above water. Hopefully something waits below to greet you.

“You’re gonna turn into a prune if you stay out here any longer,” you call while wading closer. The gentle laps of water cool against your blushing skin.

“Okay mom,” he jests. Soonyoung pulls you the last ways into his chest, bringing your legs around his waist and locking his arms around your own.

“I think we should head back soon. Maybe take a shower before dinner?”

“Maybe we can order in and hang out at the house,” he suggests, nosing along your jaw. His motivation is obvious; prodding against your thigh despite his attempt to seem subtle.

Your hand snakes beneath his shorts. This time you don’t care how conspicuous you are. There really is no one to see. Not this time. The water hides everything and Soonyoung’s back is to the beach.

“Maybe…”

“Babe,” he warns.

“Are you not feeling well, baby? Is that why you wanna stay at the house?”

“No.” He rasps. His hips curl into your loose grip, fucking your hand like he’d fuck your cunt given the chance. With limited room you'll make the most of it, nipping at his earlobe while your other hand tugs his hair.

“Then what is it? Too tired?”

“No.”

“Tell me what you want,” you demand with a squeeze.

“You.”

You gasp in mockery, “me?”

“Wanna fuck you. Wanna—shit—make you ride my cock.” He heaves through the request, images of you, head thrown back on that damn sun chair plaguing his brain.

“‘Make me’? You think you can make me do anything?”

“I—” he chokes.

You rub him with a firm hand. If the water wasn’t a factor, he’d have dropped you on your ass by now. Soonyoung can barely keep himself upright when you tease him like this, let alone balance for two. Fingers sinking lower, you don’t stop until his balls sit heavy in your palm.

“I ride your cock because I want to. Because it makes me feel good. You like making me feel good don’t you?”

Soonyoung squeezes your ass, dragging your cunt over his crotch with enough force to bruise. “Yeah.”

“So let’s go home and I’ll let you make me feel really good.”

“Okay,” he grunts, another tug of your palm shooting bolts up his spine.

You let him go without argument, a wicked smile plastered on your face. The swim to shore takes much longer than it should. All due to your boyfriend’s wandering hands beneath the waves, tugging your suit loose and grabbing whatever comes in reach: thighs, ass, your hands. Soonyoung can’t stop pulling you back for more kisses, teeth cutting into your jaw when you indulge him too much. His mouth tastes like the ocean but his hands slipping beneath your bottoms to massage your ass are too distracting to care.

Only when you get to the shallows, water barely skimming your knees and providing no more cover, does he relent.

But you don’t.

You turn around, pretending to invite him in for a hug with deceptive softness in your gaze.

“Hi,” you smile as he meets you halfway.

“Hi,” Soonyoung smiles back.

Gentle kisses lure him in, PG pecks across sunburned cheeks that’d make you sick to your stomach if it weren’t the kind of contact you’ve grown to enjoy. He’s sweet on you. Easily distracted by gooey eyes and bubbling giggles.

Which is why it’s too easy to push him back into the next wave.

The mop of drenched blonde hair pops up after a moment, gasping for breath as he stares up from the surf with disbelief. There’s no reason for him to be surprised. You did the exact same thing yesterday.

Laughter chokes your gasping breaths; eyes watering at the incredulous expression twisting his features. You’re too distracted by your own glee that when Soonyoung jumps in pursuit, you barely manage two steps before ending up flung over his shoulder for revenge.

“Put me down!” you scream. Your fists beat against his backside to no avail.

“Awww baby,” he pouts. The surf sloshes around his legs as he carries you deeper. “but I wanted to swim with you.”

You swat at his ass. “Soonyoung I swear to god!”

“Can’t hear you!”

“Please!”

“What was that?” he calls.

“Don’t do this,” you beg. He fakes like he’s tossing you into the next wave but you cling tighter. “Asshole!”

“Ask me nicely.”

“Soonyoung, will you please put me down.”

“Fine, but only because you’re pretty.”

You slide down the front of his body, chests pressed flat and trembling from laughter. The rest of the way to shore is on jelly legs. Soonyoung follows, unperturbed by the tent in his bottoms now that the beach is clear.

Damn that bikini. He thinks. And damn the three others you’ve donned this week that show more skin than the last. It’s almost worse than if you decided to prance around naked the entire weekend. The tease of what little skin no one else is supposed to see. Not even the sun. But he gets to. He gets to peel off the itty bitty pieces of fabric and look as much as he wants – touch as much as he wants.

You’re a tease through and through; bending over to riffle through your bag, bottoms riding up. It does nothing to help his straining cock. If anything it makes it worse. Spine arched, ass perfectly positioned for him to reach over and make free. He’s got all the permission in the world but he still hesitates even though you’re begging him to do it. You look back over your shoulder, bending deeper after catching his gaze, hips wiggling suggestively back and forth.

He wants to. God, does Soonyoung want to pull the shameful excuse for bikini bottoms aside and take up the offer. Sink as deep as he can and fuck you until you’re shaking. But you’re loud and he’s louder and once you two start it’ll take a miracle to stop.

So when he stands behind you, cock heavy between your cheeks, he responds to your grind backwards with a harsh grip around the back of your neck.

You inhale sharply, surprised by the sudden show of force. “Soonyoung?”

He steps closer, free hand pulling at the fabric covering your ass until his cock slips beneath. His own bottoms cover him but one less layer is better. “Behave.”

Breath hitching, your eyes slip shut. “If I don’t?”

He doesn’t have a leg to stand on. You can’t keep your hands to yourself any better than he can. Two pathetic needy messes perfectly matched. His hand slips around the front of your throat. There’s no heavy grip, just the weight, the promise of something. The potential resting in his fingertips.

“You don’t wanna find out.” He’s bluffing. He must be. But if he’s not, if the threat is real, you’re in no position to argue. You packed lube and nothing else in terms of sexcapades. Nothing here to get off with besides your own hands if Soonyoung taps out. And he’s strong enough to pin you to the bed until you forfeit.

His chest scorches against your back, hand still cupping your throat. His other presses against your stomach, holding you in place for the thick grind of his cock.

“Oh,” you pant. The movement pulls your bottoms tighter, just enough friction against your core to make you crave more. You moan with forbidden pleasure of a public rendezvous out in the open.

“Fuck,” Soonyoung grunts.

Rather than give you more, he lets you go. Leaving gravity to do its damage as your knees buckle. You catch on the beach chair, narrowly avoiding a face full of sand. “What the fuck?”

“Sorry! Sorry, I’m sorry.” He joins you on the chair, rushing for a towel to cover his lap.

That’s when you spot what freaked him out: a pair of old timers up by the dunes. No shot they saw anything given their animated arguing, the crashing waves barely managing to muffle their shouts.

“Seriously?” you scoff.

“I’m not trying to get arrested!” he argues.

Sometimes you wonder if he knows how lucky he is that he’s cute.

“Whatever, c’mon.”

The beach has private showers. Little huts to rinse off sand and salt in privacy. You drag Soonyoung into one. He’s still paranoid someone might see but willing to ignore the consequences in favor of whatever inevitable torture awaits. Besides, couples shower together all the time; in the name of saving space and water. But when the door locks and no one is left but you and him, the outside world fades into nothing.

Your suit comes off first. Wet thuds against the floor leaving you naked for his gawking until his trunks join. Cock standing proud, Soonyoung joins you under the spray.

You tease him the same way he teased you on the sand. Lingering touches, obvious gropes; slithering your palm across his crotch and spitting on the leaking head staring up at you. The shower rinses away the evidence of the day as you work up a new mess.

“Oh god, yeah.” He’s limp under your ministrations.

“Feels good?” you goad. “All of this for me?”

“Uh huh.” His voice cracks.

You mouth at his neck, cocky from the way his hips cant into your fist. Crowding him into the wall is too easy when using his satisfaction as a distraction. A nipple comes in view and your latch on. Teeth and tongue and spit get him to the edge and you’re on your knees to catch it just in time.

More blushing that has nothing to do with the sun blooms on his front as he hisses, “Shit.”

His cock pulses between your lips and you take it all like a pro; nose to crotch with a wet choke Soonyoung will certainly think about later.

When he stops twitching long enough to drag you off, you surprise him with a mouthful of cum trickling back down his cock and a tight fist at the base.

“Ha—oh fuck, you can’t just—”

“Can’t what?” you ask before swallowing his dick again.

He grips the back of your head desperately, unsure if he wants to drag you off or force you down to take another load. It’s not fair. He’s only a man and the fact you’re pliant and eager from sucking his cock like you get off on it all the same might just kill him.

“Please,” Soonyoung begs. For what, who knows, but you drop to mouth at his balls, using his own perversion against him, and he’s coming in weak trickles down your knuckles.

“Good?” you smile, licking between your fingers.

He’s an absolute dream leant against the wall, cock soiled and chest heaving. “One day my dick is gonna fall off.”

“Drama queen,” you snort. “C’mon, let's go home.”

Drying off in comfortable silence, Soonyoung refuses to let you go long enough for a thorough job. He’s always cuddly after sex. Or before sex. And just in general. A long day in the hot sun and two orgasms make him cling like a second skin in the steamy bathroom.

He only lets you go to shimmy on your clothes for the drive home. But his usual gawking lingers with an edge as you adjust the straps on your shoulders.

“What?”

“Why are you wearing that?”

“Wearing what?” you ask, tone full of faux innocence. The white sundress had kept you from leaving the house this morning, Soonyoung planting you on the counter and ducking beneath the skirt just to press his face into the crotch of your bottoms like some pervert. Now, you wear nothing underneath, nipples showing through the sheer linen fabric.

“Babe…”

“Babe,” you mock.

“Let’s go home, you freak.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

The drive back is quiet. The roar of waves from the coast and a dull hum from the radio accompanying the comfortable silence. Soonyoung keeps his hand on your thigh, pushing your skirt high enough to tickle the skin of your knee beneath his fingers.

“Did you have fun today?”

“I always have fun with you,” you smile, leaning over to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Wait, pull over.”

“What? Why?”

“Because. Take this exit.”

He takes the next turn, following your vague directions with ease. There’s nothing more than a decrepit gas station as far as you can see but the billboard advertising the shop implied it’d be a little further down the road.

“Where am I going?” Soonyoung asks.

“Over there!”

You point at a lone store in a strip mall full of empty storefronts. Only one seems to bear any sign of life, a neon ‘OPEN’ that flickers rhythmically. Bad Kittyz.

Soonyoung pulls into an empty spot, mouth open in a mix of horror and shock “What the fuck?”

“You’ve never been to a sex store,” you say. You pull out all the stops, puppy dogs eyes and pouted lips. He won’t say no. But just in case.

“And now is the time you want to pop my cherry?”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun.” You hop out of his Jeep, beelining for the door with Soonyoung close behind. “Besides, maybe we’ll find something to play with later.”

The chime over the door announces your entrance. An older woman, verging on grandmother territory, leans against the counter. She nods a greeting and goes back to reading her book leaving you two to browse in silence.

“Holy fuck,” Soonyoung chokes. A massive four foot tall dildo is displayed at the end of the table, thick as one of his thighs. “Do people use that?”

Face twisting in horror, you move towards more manageable displays. “Maybe as a discussion piece.”

“Discussing what? Being ripped in half?”

“Stop staring at it.”

“I can’t,” he whispers.

The longer Soonyoung stands there looking at it the more you’re tempted to stare with him. This isn’t an art museum for you two to gawk at. God forbid the employee sees and asks if you have any questions about it.

Snagging his wrist, you pull Soonyoung away. “Let's look over here.”

A wall of toys, feathery wands, handcuffs, nipple clamps and more greet you in the backroom; a colorful array of options with a few catching your eye.

You snag a fluffy tiger patterned pair. “These look familiar.”

“Haha,” he says flatly but the burn tips of his ears give him away.

You take turns pointing out toys, some much too adventurous but others that pique your curiosity. An electric shock wand more than your monthly salary, a penis pump Soonyoung can’t seem to make direct eye contact with, cock rings made of glittery silicone, a butt plug that supposedly glows in the dark.

“‘2-In-1 Stroker Realistic Vagina & Ass’,” you read off the package of a fleshlight.

Soonyoung eyes it over your shoulder. “How do they make plastic feel like a vagina?”

“I don’t know. Wanna test and see if it’s like the real thing?” you jest.

“It seems like a waste of money since I can only vouch for one.”

“Well, what about this then?”

Snagging one of the less garish packages, you present the plain silicon plug. It’s not deathly intimidating, none of the fancy bells and whistles promising vibrating or a light show. Just an old fashioned, run of the mill, classic plug.

Soonyoung whips his head around like someone might hear you. As if it’s the most insane item in the store and the monstrous penis from before no longer exists. “Are you serious?”

You examine the package in your hands. Not too big, girthy enough your spark to take a challenge is fed but not so afraid it might rip you in half. You’ve always been curious about it. Played with yourself a few times but never with the same promise of satisfaction the idea of someone else doing it brings.

“Might be fun. I’ve thought about it,” you shrug.

“Really?”

Soonyoung’s gut tightens at the idea; flashes of you with your ass stuffed full, begging for more. Never in his life (except for a brief time in college when porn piqued his curiosity) did Soonyoung think he’d be into anal. It wasn’t his thing; for him or his partner.

But you challenged everything he thought before. Submitting to whatever your latest fantasy was, allowing the needy side of his psyche to flourish under your gentle command. He loved it. Loved everything you wrangled him into. Fucking you in someone else bed? Incredible. Taking your fingers in his ass while you gag in his cock? Nothing short of mind shattering. The time you made him cum so much he started shooting blanks? It’s enough to keep him up all night with nothing but your pictures and an aching wrist.

So fucking you on the beach chair had been an all too tempting edition to that list. But as much as he enjoys groping his girlfriend as the next guy, public indecency isn’t his kink. However, dumping his load in your ass is. Or it is now that you’ve brought it up. Just the suggestion of it is enough for his cock to twitch in interest.

In the car ride home, you both pretend to ignore the bag full of goodies at your feet; favoring watching the sun setting along the horizon, humming to the radio while Soonyoung tangles your fingers together over the center console.

You barely get the front door of the beach house open before Soonyoung is on you, crowding you against the wall with his mouth at your throat. The hem of your skirt edges up your legs until his hand strokes between your thighs.

It's a tiny place; barely ten steps to the bedroom from the entryway. But neither of you can manage that when the promise of something so filthy lingers in the air.

He kisses you with promise before falling to his knees. You wish he’d stayed, let you grind across his thigh while you suck the air from between his lips but this is better. A familiar chill slips down your spine as he eases the white fabric up and disappears beneath to search for the taste of your cunt.

There’s no sound beyond your quiet pants and your boyfriend’s moans. Devilish licks to your clit paired with nimble fingers make you twitch. Soonyoung likes it sloppy; adores pulling back just to admire the soaking mess coating your thighs before diving in. But all he has on his brain right now is returning the favor from before even if that means he’ll have to pin you to the wall so you don’t melt to the floor.

“Oh god, Soonyoung,” you sing, raising your hips and riding his fingers. “There.”

You want to pull his hair, to suck on his fingers like they’re his cock, to touch him; anywhere. Use anything you can to shatter the monopoly his mouth has on your senses. But he’s lost under your dress and you lack concentration to pull him out.

It doesn’t matter how much praise you lavish him with, Soonyoung is lost in his own spiral. The grip of your walls on his fingers, three now and soon to be a fourth because he’s predictable. Or maybe you are.

Your knees begin to buckle under the next harsh suck of his lips and without missing a beat your leg goes over his shoulder and you’re pinned to the wall.

“Soonyoung—fuck—please.” Your hands cup your breasts, pushing the smocked neckline down until the AC greets your burning skin. Insides clenching at the thrill, you sink lower until he catches the hint and fucks his fingers hard enough you hiccup with each thrust.

It feels like you're underwater. That spot that makes you glow becomes his plaything until the ceiling comes crashing down and you with it. You grit through the first shake before your vision blinks into darkness. “Baby, I’m—”

Soonyoung fucks you through it, unaffected by how tight you squeeze around the digits battering your insides. He pushes you back into the wall when you wobble on shaky legs and keeps going; suffocating himself with no concern.

You ride his face for a moment. The prolonged burn of a good orgasm hurting in the right ways as your clit goes raw and your walls swell. But if this continues you’ll be too tired for the main event.

Even with that knowledge you don’t protest as he rises to his feet, turns you around, and flips your dress back up to fuck you against the wall.

With eyes closed you feel, rather than see, Soonyoung peak over your shoulder; breath hot against your ear. He flattens his chest to your back, cock nudging at your entrance until the first inch sinks home without resistance.

“God,” you sigh. “More.”

He gives you just that. Careful to keep from crushing you under his weight, Soonyoung bends you at the waist, cock buried as deep as possible. “Like that?”

“Love it,” you warble.

His thumb is warm against your rim, a tease of what's to come. It’s nothing challenging but Soonyoung pinning your arms at the dip of your spine with his free hand makes it dirtier.

“Want me to fuck you here?”

“Please,” you beg.

“Please?”

“Give me your cock.”

“You have it.” His voice roughens, betrayed by his own need to please you. “Still need more? That desperate?”

“I swear to fucking god if you don’t—“

THWACK!

Your skin scorches in the shape of his hand. All you can do is choke on more noises of pleasure as he does it again.

“You’ll what?” Soonyoung bites. “Gonna fuck yourself?”

You can’t argue back, mouth stuff with his fingers as he starts fucking you deeply. It’s good. The embarrassed heat tinting your cheeks from his reprimands. Soonyoung likes to be rough but never like this. The shift in demeanor prickles along your spine.

“Gonna take my cum in your perfect little pussy.” He groans. “Gonna look so fucking hot dripping out of you. Fuck it into your ass.”

You whimper around his digits, sucking them deeper into your mouth until the weight disappears to give another wet prod against your asshole. “You’re so tight baby I don’t know if you’ll be able to take it.”

Head bobbing, you sigh at the stretch. “I can take it.”

A finger slips into your ass, spit and arousal easing the intrusion. You arch your back for more. Everything feels full. His cock deep battering your insides, his fingers wedge in your hole, the blanket of his body crushing you into the wall so much you can barely breathe.

He might be right. You might not be able to take anything remotely resembling the girth of his length. Not if you’re this strung out from some fingering and dirty words. “Wait.”

Soonyoung is off you like he’s burnt. “What's wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“No, baby,” you murmur, finding his face and kissing away the terrified frown. “I just thought it’d be more comfortable if we were in the bed.”

He slouches with relief. “Oh, okay. Yeah. Good idea.”

Soonyoung doesn’t let you walk. You’re over his shoulder fireman style, one of his hands tickling the back of your knee until he almost drops you as you squirm. “Soonyoung I swear to god!”

“Wait, are you ticklish here?” he asks coyly. He knows you’re ticklish there, ended up kicked in the head the first time he decided to take advantage of the information.

Squeals and laughter bounces off the walls as he races the short distance to the bedroom before tossing you on the mattress with a bounce. He drapes over you, sweet kisses on your cheeks and chins as he crowds you into the mattress.

“Go get a towel, I don’t think they’ll appreciate lube stains on the sheets.”

He disappears again – leaving a terrible coldness along your skin in the absence of his warmth. But his trip to the en suite gives you plenty of time to toss away your dress and to crawl to the head of the bed. Face down in the pillows, you arch your back for a view that might very well kill your boyfriend. Pussy soaked, entrance stretched and ready for use.

“Well, shit,” Soonyoung breathes. There's a thud and a few things skittering across the floor; not loud enough to be his head bouncing off the hardwood but whatever he was holding is forgotten in favor of ogling.

You sink deep enough it hurts. “Like what you see?”

“You know I do.”

“Then do something about it.”

He crawls up the bed, kneeling behind you and massaging your ass in his hands. The tickle in your gut flourishes as he spreads your ass apart. Two fingers curl into your cunt with ease while his mouth finds other use – sucking a bruise along the back of your thigh he’ll obsessively trace later.

Muscles pliant, you liquify into the mattress under the gentle stretch of your core. His fingers return to their previous task; a feather weight you quickly become accustomed to before they slide in and you rut back into the motion. “That’s—that's good.”

You force a hand between your legs, mindlessly rubbing slow circles around your clit. Soonyoung bats it away and takes command; a little firmer, enough it makes things fade into haze.

“Wow, multitasking,” you praise, fisting the sheets.

“Trying to give my queen the full experience.”

Even with both holes full of his fingers, you can’t help but snort. “You’re lame.”

“You’re about to let me put my dick in your ass.” He presses deeper to emphasize the point.

Familiar motions, a curl here, spreading the two apart enough you moan. “So?

“Can’t be that lame.”

“It’s—ah—cute lameness. My little loser.”

“What did we say about being mean to me in bed?” he tuts.

“That I should only do it if I want you to come fast.”

“That’s right, so save it for later.”

His tongue joins his fingers, a firm heat spreading between your cheeks. Soonyoung is good at making it messy. You jump with stiff legs as his tongue breaches your hole; there and gone before he’s laving long strokes; a drooly mess left in wake of exploration. “What's it feel like?”

“You’d know.”

“Humor me a little.” Soonyoung leans back enough to spit where his fingers disappear – the smack of his lips leaving you flustered. He eats ass just as well as he eats pussy: devoted and eager.

You curl into the stimulation. “L-like I’ve got fingers in my ass.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“It’s fine.”

“Just fine?”

“I don’t think I’ll come from it, but it's not bad.” Lies. If he keeps going you’ll definitely come. If Soonyoung hands you the vibrator sitting just out of reach it’ll happen faster than your ego would allow.

“Relax,” he commands. Soonyoung pushes until you’re flat to the mattress with nowhere to move besides back into filthy satisfaction.

“I am relaxed.”

“You’re not. I’m not doing this if it’s gonna hurt you.” He moves away, an uncharacteristic show of restraint triggering a tantrum of your own.

“Wait, don’t stop!”

The heady pressure multiples ten fold as he drags everything out; his mouth, his fingers, the tight grip on your cheeks to keep the spread for convenience. You crave the sting of his hand again but are left with the grit of his teeth against the shape of your thigh as a generous amount of lube joins the mix; cold and slippery.

“Still good?”

“Great,” you breathe. A third finger joins and it might just be your demise. You might give Soonyoung a run for his money for the most needy; you, begging him to fuck your ass harder. Or him, rock solid and humping the bed for a drop of relief. “Where’s the plug?”

“Are you ready for it?” He strokes the dimple at the base of your spine in slow circles. Honestly, this could be enough. At least for Soonyoung. Since you started this entire endeavor he’s been a quick gust of wind away from blowing his load.

“Go slow.”

A new pressure, not as warm as before but equally intoxicating, rests against your hole. More lube, enough the towel between your legs gets soaked in its own right. You take it though. An easy stretch until the silicon disappears and a foreign fullness makes your tongue feel thick.

You squeeze around it instinctually. Soonyoung keeps your ass spread like a voyeur, both holes teasing him. Your fingers don’t stop on your clit. He could watch you get off with a full ass and an empty pussy and die happy.

“Fuck,” he chokes, pulling the plug out just a fraction before you suck it back in greedily. “What now?”

“Now you fuck me.”

You flop onto your back without much grace, too focused on the intoxicating promise of having your boyfriend’s cock to care about looking sexy. Soonyoung kneels between your thighs – swollen length sitting heavy in his lap, tempting you to lap away the mess if there weren’t better things to do.

He doesn’t waste time. Your clit takes the head of his cock full on, muscles twitching. You go limp and cross eyed – you could lay here all night letting him play with your body as he pleased. But you want him inside you. Need the overwhelming rush you know Soonyoung can give you.

But he tries to kiss you with a mouth covered in lube and you stop him short. “Ew, I’m not kissing you.”

“Why?” he whines. His cock teases your entrance with a slow grind; just the tip.

“I don’t know, maybe the fact your tongue was in my ass less than five seconds ago? Go brush your teeth.”

“Really?”

“Hop to it butt boy.”

“You eat your girlfriend’s ass one time.” Soonyoung shakes his head but peels off you and jumps from the bed.

“I’ll return the favor, don’t worry!” you call.

The cover of running water from the sink disguises the sounds you digging through a suitcase. Tucked away is a tried and true favorite – a vibrating dildo from back home snuck along for the trip when the weather report forecasted rain the entire weekend and you were sure you’d need something to keep you both occupied while kept indoors. Nothing but clear skies for miles made it slip from your mind but now you say a quick ‘thank you’ to yourself for having the forethought even if it’s not exactly what you intended.

“Getting started without me?” Soonyoung calls from the foot of the bed. He doesn’t do a thing to stop the show – entranced by your clit swelling beneath the vibrating head.

You spread your legs wider, knees to your chest. He can see everything: the plug splitting your ass, arousal dripping from your entrance. “Come over here and make me stop.”

“I remember – a few hours ago actually – you saying I ‘don’t make’ you do anything.”

He climbs over you, arms caging you in but just out of reach. You meet his gaze – surprised by the fire burning there. You want to see what will happen if it’s fed.

“Maybe I want you to.”

“Oh? And what do you want me to make you do?”

“Hmmmm, when we were on the couch I wanted you to call me a slut.”

“Really?”

“Makes me feel dirty.” You spread across the bed, ass curving into the mattress and shifting the plug deeper in your ass.

He sucks at your jaw as he sinks inside. “You like being dirty?”

“For you,” you gasp. “What about you? What do you want me to do to you?”

“Dreamed of you choking me,” Soonyoung admits with a fresh rush of his hips.

“That’s so hot,” you whine.

“Calling me a good boy.” He goes for your nipple, a tender suck you keen into.

The tidal wave of pleasure floods your brain. All you can do is lay there and take it while murmuring praises. “You are a good boy.”

“Yeah?”

“The best,” you tease.

Soonyoung rolls onto his back, you planted firmly in his lap as he goes for the plug. It’s difficult enough to sit still when you’re full of his cock, let alone the new addition. You sink deeper into it – knees bent and legs spread to take as much as possible. A stinging stretch in your insides that threatens to tear you in two. He twists the silicon and you collapse into his chest.

“Fuck, just like—nhhh.”

He plants his feet and keeps fucking you from below. The vibrator is stuck between your stomachs but you pull back enough and it’s there, almost painfully forced against your clit. You curl into the painful throb. “I’m—”

His hand is at your cheek, forcing you to look at him with lidded eyes. Soonyoung is beautiful but when he’s like this – skin flushed and eyes wild, the complete picture of debauchery – it’s devastating.

You kiss him. Tongue along his teeth and panting breath, a hand at his collar for balance as you focus on rutting back into the motion of his cock with a tight squeeze. Your throat raws with his name. “Soonyoung.”

Your chin is wet with drool, vision blurry as you collapse into his chest. Soonyoung slows but doesn’t stop, maintaining gentle strokes as condense back into reality; fingers tracing the notches of your spine.

“Holy shit.”

“You squirted,” he whispers awestruck.

You certainly did. Even through the slick of lube the mess is evident, soaking his own crotch and no doubt ruining the sheets.

“I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard,” you gasp.

Grabbing for his face, you kiss Soonyoung again with slow and lazy indulgence. The room warms or maybe it's just Soonyoung’s chest against yours but you crave more.

“You done?” Soonyoung grunts as you thumb one of his nipples.

You sit up, ass flat to his thighs and breasts pressed together between your arms. “Nope, still gotta take care of my man.”

“You don’t have to.” Soonyoung perks up with another lazy thrust. “I can do it like this.”

“You ate my ass. I’d feel like a hypocrite if I didn’t let you fuck it. Besides, I think I can come again.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

You roll off. There’s a pang in your gut at the sudden emptiness but it’s bearable with what will happen next.

Back on your knees, Soonyoung settles in tight behind you. He adds more lube while working out the plug. Gritting against the drag, you nearly rip the sheets under your nails. “Huh.”

Soonyoung fishes the vibrator from somewhere. “Okay?”

“Yeah.”

Your walls split around it while he plays with the plug, gently rocking back into the motions. You’ll definitely come again.

Batting his hand away, you fuck yourself with the dildo with command. “Spank me.”

Heat blooms in the same place he branded you before; right at the seat of your ass. “Like that?”

Soonyoung isn’t goading. He’s unsure. Rarely is he composed enough to call the shots, so you sink deeper and preen for him. “Harder.”

Another slap, sharp enough you lurch into the sheets. You nod because there are no words capable of slipping past your teeth other than a weak mewl of his name.

“Fuck, babe.”

You reach back, spreading your ass so he can focus on the task at hand. The plug disappears. In its place is the potent weight of his cock.

Soonyoung sinks deep, weight focused behind his hips. It feels…different. Not bad, not necessarily good either. It feels dirty. Like you shouldn’t be doing it but you are anyway. Good girls don’t do this. But you are. You’re letting your boyfriend use your ass as his personal cum dump. And because that's not enough, you squeeze around the dildo still sheathed inside you.

“Good?”

“Big,” you pant.

“Want me to stop?”

“No!” you argue.

Soonyoung maintains a tight grip on your hips to prevent you from overwhelming him. “Oh—okay, fuck, okay.”

“Does it feel good for you?”

“Yeah, tight.” He palms your ass, spreading you further to watch your walls open around him.

You focus on fucking yourself with the fake cock. Matching everyone of his timid thrusts with one of your own. “Tighter than my pussy?”

“I don’t know, maybe.” Soonyoung prattles without thought. He’s unraveling in the dangerous heat of your body.

“Which would you rather fuck?”

“I don’t know, they’re both—god—they’re both good.”

“Wish you could fuck both of them at the same time. Do you think that makes me a whore?”

“No,” he sobs. But a twinge in his core betrays his thoughts.

You’re being downright cruel with the imaginary. “No? You don’t think your girlfriend wanting you to fill her ass and pussy at the same time makes her a slut?”

“I don’t think you’re a slut!” Soonyoung argues. But that edge is still there, he’s taking the bait.

“But I wanna be your slut, baby.”

“Fuck.” Another barely restrained thrust you take with sick glee.

“Say it,” you bark. “Call me your greedy little cum slut.”

“I—”

“C’mon, baby. Watch your girlfriend take your cock like a whore.”

He shoves your face into the pillows – a tight fist in your hair that adds to the fog. A raspy ‘my slut’ slips down your spine as he drives into you with enough force you choke.

His cock swells, the beginning of his end as he wrecks your insides with bruising force. You push forward for your own; abandoning the vibrator and swiping frantic circles around your clit. Soonyoung doesn’t say it again but its more than enough to fuel you and retaliate with more muffled groans to match his.

Soonyoung moves in deep waves; losing pace and rolling into the heat of your ass with choppy thrusts. You wish he was choking you. Maybe it’d be too much but next time you’ll ask him to do it. Or you’ll ride him with his cock seated deep and your hand serving as his new necklace.

“Gonna come. Gonna come for you—oh my god.”

You nod eagerly with an eye roll as if he can see the wreckage of your face. A familiar warmth you’ve experienced countless times in your pussy floods your ass, thick and sticky.

“Oh my god.” Soonyoung drops his weight, a perfect blanket against the AC of the bedroom now that the heat of having your guts battered has faded. “Jesus.”

“I was close,” you pout.

Squirming back in his grip, he’s still hard with a heavy throb. Soonyoung doesn’t disappoint. Weak thrusts maintain the fire stoked in your gut and a reach around to pinch at your clit keeps you right at the edge.

“Soonyoung, please.”

“Beg for it,” he pants.

“Please make me come,”

“My pretty little slut wants to come?”

Fuck.

“Ah-h. Yes! Fuck, yes.”

His other hand circles your neck, enough force you press into your hands and break your back in half just for a peak of him. The second you're done he’ll pass out – his eyes are wet, chin covered in drool. Soonyoung will go all night for you, for this.

A thumb splits your lips open, you think it’s a ploy for power. Something the grip at your throat gives him plenty of but he leans over and he spits in your mouth. “Then come.”

“Ugh, fuck Soonyoung—fuck me harder.”

Your body jumps over the cliff with permission; seizing, claws of endorphins shredding through your veins as your boyfriend rises to the challenge. Every drop turns into a flood with hard pulses, Soonyoung choking behind you from sensitivity.

Twitching in his hold, he pulls out, careful with the vibrator as well. The second he’s done he flops face first next to you like a rag doll.

“I think I died.”

You respond with a kiss to his temple. “I guess we’re both ghosts.”

“Being a ghost wouldn’t be so bad with you. My ghost would have a crush on you.”

“I would hope so considering I’d still be your ghost girlfriend.”

“You’d date me as a ghost? Simp,” he snorts but curls you beneath his arm. A play straight from your own book.

How romantic.

After an hour of naked dozing across the bed, you two manage to shuffle to the bathroom and slip into the tub. Sitting between Soonyoung’s leg, you drift off as the water soothes the muscles already beginning to ache. Soonyoung doesn’t speak; preferring to drag his lips up and down the slope of your neck for comfort. Every time he stops you squeeze at his arm draped over your stomach until he smiles against your ear and starts again.

“So where are we sleeping tonight? Because I’ll be honest, the lube covered bed is not my top choice.”

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@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi

@writingbarnes @dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @idkjustlovingbts

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@lukeys-giggle @aaa-sia

series: @pinklemonadeflav @gyuwoosbabie @dinossaurz @vixensss

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ilylovelyz · 3 months

Text

⍣ ೋ distance

˚ · . giyuu tomioka x afab!reader

: ̗̀➛ cheating, semi-public sex, getting caught, breeding, impregnation, unprotected sex, squirting, biting, forbidden love, arranged marriage, sex in a church, jealous!giyuu, this is more angst than smut

make sure to keep my distance say i love you when you're not listening and how long 'til we call this love?

the melodic chimes of a church bell rings loudly, signifying the important event taking place in the spring evening.

families are gathered, sitting down, awaiting for the bride to be to walk down the awhile. they are joyous, so excited to unite both families, especially because allowing their son to marry their own daughter meant a trade of advantages in the future.

your father waits outside the doors that separate you and your groom, awaiting for his youngest daughter to wrap her arm around his, to walk her down the aisle and give her away.

only, he stands alone.

your father awaits anxiously, occasionally glancing at his pocket watch, waiting for your arrival. minutes go by, and you don't show up. it has become clear that you are late, lightly irritating your groom.

an hour passes, and the guests begin looking for you around the church. they know you're there, after all, they did see you arrive. they all look around, wondering where the bride to be is.

but do they really want to know?

hypothetically, what if they see the dolled up bride to be getting fucked mercilessly in her pretty little expensive silk kimono by her ex-boyfriend? that will surely bring shame upon the entire family, ruin any ties they had to any potential wealth that the bride was supposed to be marrying into.

hypothetically.

it will remain a hypothetical scenario as long as you and giyuu aren't caught in such a scandalous position. the position? oh well, giyuu just seems to have your expensive silk kimono rolled up to expose the flesh of your ass, your chest flush with the harsh walls of the bathroom church as he rams his cock in and out of your poor pussy.

giyuu curses under his breath, his hand covering your mouth to prevent your shamefull moans being heard by any potential passerbys.

this is so taboo. this shouldn't even be happening, you should be walking up that aisle, marrying the man everyone thinks you should be marrying. but you aren't. instead you're getting your pussy fucked like some cheap prostitute in a church bathroom by your ex-boyfriend, whom you begged to even attend the wedding in the first place.

maybe that's why you begged him so much to come to your wedding. to fuck you so good that it has you finally growing a spine and rejecting tradition, rejecting your family from basically giving you away just for more wealth like some greedy pigs.

this is so uncharacteristic of giyuu to do in the first place. he likes to think of himself to have morals, to know better than to fuck a soon-to-be-bride. a bride who is already promised to someone else.

and yet, he still came to the wedding. he doesn't even know why. maybe for closure. maybe to be able to see you in a beautiful white silk kimono, hair braided up into a bun, just how he likes it. to see you walk down that aisle to your groom. or maybe it was because he wanted to be able to envision himself as the groom instead.

this is not right. but your family giving you away for their own lavish wants isn't right either. you were giyuu's in the first place, a happy and dedicated couple for nearly 5 years before your father decided giyuu was too low for you and shipped you off to marry another.

maybe this is right, maybe this is god's redirection to let you both know that the two of you are meant for each other.

giyuu bites onto the back of your nape, his free hand feeling up your breast underneath the layers of your kimono. it's hot. it's so hot. and yet, he can't stop—no, he won't stop.

his cock tip hits against your cervix, his nose inhaling your sweet scent. he's fucking you like an animal. like it's the last time he has with you. his touches are almost painful, his strong hands gripping wherever he can. giyuu sinks his teeth onto wherever he can, not caring if your soon-to-be husband sees them when the two of you have to consumate your marriage later tonight.

giyuu feels his jaw tightly clench at the thought, his hands forming a tight grip onto your hips, so tight it leaves red marks when he releases. consumating the marriage.

giyuu is clealry upset. pissed off even. he spent so much time with you, put in so much effort to even open himself up to you like you desperately wanted, and yet you're stolen away so easily, it's almost insulting.

oh. you feel so good around him. you've taken his sacred virginity a long time ago, and yet you still feel like a vice grip around his cock, no matter how many times he fucks you.

the two of you are startled when you hear a knock at the bathroom door. time is over.

but you both just cant stop. giyuu doesn't stop his hips from rutting into yours, and neither do you stop yourself from moaning like a whore.

this is shameful. this is taboo—and yet, giyuu finds himself on the brink of his orgasm.

"y/n," he calls out, too pussydrunk to care if the people on the other side of the door hear. "y/n, i-i'm about to–" he grunts out, leaning his head into the crook of your neck. you moan happily at his words, too fucked to give a damn about the consequences.

"give me yourrr cum giyuu" you slur out, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you ride out your nth orgasm. giyuu grunts lowly in response, laying a kiss down onto the back of your neck before he's wrapping a hand around your neck and forcing his hips all the way up towards your own until he fills his cock tip pushing against your cervix so tightly it has you screaming with pleasure, squirting on his cock so deliciously.

"f-fuhck!" he yells out before he shoots his fat load into your convulsing cunt, his seed filling up your womb to the brim. you squeal happily at the feeling of your womb being filled by the right person, by your one true love.

the two of you are too drunk on sex to even notice that your groom has already unlocked the bathroom door anyways.

please repost with tags and leave a like.

#demon slayer x reader fluff #demon slayer fluff #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer smut #demon slayer #giyuu tomioka #kny giyuu #demon slayer giyuu #giyuu x reader #giyuu smut #tomioka giyu x reader

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luvvixu · 9 months

Text

how to tame your boyfriend

content: bf!gojo, mentioned of sex and sexual stuffs, 16+, fluff, drabble, does not contain any smut, i think gojo's like this can't blame me

wanna know how to tame your annoying (and horny) boyfriend when your flight is delayed?

that's very easy. just buy him some lego and he would go on instant mute.

"i can't believe you really bought satoru—a full 27 years old ass man—a set of legos?" your friend from the other line, shoko, wheeze and at the same time confused for your action to tame your boyfriend.

sighing hardly while massaging your temple, you answered. "i had to, sho. he won't stop bothering me to have a quickie since our flight was delayed and he was bored."

your flight overseas was delayed for three hours because of some maintenance needed to be checked in the aircraft. now, satoru thought it is a good idea to spend those three hours having a passionate fornication.

of course you immediately dislike the idea even though you are tempted too. you value your morals, ethics, and dignity. unlike your boyfriend, he has no shame and would even proudly tell some random people that you are his by some marks solely created.

"could've played with his phone but seriously, why lego?" shoko was still laughing, now that you opened your camera and showed her your boyfriend who's literally sitting on the airport floor with bricks of lego on his hands.

satoru looked so focused and unbothered, which is an extremely good thing—like he couldn't stop whispers in your ears, whining about how needy he is right now and how badly he wanted you. but now he's occupied, it is the greatest relief for you.

"first, his phone is dead and was tempt to buy a new fucking phone just because he said charging using a power bank takes a lot of time. had to smack the shit outta him and force him to get out of the apple store."

yep, the idiot forgot to charge his phone before you left for the airport. now his phone is dead, the desire to buy a new one instead of waiting for his phone to be charged in a powerbank is crazy. although, money is not a problem for the head of the gojo clan—he got figures that cost more, more, more than your annual salary.

"second, lego made him focused and entertained on building it, not for having scandalous sex with me. i feel like he's being my child than being my boyfriend at this moment." you joked, lowering your voice so your big baby wouldn't hear you.

"you said it yourself that satoru is a full package." shoko rolled her eyes, but she's not wrong tho. satoru is everything, he could easily afford things and could even make some things impossible to possible.

"touché."

shoko let out a laugh. "anyway, gotta go now. got a client in an hour so bye my boo, mwa!" sending also a virtual flying kiss to your platonic friend, you both bid a farewell to with sweet smile on your faces.

as you ended the call, you turned your attention to your boyfriend who's now almost done on his lego that he's been occupying himself for like an hour now.

you made to take some photo of him and post it on your close friends in instagram because this scene of your boyfriend is literally a wholesome and definitely iconic. satoru glanced at you when he heard you giggle at some adorable shots of your boyfriend.

"what are you laughing at?" your boyfriend glanced up to you, confused and warily.

you shook your head, holding your laughter to not raise any suspicion. "nothing babe, just focus on fishing your lego instead of other things."

satoru showed you the figure "oh but i'm finished and we still have like an hour before our flight…" he paused. your mouth hangs wide, questioning about how the hell he builds almost five hundred tiny pieces in just an hour?! truly your boyfriend was really something but this is wild.

"how did you—"

"can we have a quickie now?" satoru smiles sheepishly.

your face turns more sour at his shameless request. although you understand that satoru is a man in need, but his neediness sometimes is really out of place and it took a lot of effort just to stop him from doing so.

"no, satoru. instead, we're going to have a quickie stop at the lego shop to buy you some more entertainment."

your boyfriend pouted at your answer like a hurdled puppy. "but i'm enjoying it more when i'm inside you."

that completely took you off guard.

"... tempting but no."

©luvvixu2023

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laaailuh · 1 year

Text

-TROPHY WIFE🏀

-pairing: basketball player!e42 miles x fem!black!reader

-genre: fluff

-summary: What it’s like to date Visions Academy’s most prominent basketball player.

a/n: After I wrote my fic “He's got a whole fan club” this came into mind. Like cmon, earth 42 miles would totally be a hooper. Also, this is my first time doing headcannons, kinda scared.

a/n 2: For the people who have requested, I haven’t forgotten about you.

MILES MORALES who asks you to braid his hair for him, the day before a game.

MILES MORALES who sneaks you into the locker room just to get some extra time with you.

"I'm going to get in trouble." "Ma chill, the boys aren't even here." "But-" "No buts, I wanna spend some time with my girl before I whoop some niggas asses on the court."

MILES MORALES who gets upset if he sees other guys/players approach you at his game.

“What did he say to you baby?” “He just wanted his water bottle that was beside me.” “Nah, he was tryin’ start something with you.”

MILES MORALES who will go all out and play more aggressively if he knows you'll be there.

MILES MORALES who lets you know if he's at practice so you don't think he's ignoring your texts and calls.

MILES MORALES who makes a shot and says “this one’s for my girl” which most of the time goes in. However, if he misses, his whole team will clown/tease him for it.

“How you gon’ airball in front of y/n man? Straight embarrassing.” “Nigga shut up, I had that on lock.” “Clearly you didn't.”

MILES MORALES who wears a bracelet with your initials on it when he plays, claims it gives him good luck.

MILES MORALES who barely uses his social media but when he does, it's only to post you and his basketball highlights.

MILES MORALES who will reassure you that he is fully and utterly committed to you if you start to feel jealous or annoyed at the amount of female attention he was getting.

“No te preocupes por ellos princesa (don't worry about them princess), you know I only want you.”

Being MILES MORALES girlfriend wasn't easy, a lot of the girls envied or despised you, wishing it was them in your place.

MILES MORALES is never afraid of showing affection towards you in front of a large crowd. This involves kissing, hugging, exchanging small glances and pointing at you when he makes a shot.

MILES MORALES who likes receiving massages to help him unwind and relax after an intense game. Nonetheless, it usually ends in a makeout session due to him not being able to resist you.

“I thought you wanted a massage.” “I did but it aint' enough.” “So what is?” “Kissing you mami.”

MILES MORALES can be a sore loser if he doesn't win a game. If his team gets defeated, he will most likely go see you straight after because you're the only person that can properly comfort him.

MILES MORALES who likes to take you to the basketball court late at night. Instead of a traditional dinner or movie date, you often find yourselves shooting hoops or playing one-on-one games together.

MILES MORALES who likes to talk/think about the future with you.

“When I make it pro, you don't gotta worry bout a thing anymore.” “What do you mean?” “I’m gonna take care of you baby. Anything you want, it's yours.”

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javiscigarette · 6 months

Text

Emergency Contact

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: Frankie gets in trouble and this is the last time you're helping him. At least that's what you tell yourself.

Warnings: angst, smut, post break up, mentions of drug/alchol use/abuse, military ptsd, frankie on a downward spiral and needs to get his shit together, emotional smut because I had to, fingering, oral (f receiving), creampie, frankie is literally this emoji -> 🥺 the whole time

w/c: 6.8K

a/n: part of @iamasaddie writing challenge 2.0!!! I picked puppy eyes brown and my genre was angst with the prompt: "Tell me how to fix this." And guys listen. I literally never write angst I’m such a softy but I tried my best with this okay! and I obviously had to include some smut I just couldn't resist hehehe. Also thank u to my baby love @undrthelights for finding theses pics and for everything else you do :) enjoy!

my masterlist

You should scream at him, yell at him. Tell him to get the fuck out, fight him tooth and nail to prevent him from worming his way back into your heart, to avoid anymore pain. But then he’s against you, his chest flush against your back, legs tangling together under the blankets. He slips an arm around your waist, the other underneath you, pulling you against him tighter as he nuzzles into your neck, burying his face into your hair and takes a deep breath. “Just one more night" he whispers. "Please. Just let me have one more night."

The vibrations of your phone buzzing on your nightstand pulls you from a deep slumber, your heart is already pounding at the sudden noise, the rest of your body slow and sluggish as you try to gain your bearings.

You paw for your phone, squinting at the brightness of the screen when you find it. A call from a number you don't recognize. You debate letting it go to voicemail but the area code is local and that makes you pick up, a raspy Hello? leaving your mouth as you roll over in bed, glancing at the clock.

2:13 am.

The sound of your name crackles down the line, the immediately recognizable voice causing your heart to plummet to your ass.

"Frankie?" You ask, sleep quickly leaving you as tension takes its place.

"...Yeah, sorry, I…I didn't know who else to call." His voice is frail and pinched.

You don't have to ask him what's wrong, your brain already piecing the puzzle together You've been in this exact position before. The anger is already starting to creep in, your brow furrowed and stomach twisting as a familiar rage blooms in your chest.

"You couldn't have called anyone else?"

You know the answer is no. The rest of the boys are on a mission, leaving him behind after he failed on his promise to stay clean for long enough to get cleared to go. And now, you’ve fallen victim to that decision too,being the only person left to call whenever he finds himself without a leg to stand on. Frankie in trouble, you bailing him out. Just like normal.

"I'm sorry I didn't want to bother you I just..." he takes a deep breath and sighs. "I'm at the station on Oak street. Can you maybe... pick me up?"

You close your eyes and take a moment to compose yourself and reign in the anger at the way he's gotten under your skin already.

"What did you do this time, Frankie?"

He's quiet for a second before he finally says, "DUI. And um, slightly resisting arrest? It’s uh, it’s my first one and I didn’t blow too high so they’re letting me go as long as I show up for court in a few days."

His voice is soft but you can hear him fighting back emotion, his voice cracking and straining under the pressure. the sound eliciting sympathy you desperately wish you didn't feel.

"Jesus, Frankie," you sigh, defeated already.

It shouldn't even faze you at this point. It should be expected given the path he's fallen down since his return home from their last mission 3 months ago. The Frankie you knew before he left had been a steady force. Protective, headstrong but soft in his demeanor, so sweet and full of love. The man now standing in his shoes still holds some traits of that Frankie, but they've all been scarred and tainted with his fall from grace.

Memories of the nights spent tucked in his bed, his arms around you, his hands buried in your hair come flooding back like they usually do. The sound of his laugh, the feel of the downy hairs on his forearm pressed against your skin and the steady thrum of his pulse under his jaw as you placed kisses against his neck. The words you would speak softly to one another in the early hours of the morning, secrets only shared with each other under the protection of black velvet night sky.

All of it traded for bitter resentment and anger towards a version of the man that was ripped away from you.

When he was gone, you’d sleep in his shirts and on his pillow, clinging to the faded scent of his cologne as your brain conjured up ghost touches from his fingertips. Dreaming of the day that he'd come home, how he might touch you, and kiss you, the taste of his lips and the feel of his skin on yours. A reunion so deeply desired that the day after he returned was a sharp double edged sword - a blessing, and a curse. The Frankie that walked back in your life was broken, smothered with the weight of the innocent lives on his hands.

Warmth and tenderness traded for stony silence. Nights now spent at the bar, warming himself up with vodka instead of your embrace. Fights ending in harsh words and raised voices as he stubbornly dug his heels in deep, too ashamed to admit he needed help. Staying out late with no warning and coming back at dawn smelling of smoke, weed, and liquor. You are always wondering where he went, who he was with, if he was safe, or if he’d found someone else to soothe the pain.

Then the coke. An old habit that was kicked to the curb in his earlier years now back with a vengeance. Your ultimatum quickly following.

This or you.

A choice you prayed he'd be strong enough to make, but was clearly not.

And now here you are. Two months since you walked away, trying to convince yourself it was for the best. The majority of the last two months of his life is a mystery to you, which you've accepted is probably for the better.

"I know," he finally replies. "I'm so sorry baby, you know I..."

You can almost hear the way his jaw snaps shut, three words catching on his tongue. You don't need to ask to know what the next words are. Tonight was not the first time he's tried to use them in a vain attempt to patch up a crack in the foundation of your crumbling relationship.

There’s nothing but silence on the line as a war wages within you. Part of you wants to believe that he’s the selfish, careless man that he’s recently proven himself to be. But your heart whispers in your ear a softer notion. He's scared. Fragile. Battered. Embarrassed. Alone.

With a heavy sigh, you run your hand down your face in a feeble attempt to wipe away some of the grogginess clinging to you.

"I'll be there in 20," you say.

There's a pause before he speaks, "Really?"

Always an air of disbelief.

"Yes. But this is the last time I'm doing this Frankie, I mean it,"

"I know, I... thank you."

You don't bother to reply, simply hanging up the phone as the heaviness of this final gesture sets in. The gravity of the situation, of the line you're about to cross, already threatening to consume you.

This will, without a shadow of a doubt, be the last time you show up to save Frankie’s ass.

At least that’s what you tell yourself. Just like you told yourself the last time this happened and the time before that. But this time will be different. You'll set new boundaries. That's it, just ride this storm one final time and be done.

You know it’s a lie, one you desperately want to believe it.

___

He’s standing outside the doors of the small station, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, wisps of smoke rising and dissipating in the still night air. He looks up as he hears the engine of your car approaching, the red glow of his cigarette temporarily highlighting the deep frown on his lips as he takes one last drag before he flicks the butt aside and heads your way.

The anxiety radiating off of him is tangible as he drops into the passenger's seat, gently shutting the door and peering at you with wide puppy dog eyes full of shame. You don't look at him, focusing on backing out of the parking spot before pulling onto the road.

He picks at the skin around his thumb and bounces his leg, his jaw tight. You wonder how long he’s been at the station. How long he’s been sober. You’re still not sure if he entirely is right now.

Most of the ride is silent save for the hum of your engine and the clicks of your turn signal. His eyes never leave you, he can feel him boring a hole in your profile, trying to catch your eye as you watch the road.

"What?" you finally snap.

"Nothing, just...I was wondering if I could stay with you tonight. I can sleep on the couch, I…I don’t really want to be alone right now" he speaks so softly it makes your stomach lurch.

"Absolutely not."

"Please? I'll leave early in the morning, by the time you wake up I'll be long gone."

The rage is back, glowing red hot in your chest, fingernails digging into the leather of the steering wheel, your knuckles white and tense. How fucking dare he ask.

"Absolutely. Fucking. Not," your grit your teeth with each word, biting off the end of the sentence with a sharp finality.

"Right. Okay."

Silence takes over once again, your heart slamming against your chest, heat crawling up your neck as your cheeks grow red and damp. No. No. Absolutely fucking not. Absolutely not.

Frankie leans his head back against the headrest and rolls it to the side to watch you again. You can feel the disappointment radiating off him, hear him sniffling, his eyes, big and glassy, pleading when you glance over at him.

It would be a lie to tell yourself that your “plan” isn't already halfway out the window as your jaw clenches and your gaze ping pongs between the road ahead and the man beside you. Deep in the darkness of your soul you know that with Frankie is where your comfort lies. It’s tucked in the space between his ribs, squished alongside his heart and lungs, running the length of his spine and settling between each vertebrae. You worry you may never be able to completely dislodge it, unsure if it would ever fit anywhere else in any other person.

Maybe it would be easier if Frankie didn't fill up the cracks in your heart with the fractured parts of his. If he didn't take up room in your brain that's not his to own, if he didn’t crawl under your skin and take root into your DNA. Now every cell in your body knows what it feels like to be next to him, now programmed to cry out for his presence when he isn’t near.

And it’s no different now. He’s here, looking so pathetic it’s almost laughable, staring at you with tears sliding down his cheeks that glisten in the glow of the headlights passing you by. Crying over something that’s entirely his fault. You should be the one crying right now. Not him.

So you do.

Hot angry tears spilling over your lash line. Though you can’t decide who you’re more upset with. The man who drank himself out of your life, or yourself for falling for him once again in spite of it all. Either way, it’s not enough to convince yourself to stay firm in your decision.

Fucking pathetic. Both of you.

“You’re out first thing in the morning and then I’m done Frankie. I fucking mean it this time, we can't keep doing this to each other."

“Okay. I promise baby, I will. First thing, I promise." He replies quietly.

Your hand flinches with the urge to reach over and slap him for calling you baby. But instead, you clench your jaw and you shake your head at him.

"Don’t call me that, Frankie."

He quickly nods his head in understanding, his eyes again facing forward as he wipes away the wetness from his cheeks, watching the road the rest of the way to your house.

—

Neither of you move once the car is parked in your driveway. The silence is heavy, cut only by the tick of the engine slowly cooling once you remove the keys from the ignition. You chance a look at him and find him picking at his thumb once more, his face red, his eyes soft and timid when they meet yours.

“Tell me what happened, Frankie?”

You ask even though you don’t really want to know.

Frankie sucks in a breath and scrubs a hand down his face.

"I got into a fight at the bar, got kicked out, made the dumb fucking decision to try and drive home and...now I'm here," he laughs mirthlessly as he waves his hands as a vague gesture to you, your house, his current situation. You can't tell if he's telling you the whole story, his answer simple and devoid of context. The context you’re sure wouldn't be good for you to know.

“You could’ve killed someone, Frankie. yourself included,” you say after a few beats, your voice comes out sharp, frustration bleeding in each syllable.

He slowly nods as huffs out a breath.

"I know... it was stupid, and I was an idiot I...shit I was really careless and not thinking straight I’m sorry. I'm really sorry I-"

"I mean seriously Frankie,” you snap, cutting him off. “Do you ever, I mean ever, think about anyone but yourself? Or has it genuinely never crossed your mind that your shit might possibly affect the people around you?"

Frankie opens his mouth, eyebrows furrowed as he's about to respond. You don’t give him a chance to.

"How many more times are you going to take advantage of me, make me look like a fucking dumbass always showing up to rescue you? Why am I always the one covering for you, taking your crap, cleaning up your messes, only to have you throw it right back in my fucking face, every single time!"

Your voice cracks at the end of your sentence, chest heaving with each word that flies from your mouth. Two months worth of bitterness bubbling up from deep down, spilling over and cascading down your face in the form of frustrated tears.

"When did you become so fucking selfish, Francisco?!"

Hearing his full name fall from your lips spurs Frankie on, the last of his shards of resolve flying away as his walls come down.

"I don't fucking know okay?! I don't fucking know!" You flinch at the rise in his voice and his tone stings. But it's how quickly he follows up with a softer, feeble excuse that adds fuel to the fire, "I'm doing the best I can."

That does it for you. Hot searing molten rage pulses under the skin of your face, the tips of your ears hot with blood.

"Doing the best you can? The best you fucking can, Frankie? Fucking bullshit! Getting into bar fights, spending all your money on booze and blow, losing your fucking pilot license because you were too coked up to see straight? Was losing your driver's license just putting your best foot forward? Throwing your whole life away just because you refuse to get clean? Is that really the best you can do?"

You pause and swallow, giving Frankie a second to take it all in, letting him process the onslaught of scalding truths you've thrown at him, before you quietly continue,

"I can't keep doing this, Frankie. I just can't."

He sniffs and shakes his head in what appears to be defeat, his gaze fixed on his hands folded in his lap.

“I know...fuck. I know I’ve fucked up alright? I know that. I just don't know how to fix this," he admits quietly, his wide eyes watching you helplessly. “Tell me how. Tell me how I can fix this. Please."

You bark out a laugh, sarcastic and cynical.

"Are you serious right now? What do you mean you don’t know what to do? How many times did I help you try to find a therapist, try to get you into a program? How many times did I suggest AA? Don't fucking tell me you don't know what to do because you do."

He nods, shifting around in the seat, sniffling yet again as he looks back at you. "Okay, okay. I get it, okay? But what can I do right now? To fix this at least for tonight?"

You sigh, deep and heavy, your entire body now just exhausted. You half wish he would put up more of a fight, call you a bitch, snap back at you for going off on him. Maybe it’d make it easier for you to let him go. But instead, he looks at you with desperate eyes and you can feel your resolve crumbling once again.

"Just forget it, Frankie.”

But he won’t give up that easily. The man is persistent, you’ll give him that.

"I'm serious. Tell me what I need to do right now to fix this. What can I do to show you how sorry I am?"

You stare back at him, jaw clenched, biting back the next words you were about to speak. They die on the edge of your tongue. You know the answer is.

Not a single damn thing.

"Look, I'll try harder, I fucking promise alright?” His tone becomes more frantic as your silence stretches on. “I’ll fucking try harder, please just...please," Frankie pleads, more tears welling in his eyes.

Your throat is tight, your head spinning and aching as your blood roars in your ears. He's already taken enough, stealing more would simply be the end of you. Giving in now would mean you've swallowed the bait, falling hook line and sinker into his trap, stepping back onto the slippery slope you've fought so hard to escape. And for what? More heartache, more bullshit excuses, more fighting, more pain?

But one glance into his wide-eyed, watery gaze and you know he's got you. Again. Faster than you can tell your mind no, your heart, foolish and hopeful, speaks for you instead.

"Lets just get some sleep, okay? It's late. We can...we can figure it out tomorrow."

"Thank you," he whispers immediately, relief coming off of him in waves. "I really mean it, I-thank you, I promise I’ll—“

“Can we not talk anymore Frankie? I just wanna go to sleep."

"Yeah. I'm sorry, let’s go."

There's nothing left to say, washing over the two of you as you make your way inside. You give him a towel and dig up some of his old clothes that live in the back of your closet from when he was here almost every night. You're back in bed before he’s done with his shower, tucked underneath the covers with your face pressed against your pillow, the silk fabric soaking up your tears of sadness and frustration.

The water shuts off and you can hear him getting settled in the living room. A pillow being fluffed, the creak of the couch when he sits.

And then soft footsteps on the hardwood 5 minutes later, padding their way into your room.

He doesn’t knock. He doesn’t bother speaking either. He just simply creaks open the door and walks over to the other side of the bed, peeling back the covers before slipping into bed beside you.

You should scream at him, yell at him. Tell him to get the fuck out, fight him tooth and nail to prevent him from worming his way back into your heart, to avoid anymore pain.

But then he’s against you, his chest flush against your back, legs tangling together under the blankets. He slips an arm around your waist, the other underneath you, pulling you against him tighter as he nuzzles into your neck, burying his face into your hair and takes a deep breath.

“Just one more night" he whispers. "Please. Just let me have one more night."

You don’t have any fight left in you. Because at the end of the day, a night spent wrapped up in his arms, inhaling his scent, touching his skin and his beating heart is worth a thousand fights. And a million shattered dreams.

You don’t answer him, but you don’t tell him to leave either. Instead, you block out any looming thoughts, the impending worry of where this could go, or how bad the damage will be. For now, you chose to focus on the rise and fall of Frankie's breath against your skin, the way you fit so perfectly into his arms.

One more night.

Frankie presses a kiss into the back of your neck, repeating his previous sentiment in a rough scratchy whisper, "Just one more."

And you listen to it resonate, bouncing around the walls in your head and tickling the space behind your eardrums.

Inhale

Exhale.

You should want to fight.

But instead, your body melts his, molding your bones and flesh against his, fitting into all the creases and gaps that have been carved out and reserved just for you.Trying to forget, to bury this pain as deep as possible,. Just for tonight.

He waits a few more minutes, waiting until your breathing levels out with his before he makes his next move. His fingers trace mindless patterns on the skin of your stomach, goosebumps erupting under his fingertips, rippling outwards like a rock being tossed in a pond. He leans in once more, slowly dragging his nose up the length of your neck and curling his lip to press another kiss behind your ear. Then another.

And then another, this time lingering as he sucks softly on your skin.

Inhale.

You close your eyes, hoping for anything but this, yet feeling the sting of arousal spark below your skin.

And exhale.

You’re better than this. You won’t stoop down to his level, you won’t let him chew you up and spit you out again.

But fuck, his lips are soft and warm, so is the breath as he exhales against your neck, lightly swiping his tongue and soothing the faint red mark he left behind with a small little hum.

“Frankie..." You warn, albeit much more breathless and weak than you would have liked.

“Tell me to stop and I will," he murmurs, his beard gently grazing your sensitive skin, causing your toes to curl.

You take another deep breath, but this one is shaky, as you can't help but tighten your grip around his hand, squeezing his fingers as you lean your neck to the side, exposing more of your soft skin to him.

Dead in his trap. Caught so fucking easily. Pathetic.

But if his teeth and lips and tongue and soft, gentle touches are how you go down, then so fucking be it.

He hums his appreciation against your skin, scraping his teeth down to your shoulder, latching his mouth on a spot and sucking harder. Strong, callused fingers continue exploring, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, waiting for you to give him permission.

He rolls his hips forward against your ass and you bite your lip to stifle the whimper at how hard he is against you, his soft grunts in your ear traveling straight between your legs and fanning the flames building.

Then suddenly, he's sliding his hand up your shirt, squeezing your waist and traipsing over your chest until he’s cradling the weight of your breast in his palm, his thumb slowly brushing over your peaked nipple, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to moan out loud.

A small gasp escapes you instead, your fingernails digging into the back of his hand.

"Frankie."

This time not a warning. It’s a plea. A desperate, burning want that you should be ashamed of.

He murmurs into the shell of your ear then, his tone is deep and scratchy.

“I miss you...I need you, baby. Just tell me to stop if you want. But I... fuck I miss you so much."

You don't tell him to stop.

You roll your hips back instinctively, a warm wave of arousal washing over you at the feeling Frankie's hardened length pressed firmly against your ass. He grunts in satisfaction as his palm slides from your chest and up your throat to your jaw. His grip is gentle as he turns your head to face him, his lips against yours without missing a beat.

It’s too easy to fall right back into him, back into the practiced, very well rehearsed routine. To let him glide his tongue along the seam of your lips and coax them open so he can lick into your mouth, getting the taste of his tongue stuck behind your teeth. Too easy to let him remind you just how easily you fit in the palm of his hand, how tightly you’re wound around his finger.

He kisses you fervently, desperately almost, lips and tongue moving against yours as though he’s trying to devour you whole, just like he used to. He’s been starving for too long.But right now, he's finally found nourishment, the feeling of your body under his hands and the taste of you on his tongue feeding his soul. Wanting more. Always more, entirely unable to help himself.

“Wanna make you feel good,” he murmurs, his mouth half a centimeter away from yours. “Let me make you feel good baby, please.”

As if you could say no.

As if you even wanted to.

He pushes his leg between yours, thick, firm muscle under warm skin pressing against your clothed core and you answer him with a roll of your hips, seeking out any sort of friction you can.

It takes less than half a second for him to have you flipped over on your back. When Frankie truly wants something, he does it quickly and efficiently.

He moves above you, licking and kissing a trail down your neck. He makes his way down your body, greedily nipping at the skin stretched over your collarbones. He swirls his tongue over each nipple, only moving on when he’s satisfied. He presses wet, open mouthed kisses to your ribs and your tummy just above your navel, his beard tickling skin, making it twitch under his mouth.

Your body is cooperating far more than it should, your hips lifting up instinctually when he hooks his fingers into the elastic of your panties, your thighs automatically parting further, and your hands migrating to his head. Your fingers tangle in his soft curl, your nails softly scratching his scalp just like you know he likes.

And when his tongue drags up your thigh you have to sink your teeth into your bottom lip to stop the reactive moan. But your back arches with pleasure anyway, the last bit of your resolve evaporating into thin air as you give into him freely.

His hands burn hot where they smooth over your skin, a comforting weight and a familiar drag of calloused palms fueling the fire and tightening the coil in your stomach.

“Missed you so much,” he whispers, his breath fanning over your pussy before you feel the first stroke of his flat tongue up through your center.

This time, you're not strong enough to hold back the breathless mewl that leaves your mouth. You immediately push down on his head while simultaneously canting your hips upward, needing more friction, dying for more of everything he's willing to offer. He slides his arms underneath you and hooks his hand over your hip bones, holding you down and keeping you in place as he tries to find salvation between your thighs.

Heavy breaths through his nose as he uses his mouth, lips and tongue working in tandem to take you apart. Lapping and sucking at your clit while his fingertips nudge at your entrance, dipping just enough to tease, waiting until he hears the high pitched whimpers that he's after.

And when you've reached that level of desperation he wants from you, whimpering and panting, he slowly dips a finger in.

He moans along with you as though he's the one experiencing the pleasure. He's always gotten off on this almost just as much as you. The warm, slick slide of his fingers in and out of you, how you gush on his tongue, your thighs trembling on either side of his head, the tingle of his scalp when you tug on his hair.

More addictive than any substance he's ever found solace in.

And against your better knowledge, you're more than happy to indulge him, let him chase the high you give him and let yourself drown in it as well.

Your back arches off the bed as he adds another finger, grunting into you and thrusting faster as you tighten and flutter around them. He finds the spot he's looking for with practiced ease, whimpering into you and groaning along with you as he drags his fingers back and forth along the spot that has you bucking your hips into his hand.

He knows how to get you there. Knows how to do it fast. And right now, that's what he wants. He's craved it too long, spent far too many nights with his hand wrapped around his leaking cock your name on the tip of his tongue as he fucked up into his own hand. He wants to hear you fall apart again, feel you coming on his tongue, your walls clenching as they try to suck his fingers in deeper. Wantsto know that he hasn't ruined absolutely everything between the two of you.

"Come on baby, lemme feel you,” he urges, voice deep and rough as he brings you to the edge. His mouth, licking and sucking at your clit, works in perfect rhythm with his fingers, sliding in and out, crooking them at the exact angle and speed he knows will get you there.

"Please, Frankie...need to– fuck, I'm..." Coherent words evade you as he works you towards your peak, your breath stuttering as you struggle to keep air in your lungs. Your grip tightens in his hair, tugging roughly in an effort to ground yourself as the wave of euphoria starts to crest, the undercurrent pulling you down.

Frankie growls in approval as you tighten around his fingers, all your muscles tensing as the sensation crashes into you. Your mind and body shut off and float into that sweet state of oblivion as Frankie's name falls from your lips, mixed in with a litany of profanity and slurs and choked back moans. He doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down until you're yanking on his hair hard enough for it to hurt, trying to wiggle away from his touch.

Frankie raises his head up and locks eyes with you, the tip of his nose, beard, and cheeks shiny with your arousal as he looks up at you through his dark, heavy lidded lashes.

"Want you so bad," he sighs, breathless and needy, crawling up your body and resting his weight on his elbows on either side of your head. He kisses you again, soft and sweet as if he has the right, tasting yourself on his tongue.

You whimper into the kiss and hook a leg over his hip to pull his hips towards you. His cock strains almost painfully in his boxers when he grinds it against you, your warm arousal dampening the front of the fabric.

"Gonna let me baby?" He rasps when he moves to your neck, his teeth scraping sensitive flesh.

You both already know he's won. You're not even putting up a fight at this point, any dignity you thought you had left totally abandoned the moment you picked up the phone. But he asks anyway, needing the verbal affirmation, needing the confirmation that you want him as badly as he needs you.

And you can't lie.You're both equally weak and vulnerable. Two pathetic, heartbroken creatures chasing a temporary relief. A small glimmer of something to make the pain more bearable, something to fill the hole for the briefest amount of time.

You both know. And neither of you care.

No response to his question. Instead, you push up the hem of his shirt up and he does the rest, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor before he hooks a thumb underneath the waistband of his boxers and tugs them down his hips and off his legs.

Your hand finds his cock and he hisses at the contact, his hips shuddering as he pushes forward into your grip. You swear he's thicker and longer than before, heavier and hotter where you hold him. Your thumb brushes over the tip, spreading the pearls of pre cum around, coating the rest of his length to ease your glide. Frankie's mouth finds your neck again, tongue and lips tasting and teasing, his shaky breath in your ear.

You try to push up onto your elbows in an effort to roll him over, wanting to take over. But a palm finds your chest, gently pushing you back down until your flat against the bed again.

"Wanna look at you," he says simply, as he pushes his length into the palm of your hand once more before sliding out.

He lets his length rest against your sensitive clit and gently rocks his hips, slicking himself with the mess between your legs, sighing whenever you gasp each time his tip nudges at your clit.

"Please..." you whisper, feeling pathetic and needy, but at this point too desperate to care.

And he’s equally impatient, not waiting another moment before lining himself up and slowly pushing in.

You tense at the initial intrusion, not having been with anyone in far too long and the feeling is almost overwhelming. You're trying to remember how to breathe again as you let your head fall to the side, trying to hide from his intense stare. But Frankie's there, using a gentle finger to tilt your face back up towards him as his hips moving at an agonizingly slow pace to let you adjust.

"That's it baby. Look at me."

And you do, the heat in your belly burning brighter with his eyes boring into yours as he witnesses your surrender to him. Your heart aches, still raw and tender and in pain from all the hurt that's transpired. But you ignore it and tell yourself the tears in your eyes aren't a result of a broken heart, but rather of how full you feel as Frankie's length finally bottoms out in you.

"Fuck..." You both curse under your breath as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust before he starts to move his hips. You cling to his broad shoulders as he pulls out of you, his eyes glued to where you’re joined, his thick cock slick and shiny with your arousal before he slides back in again with a quiet groan. He repeats the motions over and over watching as he pulls out almost completely before pushing back in, stuffing you to the hilt.

"Shit,” he hisses under his breath, his eyelashes fluttering when you clench in response. “You feel so good baby, fuck."

He buries his face into your neck, panting and pressing soft kisses as his pace starts to speed up. The soft grunts in your ear turn into more desperate moans when you lock your legs around his waist, pulling him, trying to get him even deeper than he already is.

Your fingernails dig into the skin of his shoulders, holding on for dear life, hoping that you’ll leave half crescent moon shapes embedded into his flesh. A painful reminder for the morning that you were here and this was real, despite the circumstances.

His hands slide under your ass, angling it upwards to let him hit just that little bit deeper inside, pushing the air from your lungs with each thrust. The muscles in his forearms flex and strain as he tries to hold back, always making sure you finish before he does.

And he doesn't have to wait much longer. Your orgasm is creeping up and taking over your body and Frankie can sense it. He knows exactly what to look for, knows all the signs.

One hand moves to reach between the two of you two fingertips pressed against your pulsing clit, drawing fast, tight circles just like you like it. Your grip on his shoulder tightens, your nails digging into the skin and dragging down his back as his thrusts become more erratic.

"Keep lookin' at me," he grunts and you struggle to keep your eyes open. They sting, the image of him above you starting to blur around the edges as he drives you closer and closer to your release.

"That's it, baby. Lemme see it, lemme see you come on my cock."

He doesn't have to tell you twice.

You come undone again just like that, dizziness spreading and heart hammering in your chest as you sob out, pleasure consuming you from within. He fucks you through it, not giving you a chance to catch your breath, as he curses and rambles in your ear about how he's missed this, how he's missed you.

You've barely started to come down when he grabs one of your legs behind your knee and pushes it into your chest, letting himself sink even deeper into you. The new angle has your head spinning, drowning in an unparalleled amount of pleasure. Your eyes flutter and roll back in your head as you whimper his name, fingers curling into the pillow above your head.

He doesn't last much longer, breathless moans and strangled whimpers into your neck as he gives you the last few sloppy thrusts. He's almost there, and when he tries to pull out, it's the way your leg tightens around his waste and your needy whine that sends him over the edge, groaning and cursing with his face in the crook of your neck as he spills himself into you.

His cock pulses inside you with every wave, his hips chasing his release, tiny jerks as he empties into you. He stills, his heavy breathing in your ear, his weight resting on you, heavy but grounding, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

Once the room stops spinning and the stars clear from behind your eyes, you drop your legs. With a shaky sigh, Frankie starts to pull out, both of you groaning in protest as he slips out.

His cum leaks out of you, quickly pooling between your thighs no matter how hard you squeeze your legs together. And when he catches sight of it, it makes your face burn. At the mere sight of his sticky, warm release spilling out of you, mixing with your own, Frankie swears he could go another round right then. Something about knowing he marked his territory, his claim on you established once again. He looks up at you, your eyes closed, forehead creased, and he has to dig his nails into his palm to keep from dragging his fingers through the cum leaking out of you and pushing it back in, keeping it where it should be.

But the weight of reality is starting to press on him once again, the fear and shame from earlier taking root again and tugging at his stomach and pulling him out of the euphoria.

He kisses your hip bone once before making his way to the bathroom for a wet washcloth. The room is silent as he cleans you up, wiping gently between your legs, both of you keeping your eyes on anything except each other's.

When he's done, he stands and moves to gather his clothes off the floor, tugging his boxers back on before heading towards the door. But your shaky, watery voice breaks the silence and freezes him where he stands.

"You're leaving?" You ask, voice squeaking at the end as you pull the sheet up to cover yourself, as if it would protect your heart when he ultimately breaks it again.

He turns to look at you, his heart aching in his chest from the innocent way you're looking at him. The way your eyebrows draw together, and your lips pull into a frown, the way your lower lip trembles as your eyes fill with tears.

"Can I stay?"

His voice is quiet, fragile, as if speaking any louder would scare you off, would cause you to start yelling at him again until you ultimately kick him to the curb for good.

He stares at you through the darkness of the room as you chew on your lip and try to grapple with the split decision you’re facing.

The logical part of your brain is screaming at you to say no and end this right here and now. But that part of your brain is buried and silenced underneath the heaviness in your heart. That desperate need to hang onto whatever's left. You swallow the lump in your throat and give in.

"Please," you plead softly. "Don't...don't want to be alone anymore."

A rush of air leaves his lungs as the pressure is released from his chest as he climbs back into bed beside you. Your head finds his chest, curled into his side and letting his arms wrap around you. His embrace is familiar, comforting, your safe space.

You count the steady beats of his heart in your ear as his blunt fingernail scrape lightly up and down your back, knowing it always soothes you. No words are spoken but the air between the two of you is thick, full of the things you both want to say, but neither of you speak.

Sleep wraps its tendrils around you once again, exhaustion settling in your bones. You welcome it fully, even though you know when you wake up, you'll have to face the reality of the situation once again.

You can only hope that he'll still be here in the morning to face it with you.

For now, you let yourself drown in the warmth of his embrace, pushing away all the other things that are gnawing at you and letting yourself relax in the arms of the man who broke your heart.

Just one more night.

Thank you for reading!! :))

#writing challenge 2.0 #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #triple frontier #triple frontier smut #triple frontier fic #pedro pascal characters

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m4dm4yhem · 1 year

Text

(⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃ EARTH 42 MILES ROMANCE HCS

PAIRING: MILES G. MORALES X FEM READER

SUMMARY: RELATIONSHIP W/ MILES

INSPIRED BY: @cyb3rspyd3r

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

___________________________________________________

MILES MORALES WHO IS SO IN LOVE WITH YOU whenever you leave your phone with him when you leave the room, he’s going through.. in a way to make sure you’re behaving the way you promise him you are, to see what new numbers you have in your phone, to see if you talk about him with your friends, anything that shows him he isn’t wasting his time by being with you.. don’t mistake that for him not trusting you… he does, he’s just a nosy bastard.

MILES MORALES WHO IS SO IN LOVE WITH YOU his mood can be adjusted by the sheer sight of you, let’s say he’s mad about something.. maybe his counselor was feeding him bullshit about his future; that he needed to mention the fact he was struggling in order for colleges to give him any kind of time of day… that pissed him off, because who are you.. to tell him that he’s just a struggling poor kid but the second he laid his eyes on you.. he was smiling again, and forgot why he was mad in the first place

“ whatchu smilin’ all hard for?”

“ nothin… I just.. like being around you, mama.”

MILES MORALES WHO IS SO IN LOVE WITH YOU the littlest things will remind him of you, miles morales.. who is so in love with you.. that he once gave you a rock he found on the ground because it had a smooth front, and he remembered the time your arms were smooth after shaving.. that he couldn’t stop touching them, even when you wore long sleeves; he’d just sneak two fingers into your sleeve and run them down your arm.. it would usually be a surprise too..

“ eek- what! miles?! can you get your cold ass fingers off me.. please..”

“ mami.. c’mon, you feel so good though.. like a countertop or sum.”

“ boy… you stupid if that’s the only thing you can compare it too..”

“ stupidly in love with you.. that’s the only thing I’m stupid in.. don’t play with me before I fuck you up.”

“ nigga.. miles shut the fuck up, you ain’t touching me niggatron..”

“ …”

“ yeah exactly..”

“ oh, no.. trust.. I will take care of that attitude.. but what the fuck is a niggatron..?”

MILES MORALES WHO IS SO IN LOVE WITH YOU that he takes pride in being your ‘ mini me’ every single saying that you have said around him; he’s said it around his friends, his uncle, everyone.. it just slips out, like one time he accidentally said one thing you say quite often around his uncle, after his uncle

“ girl..you did not eat that.. you thought you did, but I still see the lil ceasar’s hot and ready on the table.. why is that?”

“ nigga what?”

MILES MORALES WHO IS SO IN LOVE WITH YOU he never says no to you, whatever you want.. he will get it.. if it’s within his budget.. he’s fifteen years old not a sugar daddy, as well as the fact his mother is struggling with the bills so most of his money goes towards her; but with the extra money she refuses to take from him.. you’re spoiled with it.. if he hears you need a new lip liner, he’s asking what color.. suggesting a reddish brown or a black, his favorite colors on you.. if you want a new stuffed animal he’s buying one from the nearest store, while he usually has to stretch his dollar, and most trips are made with him asking you which one you need more.. a teddy bear.. or chick fil a, and he gets whichever one you want more.

“ mama..”

“ you can’t rush perfection, miles! I’m thinking..”

“ girl.. perfection? I asked you if you wanted ice cream now or chipotle later..”

MILES MORALES WHO IS SO IN LOVE WITH YOU he tells everyone who will listen all the wonderful things about you.. and by wonderful I mean everything you did.. whenever his girlfriend is mentioned or the possibility of hanging out with someone who isn’t you.. he will start yapping about you

“ hey man.. you coming over to TJ’s? we gon be playing basketball.. and then going down to the mall.. “

“ nah man, my girl said she wanted to come over tonight.. meet my ma n shit..”

“ man.. didn’t you have your girl over last night too? “

“ yeah .. she comin to meet my mami tonight though.”

“ she couldn’t have met her last night?”

“ my ma be at work.. ion think she even remember me telling her about my girl, to be honest with you mane.”

MILES MORALES WHO IS SO IN LOVE WITH YOU he steals his uncle’s car to see you late at night, he knocks on your window at two in the morning, because his uncle is working… not a normal job but that job, so he drives over there.. illegally may I add; since he’s 15, he only has his learners. he does this just to lay in bed with you, to spoon you and tell you how much he loves you.. how much he lives for you

“ I love you.. so much, [name] you make my life.. so easy.. so tolerable.. I’m not as.. sad and depressed now that you’re with me, I love staying and being with you. you make my world brighter, you make my life better.. I love you, I can’t imagine a world with you.. cariño..”

MILES MORALES WHO IS SO IN LOVE WITH YOU he asked you to marry him one day, he had gave you a plastic ring he got from one of those coin machines when he was going to wash clothes with his mom; he had got a pretty one that had a plastic gem shaped into a heart.. he told you how much he valued you.. how much he cared, how he never wanted to lose you.. how he knew you two were only teenagers.. but he wanted to be with you forever nonetheless.

MILES MORALES WHO IS SO IN LOVE WITH YOU that he has your face plastered on every social media platform he has, your face is his profile picture on the very few he has. ( instagram, twitter, & tiktok.. he has snapchat too, where the main things he posts are just recycled videos he already sent you, and a private story with all the girls he knows has a crush on him added, and he just show cases your love)

MILES MORALES WHO IS SO IN LOVE WITH YOU after the first date, he walked into his room with a big grin on his face. you two had went to the aquarium, and he saw a shark plushie he wanted but didn’t have enough money for.. and you had bought it for him.. no hesitation.. he was so in love with you in that moment.. that he had named it after you.

“ I don’t give a fuck if this shark a boy.. his name gon be [name] today.”

overall.. he’s just so in love with you.. he’d do whatever it takes to make sure you know he loves you.

#miles morales x reader #miles morales #across the spider verse #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 prowler #earth 42 miles x black reader #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles morales x you #earth 42 miles morales x reader #e42 miles #earth 42 miles headcanons #earth 42 miles morales

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nozunhinged · 1 month

Text

Came to the tags to gush about fivelila just to learn that everybody hated them??? Woah man you know what, I hate it HERE.

That whole arc was the perfect cumulation of everything five went through in his miserable life!!! Boy was stuck in the apocalypse for 45 fucking years and literally bonded with a plastic doll to get through this. And he came back as a child, with the mind of a 60 year old, just to get to fix this mess all over again, again and again and it NEVER works.

He is fucking tired. He ONLY let Lila pull him into the timeline subway because time-traveling is the only solution he knows. The only thing he feels like he knows what he's doing. Bruh when he lost his powers he STILL went to the CIA to mess with the timeline-truthers five truly doesn't know anything else!!!

So of course after decades and decades and DECADES of trying to fix the unfixable, theres a person next to him he needs to take care of, not a doll, not a damn timeline and after what must be like EIGHTY DAMN YEARS, FIVE IS NOT ALLOWED TO FALTER??? Are you serious???? And while he's still being so FUCKING MATURE ABOUT IT????? You're meaning to tell me this is OOC when this man bonded with a piece of plastic. When he already had a connection with Lila through the "book club". When he's so at the end of his rope and there's this tiniest opportunity to rest for like, five fucking seconds. I know he tried to turn off the subway to stay in his little bubble (edit: I was wrong about that, read more here) but that's the most tearjerking part about it all!!! When he finds the book, he could've burned it, left it, hid it, still destroyed the subway line but he didn't. Because he's five.

And he's not allowed to act like a human for ONCE??!!

And still — he's tired, he doesn't want to go home, Lila brought him INSTANT COFFEE but he still, still tells her the truth because he's old and wise and knows it's not right but I repeat, after 80 years of hell this man is allowed to fucking FALTER!!!

Tell me what's ooc about it all. Explain it to me because I absolutely do not see it.

In the end, it's literally, li👏te👏ra👏lly thousands of versions of him ending up the same place because again, it's him. In every. Single. Timeline. Who tries to fix everything. And he doesn't even confess to her, he stays the damn grownup he is until the LAST SECOND OF HIS EXISTENCE and that is what makes the storyline with him and Lila so incredibly heartbreaking. It was his one, small, tiny, little moment of faltering. And he doesn't even get to have that.

Bro seriously this is pissing me off so much, the ONE time I venture into the tumblr tags for a mainstream series and I read the same bullshit like anywhere else. How the the storyline was shit because Lila was cheating, discussions about the real age of actors, how the writing was OOC, how it messed up the ending and all the other crap. Man get your heads out of your asses this is FICTION. Leave your damn morals at home we are talking about a show about wannabe heroes with whack powers and daddy issues who cause the apocalypse for an infinite amount of times but NOW you want to start talking morals??? Get out. What the hell.

It was such a beautiful, beautiful storyline and I wish we got more like Aidan said they filmed because my boy five deserved a fucking break for five minutes and now he doesn't even get it AFTER the show ended. Bruh.

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #five x lila #fivelila #five hargreeves #this may or may not have caught me in the wrong moment #but im still insanely mad #and i don't want to be rational i want to be mad

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11vr1 · 1 year

Text

Still Yours ⭒ Miles Morales

Part one: Been Away

Synopsis › You’re still his. You just need a little reminder.

Pairing › Earth-42! Miles Morales x Reader

Inspo › “Still Yours (feat. Big Sean)” - Bryson Tiller, Big Sean

Includes › ATSV SPOILERS, angst, fluff, swearing, Spanish, toxicity, going back to your ex, man has a staring problem, stalking, mentions of violence, manhandling i think?, kissing, terrible grammar, maybe some continuity errors (don’t think about it too hard)

P.S. › I had to write this part on my phone because my house has no wi-fi. Forgive me.

You were a vision as your head threw back in laughter at something your friend said. Absolute perfection in the way your uniform fits in all the right places and the gentle swoop of your edges framing your glowing skin in the harsh fluorescent lighting. It was aggravating. “When did she get that?” Miles’ rich eyes narrowed at you and your group of friends.

His best friend looked up from his phone in your direction. He didn’t need to ask who she was. “Get what?” he sighed, already sensing where this conversation was headed.

“Her lipgloss.” He tilted his head. “It’s Fenty.”

Ganke couldn’t remember when Miles became a makeup enthusiast, but he knew he was a Y/n expert. “And how do you know that?” he asked in disbelief. Their lunch periods had turned into a sort of Y/n watching session since your mysterious separation. He was over it and tired of watching his friend not-so-subtly stare at his not-ex-girlfriend. It was sad and getting a little creepy.

“It’s her favorite brand, but the shade’s darker. She’s never worn it before.” Miles’ food was left untouched, too preoccupied with the sight of you. You must’ve been doing this on purpose, he thought. Sitting directly in his eye line with your annoying ass group of friends. And Drew Harris, Brooklyn Vision’s resident dickhead jock, sat a little too close to you.

Ganke shrugged, turning back to his game. “I don’t know, man. It looks like the one she always wears.”

Miles tore his gaze away to face Ganke. His eyes hardened to an icy glare. “Why do you know what color she usually wears?”

“Chill, dude,” he rolled his eyes. “This break up is actually making you go insane.”

“We didn’t break up,” he snapped, but who was he fooling? Ganke was spot on. Miles was increasingly on edge, waiting. He’d texted and called multiple times since last weekend when finally spoke to you for the first time in weeks. But you didn’t respond or pick up. At this rate you were going to block him…again. Just when he thought everything was piecing itself back together, you slipped away out of his reach.

Ganke stood up with his trash. He had better things to do than watch his best friend run himself to the ground over a girl who obviously wanted nothing to do with him. “Broken up or taking a break, either way you’re miserable. You need to figure your shit out or move on before you burn a hole in the side of her head.”

Miles waved him off, not showing his words struck a chord. Moving on wasn’t an option. You were on his mind twenty four hours a day, seven days a week without fail. The thought of you waiting for him safe and sound kept him alive while he committed every crime in the book. Everything he did was for you, to keep you protected in this twisted city. Nothing was going to ruin his forever, not even you.

⋆

“Why not Drew?” Ellie suddenly asked while they walked the halls away from the cafeteria. You could tell she was enjoying having you back with their friends. “He’s all over you. You guys would be perfect,” she gushed, practically skipping across the tile.

You gave her a stern look, “Ellie.” You hated to burst her bubble, but she was too eager for you to be single. “I’m not interested in Drew Harris.”

“Okay, picky,” she hummed in thought for a moment. “Erik Falls? He’s on the basketball team and I heard he thinks you’re gorgeous,” she tried again. You stopped at Ellie’s locker. You weren’t going to ask where she heard such a rumor or why it seemed she had a mental list of the single male population.

You shook your head. A new relationship was the last thing on your mind. Miles was it for you, the one who made your heart sing, the man who made you believe you could be loved like in the stories. No one could compare, especially not a couple of immature jocks who would eventually become mere blimps in the timeline of your life. If only there wasn't a plot twist. “Despite what you think, I am more than happy being single. A new man is not on my list of priorities.”

“If you say so. You’ve just been so down since…” Ellie’s wide eyes briefly glanced over your shoulder. “I thought you and Miles weren’t together anymore?” her voice lowered to a sharp whisper.

Your response stalled, caught off guard by the question. Did Ellie know you and Miles had spoken? You didn’t want to imagine what kind of hell would be unleashed if she found out. “Of course not,” you forced a laugh. “Why?”

“Don’t look, but he’s at your locker!” she scowled, tossing her books back into her locker. “Don’t worry, girl. I got this.” Ellie pulled the earrings from her lobes along with her stack of bracelets, mumbling something about the “little creep.” She never hid her distaste for Miles, the two bumping heads more than once the duration of your relationship.

Against your better judgment, you looked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it. Miles Morales leaned against your locker like he owned it. With his shirt untucked and tie loosened, he never failed to make the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

You stopped her before she stalked off in a fury. “Hold on, let me talk to him. I’m sure it’s nothing.” You didn’t even sound convincing to yourself.

Ellie drummed her fingers, lips pursed as she looked between you and the boy over your shoulder, skepticism written all over her face. “Fine, go ahead, Y/n. But I swear if he tries anything, I’m coming for his ass,” she pointed, making sure to shoot him a steely glower.

“I’ll be alright,” you assured her, already walking away.

You finally approached Miles, rolling your eyes at the enigmatic smirk on his lips. “You ignoring me, ma?” He asked, his gaze never leaving your face as you fiddled with the combination on your locker. “I thought we was good.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you, Miles. I just…” you struggled to explain without sounding like you were in fact avoiding him. Did he really think cornering you in an alley would fix everything? “I still needed a bit of space.”

He was clearly unsatisfied, but held his tongue. Instead he nodded his head. “Let’s take a walk, princesa.”

“I can’t,” you stuttered out, unable to trust yourself around Miles. Ignoring his messages took everything in you, so used to spending hours of your day spamming him with the most trivial things when you weren’t together.

“Yes you can. You have a free period.” Of course he had your schedule memorized. Nothing could get past Miles. He entwined your fingers in his, enveloping you with the rough calluses of his palms and dragging you through the halls without care for the curious stares directed your way.

The usual commotion of the city hit your ears as Miles swung open the rooftop door. Fond memories of your favorite meet up spot came flooding back, the late nights Miles would help you study for a Spanish test or when he simply wanted to sit in silence and bask in your presence. You’d fallen in love here over and over again, the stars and city skyline your only witness.

Miles had yet to release you from his hold, savoring your touch after being starved for so long.

He wasn’t going to let you go, not when you were finally where you belonged. “We need to talk.”

“We’re talking now, aren’t we?” No one wanted to hear those dreaded four words.

Your attempt at humor was not appreciated. His grip squeezed your hands in a gentle, but firm warning. “I’m done playin’ your little games, mami. This back and forth shit ain’t gon’ work. I need you to be straight with me.”

The impending weight of the conversation began to settle on your shoulders. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Miles. That I’m totally fine with you being the Prowler and everything can go back to normal?” You avoided his gaze, choosing the cerulean sky knowing his gaze could pull whatever he wanted from you if you dared to stare too long. “You lied to me for the better part of our relationship. Where you go, what you’re doing, who you are and if you’re okay, like really okay. I can’t trust you!”

Too much had been broken for you to go back. And you tried! Lord knows you fucking tried. You hid your tears when Miles missed a date, coming up with some lame excuse. Or the days he’d return and couldn’t bear to look you in the eye. Your mind turned to the worst. Doubt festered where trust should have been. But you held on just as fast as Miles held onto you now.

Now you know the reality and it scared you more than any possibility you came up with.

Miles listened to the cracks in your pretty voice, seeing the damage he caused. He never hated himself more. Ripping out throats and cracking skulls he could stand, but the sight of those crystal tears nearly broke him. “Mi corazón...” A large pad tenderly wiped a droplet from the smoothness of your cheeks. “Lo siento.”

“Say what you have to say, Morales. You can’t keep wasting my time.” You forced yourselves apart to furiously rid the traitorous tears. He didn’t deserve them.

“‘A waste of time?’” he repeated incredulously. Miles grabbed your left wrist, tugging down the sleeves of your navy blazer to reveal the golden bracelet you wore and its various charms. The cursive “M” dangled in your face, mocking you and your devotion to him. “Is that what this is?” He fished the delicate chain from beneath his own uniform where he wore your name closest to his heart. “Are you done with me? Was all this pointless to you, Y/n?” he nearly shouted, doing his best to keep what little composure he had left.

The answer had never been more simple. “No, of course not,” you said. “I don’t regret loving you. I just can’t keep loving half of you when you already have all of me.”

Shock filled the silence between you. “You love me?”

“Yes, dumbass!” You pushed against his chest. He didn’t budge, too stunned to breathe properly. “I know you won’t say it back but I don’t care. You should already know.”

Miles cradled your head and leaned down, your noses touching, sharing the same air. “Say it again,” he ghosted your lips.

Your knees weakened, his heat creating a haze of solely him in your mind. You studied the gentle contours of his face, the fullness of his lips, the healed scar on the edge of his right brow, someone only as close as you could see. An inch was all you needed to think, but you were snatched back. “Miles,” you gasped in surprise, steadying yourself in his arms. Through layers of fabric, you felt the rapid rhythm of Miles' heart and you were positive he could feel yours.

“Dilo de nuevo,” he commanded, pressing your body against his in a vice and yet you were still too far. “Por favor, para mi.”

“I love you,” you began, but Miles cut you off as he eradicated the damned space between you. Your mouth parted, the taste of spice and uniquely him familiar, like loving Miles was a reflex you’d always succumb to.

You relented to your need to breathe, still cradling Miles’ face in your hands. “Te amo también, mi corazón.” You never thought he would return the words and you’ve never been happier to be wrong. “Let me do it right this time. Be mine again. No more secrets, no more lies. Prometo.”

One chance was all Miles needed to gain access to your heart. You should have kept his number blocked, called the police like you threatened to do, but his determination was endless. He wanted you and here you were in his embrace saying, “I’ll always be yours, Miles.” You reached on your toes to steal another kiss, consuming as much of him as you desired. The pink of his tongue peeked out as he licked the sticky glitter from his lips. You moved to wipe the remaining gloss about to apologize before he took your mouth again, his teeth teasing the delicate skin.

“It is new.”

#iivri writes ˚·⊹ ⟢˖∿#Spotify #marvel #spider man: across the spider verse #miles morales x you #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x reader #prowler miles #earth 42 miles morales x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman fluff #spiderman #fanfic #angst #fluff

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poppy-metal · 5 months

Note

miss poppy im sorry for flooding ur inbox but i have patrick with a corruption kink on the brain. patrick who finds it so cute that u’ve never smoked before, telling u to just take one hit of his cig and he can’t help but smile as u cough to the point of tears. patrick who offers to give u a massage but tells u to take ur top off and maybe ur bra too because “it’ll feel so much better for u this way”. patrick who invites u to his place to hang out and maybe get high and asks if u watch porn, and when u shake ur head and tell him not really, u can almost see the twinkle in his eye as he offers to show u the nasty shit he watches (he sees ur thighs clench together……..and tells u it’s okay if u like watching it….)

gujhhhhh

know he watches disgusting stuff like anal creampies and titfucking videos just vile gross sex but it makes your pussy clench when he has you on your tummy. neck pulled back with a fist in your hair making you watch the girl on the screen get her asshole obliterated in a lockerroom by a huge cock. you can't help the clench of your pussy around patricks dick pounding in and out of you at the sight even if its morally impermissible. and he feels it, feels the the tight little clutch of your hole on him and huffs as he comes down on your slick back, practically smothering you into his mattress with his weight.

"yeah, you like that shit? see how she takes it up her tight little ass. that's what I'm gonna do to you one of these days -" the hole in question, clenches around nothing at the promise, against your will, like its hungry for it. you feel the coarse hair covering his pelvis rub back and forth over the round curve of your ass as he rocks in and out of you. "- gonna open that hole of yours up on this dick. fuck it how i fuck this pussy."

"patrick -" you gasp, eyes fluttering at his crude words. the video in front of you. your eyes open again because you cant look away from the visual, the womans tightly furled hole becoming soft and gaping as the dick plunges in and out of it, a thick layer of cream outlining the rim. the wet smack of the mans balls reverberating off her pussy. you imagine your hole opening up like that for patrick, going from tight to loose, eating up his fat cock just like your cunt does. "- y-you cant- you cant - its too tight - i dont want it - pat- oh- ohhh-"

"then why can't you take your eyes off it, huh? quit sucking on my dick from watching some chicks ass get pounded and I'll stop."

you can't. you can't look away. can't stop your pussy from squeezing around him.

patricks groan of approval vibrates through your whole body as he presses you further into the bed. really start hammering his hips into your ass to plunder that pussy.

"that's what i fucking thought. gonna be my little anal princess - shit - aren't you? gonna let daddy have this ass."

his palm comes down hard on one of your bouncing cheeks as he says it, prompting you to squeal. the laptop playing the video falls off the bed but neither of you care, lost in it now. pretenses gone as you arch your back and fuck your pussy back onto his cock.

"yes! yes, daddy, s'yours - yes, yes, yes -"

"good girl."

#ask #well.#anyway #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x reader

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crxss01 · 1 year

Note

hi! im not sure if you’re taking requests, but if you are, could you maybe write something of miles being jealous of like someone you’re working on a project with or someone at your job? thank you!! <3. (I love you’re writing sm)

— Can’t Help Myself

pairing ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ 42!miles morales x reader, 1610!miles morales x reader.

summary ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ miles wasn't so fond of you having to do a project with a boy he knew so well.

warnings ✧˖ ° flash thompson, possessiveness, kisses, casually kissing while arguing, 42!miles threatening to beat up people, cursing.

m. list, main m. list.

translations ✧࿓☾ princesa: princess, bonito: handsome/pretty boy, mi amor: my love, bebé: baby, hermosa: gorgeous.

a/n . . ◟੭ hey, sweet anon! you didn't specify which miles so i did both, but please do specify in the future! and thank you for loving my writing, i hope you love this too ♡.

42!miles morales

"i'm telling you, princesa." miles said for the tenth time. "tell your teacher to change your partner, i don't want that lil boy around you."

"miles, flash is nice. drop it." you rolled your eyes.

"you're only saying that because you don't know what i know, mami." miles sounded frustrated now.

"how i'am supposed to know if you don't tell me?"

"just trust me on this one." miles shook his head, refusing to give you a reason.

"bonito, i'm not going to switch my project partner just because you're jealous of him." you took his cheeks in your hands, taking a sit on his lap. "you do know that i could be partnered with another boy, right?" you pecked his lips.

"it’s not about the fact he’s a boy, is about who he is and jealous? me?" miles scoffed then stole a kiss. "i'm not jealous of flash thompson's little white ass, have you seen him?"

you laughed. "don't be mean!" you playfully hit his shoulder. "and yes i have, which is more reason for you not to worry." another kiss was stolen from you.

then miles took your hips in his hands, "flash is going to try and get in your pants. i know him, princesa."

"you say that about every boy you see me with." you said incredulous.

"yes, but this is different. is flash we're talking about." he placed a frustrated kiss on your lips.

"yeah, yeah." you nodded, pulling away from him and standing up from his lap. "i'm going to the library now, bonito."

miles groaned. "can i at least come with you?"

"no. you will just sit there, glaring at him, the whole time which wouldn't allow me to concentrate, because i will be too busy thinking about the thousand ways i would beat your ass once we were out of the library." you said simply, with a small smile.

“come on, mami.” miles took your hand in his, playing with your fingers. “i won’t bother you, promise.”

you sighed, giving up too soon for your liking. “fine.”

you knew you shouldn’t have believed miles’s promise, you knew better than to think that he would keep it.

there he sat, in the chair next to you, glaring at flash thompson as the boy told you a lot of stuff about the subject of your project but he wasn’t making any sense at all so you just pretended to understand.

miles’s arm was around your waist, pulling you to him, his hand gripping your hip in a tight hold. it didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable. you kept tapping his hand, a silent message to let him know that he should control his face but either he didn’t get it or chose to ignore it. you could bet all your money which was the answer.

“look at this, y/n.” flash said, moving his chair closer to yours and leaning in which was unnecessary to show you something on his computer.

you knew the boy wasn’t dumb enough to not feel miles’s gaze on him but apparently he was dumb enough to not get the message behind the gaze.

“back the fuck up from my girl.” miles’s dark tone made flash visibly flinch, moving away from you immediately. “yeah, move fast before i beat your fucking ass.”

flash raised his hands in the air after a minute, letting out a nervous chuckle. “come on, my man. lighten up! i was just showing her something.”

“i ain’t your man,” miles stood up and made you stand up along with him with the arm around your waist. “we are leaving, ma.”

“but my project!” you protested.

“fuck that shit.” miles said, grabbing your bag and pulling you to the exit. “i’ll do your homework for that class when your grades drop.”

1610!miles morales

miles was pouting and looking at you with those beautiful baby deer eyes that made you melt for him. a couple of minutes had went by where he just kept that expression.

“what is it, mi amor?”

“why does it have to be him? why not me?” he covered his face with his arm, groaning into it.

“what are you talking about, miles?” you laughed. “i’m just doing a project with him, i’m still your girlfriend.”

he peeked at you through his arm. “really?”

“yeah,” you nodded.

“then tell the teacher to change your partner.”

“miles, be for real.” you shook your head. “flash is the last person i want as a partner, but you heard the teacher if i switch he takes 5 points off. it may be a little to you but that’s a lot to me.”

“i don’t like the way he looks at you, though.” he took his arm off his face, looking at you clearly now.

“and i don’t like the way some girls stare at you but we can’t all have what we want.” you shrugged.

“then i won’t go near them, you don’t go near him. everyone wins. everyone is happy.” miles clapped his hands, a winning smile on his face.

you laughed and placed a peck on his lips. “it’s not that easy, but we could try—”

“sweet! then let’s go, hermosa!” he started to stand up.

“after i’m done with this project.”

“but, bebé—”

flash sat back down at that moment, cutting miles off.

“sorry, the line for this was long.” he shook the shakes in his hands, before placing one in front of you. “hey, morales. when did you get here?”

“just now.” miles replied flatly.

“thanks, flash but i don’t want this.” you gave the shake back to him and pointed at the trash can where the one that miles had gotten you was empty in.

“oh…” the boy nodded, failing to hide the anger in his voice. “so… you two are together?” he pointed at you and miles.

he knew damn well the answer to that.

“yes, i was sure the whole school knew.” miles faked a frown. “weird.”

“well i didn’t, you must have not been obvious about it.” flash shrugged. “i thought you two were just friends.”

“now you know we are not.” you said to him, already feeling annoyance.

“since that’s the case, i’m sorry for hitting on your girl, dude.” he said to miles, acting as if that was necessary. “but she didn’t say anything, so i thought she was available.”

“we literally kiss in front of the whole school everyday,” you snapped. “there is no way you wouldn’t have known that we were dating.”

“and she shouldn’t have to tell you that she is dating someone for you to back off when she shows no interest in you.” miles said.

“now, can we get on with the project?” you raised an eyebrow.

flash pursed his lips and nodded.

taglist: @anikaluv @janaeby @queerponcho @laylasbunbunny @onginlove @all444miles @fiannee @sp1dercunt @milesandcorysupermacy @loonalockley @dxille @miguelslefteyebrow (if you asked to be added to the taglist and you’re not on here is because your @ didn’t appear!)

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ reblogs are really appreciated!

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loganswdc · 3 months

Text

david coulthard they could never make me like you . i swear to god this man finds every opportunity to hate on logan , even coming up with absolute bull claims just to humiliate him on live tv . like how this past weekend he showed a white car , claimed it to be logan's , and said he's still "making contact without even being on track" and then laughing about it . and guess what ? that car wasn't even logan's !! it was his teammate's , alex albon's car !!!!!!!

this guy genuinely seems to hold so much hatred in his heart for logan considering how often he says shit about him and it absolutely infuriates me . and the fact he went so far as to humiliate him on live tv by saying something like that with the car is so messed up in my eyes ? i swear he pulls what he says about logan out of his ass and it's getting on my nerves .

i know and understand that its commentators' job to , well , commentate -- but they often say things about some drivers that exerts such hatred towards them . and in my opinion , that is not a sign of good commentating: it shows lack of morals , insecurity , and indicates a person who is unable to come up with comments about an athlete that criticize them fairly yet kindly . david coulthard has not done any of the sort to logan . he has consistently showed him hate , saying he doesn't belong in f1 , humiliating him on live tv with clips like this , amongst other things .

as a commentator and former formula 1 driver with a lot of influence , he should use his experience and prominence in motorsport to provide logan with constructive criticism . he should give him advice about what he thinks logan could do to improve even if he's in a bad car rather than consistently spread hate and talk crap about him . david coulthard is meant to be a role model figure in motorsports . instead , he acts like a bully towards a driver who is clearly struggling and needs to be shown a helping , guiding hand to learn about what he can do to improve his odds .

it's frustrating how often people in positions of power and who are highly respected in motorsports because of their career use their popularity and position of power to spread hate . i understand , this is a sport ! there will always be individuals who are assholes towards athletes , whether they are former athletes themselves or people sitting behind a screen who have nothing better to do and are upset about the trajectory of their own lives . the difference here , however , is that people who sit behind the screen often do not hold much power , while someone like david coulthard has hundreds of thousands , if not millions , of people listening to what he says and agreeing with him .

the car parking debacle may not seem like a huge problem , but when it is used as ammunition by haters to be rude to logan because a respected individual in motorsports spat on him too , then it is a problem . hate in general is a problem . it may have seemed like a simple joke , something to laugh at and giggle about . when you take into consideration how logan has been treated since he joined f1 , though , it's not a funny thing . it's just sad .

and the thing is that even though we now know it wasn't logan's car , people will still use it to hate on him . they'll ignore that fact . they'll pretend like it's still his car that was parked that way and they'll continue to joke and laugh and taunt logan . because that's just how haters are . it's a "harmless joke" in the moment , but in the long run it can be insanely damaging in numerous ways . that goes not just for jokes about logan , but about all the drivers , about all motorsports athletes , and about all people .

here's a video confirming it was NOT logan's car that was parked in a way that it was hitting the pole !

via kym illman on youtube

#venus defends logan 𖦹*ੈ‧ 𓇼 ₊˚𓆝 #logan sargeant rants #logan sargeant #williams racing #formula one #formula 1 #f1 #logie bear #i swear i hate old f1 drivers hating on logan #like ik ur a commentator but is there not a way to do ur job without being a proper asshat ???#wishing that people were nicer to logan #and the fact the car wasn't even logan's but david automatically assumed it was .....#actually tearing my hair out i'm so pissed off #pitchforks at the ready #no but if u have nothing nice to say just don't say it tf ???#LIKE WHAT WAS THE NEED TO BRING UP THE DAMN CAR #AND IT WASN'T EVEN LOGAN'S !!!!!!!!!!!#sorry i'm fuming

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spideyhexx · 2 months

Text

12 am thoughts with kit;

nsfw; cw fem!reader, degradation, slight choking, mention of slapping

peacekeeper!coriolanus snow

Coryo told himself he would not find his way back to you. No matter how much he dreamed of your lips or your sweet moans, he had to focus on his duties, not his pleasures.

He lasts a week.

But it's not his fault. No, he blames you. Blames you for wearing that light yellow dress that makes your eyes pop. It's not a risque dress by any means, but that did not mean it didn't complimented your figure. Even worse, he thinks, is seeing how you lean into some bulky District boy with clothes Coriolanus would burn if he owned them.

It's as though you were trying to punish him. Show him how easily your feet can be swept by another guy. Coriolanus doesn't even touch his glass, too caught up in how the man's hand rests on your waist, how you occasionally pat your hand to the man's chest. You never mentioned a lover. Though he already knew morals were past you.

Regardless, he felt punished. Undeserving of this after he did so good not giving into his primal desires for you.

It's not his fault that the second you're away from the man, he's stalking after you. He feels the nerves in his hands tingling when he grabs your arm and pulls you out of the Hob. When you don't protest, he scoffs, a word like poison on the tip of his tongue but he doesn't speak it. Yet.

Coriolanus could have taken you right in the alley, but he walks all the way to your home, wanting you in a bed. Not that your bed was something he'd call a bed. But he gets you in it, grabbing your jaw as he settles on top of you, "Who were you with?" Spit flies when he says it and you know better than to put your hands on him, so they stay at your side.

"Where have you been?"

You don't answer him. Fuck, you didn't answer, he thinks to himself. baffled by your odd confidence.

Coriolanus does not register his actions until he hears you whine at him. His hands moved to the buttons of your dress, but he rips it open, sending some buttons flying, ruining the dress. Once it's off, he flips you to your stomach and presses your head down to your sheets. His lips ghost your ear, cold, but his breath hot, "answer my fucking question, who were you with? Touching you like that? You fucking him?"

You gasp to breathe, the pressure he has on your head lessens when he moves his hand to his belt. "A family...a family friend, that's all."

Coriolanus rolls his eyes as he pushes his pants down, annoyed at fabric of his clothes as much as he was at yours. "A family friend that was close to touching your ass?"

He doesn't let you respond, spitting down on his cock and holding your panties to the side so he can rub the leaky tip of his cock to your cunt. Of course you're wet.

Your hips press up and he pushes them back down. "I knew you were a slut, but I didn't think I'd see it for myself," he mumbles, more to himself than to you. He's repeating it in his head, this is all your fault that he's giving in.

All your fault that he's teasing the head of his dick into your hole, making you whine when he doesn't press in fully. It's your fault he wants to cover your cunt with his cum, to mark it all up. Maybe bruise your ass so another man can't touch it.

He needs to finish this quick.

With a hand pressing on the back of your shoulder, he pushes himself into you, relishing in the moan you let out. Usually, he would talk to you when he fucked you, but he can't this time. It would only make you moan more, beg for his cock more, and he can't handle it.

His hips pound into you with enough passion to creak your stupid bed. Your moans are getting louder and he can't take it. His hand wraps around your neck, leaning his chest to your back. The gasp you let out as his hand squeezes to your throat causes his hips to stutter and he catches the slight smile you give.

"Don't fucking smile like that, what is wrong with you?" He bites out quick and his hand moves over your face instead in a flurry of his rapid thrusts and oncoming orgasm, your mouth on the heel of his palm while he presses his face into your back.

"Wasn't doing anything, officer," you mumble against his hand and Coriolanus' first instinct is to slap your face but he holds back, slipping his fingers into your mouth instead.

"Shut up," he groans, face still to your back, his other hand grips your hip tighter, fucking his cock into you harder, begging himself to release already so he can leave.

Coriolanus presses his three fingers into your mouth until he hears you gag, and times it with a snap of his hips, pulling out quick and finishing all over your cunt. He rubs it all in with his sensitive head. He slips his fingers out of your mouth, not even sure if you came, but he doesn't care, he needs to leave.

As he lifts his head, he spits on you, and fixes his pants. You turn onto your back, feeling fucked out because you did orgasm right with him. When your eyes lock to him, he's holding up your yellow dress.

A moment of silence befalls the two of you, then he's walking back over and using the dress to clean the mess between your thighs, then throws the dress somewhere in your room.

His hands are shaky as he turns and leaves, a strong desire to turn and take you again and again until his muscles ache. He pushes through it to go through your front door, but not without hearing a small thank you from you.

#late night thoughts #idk if i loveeeee this but im happy i wrote smth :)#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine #coryo snow #coryo x reader #coryo smut #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus smut #coryo x you #thg #thg fanfiction #tbosas #tbosas fanfiction

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jolapeno · 6 months

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7. honey cream

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

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

wordcount: 3.9k chapter warnings: frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. frankie being a good dad. bad tool names. anxious!reader. an: can i just say a massive thank you to all those who show up EVERY SINGLE WEEK. i adore you so much. thank you. if you're new to the ride, also welcome. even if i loved this story so much, i never expected people to love it even half as much as me, never mind the love i keep getting. so thank you.

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key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

Nice forearm in your story.

Thanks, It’s this guy I met in a hardware store? We’ve been kind of seeing one another.

Oh, tell him he has a nice watch.

I’ve been told to tell you that you have a nice watch.

You’re hilarious.

I try to be.

You can say no to this, but do you want me to call you later?

That’ll be nice. I’ll be working late so I'll take a break when you do.

Tomorrow, I just need to grab some bits from the store and then I’ll be with you.

Are you sure you want to spend your day off helping me paint?

I was promised to see you in overalls, so yes.

They’re nice, but please lower your expectations.

I bet they look great on your ass.

Everything looks great on my ass.

Including my hand.

Yes, specifically when you slipped your fingers in my jeans pocket on the way to brunch.

I can’t wait to see you.

Drive safely, Butterscotch.

“I feel bad that your day off is spent painting.”

Flicking the lid off with a screwdriver, Frankie just smiles—eyes looking up at you from under his cap.

When he looks at you, you might as well be a fly irresistibly drawn to the brilliance of it, captivated by it.

He’d come in clothes that were long since paint-splattered. A set, you assume, he wears most times—an over-washed and over-loved flannel over a greying white tee, and a pair of cargos that have more pockets than you know what they could be used for.

It had been more natural when he’d arrived this time. A sweet kiss at the door, a long hug where he walks you in and his heel kicks your door shut. A muttering of 'you smell nice', into your neck—grinning over his shoulder because you’d sprayed far too much of your perfume.

“Don’t—I want to be here.”

“I think I’ll likely apologise another three times, at least, before we’re done.”

Standing, wearing a slightly twinged expression on his face, he steps over the clean trays and folded step ladders. His hand rises, turning the beak of his cap around, before he’s in front of you, staring at you before he kisses you.

Kisses you like he wishes to rid you of your worries and make your guilt wash away. Like he wants to empty your mind of things you’ve once been told, make you forget them, purge them. Fuck, his mouth almost does.

“So, rule of thumb—ceiling, walls and then kickboards, window sills.”

“Did you… Did you really just finish kissing me and immediately talk about painting?”

Grinning, he chuckles, bending down to grab a paintbrush. “Did you want me to linger on why you feel bad, or are you ready to get your hands dirty?"

You hesitate for a moment before taking the brush, fingers brushing over his. “I guess I’ll get dirty, since it’s with you.”

He seems to swallow, gaze holding yours as a soft smile tries to tug at his lips before flattening out to a line. Then, you just watch as he pours the off-white paint into the trays—its thick, glooping contents filling it quicker than you’d banked on, but he took it perfectly in his stride.

The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up, forearms flexing as he tilts the larger tub until he appears content with the measurement in the tray.

You know a thumb covered in paint shouldn’t cause your throat to dry, but it does. Your mind thinking up all the places he can leave a stamp of it, a trail of it, turn you into a map showing where he’s been—over a thigh, collarbone, your —

“Race you to the end of the wall?”

Blinking, finding him already readying his roller on the blank, sun-stained wall.

Before you can respond, he's off. The roller glides smoothly across the wall, leaving a trail of fresh paint in its wake. You laugh, shaking your head at his competitive spirit before joining him, your own brush meeting the wall—cutting in.

In time, the room fills with the rhythmic sound of brushes against the wall, the occasional laughter, and gentle conversations. The room transformed over the hours, looking fresher, already a thousand times better than it had this morning with the patches off filled in holes and cracks.

Taking the brush from your hands, you step back to the middle, looking around, not initially aware of how he’s looking at you. Not until you spot a satisfied smile and a glint in his eye.

“We did good, didn't we?”

You shrug. “Think you could do better—put your back really into rolling next time.”

Shaking his head, he throws your brush into the used tray before he’s grasping, tugging, your body connecting with his in an oomph—his reflexes quicker, arms longer than you’d expected—as laughter escapes out as you slide your hand around the back of his neck.

“Thank you. For helping me.”

“Sure,” he whispers, cheek close to yours, fingers on your hip. “Have I told you how good you look in your overalls?”

Rolling your lips, you slowly turn in his hold—all set to turn his cap for him again. To whisper to him that they’re easy to remove too, that he could slide his fingers up, even slant your mouth back over his again.

But you hear his stomach. It rumbles—practically thunderous.

“I haven’t even offered you food,” you confess, words laced with guilt. “I should make you food.”

“You don’t have to…”

Fingers entwining with his, you pull him—finding him happily following, even as he mumbles about cleaning up, that the paint will dry in the tray. You don’t loosen your hold until the two of you are in the kitchen, a hand needed to open the fridge, both required to pull out some ingredients.

“You cooking for me?”

“I’m going to try, if that’s okay?”

He leans against the counter, watching you with a soft smile.

“I'd love that, baby,” he says, the affection in his voice making your heart flutter like it keeps doing.

Before you’ve even sliced the first vegetable, Frankie excuses himself—a kiss to your cheek, all domestic, normal. It not feeling weird even as he goes back to the “project room” and you hear him tidying.

Because it’s not odd in the slightest him being here.

A thing you turn over as you continue to prepare ingredients, cutting and marinating. By the time he’s returned, sporting an amused smile on his face, you’re about to begin frying things.

“Can I do anything?”

Shaking your head, you glance at him over your shoulder, finding he’s taken up his earlier spot. “Just keep me company.”

And he does. Asking you things, questions—some about your childhood, your family, friends. Every word spoken, he hangs onto. Staring like he’s making notes in his head, committing them to memory, somewhere inside that beautiful, amazing mind of his.

“Should I get used to you cooking if I come round and help you with your project?” he teases, taking a water from the fridge like you’d instructed.

“You better not get used to it,” you retort, throwing a small piece of bell pepper at him playfully. He ducks, laughing. “I batch cook most of the time—easier when you eat for one.”

His eyes follow as you move around the kitchen with a fondness in his eyes, you focusing on not burning anything. Stomach knotting itself when it comes to dishing it up, placing it down, and watching him slide into the stool.

When he takes the first bite, you swear you are frozen—unable to move, or think. Eyes just focused on his, watching, waiting, until you breathe a sigh of relief at the way his eyes light up. “This is really good, baby.”

You can't help but feel a little proud. “Thank you.”

He raises his water in a toast. “To more cooking then,” he proposes, and you laugh, agreeing wholeheartedly.

As you stick your own fork in, it's easy to find comfort in the shared silence, a contentment you continue to be amazed at. The atmosphere all at ease. There's no need for words as you both eat, side-by-side, a relatively normal thing for most, but not for you.

But, none of it feels weird, awkward. It never has—even if part of you continues to wait for it. If anything, it continues to be comfortable, right.

Even as the food effortlessly vanishes off both of your plates, it's not until you've reached your fill that you clear your throat.

“So, how often do you have Luca?”

Chewing his food, he puts down the remainder—wiping his fingers on the napkin. “It’s a weird rota. But it works? I’ll have him in the week for two nights and then overnight on a Saturday one week and then one night in the week the following and then Friday to Sunday, and then I’ll have him for three nights in the week the following. Sometimes, extra if I have time off or I want to take him to see family.”

Nodding, you take a sip of your drink.

“Does that… bother you?”

“No! No, of course not,” you grin. “He’s the most important, in all of this. It was just curiosity, I couldn’t… I couldn’t work out the pattern.”

Chewing his cheek he smiles. “You trying to work out when I’m free?”

Shrugging, you look away, aware of the heat warming your cheeks. “Well, someone did post about brunch on their Stories…”

“I remember someone else posting my forearm on theirs.”

Smiling, you plate your cutlery down. “It’s a very nice forearm.”

Shoulder nudging you, Frankie chuckles—cutlery lined up on his plate, your hand moving to take it. Sliding around the kitchen as he begins debating what part of him will appear next, a thigh, an ankle.

“I can include all of you next time, if you like?” Hand testing the hot, soapy water filling the bowl.

“Yeah?”

Licking your lips, you smile. “I don’t cook for anyone, Morales.”

Shifting to meet your gaze, his eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. “Is that right, Rainy? I must be pretty special then.”

“You have no idea,” you reply, your voice a mere whisper but the words carry an immense weight, one you suspect has snuck out, and embedded itself into him.

You're quick to turn your back to him, hide the heat and shyness, as you carefully rinse off the dishes. Only hearing the stool shift at the last moment, the sound of his sock-covered feet padding around until he's standing behind you.

His presence is unmistakable, more so when he places his hands on your hips. “I think I'm beginning to,” he murmurs into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

You turn to face him, the plates forgotten in the sink. Looking up into his eyes, seeing a reflection of things fluttering in them.

“You better,” you say, reaching up to gently stroke his cheek, “because I'm not planning on posting anyone else’s arm for a while.”

His grin widens at your words, his hands pulling you closer until your bodies are flush against each other. "Good, because I don't plan on trying brunch with anyone else."

And as he leans down to kiss you, he pauses, mouth hovering over yours. “Speaking of…”

Narrowing your eyes, you retract your head, soap suds sliding off your wrists.

“My friends… they want to meet you.”

His words catch you off guard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Meet...me?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

As soon as he confirms with a simple nod, you feel a tightness in your chest. An explosion in your mind. A vortex of thoughts, all overwhelming, non-stop.

Each second you try to breathe, the knot in your chest tightens, sitting, carving a bigger hole where your happiness had just been—

“Yes,” he confirms, his hands soothingly rubbing circles on your hips as though noticing your sudden tension. “I think, maybe, I’ve talked about you too much?”

Running your teeth over your lip, you feel a piece of skin. One sticking up, not as smooth as the rest. Lip balm would solve it, fix it—but you pick at it anyway, pick, pick, pick—

Running your teeth over your lip, you notice a stray piece of skin, protruding slightly, disrupting the otherwise smooth surface. Lip balm would fix it, effortlessly smooth it out—but despite knowing this, you find yourself unable to resist the urge to pick at it. Listening to him as he explains, hearing names, a day suggested. As you compulsively pick, pick, pick—

Until he says your name.

Soft. Gentle. So cautiously spoken it makes your heart do a double take as you taste copper on your tongue.

“Are you sure? I mean, I want to. I just… don’t want to intrude or anything,” you reply, and you know it’s left your mouth shaky, bathed in nerves.

Attempting to shake the suds from your hands, hoping to fling off the worries with it, you find yourself unable to meet his gaze. Mind a flurry, a snowstorm of ifs, buts and maybes.

Because meeting his friends is a significant step—a thing you’re happy about, pleased he feels the same way. Yet, you're also terrified.

Digging your hip into the counter because of it, rooting yourself as you flex your fingers.

“Hey.” His fingers gently lift your chin, forcing you to look up at him; eyes full of warmth and reassurance. "You wouldn't be intruding, baby. They're… they’re like my family and… I want them to meet the person I can’t stop thinking about.”

Shoulders sliding down from your ears, you move to rest your hands on his waist. “You really talk about me that much?”

Scrunching his nose, he smiles. “A bit.”

“Okay,” you agree, your voice sounding more confident than you feel. “I'll meet your friends.”

“Great,” he grins, his relief evident. He pulls you close, hugging you tightly. “Benny—the one who fights—that's who we'll be supporting.”

“When?”

He frowns, but vanishes it away as though realising you hadn't been listening. “Not this weekend, but next. They’re going to love you, I promise.”

“I hope so,” you whisper into his chest, your heart rate trying its best to slow down.

I need you to tell me what I need to do with the office room, if your friends happen to not like me. They’re going to like you. But if they don’t. Rainy, they will. Introducing you is more so they don’t think I’ve made you up. You have a habit of making up people? No. But apparently, the way I talk about you makes it seem like you’re made up. Why? Because you’re perfect. I am not. You are, but let’s have that battle another day. What are you worried about?

It sits there, in your fingers. The answer to his question.

Foot kicking out at your kitchen island, laptop light illuminating your face as you roll your tongue over your lips.

Foot kicking out nervously at the kitchen island, the harsh glow of the laptop casting an eerie light across your face, you roll your tongue over your lips.

A nervous tic. One you find yourself repeating—letting it trace over the same path again and again, desperately seeking a sense of calm that seems perpetually out of reach.

The question doing its rounds, spinning and swirling: What are you worried about? What are you worried about?

Like a bell has been wrung, it blares out. The answer.

It vibrates through your bones and comes back to you in an echo. Almost a chorus: That I’m not good enough.

A thing you’ve done well to ignore, to stuff down. But now, it's crawling up out of its boxes, the tape having barely kept it down, flapping about in the whirlwind of worries in your head.

As your phone screen dims, memories flood, recalling the evidence. The words flung at you, feelings you’ve wrestled with in bathrooms at loud parties and brutal quiet nights; arguments in places that don’t feel like home and tears against brick walls that cut shoulders.

Unlocking your phone, you tighten your jaw because he's not like them. He's good, kind. A sudden unwillingness to bend to insecurity roaring inside of you as you list every good thing about him; not willing to let a good thing be ruined by things that could never happen.

Sliding your fingers over the screen, you type words that seem easier, less difficult to confess:

Living up to the stories you’ve said. No stories, just a mention of your name and apparently a smile they’ve not seen in a while.

With a mouth-closed grin, you purse your lips.

Reading over the message again and again as your teeth sneak out to bite your lip, thumbs darting out over the phone’s keyboard.

Would it be okay to pick you up? You want to pick me up? I do. Yeah, sure. I was going to offer to pick you up. I think I’d like to pick you up, and if I don’t make a fool out of myself, would you like to stay over? I’ll pack your robe.

As soon as he throws his bag into the backseat and slips into your car, you feel at ease.

The drive over to grab him had been a combination of whispered mutterings about how it was going to be fine and a mind full of all the ways it wouldn’t be.

It’s further helped when his lips press to your cheek, allowing hands to loosen on the steering wheel, and when that low voice sweeps over you as he greets you—as other words hang there unspoken.

You almost say it on sight, I've missed you.

Because you have. A week and a half of messages and phone calls sufficing, but you’ve missed his presence, his face, the chance to brush your fingers over his cheek.

“You look nice.”

Eyes widening, he stares down at himself, palms brushing out over his thighs. “Me?”

“No, the ghost you brought with you—of course, you.”

Snorting, he fastens his seatbelt. “Says you, hermosa.”

“Smooth talker.”

The drive to the fight continues with similar, gentle teasing, all comfortable conversation filling the vehicle. He begins to fill you in on the new developments in the saga of Luca’s newfound love for blanket forts rendering the living room a disaster and you about the sign-off on the work you'd been worked up over.

As you navigate the roads, excitedly sharing about how you've picked a wallpaper you like, Frankie's warm hand finds a home on your thigh, his thumb idly tracing patterns over the fabric of your jeans as he continues talking.

No smirk, nothing. Just the usual smile, as if he'd done this before.

Yet, he hasn't. Unfamiliar sensations surge through your body, catching you off guard, body all ill-prepared for the way it warms you. It almost urges you to shuffle in your seat so his hand rises north; Electricity crackles along your veins, accompanied by a tightening in your abdomen that refuses to dissipate. And, it only worsens when he coughs and his hand grips you a little tighter.

As more of the cityscape flits past your windows, you steal glances at Frankie. His profile illuminated intermittently by the passing street lights, shadows highlighting the rugged contours of his face.

By the time you're pulling into the parking lot, you wish the drive had been longer. Momentarily, you press your thighs together, for reprieve. Only doing so when his hand moves to open the door, the liveliness and music spilling out onto the sidewalk as he comes around the vehicle to take your hand.

“So, where will your friends be?”

Frankie tightens his hand on yours, leading you, holding the door open. “They’ll be in the locker room. Will is Ben’s non-official trainer.”

Nodding, you smile, letting him lead until the two of you come to a stop at the bar—him asking you what you’d like, giving you a look that says please don’t fight me as he takes out his wallet.

“You not needed there?” Shaking his head, ordering drinks as he faces his head forward but his eyes slide down to you. “And what are you, what's your role?”

“His other non-official, less present trainer.”

“You slacker.”

Shrugging, he shakes his head, paying for the drinks. “I know, so much free time to do it too.”

Grinning, you follow him to a spot out of the line, sliding your arm around his back, curling into him—the ice cubes in your plastic cup colliding in the fizziness of your drink.

“I’m glad you came.”

“Because you missed me?”

His mouth opens, parts—the tip of his tongue peeking out as you feel his chest expand before relaxing. “Yeah. Nine days was too long.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you slide your hand under his jacket, it taking a moment, more awkward than full of ease before you can fan your fingers out against him.

“Technically, it was five—if you count me half-waving to you when I came in to get a screwy.”

Almost spluttering as he takes a sip, he clears his throat, staring down. “You can’t call it a screwy?”

Narrowing your eyes, smirking away. “And why not, Morales?”

“Because suena mal... dirty,” he argues, trying to suppress a laugh.

Your eyebrow raises in question, but before you can retort, his lips are on yours, effectively silencing you. The place around you is all of a sudden silent, muted—as if no one else is around at all. The ring, the lights, and all of the people blurring into nothing, not as your fingers tease over his chin, as your mouth reminds itself what his feels like.

Pulling back, mouth hovering close to his. “So, what do I need to know about your friends? Outside of the obvious.”

The obvious is that they all served together. Frankie had explained it one night as you cooked for yourself, him on a shelf—face filling the screen as you sliced and brewed on the stove.

It was clinically given, top-level you'd been sure. Just the need to know—the need to understand.

“Well, Ben is loud—but he’s gentle. Will is a bit protective, especially since we've all been through a lot together," he begins, rubbing his thumb along the back of your hand. “But they're good people. They're upfront and honest.”

“Does Harold like them?”

Tutting, he pauses as he lifts the plastic cup to his lips. “The only person Harry likes is you. And his own family.”

“I’ll be sure to drop that in conversation then. Show them I’m one stamp approved already.”

Tilting your chin up, he licks his lips—slowly, intently. “You have nothing to worry about, alright?” You nod, trying to take in his words. “I mean it.”

“Okay.”

Kissing the top of your head, Frankie keeps his arm around you. Even when Benny's name is shouted and the crowd goes wild.

I think they like me.

Are you texting me from the bathroom?

Maybe. But, I think it’s going well.

Baby, are you peeing and texting me?

No! I dried my hands and then messaged you.

So you’re leaning against a dirty wall texting me.

Are you grinning like an idiot at your phone?

Don’t answer I can see it.

Shut up.

If that’s the grin you wear when I message you, no wonder they wanted to meet me.

Basta!

You're cute when you're flustered. Can see the red climbing up your neck from here.

Come back and keep me company.

Grin a bit more and I might.

Rainy.

Fuck you're handsome, Butterscotch.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

an: while the meeting happens off-paper (haha wanted to say off-screen) all meetings won't appear like this 👀. we knew they'd love her, and in time we'll see how much. also, her texting him in the bathroom may be my fave thing she's done off her own accord (i am merely just a body and fingers when rainy begins talking to me)

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

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