#🤎✏️

[jessythebunny]

💢°•The jealousy•°💢

✨The cover✨

This is the cover of the story, this is an old cover but I hope you like it!! ✨✨

[literally-just-there]

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY !!!!!!!! 🩷🩷🩷🩷

Thank you MJ !!! 💜💜💜

It is a perfect sweet day for Seeker and the Informant, they have even been chibified !! 😁😁😆😆 (my attempt below, inspired by one @.sunflawyer gave me 🫡↓)

[honey-andmilktea]

-ˏˋ⋆𝐈𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐠! [𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬]⋆ˊˎ-

✎ 𝐁𝐓𝐒 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

✎ 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐊𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

✎ 𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐙 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

✎ 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐨𝐨𝐧…

"So, if you are too tired to speak, sit next to me for I, too, am fluent in silence." – R. Arnold

✎ @honey-andmilktea - 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.

[ja3hwas-library]

Oh my god! Nat you have done it again!!

First of all, Hongjoong counting to ten to calm himself has me cackling!😂 that was amazing, haha. and yuyu getting on the same fucking horse! my god my brain waves changed reading that.

To be honest, the thrill of potentially sucking off Yeo in a ferris wheel got me tying my hair back, hehe. San can talk to me like that anyday. he just gotta say up and ill say how fucking high.

This is a threat or a promise mr Song cause two can play that game 🤭👀

And Jongho going insane is the single handed best thing ive ever read!!

This was so good sweetheart! You also make such amazing reactions that deserve all the attention! 🩷🤌

Ima have a cold shower now hehe.

hi love! may i request how ot8 would react to your skirt being a little cheeky at the amusement park?

love your work and hope you're doing well 🩷🩷

❝ wearing a short skirt on your amusement park date ❞

: ̗̀➛ ateez’s reaction to you wearing a short skirt on your amusement park date. 2.3k words.

: ̗̀➛ ateez; boyfriend!ateez. established relationship. fluff. smut (suggestive).

: ̗̀➛ warnings: minors do not interact! suggestive sexual content. mentions of sexual themes. possessiveness. public displays of affection/arousal. tbh there’s nothing explicit so there’s really nothing to warn about lol. strong language. fem bodied!reader. intentional lower case and small font.

hongjoong

god, you tested his patience. you really knew how to flirt your pretty little fingers around all his buttons, never fully pressing them but being so dangerously close to doing so. always just enough to make him tense and the prominent vein on his neck to pop a little.

hongjoong was in the queue right behind you as you stepped onto the ride. your absurdly short skirt fluttered as you did so, and from his position he was able to see the little pink panties you wore underneath...and so was everyone else, including the ride attendant who gawked at you like a deer in headlights. you plopped down into the cramped seat, blissfully unaware — or you just didn’t seem to care — while hongjoong had to mentally count to ten to keep himself from turning on that guy for even daring to look at you. though, he supposed it wasn’t all his fault; you were the one who decided to wear a fucking mini skirt to an amusement park.

“you know,” hongjoong began, settling himself next to you on the ride. “i really question your reasoning for wearing that.” He tugged at your skirt just as you both brought the bar over your laps. your thighs looked so pretty all exposed, mental images of your panty clad ass flashing in his mind, and hongjoong really wished that dumb ride attendant would stop throwing glances your way.

you smiled which only served to aggravate him more. “it’s such a cute skirt and i haven’t worn it yet! plus, it’s so hot outside today,” you reasoned with him while you watched others pile onto the ride. hongjoong scoffed.

“you sure you didn’t just wear it to drive me crazy?” he gripped your thigh tight, his fingers just under the hem of your skirt. “you think you’re so cute, huh? but let’s see how cute you are once i get you home.”

the ride jerked to life and began to move, his grip remaining firm. you smiled internally. your little plan worked, just like you knew it would.

seonghwa

seonghwa loved being close to you. he did, really. but it was so hot out today, and within the concretes and metals and crowds of the amusement park, it was scorching. your body was sweaty against his own. as much as he loved being near you, it was too hot for it. but you decided to wear one of the shortest skirts you owned today of all days, and he stuck close behind you to keep you from flashing anyone.

“hwa,” you whined as you both waited in line for the next ride. the sun was beaming down on you. you shuffled in place uncomfortably. “can you like, give me some space here? it’s hot as balls out here.”

seonghwa didn’t move an inch. he stayed in place, his taller form close behind you. you both probably looked ridiculous to everyone around you; they were all probably thinking you were that kind of couple. “sorry, can’t do that. not when you’re on the verge of flashing everyone in this damn park. what made you think wearing a mini skirt to an amusement park was a good idea?”

you huffed. “i don’t know. i just wanted to!” you tried to step forward, but two hands kept you firmly in place. “hwa, it’s really not that bad.”

“baby, one gust of wind and everyone can see your ass. and personally, i’m not too keen on everyone getting a view of you like that.” the queue moved, and you both shuffled a few steps forward.

“i’m wearing underwear —”

“god,” seonghwa groaned, his hands tightening on your hips. he was even closer now than before, his front pressed flat against your back. he dipped his head to whisper in your ear. “either you deal with me like this, or i’m taking you home and ripping this skirt off you. understand?”

you nodded slowly, a little taken aback by his words. that second option didn’t seem like that bad of a choice….

yunho

yunho wasn’t keen of your skirt at the beginning of your date, and he certainly wasn’t fond of it now as he watched you throw your leg over the carousel horse. your skirt was so short, and as you straddled the horse it did little to cover your ass. he took a second to appreciate the sight of your panties peeking under what your skirt couldn’t quite cover, but then he noticed the people behind you were also appreciating the view.

“you’re going to be the death of me,” yunho whispered to himself as he got on the horse behind you, much to your confusion.

“there’s a free horse right here,” you said, pointing to the horse next to you where he should have been. you looked at him over your shoulder, and you caught the dip of his gaze.

“i’ll sit here. this spot’s got a…good view.” his gaze lingered on your ass for a moment as he hoped his larger frame could block you from the sight of those behind him. he groaned inwardly when you wiggled your ass; his dick twitched and fuck it this was not the time or place for this.

you giggled when you realized, unbothered that you’d flashed more than just your boyfriend. you noticed the bob of his adam’s apple before you turned to the front again. even as the carousel began to spin, you felt his eyes remain on your backside.

yunho was thankful when the carousel stopped and the two of you were off, but his pants felt a little more snug than they had before the ride. he grabbed your smaller hand and lead you towards the park exit, not giving you any other choice but to follow him.

“yunho, where are we going?”

he didn’t even look back. “home so i can get you out of that fucking skirt.”

yeosang

yeosang was not one to say much about your outfit choices, even during times like this when you were skipping around the amusement park in what appeared to be the shortest skirt he’d ever seen you wear. he was walking behind you, struggling in silence, eyes glued to your backside even though he tried so hard not to stare.

you whirled around with a beaming smile. “yeosang, let’s go ride the ferris wheel!” your skirt twirled when you turned to face him; you undoubtedly just flashed everyone around you. yeosang was really going through it.

“uh, okay, baby. let’s go ride it.” yeosang was thankful the ferris wheel carts were enclosed. the last thing he wanted was you hoisted in the air for the whole park to see under your skirt. but inside the cart, you really must have wanted him to suffer when you plopped yourself right on his lap.

“fuck, baby, what are you trying to do to me?” his low voice was raspy, a groan slipping out when you shifted in his lap to make yourself more comfy. he felt himself starting to get stiff, and getting a hard on on a ferris wheel was not ideal.

you faced him and smiled; you looked so innocent, but there was a mischievous gleam in your eyes that he couldn’t miss. “i’m not doing anything, yeo.”

yeosang let out a sound that was a combination of a scoff, groan, and laugh. “bull shit.” his palms were grazing your thighs and traveling upwards, fingers dipping under your skirt. he swallowed hard when you gasped, the sound going straight to his dick. “god, i can’t believe you. i hope you’re planning on helping me out here, right?”

san

“and we have a winner!” the amusement park employee handed san the prize he’d won, a large plushie just about the size of his whole upper body. san was quick to hand it to you, laughing at the way you struggled to hold it.

in your excitement, you twirled around, your newly won plushie squished in your arms. but your skirt, a bit too short, flew up and gave a quick flash of the pink panties that lied underneath. “san, i love it! what should i name it?”

san laughed nervously, quickly drawing to your side and smoothing his hands over your hips to keep your skirt down. “i’m glad you love it, but baby,” he practically whined at you. “you can’t be out here twirling like that. you wanna flash the whole park?”

you giggled, snuggling your plushie tighter. “sorry, sannie.”

san smiled and kissed the top of your head. “silly little baby in your tiny skirts. i think you’re trying to mess with me.” his hands stayed on your hips while he fought the temptation to reach down and grope your ass.

“maybe a little,” you admitted with another giggle. “but i knew you’d like it, so that’s why i wore it.” you felt excitement bubble in your belly when you saw the way his gaze darkened a little.

“oh, i do like it,” san agreed. “but i think everyone else here does, too. and i can’t have others looking at you like this. so, how about i get you home, yeah?”

mingi

mingi had lost count of how many times he’d seen your ass so far today. not that he could complain about that, but he was certainly confused as to why you decided to wear a mini skirt to an amusement park. “baby, you keep messing with your skirt, but it’s not gonna get any longer.”

you huffed at him while you pulled at your skirt. you were regretting your decision making skills currently. was the outfit cute? yes. was it practical for the occasion? no. but you didn’t want to admit defeat; your boyfriend would be way too smug. “it’s fine, just needed a little fixing.”

he watched you very obviously grow frustrated with your short skirt, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “oh yeah? I bet you won’t last much longer until you’re begging me to give you my jacket to cover up.”

you put your hands on your hips. “i bet i’ll be just fine.”

mingi chuckled as he closed in on you. “fine. but if i win, that skirt’s coming off as soon as we get in the car.”

your heart leaped in your chest at the meaning of his words. even though it was enticing, you still didn’t want to admit that you were dumb for wearing this skirt. so you tried not to fiddle with it for the rest of the day, tried to act unbothered that you were giving everyone in the park a free view of your undies. but you eventually had enough, and soon you had your boyfriend’s denim jacket wrapped around your hips, a signal of your defeat.

mingi brought his lips to your ear when you both got in the car later, his hand traveling up your thigh. “skirt off, baby.”

wooyoung

“woo, get some pictures of me in front of the ferris wheel!” you handed your phone to your boyfriend and ran to get in front of the ferris wheel.

wooyoung knelt down to get the best angles, but as he snapped photo after photo, all he could focus on was how short your skirt was. and every time you changed to a different pose your panties flashed as your skirt moved. “well, if you’re goal is to show off your panties in every single picture, i’d say you succeeded.”

you frowned and rushed to take your phone from him. you swiped through the pics and he was right, your panties could be seen in every shot. you sighed. “well, it’s because of the angle. you were crouched down the whole time. it’s like you wanted to get shots up my skirt, you perv!”

wooyoung laughed. “it’s not me! it’s that little mini skirt of yours. maybe you should have worn something a little more appropriate for the occasion.” he laughed some more when you playfully swatted at his arm.

you couldn’t help the way your cheeks grew warm. you gave him your phone again and walked back towards the ferris wheel. “okay, get some more pics. but this time, no pervy up the skirt shots, alright?”

“you look too fucking good in that skirt. can’t make any promises, baby.” wooyoung gave you a wink before snapping some more photos.

jongho

jongho was judging you. hard. and not because you were in a short skirt, but rather because you looked way too damn good in it. and you were in an amusement park, one of the last places to be wearing something so short. other men were staring, thinking they were being sneaky with their glances, but he caught them. it was making him feel a little aggravated; not with you, but with the way he needed to have you but couldn’t because you weren’t at home.

you walked hand in hand with your boyfriend as you searched for the next thing to ride. “we haven’t done the carousel yet. wanna go ride that?”

there was a mental image of you straddling one of the carousel horses and jongho tensed. “you sure that’s such a good idea?”

you looked at him in confusion. “why wouldn’t it be?”

“well…” jongho peered down at your skirt, and you got the hint.

you smirked. “oh. does it bother you?”

he cleared his throat. “it does,” he admitted. “but in a ‘you’re driving me insane and i have the sudden urge to take you home’ kind of way.” his grip on your hand tightened.

you giggled as you looked at him. he looked tense, and it was so obvious how affected he was. all because of your skirt. “we ride this ferris wheel then go home. deal?”

jongho groaned. “deal.”

notes from nat: this request is so perfect for the summer time. thanks for sending it in, anon! hope you enjoyed!!

taglist: @abiaswreck @charreddonuts @hongthoven @httpseungmxn @itza-meee @jungkookieprincess @jaerisdiction @lilie-dctl @mjyungi @marievllr-abg @maltesejjong @mylovelymito @nebulousbookshelf @northerngalxy @silverpixiedust23 @staytinyinmybpack @svintsandghosts @thesafecafe @wolfgurl2600-blog @5starduca @yyaurii

networks: @kflixnet @wonderlandnet

© nateezfics. do not plagiarize. do not repost. do not translate.

[jessythebunny]

💢°•the jealousy•°💢

Note: here's part 3 of this story, in this part there will be a surprise for the girls and Jonathan will become even more angry

"after 5 hours, a surprising person is going to come" "minwhile in the livingroom with the girls"

Jessy:Ok girls are you ready? He's going to be here in any moment

Messy:yes we are sis!

Lucy: yes we are

"door knocks"

Jessy: OMG!! He's here!! I'll open the door for him!

"she opens the door, then Saiko came in"

Jessy: Oh Saiko! My little demon! I missed you so much!

Saiko: aww my cute bunny, I missed you too "hugs her really really tight"

Messy:hey!! You forgot about me

( ò n ó )💢

Saiko: oh hey Mes, come here you cutie~

Messy: mhm~ I missed you.

Alex: "in her mind" damn he looks so handsome♡

Saiko: "heading towards Alex and Lucy" oh hello there you two, can we introduce ourselves to echother?

Lucy: of course. I'll start first: my name is Lucy, I'm 18 yo, and I'm Jessy and Messy's bff!

Saiko: "to alex" how about you? What's your name?

"Alex doesn't want to responde bc she's busy with thinking how hot he is"

Lucy: "shakes Alex and screams" ALEX!!!

Alex: h-huh? What?

Lucy: hello? Are you still here with us?

Alex: o-oh yes yes I am.

Saiko: "giggles" it's ok girls, come on tell me what's your name?

Alex: "mumbles" m-my name i-is Alex and I'm 17 yo...

Saiko: oh it's nice to meet you Alex

Alex: "nervous giggles" Ahahaha me too boy..

Saiko: "to Jessy" so Jessy, you want to play with me~?

Jessy: oh yes. What about you Messy?

Messy: sorry but I have to see Liam

Jessy: that's ok, go and see him

Messy: thank you sis "she leaves"

Saiko: come on my bunny, let's go and play together~

Jessy: ok. I'll follow you

"so Saiko and Jessy start to play together while Jonathan is spying on them from the other room with an angry face"

Jonathan: "in his mind" I knew it, I knew how bad that guy is, now he wants to take my girl from me, but he will see my other side very very soon"

Part 4 coming soon✌🏻✨

[jessythebunny]

💢°•The jealousy•°💢

Note: this is part 2 of this story, In this part there will be a discussion between Jonathan and Liam about his fucking jealousy

"at the salon with Jonathan and Liam"

Liam: what's up with you bro? You look mad

Jonathan: Liam please leave me alone, I am not in a good mood now

Liam: come on bro, I am like a brother for you, don't you want to tell me~hmm~?

Jonathan: Ewww!! Stop talking to me like this! You make me feel unconfortable about you.

Liam: heh heh! Alright alright i'll stop just tell me what's wrong?

Jonathan: alright i'll tell you, I saw Jessy cleaning the house and she told me that her cousin called Saiko is going to visit us, and she looks so happy and excited for him, and i felt a bit sad

Liam: don't tell me you feel jealous again? Don't you remember what have you done to the last guy who talked to Jessy?

Jonathan: that nasty bitch hugged her really tight so i had to kill him anyway

Liam: ok just tell me why are you like this? And when I'm talking to her you don't do anything bad to me

Jonathan: because you are my best friend and I trust you

Liam: Awww~you are so sweet Jon~i love you~<3!

Jonathan: Liam!! WTF??!!

Liam: I'm sorry but this is the truth

Jonathan: that's alright, i forgive you

Liam: so what are you going to do now?

Jonathan: I don't know, but I'm not confortable about him

Liam: you didn't even meet him and you want to kill him too? Just be patient bro

Jonathan: ugh fine! Just for you, but if I saw something bad about him, you will realise that I was right all the time

Liam: fine fine, just calm down already

Part 3 coming soon ✌🏻✨

[coconurt]

~ 💖 ASK GAME 💖 ~

📷 What's set as your phone's lockscreen?

🍫 Cheese or chocolate?

✨ Do you have any nicknames?

🎵 Last song you listened to?

✏️ Have you ever written fanfiction?

😏 Are you on discord?

 💛 Do you have any piercings?

🐰 What do you think says the most about a person?

🍪 If you were a cookie, what kind would you be?

🐶 Are you more of a dog person or a cat person?

🎧 Headphones or earbuds?

🌼 What's the last thing you said out loud?

🙃 What's a weird fact that you know?

🦉 Are you a morning person or a night owl?

🧸 Favorite place to nap?

🏳️‍🌈 Are you a member of the LGBTQIA+ community?

🦋 Describe yourself in three words.

👖 Jeans or sweatpants?

🥤 What's your go-to Starbucks order?

🧡 A color you can't stand?

💎 What's your most prized possession?

☕ Coffee or tea?

🦖 Favorite extinct animal?

🌙 How long have you been on tumblr?

🌴 Desert island item?

🐸 Describe your aesthetic.

🔮 What's your dream job?

💙 Relationship status?

🌿 Describe your favorite outfit.

🎤 Is there a song you know all the lyrics to?

🤎 What color is your hair?

💌 Do you talk to yourself?

💄 Do you wear makeup?

🌸 Best compliment you ever received?

💞 @ your favorite blog.

Reblogs are appreciated!

[kedsandtubesocks]

@pedgito AL!!! MISS MA’AM??? THIS WRECKED ME IN THE BEST WAY ABSHEBSISK

Okay but no lie I’ve read this twice and it still knocked me out how you manage to layer so much and convey such a story so immediately and beautifully!!! Also the vibes, oh I adores the vibes and the way you captured Joel so perfectly in this AU too!!

And AHHHH then the heat and the absolute chemistry between Joel and our princess reader was so delicious and good and LOVING!! Like I want to sink into this world again and again thank you so much for crafting this up for us 😭🥺

As the kids today say - YOU COOKED

𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 | Joel Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | A poor damsel in distress, saved by the most unlikely of man.

author's note | this was written for @studioghibelli's beautiful fic challenge. i've never written anything this close to a royal-ish type era, if you could even call it that. but this is just a slight dip into that realm and it was super fun! thank you for hosting this, bell! idk if any of this is accurate i'm just vibing dsjhk

content warning | 18+ smut, princess!reader, mentioned to have hair long enough to be tied back, regency au, age gap, wealth/power dynamic, mentions of past marriage/death, BREEDING KINK, talks of marriage and pregnancy, secret relationship, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v

word count —1.8k

“If he catches us, we’ll both be dead.”

It was a constant mantra Joel spoke to you, even as he unfastened your corset and slipped under the thick fabric of your dress, disappearing as he fit his face between your thighs.

It started out of innocence—a strange man with growing, constant visits to your manor at the edge of town. At first it was only on official business, a supplier of goods to your father. Joel was a jack of all trades: armor, leatherwork, anything you could think of, he’d mastered it. It was just another method of proof on how good he was with his hands.

“You need not worry,” You breath, pressed against the wall of his cobblestone home, often sneaking out in the middle of night with the possible threat of capture prevalent in your mind.

The estate had always been heavily guarded, but living there your entire life had made it easier to learn patterns, behaviors, and sneaking out to see him over time had become effortless. It had been months by now—and even as his friendship with your father grew, there were no signs, not an ounce of suspicion of what he blossomed between you both.

“He offered me a job,” Joel speaks lowly, muffled under the fabric of your dress as your leg hooks over his shoulder, fingers wrapped around the top of your bodice as you squeeze, feeling your breath catch in your throat as he licks through the center of your cunt, “well paying, convenient enough.”

You gasp softly, lifting at your skirt to get your hands on him, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling, earning a soft grunt as he peeks up at you, pulling away for a brief moment.

“What was it?”

“Royal guard—and no princess, not for him.”

“As if I don’t already have enough men guarding me,” You sigh, pushing him away and adjusting your dress—he looks slightly dejected, but stands and fixes your dress, caressing your cheek with his hand, “you cannot say yes, Joel. If you are near—”

“I know,” He murmurs, there’s a shift in his dialect that is so distinctly different from your own—years of being taught to speak up, out, to project with your voice and always act as if you were speaking to the masses, thoughtful contrition to a group much lower than yourself, “bein’ around you that often, don’t know how I could keep my hands off of you.”

If your father knew about this—you and him, a man nearly the age of your own father. He’d be ordered to death and you, while the fate may be different, wouldn’t be left with much freedom either. You were long of age, but bound to your duties as a princess and fearful of the man your father would eventually decide to marry you off to. Joel had saved you, distracted you from all of it. It would be impossible to live without him now.

“I sound ungrateful,” You grumble, looking down and grasping his other hand with yours, intertwining your fingers and bringing it to your chest but not before you press a gentle kiss against the back of his palm, “for what I have—but if I lose you…”

That place was a prison and you knew it. He knew it.

“A golden cage is still a cage,” Joel reminds you, “—that place, your father—”

You already knew—your father was slowly spiraling out of control, the rule of his country slipping from his grasp and he was scrambling and you knew he wouldn’t go down without a fight. But, you were tired. So tired. With the absence of your mother, your other siblings, you felt trapped.

“Take me away,” You beg, eyes watering as the words slipped from your lips, “we can disappear—I do not need this wealth or title, any of it. Only you.”

“He won’t stop,” Joel tells you honestly, “we would always be running.”

You pull your hand free of his grasp and curve them around his face, cradling the softness of his jaw, the scratch of his facial hair under your fingertips and he licks at his bottom lip, a tell-tale sign of the burgeoning lust. He needed you.

“Is that really what you want?”

He means it—it was a tone you’ve never heard before.

And something tells you he’s been feeling the same way for a while.

“Yes,” You answer quickly, nodding jerkily as you pull him close and Joel has to physically restrain himself from taking you there, licking his lips once more as they hover near your own, “please, Joel.”

“Let’s have this night,” Joel tells you softly, “and we can figure everything out come morning.”

—

It was peaceful here, a small cottage out in the middle of nowhere—if you wanted to stay here you could, but you knew that would be the first place your father would look outside of town.

Joel, his confidante, his most trusted man who was now under you, fingers digging into your thigh as you took his cock inside of you, his hand guiding at the base as he breathed out into the quiet room, the low crackle of the fire at his bedside.

“If you could see yourself,” Joel says absently, watching as you pull the tightly woven ribbon from your hair, breasts stretching up with the movement until it fell from its intricately laced cage, bouncing lightly with your playful movement, a smile peeking from your lips, “such a vision, princess.”

“I am no princess,” You argue gently, palms pressing into his chest as you lift your hips, leisurely and slow, enjoying the tight pull of his brow every time your ass meets his hips, “I was not made for that life, Joel.”

“Made for me,” He assures, his warm tone spreading throughout your core and pulling you in, the hands place on your thighs moving up your hips, squeezing into the flesh of your waist as his mouth drops open, silently urging you to change your pace, “perfectly crafted, all I’ve ever needed.”

You snort softly at his words—he was always a poet, whether stumbling through his words or bringing you to your knees with a compliment that would be on your mind for days, echoing in your head as you dipped your fingers inside of you on the days you went without him.

“Would you marry me?” You ask suddenly, though you feel the answer before he says it.

“Without hesitation,” He responds, “I can propose—right now, if you want.”

“Such a romantic,” You chide, the words falling on a gasp as he flips you both suddenly, shoving you into the old mattress as the bed creaks with the weight and intensity of his thrusts, the rest of your words caught in your throat as he pulls your legs up and over his back, hands resting firmly beside your head, a true vision himself.

“If it would make you happy, I would,” He admits, “all I care about is having you, being with you—titles, all of that, it doesn’t mean much to me but if that is something that would make you happy—”

“What do—” Joel switches his position suddenly, an arm tucking under your leg as he pulls it over his shoulder and leans up to meet your cunt with his thrust, watching his cock as you swallowed him up, his hand falling over the base of your pelvis and pressing down, feeding into the pressure of his cock and the all-consuming feeling of him, “christ—what is it—that you want?”

“You,” He answers immediately, “and…”

He pauses, thinking carefully on his words.

You know little of his past other than his wife and daughter who had fallen ill, losing them when he had been away on business, unbeknownst and coming home to the sight of it. He was a broken, brittle man and you were the only thing holding him together.

“I would give you a son,” You tell him, “a daughter—as many kids as you wished, Joel. Is that what you want?”

“A family,” He smiles fondly, “with you?”

“I fear you would—oh—never escape me then,” You joke playfully, eyes squeezing shut as he snaps forward roughly, his thumb dragging over your clit fleetingly as your hands dig and twist in the bedsheets, “what a handful I would have with a small version of you.”

He chuckles softly, snaking his hand under your waist and pulling at your arm until you get the idea to wrap them around his neck, adjusting you up and into his lap, carefully examining his face under the soft glow of the fire, his lip quivering as you drag your thumb over his mouth.

“I want it,” You plead, “don’t—don’t pull away.”

“You’ve given me so much,” He mumbles into your cheek as you pull him closer, hugging him to your chest as he wraps himself around you, grunting as he reached closer and closer to his own end, “and you've been trapped your entire life, I don’t want you to feel that way with me.”

“And I would give you so much more,” You breath into his mouth, “picture it—barefoot, pregnant with your child in a home far away from here, our new life—”

“Baby,” He begs, his fingertips squeezing roughly into your flesh and you gasp, your cunt pulsing around him with the roughness of his movements, pussy throbbing at his fervent intensity at your words, “I love you.”

You nod, tucking his face into your neck as he hands slips between your bodies, dragging over your clit without you needing to ask, knowing he was just that in tune with your bodily cues, the hitch in your voice as you echo the words back to him.

“Come inside of me,” It wasn’t an order, more of a plea, but you mean it, “I want to be yours.”

Forever, you think. But, the words are cut off by a sharp, jerky snap of Joel’s hips as he comes inside of you, his teeth dragging over your shoulder as he groans into your skin, simultaneously working his thumb over your sensitive clit, feeling your clench and spasms around him as you come with a soft sigh, fingers twisting into his hair and your body curling around him like a python, squeezing him so tight it knocks the air out of him.

“Do you have everything you need?” Joel asks after a few minutes, gentle touches over your skin, pulling his face back to look at you. “Before we leave at sunrise?”

“I have you,” You assure him, “that is all I need.”

[pjackk]

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[jessythebunny]

💢°•The jealousy•°💢

Note: Here is the fourth part of the story, where Jonathan will finally decide to confront Saiko

Jonathan:*in his mind* ugh I can't take it anymore.*he came out of the room with a face with expressions of hatred and malice*

*In the salon, there's Saiko, Jessy, and Alex*

Saiko:*He's doing push-ups, and Jessy is sitting on his back happily* are you having fun cousin?

Jessy (me): Yes, I really am ^▽^!!

Alex:*stands behind them with a red face* omg! He's so strong, maybe I should ask him to get my turn

Alex:*Heading towards them and talks to Saiko* Umm, excuse me Saiko, but may I have a turn?..

Saiko:*with a smile* of course!

Saiko:*to Jessy* I'm very sorry cuz but can your friend Alex have a turn if you want?

Jessy (me):*in her mind* ohh she's blushing, maybe she has a crush on him then.

Jessy (me): ok no problem!

*Jessy got off Saiko's back and looked at Alex with a sly face*

Jessy (me): 😏

Alex:*Her face was extremely red* S-Stop looking at me with this face you idiot!!

Jessy (me):*giggles* Ha ha alright!

*the she left the salon, and Alex rode on Saiko's back and he started pushing up again*

Alex:*in her mind* Oh my god I can't believe I'm doing this now, this is embarrassing!

*then Jonathan stormed into the salon with anger on his face*

Jonathan:*to Alex* Can I talk to him for a moment?

Alex: Sure

*After that, she got off Saiko's back and used her wondrous powers to get out of the salon*

Saiko:*standed up and started talking to Jonathan* Hello there friend, I'm Saiko and I'm so happy to...

*before Saiko finish his talk, Jonathan walked up to him and slapped him hard*

Saiko:*got mad at him and shouted*Why did you do that?? What's wrong with you?!!

Jonathan: I know why you came here, you just came to take my bunny from me, you fool

Saiko:*with and awkward smile*: oh ho ho, so is that what all about?! She will be mine and she doesn't deserve a retarded man like you!!

Jonathan: oh honey, You will see what I will do to you soon if you don't stay away from her

*the two of them started looking at echother with looks of hate*

Part 5 coming soon! ✌🏻✨

I'm sorry if this is very short but I'm trying to plan how the rest of the story will be, so I'll post the fifth part in the next week!!

[honey-andmilktea]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

𝐕𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐕𝐚𝐧 𝐆𝐨𝐠𝐡

・゜゜・．🤎📜☕️ 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐧���𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐠! [𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭]

･ﾟﾟ･｡🪵🍂🧸 𝐛𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

･ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ･｡🪵🍂🧸 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

･ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ･｡🪵🍂🧸 𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗ 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢��𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧…

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 🍂✏️ @honey-andmilktea​ - 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.

: ̗̀➛ 🤎🪵🪶 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧: 𝟎𝟐.𝟐𝟒.𝟐𝟑

: ̗̀➛ 🤎🪵🪶 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧: 𝟎𝟕.𝟏𝟕.𝟐𝟑

[kedsandtubesocks]

^ME TRYING TO FIGHT THE MAX P ROT & STILL WANTING TO READ UR STORY FREYA WHHXEJJSS

But wow… oh my goodness this piece was INCREDIBLE!!!

You do such a fantastic job allowing the story to flow and follow Max while also reflecting his personality! Like I absolutely adore when a story’s writing style moves to fit a character and you did this so well 🥹

Plus you made Max (who is my true Pedro boy nemesis LMAO) so… endearing

Like this section right here, one of my favs:

But he’s useless. Less than a gnat. Sentenced to watch you trail this motherfucker who wouldn’t know Tom Ford from his Brioni into your kitchen, jackets shedding and small talk traded—boring, boring, boring, but you laugh when the guy makes a shitty joke about the weather.

This guy, this nobody, gets to make you laugh while Max never even gets a chance to try.

I melted, it was perfectly Max while also being touchingly heartfelt!! You kept him snarky while also humanizing him as a ghostie & I will be thinking about the way you weaved all of this together for a while 🖤

Thank you so much for this wonderful spooky tale dearest Freya & I’m kinda shaking my fist at your writing abilities now cause here I am kinda falling for Max LMAOOOO

THE PRETTIEST

written for @quinnnfabrgay-writes & @hauntedhowlett-writes' #MONSTERSMASH2024 challenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Max Phillips x f!Reader CREATURE: GHOST + MAX PHILLIPS WORD COUNT: 4.3k CW: Smut (piv), voyeurism/non-consensual voyeurism (he's invisible and reader doesn't know he's watching), Max is a bit of a creep okay he's doing his best here, protective!max, jealous!max, enough manager speak that I got tech startup flashbacks.

SUMMARY: After a restructuring at the company, Max finds himself dead—this time for good—and haunting his old duplex. Lucky for him, you move in.

read on ao3 | almostfoxglove masterlist

Of all the hell holes where one might waste eternity, Max is pretty sure his vacant duplex is the worst of them. Six rooms, two floors spined by a spiral staircase—all boring and hollow and dusty. Disgusting. How difficult would it have been to let him haunt the office? He could’ve leered over all those pathetic little office drones, driven them crazy forever. Fucked with their desk chairs, their hard drives, mixed up all their coffee mugs. Not that Max has mastered the art of affecting the material world yet, but he will.

Petty? Sure. But you can’t blame a guy for feeling a little owed after all management’s little reorganization. His relocation to the goddamn fucking afterlife—and to this prison of an apartment where there’s no one to subjugate or fuck, no less. 

What a waste of his potential. His talents.

Who knows how long he spends stuck alone in this place until someone shows up, but eventually people do. The real estate agent—Doreen and her little beehive hairdo, her eyebrows always penciled on too thin—and, over what Max estimates to be about three weeks, a parade of nobodies she tours around, preaching godless, truthless sermons of the duplex’s good bones and the good life they could have in these dreary fucking rooms. He’d be proud of her sales pitch if he weren’t so goddamn pissed.

He tries, he really does. Yells often, I’m right here, Dor-een, honey, right fucking here! And waves his arms in front of her face, but he can scream as loud as he likes; nobody hears a thing. 

For the first time in his many lives, people walk straight through him. 

There might be, possibly, some karma in that. 

Max doesn’t care for it.

It’s misery until the day Doreen brings him you.

Come on, Max whines, slouching lazily on your couch. Curled up with your bedsheets cloaked over your head, you rot on the cushions beside him, four hours deep in a Desperate Housewives marathon, oblivious to his company: your usual Sunday routine.

As usual you don’t hear him, don’t see him either. Sitting right beside you, making no dents in the pillows, his glossy dress shoes kicked up on the coffee table. Still he finds himself complaining, one hand gesticulating wildly at the screen, You’re killing me, baby. It’s obviously the fucking neighbor! Guy’s got a box of death under his pool!

Meanwhile you just sit there, enthralled as Eva Longoria struts about in her tiny skirts and tiny shoes. Max tells himself the only reason he stays in the room when you watch this garbage is for her and all the other pretty housewives or to leer at what bits of you peek out from your duvet each time you reach for your tea on the coffee table—a wrist, your elbow, and when you knock over the popcorn bowl and slip the sheets from your head, the lovely hollow of your perfect neck. Truth is, if you were to quiz him, he’d be able to cite the plot of the whole season beat for beat.

Not that he’s enjoying this, this—this garbage. Never.

No fucking way. He’s just perceptive. Has an excellent memory.

Plus this is the one way he gets to be close to you. Such a pretty little thing, taunting him without ever knowing it. That sweet mouth, those clever eyes. Showering with the bathroom door sometimes cracked like you know he’s here and dying to peek through the veil of your jasmine-laced steam. Chewing the ends of your pencils while you sketch out some masterpiece on looseleaf that you never get around to painting.

Sitting on your couch, at your dining table, at the foot of your bed while you brush out your hair after a long day—it’s the closest Max gets to feeling like being stuck here might not be hell, just purgatory: always a breath away from the thing he’d like to touch, but at least he’s not simmering in battery acid or being flogged. He’s had his share of blood-bag roommates—brief fascinations that drained so quickly—but you? You’ve lived in Max’s apartment for three months and he’s no less drunk on you than he was the day Doreen toured you around. Can’t quite put his finger on why. Maybe it’s the longing, the forest fire that sears through his ice-box chest every time your eyes skim his face by accident, never lingering. 

What can he say? Max is a man, after all. Under all the blood and monster.

And you’re the prettiest creature he’s ever seen.

When the show cuts to commercial you mute the TV, immune to the serpent-tongued promises of liars like him. Lured by nothing, by nobody. Already slinking from your bedsheet cave, all bare legs and cute little ankles striding out of the room, leaving him with the ghost of you, the smell of your perfume kissed into the duvet.

What he wouldn’t give for the chance to sell himself to you. He’d charm you all the way to your perfect knees.

In a way, you and Max are the perfect couple. You’re free to do as you wish, and he’s free to watch you every second that you spend at home, miserable the moment you leave for work in those tight fucking pencil skirts. No better than a dog, he spends his vagrant hours of isolation alternating between puppy-eyed pouting and anxious pacing, tortured until your evening return. 

How did he ever live here alone? Alive or otherwise. He can’t remember now. There are too many rooms, too few sounds, too few breaths, too few footsteps. He misses you. Your bedhead and pajamas, your blanket nest in front of the TV, the cute way you answer the phone. 

Today, you don’t come home till eight fifteen—and Max has spent thirteen hours losing what’s left of his mind.

Baby, he sighs, rushing for the front room at the first turn of the lock, a grin stretched to dimples in his cheeks. Seems even if you can’t hear him, Max can’t help talking to you, perhaps childlike in his belief that someday you will. Where the hell have you—

His sentence hacks itself in half, drops to silence, because you’re blushing when you come in, eyes shyly downcast, one hand shaking the rain loose from your hair, tendrils clinging to your cheeks. “Here,” you say, and for a beat Max thinks you’re speaking to him. His mouth drops, stunned. 

Is this it? Can you finally see him?

“Come in, come in,” you say.

Then a man steps in behind you, shuts the door behind his hulking form, and if there were any blood to speak of in his veins, Max is certain it’d boil at the sight of him. Tall and empty-headed, dopey as a dog, stomping his blocky, muddy shoes all over your hallway. Yours and Max’s. Getting goddamn filth on your hall carpet. Given just a few material cells, Max’d have this guy dead before he makes it to the living room, wouldn’t even bother drinking him. This breed of dumbass isn’t worth the mess.

But he’s useless. Less than a gnat. Sentenced to watch you trail this motherfucker who wouldn’t know Tom Ford from his Brioni into your kitchen, jackets shedding and small talk traded—boring, boring, boring, but you laugh when the guy makes a shitty joke about the weather. 

This guy, this nobody, gets to make you laugh while Max never even gets a chance to try.

On second thought, maybe this is hell after all.

“S’a nice place,” the dumbass says, laying his knockoff blazer over the back of a barstool. Cheap stitching. Terrible, too-thin lapels.

You look about the room as if standing in it for the first time and for a moment your eyes pass right over Max, whose long-dead heart winces. Yelps. If you could see him, there’s no way you’d entertain this guy. This nameless little worker bee. Max would make you laugh properly, how you laugh when something funny happens on TV or when you get a letter in the mail from your brother. Sudden and twinkling, often ending in a snort. Adorable.

Shrugging, you turn into your fridge and say, “Yeah, I like it,” and exhume two slim cans of vodka seltzer to set on the kitchen island.

Thank you, Max says, his arms crossed over his chest.

The dumbass’ brows flicker up as he regards your offering. Idiot. What was he expecting from a girl like you, a PBR? These are delicious. Elegant. Calorie wise. Max understands. Max would drink that with a smile and a thank you. 

Or maybe he’d skip right to drinking you.

Sensing his hesitation, you crack your can and take a sip. “They’re not as bad as they look,” you say, a nervous chuckle bittering your lips as you watch your date open his can and bring it to his nose to sniff. “Sorry. I don’t have anything else.”

You can do so much better, baby, Max sighs. You’ve got better right here.

Against his will, the hours pass. The evening goes on. You and the dumbass only drink half a can each—him with a half-snarled lip and you with a self-conscious twinge—but somehow by nightfall he’s got you scooching your barstool closer to him, allowing his slimy hand to rest on your thigh. 

Max bristles. Seethes. Don’t do it, he pleads to you, unheard. He’s not gonna fuck you right, just look at him. Send this idiot home and watch TV with me. Do anything but this guy, baby, anything but him.

You bend in slow motion and it’s agonizing, the tilt of your head as you press your lips to his. The wet slurp of his mouth taking the second you meet. A terrible kiss, though you’re polite enough not to flinch. Breaking from the prod of his pink-slug tongue to offer your neck, his mouth immediately moving, and fuck baby, it’s like you’re trying to kill him all over again. Drive a stake straight through Max’s blackened heart by giving up what he longs to claim.

In an instant, anger births itself from the hollow of his chest. His hand shoots out in useless violence, swinging as if to strike a seltzer can from the countertop and knowing it won’t do a lick of good as ire devours him, igneous and fervid, searing hot as life in his icy hands.

The can jumps from the counter and clunks to the floor, its contents gluggluglug-ing across the tiles.

“The fuck?” Max hears the dumbass gasp as he leaps from his barstool, eyes bugged wide and child-like and weak. You freeze, lips pink and swollen, staring down at the emptying can. 

It’s a shame neither of you can see the way Max smiles. 

Now that’s what I’m talking about, he crows. Finally a little substance around here! 

This is good. No, it’s better than good. This is the rush after a promotion, after the deal that closes out the quarter over target. The look on every sad sack’s face knowing they lost and he won.

This is the bite that finally breaks skin.

Maddening, burgeoning, addictive.

He’s real again. A goddamn Beetlejuice for you, baby. He’s gonna scare this fucknut out of here and have you to himself. First was the can, next is you, and he’s gonna kiss you so much better than that. In celebration, Max kicks one foot to send the can soaring across the kitchen floor and watches his shoe pass right through it, aluminum undisturbed on the floor. No, he mutters, kicking again. No, fucking—come on, you worthless piece of shit—

Your nervous laugh is too far away to comfort him. Distant too is your voice saying, “My room’s this way,” and the shuffling of your footsteps as Max loses his shit on the seltzer can that now refuses to budge no matter the swell of his outrage. By the time he snaps from his incensed trance, your barstools are empty. He blinks, breathless with muscle memory—his lungs wheezing because they remember wheezing, not out of need.

Baby? he calls out.

But you reply. A murmur too lusty to be a giggle—Max’s body coils up at the sound, taut and needy, and carries him toward the sound. He forgets, briefly, who you’re with. Believes he’ll find you in your bedroom alone beneath the covers, hands fluttering as you bring yourself to the edge of release. How beautiful you’d be, gasping in pleasure. He might close his eyes and pretend it’s him drawing out your every breathy, needy sound.

You’ve left the bedroom door cracked, and though in death he’s no longer bound by silly things like permission, Max has since you moved in found himself in the habit of respecting closed doors. Walls are chalk outlines over which he’s free to step, but he doesn’t, not if you’ve closed the gate. He’s not a monster. Or not a total monster—whatever, semantics. Point is that he only spies on your showers if you’ve cracked the door. Indulges in the soft moments of you sleeping only when you’ve left him that sliver of room.

Like the room you’ve left him now: slender and tempting, this stripe of your bedroom wall. A Degas print in a copper frame, the wooden post at the foot of your bed. 

Your sweet voice cooing here, like this, and the creak of your mattress.

Something black and silty sinks in Max’s stomach when he steps inside. Not the rage from moments ago. Something darker, heavier. Jealousy. Half-sheeted by your duvet, the dumbass you’ve brought home rocks above you, his shirt gone, his beefcake arm blocking the view of your chest, and though you’re making all the right sounds it’s obvious this isn’t any good.

He’s not fucking you right.

Your hands clawing at his back are too stiff. Your yeses a beat too slow. As the idiot pants—thrusts choppy and graceless—Max watches your hand tap his shoulder blade as you breathe, “Flip over.”

“What?” bumbles the guy, his hips stalling. “Oh shit—fuck yeah. Okay.”

Another grunt, then he rolls off and Max gets a glimpse of you—your red bra lacy and see through, your nipples so pretty underneath. It just isn’t right, the awkwardness of this colossal douchebag as he settles on his back and you ruck back the covers to straddle him, not at all breathless, hardly even flushed, your hair all messy at the back from disappointing friction.

“Shit,” the guy gasps as you sink down on him, clamping those boorish hands onto your waist.

You don’t even whine, not even as you start to rock, though his breathing gallops beneath you. Guy looks two seconds from nutting while you look years away from anything even loosely resembling an orgasm—your rhythm changing often as you try and fail to find a pace that suits you. “Christ—oh my god, ” the guy groans.

Max sucks his front teeth, tongue soiled with venom.

“Touch me,” you sigh, bouncing now. The curtain of your hair shivering down your back. 

This guy fucks like he’s never touched a woman before. At your request his knuckles only pale, fingers pinching you tighter. That’s not what she means, Max growls. Touch her fucking clit, you pin-dicked imbecile. Can’t fucking please a woman, should be fucking ashamed—

His pointless ranting is cut short by a sudden moan as the guy lifts you off him in time to come all over his stomach, chest rapid in its heaving, upper lip snarled in pleasure he doesn’t have the goddamn decency to return to you. For a long moment you hover above him, waiting, but his head just slumps back against the pillow, satisfied. 

Done.

He’s actually done. Motherfucker.

When you crawl off him to sit back against your headboard—arms crossing over your stomach self-consciously—Max sees red. Sees fire. Sees the roiling magma at the center of the earth where someone oughta make this fucker take a nice hot bath. 

He’d do this right. He’d fuck you properly, have you coming apart at the seams, go down on you until you beg for his cock and edge himself for as long as it takes to have you screaming his name. Can’t you see that? Can’t you feel him here, right now? Can’t you feel how bad he wants you? Can’t you imagine how much better he’d be? How good he’d make you feel?

Letting out an airy chuckle, the brute wipes the back of his hand across his sweaty brow and pushes himself to his feet. Redresses with a goddamn smirk on his face—not one of cruelty, but it might as well be. He thinks this is a job well done. Time to go home. 

A peck to your lips, then he’s rattling on about calling you, seeing you again, maybe Thursday? Friday? While you just sit there, blinking up at him in disbelief. “Sure,” you say, dazed and not quite thinking. “I’ll call you.”

Yeah, she’s not calling you, Max snarls, following the guy out of the room. Watching as the jackass plucks his jacket from the back of your barstool, steps over the mess of seltzer without a thought to clean it up for you, and waltzes right out the door. Not a care in the goddamn world. 

Though he hears you get up shortly after to use the bathroom, you don’t emerge from your bedroom and Max doesn’t disturb you. He spends that time in the kitchen, grabbing and grabbing and grabbing at the dish towel hung over the handle on the oven door, trying to pull it off. 

For at least an hour, his hand glides through the towel as if it’s water, not a flutter or sway in the fabric. Not even a brush, a compromise. It just hangs there, indignant. Mocking him. Deaddeaddeaddeaddead. Maybe it’s the Senior Sales Manager in him, the apex predator at the top of the food chain—but Max can do this all night. He’s not backing down, not letting a stupid fucking towel get the better of him. That lazy curtain of terrycloth will disintegrate before he waves the white flag. 

Beyond the picture frame windows that stare out into the barren, colorless street, the sun has shied to navy blue, letting out the round-mouthed moon, and you have not emerged from your bedroom for hours. He wants to check on you, ask if you’re okay. Frankly, baby, he’s getting a little worried. On the next sweep of his hand, the towel gives up the ghost; Max pulls it from the oven handle, marveling at the toothy fabric. He’s holding it, really holding it, all on his own. 

Thank fuck he’s not haunting the office. If any of those bull-brained fucks saw him now, as he kneels on your kitchen floor, he’d have to die all over again. Somehow. The technicals aren’t important—what’s important is that no one’s here to see him on his fucking knees, mopping up the spilled drink. Something like joy burbles in his chest when he reaches for the can and seizes it, placing it safely on your counter. The floor dry and shining again, clean. 

Max folds the towel carefully and returns it to the rack. 

As if on cue, the bedroom door croaks down the hall and you emerge. A huge t-shirt slumps from your frame; you’ve tied your hair up, put your glasses back on. Dressed down for the last dregs of night, rubbing the back of your hand in one eye, tired. 

You look so, so tired.

I’d rub your shoulders, baby, Max sighs quietly and though you won’t hear him, it still—after three whole months—doesn’t feel any less right to hope.

He steps out of your way as you round the corner into the kitchen with a yawn, hands clasped behind his back, cheek dimpled and eyes alight. Just like he wanted, just like he hoped, your eyes fall immediately to the floor where the can is missing, the spill wiped. Lashes flickering—the towel dark at the hem on its handle, the empty can on the counter. Your brows pinch low over your nose, curious. 

Pretty good for a dead guy, Max grins.

How sweet, that lifting flinch at your mouth’s sharp, pink corner. The soft hm you make in reply. It’s not much, but this strange, fluttery feeling in the dark cavity one might wrongly call his heart? It doesn’t feel half bad. 

Not bad at all.

He’s getting better at it. Not great, but the projections look good. Give him a little time, he’ll have this whole place dancing. Put on a big show, announce himself properly. 

In the meantime he practices when you’re not looking. Small stuff—he opens cupboards. Shuts them. Hits start on the dryer when you forget to press it yourself. Some days he wastes reaching for things and coming up empty, but now again his luck sparkles. Things move. Bend to his will. Isn’t long until he can hold it for a while—gathering the matter to run the vacuum around, or reorganize your pantry. A tidy house makes a tidy mind, baby. No good living in a dump. You’re so busy, always cracking around like a ping pong ball, and hell, it’s not like Max can leave this place, get a little air in his idle lungs.

He likes being useful to you. Likes that tiny smirk on your lips when you find something fixed or organized for you, even though you likely chalk it up to having forgotten that you did it yourself. Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need the credit. Isn’t that strange? How often he smiles at you? How perfect he finds the taste of your name.

Winter has arrived like a secret—whispered about for weeks and then suddenly let loose on the world. You come home from work in the evenings with icing sugar hair. Usually unbothered, far as Max can tell, but today you stagger in flushed from the cold and dark in the eyes.

Shit, baby, Max says when he sees you. Bad day?

Sniffling, you drop your coat right there in the hall, let it puddle over your shoes, and stalk off on a mission, barreling into the kitchen. The fridge door rips open, casting blue-white light over your face, and you must feel a hell of a lot worse than you feel because you don’t even blink at the contents inside. All the shelves wiped clean, the bottles arranged with the labels facing out, those wilted, bad greens deposited in the compost. You just reach in for the half-drunk bottle of Riesling that to Max smelled mostly like juice and swipe off the lid.

You chug on your way to the couch, leaving the fridge door open behind you.

Max closes it when you’ve gone, the TV already switched on in the living room, the lilting strings of the Desperate Housewives theme song swimming through the air. When he turns the corner he finds you wrapped in the throw blanket he now knows the texture of—supple and velvet, weighted and warm—with the wine bottle nestled in your lap. 

A silver tear hangs on your cheek. 

Really bad day, whatever it was. 

He wants to ask. Wants to pull you into his arms and pet back your hair. Wants to lick that sadness from your skin. 

Maybe this isn’t the show he’s imagined. Not much of a reveal—but you look so small right now, alone on your couch. Wine splashing in its bottle as you bring it to your lips, not bothering to wipe that tear away. If Max had a heart that beat, it’d stutter as he watches you. Helpless isn’t something he cares to feel.

No time like the present. Max sighs, scrubs a hand down his face as he ticks his jaw to one side, and nods. Alright, baby, he relents. Hang on.

On his way to the bathroom he cracks all the knuckles on his left hand, rolls his neck, swings his shoulders. Stretches himself long and limber like he’s about to run—but this is it. Curtain’s coming up. Time to find out if one glimpse of him sends you sprinting for the hills. Though he casts no reflection, Max stands before the mirror hanging over the sink and straightens his tie, corrects his lapels. Old habits, but it never hurts to look good.

Hand waggling, then, over the tissue box on the counter. He slaps himself hard, sending a delicious ripple of pain across his cheek. Come on, he begs. Don’t play hard to get.

The box lifts.

Here he comes: tissue box in hand, stalking tall and proud down your hallway with his chin up, shoulders back. Gets the momentum rolling, doesn’t hesitate, just waltzes in.

Your head snaps in his direction, eyes round and brows rising. To you it must look like the tissues float through the air to your side. Max steps back with butterflies jittering in his bones. 

Don’t be scared, he pleads. It’s just me.

With your head cocked to one side you consider this, though you’ve not heard his voice. Probably for the best. Came out a little softer than he meant it to, a little needy, and that’s just not becoming of a man like him. He has a reputation to uphold, even now. 

After a long, bludgeoning pause you click your tongue, swiping one white tissue from the box to turn over in your hand. Deliberating. Then your face cracks, possessed by a slithering smirk. Your gaze flickering so close to him it’s almost as if you’ve looked him in the eye. 

Deep in his chest, Max feels a strange throb—his stirring heart—as you say out loud, 

“I knew someone was there.”

dividers by @saradika-graphics - tag list & some mutuals!

@ak-vintage @thethirstwivesclub @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @hediondoamor-blog @harriedandharassed 

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[yvbiko]

𝐊𝐀𝐎𝐌𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐊 #𝟐

☆ SYMBOLS :

 ꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

⁺ 𓂋 𓈒 ♡

₊ ⊹ ⪩⪨ ┆text ✨ ‹𝟥

⋆⠀҂҂⠀๑⠀، 🌷᜔ׄ୭

✦ ⠂⠂୨୧

𖥻 ִ ۫ ּ 𓏲 ، ݃♟❜ 𓈈

𓏲 🍓 ִֶָ𖤐˚. ⬧ 𖧧 ָ࣪

𖦆 𒀭࣪⋆ 💭 ׅ ࣪𓏲ּ

⋆ ❱ ✧˖° ✰ ꒱꒱ ⋆˚.

𓄼 💡 % ！🧂៹

𒀭 ˖ ࣪ 𓂃 𓄰

°˖ ⊹ ꒰🌱꒱ [Name] ♡

٠⊹ •🩰• ⊹𓂅

˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩

《｡·҂𖦹 →📁✏️꒱

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

₊˚𓂃 ★﹒₊‧ ★・⸝⸝﹒₊˚

⋆｡˚🫀｡˚⋆

⊹°‧︵🥯 °˘⊳🥟 !

୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

。 °˖ ʚ🍓ɞ ꒦꒷⩩

🩰 ♡ ⁺‧₊˚🧸💌 🦢

ル ˖ ♡ ₍ ᐢ..ᐢ ₎ 📍 ࣪ . ›

₊˙ ◌ ⁎˚ 〇﹒ 🦷﹒ 🪩 ₊˙ ◌

☆ KAOMOJI :

₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎

(ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)

(꒪˙꒳˙꒪ )

ꈍᴗꈍ ꃋᴖꃋ

(๑-﹏-๑)

₍ᵔ·͈༝·͈ᵔ₎

＞︿＜

ノ﹏ヽ

ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ

৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻)

(⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

"( – ⌓ – )

૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა

(๑>؂•̀๑)

( • ᴖ • ｡)

૮₍ ´• ˕ •` ₎ა

(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) 

꒰ঌᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ໒꒱

“(ノ _ <,, )

꒰✿´ ꒳ ` ꒱♡

૮₍˶Ó﹏Ò ⑅₎ა

꒰♡˃̶̤́ ꒳ ˂̶̤̀ ꒱

ᯣ_ᯣ

(づ￣ ³￣)づ

☆ BORDERS / DIVIDERS :

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

══════════════════

━━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━━━

─────•~❉✿❉~•─────

⋆⋆☆⋆⋆⋆⋆☆⋆⋆

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

━─━────༺༻────━─━

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

────── 〔✿〕──────

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

☆ EMOJI COMBO :

🎧🤍🕯️🖇️⸜

🎧💿🎸♡

🩰🦢🕯🍒💌

🐇🩰🕯

🧺🍄🌱🐏🍯🪴

🦔🫧🪷🌷🧺🗝️🕰️

🧺🪵🕊

🎀🪞🩰🦢🕯️

🩰🕯💌🕰

🫧🤍🧸

💌🤍🩹

🕸️🦇🎸🎧★

🐾🍮🐇🫧🦴🎀

🕯 🧸 ☁ 🪐 🕊 🤎 🌙

💿🗞★✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧

🧸🤎🤍☁️

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍓🍒🍄 ꒱ ˎˊ˗

🐇🍰🌷♡

-🎧🤍💌✩°-

🌿☁️🐚🕊️📎🥥🧺

🤍🍓🐇🍥‎♡‧₊˚

✧🪞🧺🎧🤍🫧

🧸🧺🍓🍯

💌🌿🌷🧷🧸

Thank you for 800+ followers. All rb and follow are really appreciated. All credits go to kaomoji. Any trouble on copying or something else? Just dm. Part one here

[thestupidhelmet]

Fanfic Ask Game

Put a color in my ask box, and I'll answer the corresponding question. Please ask me only one at a time. 😄

If you'd like me to ask you a question in return from this list, add a ✏️.

💚 Green: Do you ever feel inspired by and/or jealous of other people's writing?

♥️ Red: Do you ever feel anxious or scared while writing? If so, why?

💙 Blue: What inspires you to finish writing a fanfic, and what makes you quit writing one at any stage in the process?

💜 Purple: Name one song you're listening to while writing your next/current fanfic. How or why does it help the writing process?

🧡 Orange: When in the day do you typically write?

🩷 Pink: Do you find a certain character (or characters) easy to write? More difficult -- and if so, do you avoid writing that character (or those characters) when possible?

🖤 Black: Do you think about your story when you're not physically writing it? Does it help with plotting scenes, character arcs, etc.?

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[jessythebunny]

💢°•The jealousy•°💢

✨Participants✨

Jessy

Messy

Jonathon

Saiko

Liam

Owen

Otis

Lucy

Alex

Rami

Ken

Venessa

(These are all the oc's that they will participate in the rest of the story✨✨)

[kedsandtubesocks]

Oh Kate…my darling Kate this came for my neck…

So I’ve been wanting to explore Frankie more and I knew I wanted to dive into your masterlist more and then this fic immediately stood out to me

And now I’m like “I got blessed oh my god” 😭

First off, the image of Frnakienin sweats you are angel for giving us this lol and then… Frankie is so tender and considerate, guiding and loving and I just want to melt into this!!! He is a caregiver at his core and you let that shine through so BEAUTIFULLY!! Him calling us his treasure too 🥹

And then the spice, OOOF THANK YOU FOR THE MEAL MA’AM 🥵

And okay maybe I’m just lame but this line Frankie says during the heat of the moment was absolutely divine??

But he holds you at that pace – slow and maddening. “You were made for this, tesoro. We were made for this. Look at how we fit together.”

Kate, I literally felt my heart flutter in my chest because how utterly devoted and tender but so damn SEXY THAT IS?? The way you could layer all of that in this line?? And layer all those emotions in this one fic??

He is our home! WE ARE HIS HOME! We are home with him and it’s just?!? It all so intertwined together!!!

Thank you so much for crafting this and for gifting us this sweet Frankie comfort to dive into!!! 🥺💕

home

Frankie Morales x f!reader | 18+ minors DNI | 2.2k words | ao3

a/n: look, I saw this picture of pedro in grey sweatpants and my brain said "that's frankie morales" and then I wrote this. the end. (stop at '...' to skip the smut.) summary: Frankie welcomes you home and takes care of you after a long day. and then he takes care of you, if you know what I mean. warnings: fluff, reader has a bad day and frankie comforts you, kissing, touching, food, softness, pet names (baby, hermosa, tesoro), and then smut (start marked with ...), kissing, a bit of groping, grinding, p in v sex, riding, dirty talk, no use of y/n, reader has no description other than having a vagina and wearing clothes, no mention of breasts

You’ve had a long day – one of those where everything that can go wrong does, just a hundred small problems in a row that add up to you, so tired of thinking and talking and being on, sitting silently in your car in your driveway. Willing yourself to move and go inside.

You don’t know how long you sit there, engine off, unmoving, but it must have been too long. Your attention is caught by the front door opening. Frankie steps through and closes it behind him softly. He leans back against it, arms crossed, eyes on you.

He looks good. He looks like everything you need in this moment – comfort and warmth and care. Soft, in his sweatshirt and gray sweatpants. Like home. You suddenly feel a tightness in your chest and a lump in your throat. Your next breath shudders in your chest.

Frankie must see it, or he just knows you that well, because his brow furrows as he pushes off the door and walks towards you. Your eyes stay locked on him as he rounds the front of your car and stops at your door, opening it slowly.

“Baby.” He reaches towards you, one hand landing on your thigh, the other cupping your face. “What can I do?”

You turn your face into his palm and your breath hitches. The tears that threatened just a moment ago burn at the back of your eyes.

“Breathe, tesoro.” He wraps his left arm around your waist, turning you to face him as he steps between your legs. “Bad day?” You nod and let him pull you forward until your face is tucked into his neck. He rubs your back with his left hand, soothing it down your spine.

“Wanna talk about it?” You shake your head without moving it from his neck. “Alright.” He pulls you into a tight hug. “What do you think – food first, or bath?” 

You pull back and let your eyes meet his, and then wander over his face. He smiles at you a little, steady under your gaze. This man, you think. This man, who knows exactly what you need in this moment. Who knows just how to take care of you. 

“I love you.” You’re so close you get to see the joy take over his expression and you track it across his face. His smile widens as his eyes crinkle. He always reacts like he’s hearing it for the first time. “I love you too, baby.” He leans in to kiss you softly, just a greeting, welcoming you home. “So, what do you think?”

“Food,” you decide, kissing him again. Frankie hums into your mouth and then nods. “Ok, hermosa. Come on.” He pulls you out of the car, letting your feet fall slowly to the ground, one arm hooking around your waist as he pushes the door shut behind you. He nudges you towards the front door and moves to grab your bag off the passenger seat.

Inside, Frankie tells you to go get comfy while he sets the table. But first he kisses you again, reeling you in before he lets you continue down the hall. You smile. You’re already feeling warmer, more present, like yourself again, after just five minutes with him in the driveway. 

You find your comfiest clothes and change quickly before heading back towards the kitchen, where you find Frankie plating your dinner. His sweatpants are hanging low on his hips, and you just take a moment to appreciate the view.

He turns, both plates in hand, and catches you leaning against the door frame with your gaze lowered. When you meet his eyes he’s grinning at you. “See something you like?”

You smile in response, unashamed to be caught checking out your boyfriend. “Can you blame me? There’s a handsome man in my kitchen who’s about to feed me.” Frankie ducks his head, awkward as always in the face of praise, but he’s still smiling. “Come on, tesoro, let’s eat.”

You sit, and sink into the comfort that is being at home with Frankie. The food is delicious, of course, and you tell him so, and he smiles and ducks his head again. Over dinner he tells you about how his trainees are doing at the airfield, and how one of them is almost ready for her first solo piloting job. You can see his pride and excitement for his students in his eyes. When he looks up, he finds you gazing at him as you listen, chin in your hand, food forgotten. He laughs and nudges your hand towards your fork again.

After you’re both finished Frankie moves to clean up the dishes, but you grab his hands and start to walk backwards towards the couch. He smiles and lets himself be led. Once you get there, though, he spins you, falling back onto the couch first and pulling you into his lap. You go happily.

He pulls you in, and you tuck your head into his shoulder, face against his neck. He hums.

“Feeling better, tesoro?” You nod in response. “Want to watch anything?” You shake your head. He laughs, softly. “Want me to talk?”

You pull your head up this time, and meet his eyes. He’s smiling at you, so soft, so handsome. You can't help yourself. 

You lean in to kiss him, and it’s slow and soft. Saying hello, and I love you, and I’m so happy to come home to you with the gentle press of your lips. 

It stays like that until both you and Frankie, like you’re in each others heads, move at the same – you shift your weight to get closer, he smooths his hands across your hips. Something about the movement takes the kiss from soft to intense. You fall into him, letting Frankie sweep you away.

…

His sudden strong grip on your thigh distracts you and you inhale sharply as you pull back. You realize at some point in the last few minutes you’ve moved to straddle his lap. He takes advantage of the opening and tucks his face into your neck, pressing kisses down your shoulder. 

“This what you want, baby?” His voice is deep, heavy with arousal, and it sends a shiver across your shoulders. He notices. “Yeah?” You nod, and he pulls your hips closer to his own. You feel him, then, his cock hot and thick against you. Your breath catches as he grins. “That’s it, baby, just like that.”

You move into a natural rhythm against him, grinding down to meet his thrusts as you fall back into his kiss. His sweatpants are so thin it’s almost like there’s nothing between you and his cock and you can feel the heat pooling at the bottom of your spine. “Frankie, I–” You gasp at the feeling of his cock nestling inside your pussy through the layers of your clothing. You’re so wet you’re sure it’s leaving a dark stain on his pants.

He lets out a short, deep moan. “Tell me, tesoro. Tell me what you want.”

“Pants, Frankie.” You sigh as you grind against him again. “N- no pants.”

He huffs a laugh, and moves to do your bidding. In a flash your own soft pants and underwear are gone, and his sweatpants are shoved down his legs. You realize as he does so that he isn’t wearing briefs. You lick across your bottom lip as his cock springs free from the sweatpants, and he watches your reaction, grinning. 

Almost without warning, he pulls you forward again, and this time you groan in unison. His cock nestles right into your pussy, head warm and firm against your clit. He thrusts and you’re so wet the slide of him against you is smooth as silk. You can’t help but grind down, chasing the high you were so close to a minute ago, but it’s not enough. “More, Frankie, I want-” you suck in a breath as he hits your clit just right. “Frankie, please fuck me, baby.” 

It’s his turn to lose his breath as he pulls you into a searing kiss. His right hand holds your head in place, firm around the back of your neck, as his left adjusts your hips to move you into position. You lift up and somehow you both get it just right, so that you barely have to move at all before the head of his cock notches right where you want it. Where you need it. 

Your hands slide up his arms and neck and into his hair, and you open your mouth to his kiss as you sink slowly down onto his cock. He moans, but you keep your mouth on his until you’re seated, until you’re full. With Frankie you’re always so full. 

You both take a moment to breathe, to revel in the feeling. He smooths his hands around your waist and suddenly pulls you even closer, tilting your hips forward just enough to feel him slide a little bit deeper. The noise you make is so pleased, so satisfied, that he grins. “That’s right, baby, you like that? Hmm? Like how I fill you up?” You nod, speechless. “Yeah, you do. Look at you. You were made to take this cock, tesoro.” You sigh at the idea and grind your hips down. “Just like this cock was made to fill this pussy.”

With that, Frankie starts to move. Slow, at first, with long, smooth strokes, lifting you up by the hips before guiding you smoothly back down. You let him take the lead, lifting yourself up when he wants you to and falling slowly back down. You're starting to lose yourself in it, eyes closed, head thrown back, when he pulls you forward and brings his lips to your ear.

“You look so beautiful like this.” He presses a kiss behind your ear. “‘s nothing better than this, than you, tight around my cock, warm and wet and p- perfect.” His soft words, almost whispered in your ear, make you start to move your hips faster. But he holds you at that pace – slow and maddening. “You were made for this, tesoro. We were made for this. Look at how we fit together.” His right hand comes up and guides you to look down at where his cock is sinking inside you. A high pitched noise, thin and long and breathy, escapes you without conscious thought. “So fucking beautiful, the way you sit on this cock, baby. Never seen anything like it.”

Finally, finally, Frankie starts to speed up. But you’re already there, heat shimmering up your spine, sparks at the edge of your vision. Every thrust pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

“Frankie, I-” 

“I know, hermosa. I can feel it.” His next thrust is sharp as he pulls you down onto his cock. You moan again. He hits a rhythm that drives every single thought out of your mind, like there’s nothing left of you but where you and Frankie come together. Only this. “Let go, baby. Let me see it. Let me feel it. I need to see it, tesoro, show me how you come. Come for me. Right now. Now, baby.”

When he says it, when he tells you to come now, he pulls you close and grinds into you on a thrust that hits you just right. His fingers squeeze at your ass and he bites lightly at your neck.

And you do.

It’s like lightning running up and down your spine, like fireworks behind your eyes. You know you cry out, maybe in words, maybe not, but you can’t hear it. You can’t hear anything but the blood rushing in your ears and Frankie’s voice and the way he told you to come, right now, now baby, because he needs it. Needs you.

You open your eyes and catch the exact moment his own orgasm takes him – it’s beautiful, like he always is. Eyes closed, head thrown back, mouth open around your name. His neck is long, his hair wild from where you’ve been running your hands through it. He looks undone. You know you do, too.

You lean forward and let your forehead rest on his as you both catch your breath, chests heaving. You realize you both still have your shirts on and for some reason this makes you giggle. Once you start, you can’t stop, and you hide your face in Frankie’s neck, sinking down into the warmth of his chest.

“What’s so funny, hmm?” you can hear the smile in his voice as he rubs his hands up and down your back. “What’re you laughing at, hermosa?”

“No- nothing, Frankie, just realized we’re both still mostly dressed, and I didn’t even notice.” He huffs a laugh in response. “Guess we were too caught up.”

You smile, and tilt your hips a bit. The sensation is almost too much, and you can see the same feeling on Frankie’s face.

He reaches up to cup your face in both of his hands. “Ready for bed, tesoro?” You consider it, and realize yeah, you are. You feel good, now, so much better than when you got home, and then Frankie fed you and held you and tired you out. You might actually fall asleep without your horrible day following you into your dreams. You smile.

“Yeah, Frankie. Take me to bed.”

He does.

---

a/n: this is my first Frankie fic, I am dying to know what you think. I hope you liked it!