#Cash ur drive | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

almostempty · 11 days ago

Text

too good to be true (frankie x f!reader)

Too good to be true (frankie morales x f!reader) | wc: 9k | other fics | Ao3

summary: frankie, a regular at your coffee shop, is there for you when your boyfriend joel breaks up with you and disappears practically overnight. despite not knowing each other long, frankie just seems to be perfect for you and you fall hard and fast

note: this was supposed to be for the accidental adultery trope for @auteurdelabre 's trope challenge from last month. i thought accidental adultery was more like the wrong bed trope so--you can find that here with Dieter's party, but it turns out accidental adultery is more like ..when you thought ur lover died in the war or something and you start a new life with someone else and then they show up again. that didn’t interest me- soooo (spoiler) in my version reader doesn’t know that joel only left her bc of frankie

warnings/tags: mdni explicit, smut, dark!frankie, stalker!frankie, dubcon, lies, deceit, coffee shop au gone wrong, accidental adultery, ex bf Joel, abandonment issues, anxiety, breakup grief, using sex to avoid processing emotions, face fucking, masturbation, crying, love bombing aka emotional manipulation/abuse, frankie doesn’t have a job bc he nefariously acquired a large cash settlement from his return trip to the jungle– or maybe he has a military pension idk don’t ask questions, revenge porn, jealousy, delusional reader, jealous and possessive frankie, if i missed something important pls let me know,

standard weds warnings: unprotected sex with no consequences bc it’s fiction so it’s free to imagine it raw; f!reader is able-bodied otherwise, no specific descriptions; no y/n, likely many mistakes and i accept that 🫡

You don’t remember the first time you met, but you remember when you started looking forward to seeing Frankie. He was a quiet regular, didn’t ask for much, but was always polite. Kind. He’d come by at the same time, get the same coffee, and sit at a table in the lobby reading the news on his phone. Most mornings, you were busy enough that you didn’t even think about starting a conversation, but you’d sneak a glance here and there as he sat. Sometimes, he caught you, and you’d both flash a quick smile.

He was a fun little fantasy to look forward to. You weren’t single or looking anyway, but it didn’t hurt to have something to help you crawl out of bed at 3:30 AM. It was always quiet until just after 6 AM, when the commuters started coming through. Frankie usually came through the lobby just as the morning rush was picking up, curls still damp from his post-workout shower and a soft smile just for you.

Until it changed. He started showing up even earlier. That’s when you began to get to know him bit by bit. In the quiet dark of the early mornings, while the espresso machines warmed up and the

You learned that he moved into town this year–not in this neighborhood, but he likes the coffee here, so it’s worth the morning drive. He’s single. Ex-military. Sticks to a routine. Likes your name. Remembers details. Asks follow-up questions about your weekend plans on Monday mornings.

Did you and your boyfriend see that movie you were thinking about? Did you get to sleep in like you’d hoped? Did he take you to the farmer’s market? Did he like the recipe you wanted to try out?

It was sweet. And infuriating. Someone you barely knew always remembered your plans or the little throwaway comments you’d make. You knew it wasn’t intentional, but it always stung when he’d ask about your plans, and you were left coming up with excuses for why they never seemed to happen. You carried the discomfort home with you until it spilled over into your relationship.

And, thanks to Frankie really, it forced you to talk about it. Your boyfriend, Joel, had been drifting away. Complacent and avoidant. He’d been staying late at work, canceling on your weekend plans, always too tired to fuck, generally just a bad-tempered brick wall rather than a boyfriend. But after a serious conversation and some threats you hoped you wouldn’t have to follow through on, he’d agreed to make changes.

It was working, too. You made date nights a priority. You sent flirty texts during the day–even if neither of you had time to respond right away.

When he had long days during the week, you’d give him a back massage. You’d sit straddling his ass, rubbing down his shoulder blades, kneading circles with your thumbs, and savoring the view of his broad back and the warmth of his body under yours. You would pull the stress and tension away from his neck and spine, eliciting low groans of pleasure from Joel that would stir up the heat pooling in your core. You’d keep it up until you lulled him to sleep–or on your favorite nights–he’d flip over underneath you and watch you ride him until you were both slick with sweat, panting, and needing another quick shower before succumbing to sleep.

It’s those tender moments that make it hurt that much more now.

To think he could just throw you away like this. That he didn’t think you were worth the face-to-face conversation. Worth the closure. Just leaving you a fucking note, like you were a business transaction. Here’s your memo letting you know he no longer requires your services.

Fucking coward.

You re-read the letter for the thousandth time. It’s real, and you aren’t insane. You shove it back into your apron pocket. It’s your token. A reminder that this hell is your reality.

You slip back to the front counter, plastering on your best customer service smile.

But of course, it’s fucking Frankie. The concern is written across his face before he even gets to the counter. Are you that easy to read? You’re never going to make it through your shift.

“You doing okay?” he asks softly as if he might spook you. Stupid big brown eyes. Just like Joel’s. They make you weak. You can’t be weak. You try to shift into a more defensive mode–chest forward, shoulders back.

“Why? Do I look like shit today?”

“No, never,” he tries to reassure you. Always so sweet to you.

“Sorry, I just mean, I wouldn’t be surprised. I feel like shit.” You grumble as you grab his drip coffee and set it on the counter between the two of you.

“I take it he’s still gone then?”

You can only nod back in agreement. Can’t even look Frankie in the eyes; you just linger on his mouth and scruffy jaw where it seems safer to stare. Until his mouth shifts into a sympathetic frown.

“You deserve better, you know,” he says like it’s a confession. Only meant for you and his coffee to hear.

“Sure,” you sigh. Maybe he’s right. You deserve someone that can look you in the eye when they break up with you. Explain in more than a few sentences why they’d block you and disappear like a fucking ghost. Maybe you never really knew Joel at all if he could do this to you.

You can feel your eyes welling up again, your face is still swollen from crying all night, and you’re sick of the emotional whiplash. Did you miss the signs the whole time? Was it something you did? Will you ever know? The cafe starts to blur as your heart rate increases.

“Hey,” Frankie murmurs, “breathe.” It’s soft, but the timbre of his voice draws your attention. You focus on inhaling and exhaling, willing away the sobs. Just as you steady, they almost start all over again when you think about how pathetic you must seem to him. Standing at the register, sucking in shaky breath, and trying not to have a complete breakdown.

But Frankie assures you he doesn’t think you’re pathetic. And somehow, you get through the morning. And the next. Day by day, you crawl through the week against everything inside of you that wants to scream and hide in bed for a month. By the end of the week, the only thought that gets you through the opening routine is that it’s your last shift before the weekend.

There’s no way you could survive another shift just going through the motions like an undead barista. You know you’re on the edge, fragile and raw. You can just get through today and then spend the weekend locked in your bed wallowing, ugly crying, binge eating, anything.

Your flimsy resistance almost crumbles when Frankie shows up with flowers for you. It’s too sweet. He seems so concerned. He claims he wanted you to have something to help cheer you up over the weekend.

His thoughtful gesture is overwhelming. Having someone care about you, think of you, worry about you? And worse, to know that it could be so easy for someone to show you they care.

To know that you aren’t hard to love.

He notices the way your eyes shine, tears threatening to roll down your cheeks. He apologizes, “If it’s too much, you don’t have to take them. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and I definitely didn’t want to make you cry.”

You assure him they’re lovely and that you appreciate the gesture. You give him your warmest smile through your misty eyes. And you take the flowers home.

You stare at them all weekend.

Your favorite flowers. How did he know? They make you think of Frankie all weekend. His smile, how reliable he is with his routine, his thoughtfulness, how kind he is to you.

The qualities you thought you had found in Joel.

You let yourself embrace your agony for the weekend. Determined to make it through at least the first stage of grief. As if you can allot a number of hours to it and just check it off your list.

A part of you admits that there’s something comforting about knowing you’ll see Frankie again Monday morning. That someone will check in on you.

And he does.

Reliable as ever, he shows up in the dark cover of the early morning. You greet each other with your deep morning voices, and there’s something about the fact that you’re the first person you both speak to every morning that draws a genuine smile from you.

You keep going to work. Frankie keeps showing up. The world keeps turning.

Days pass and you can start to fall asleep without having to exhaust yourself completely. Some of the weight on your chest sloughs off when your ribs shake with laughter at Frankie’s jokes. His charm brightens your dark days.

One afternoon, as you’re dropping an armful of grocery bags onto the counter, you notice the flowers he gave you. They’re starting to wilt. You hesitate to toss them for some reason. Convinced they’ve got another day in them, at least.

You sweep up the fallen petals and pollen, spinning the vase to find the best angle left. The flowers may be fading, but Frankie is beginning to occupy a permanent residence in your mind. You find yourself keeping mental notes of things you want to share with him the next morning. A joke about a show you both keep up with, something you saw on your walk home, a question you forgot to ask the day before because you were distracted.

Distracted by things that don’t sound like they could possibly be distracting. Like the curve of his bottom lip or the space where his neck meets his shoulder. Or worse, the way he smiles so wide you can see his dimples when you double down on an argument about a movie, TV show, or the best takeout on this side of town.

The next morning he has fresh flowers for you. It’s as if he knew you were hesitating to get rid of them, to lose the physical evidence. You squint at him with a playful accusation of how did you know they were on their last legs? He reasons it’s been a week already. A week. It feels like it’s only been a day, and at the same time, it feels like a whole month has passed.

It helps.

The following week is much of the same. Morning chats with Frankie. Busy shifts with rushes and endless cleaning tasks. Running errands, trying to keep in touch with friends, trying to keep yourself too busy and distracted to fall back into the sharp pain of loss. Of coming home to an empty apartment. Of waking up alone. Of the way Joel erased himself so completely from your life, you have to find tangible reminders that he was ever real.

You loosen your grip on the hope that Joel might show up with an apology or even respond to the text you had sent. He can’t even hear you out or answer a single question? You give up altogether on the idea that the whole thing might have been some confusing mistake.

There’s still a hole rotting in your heart, but if you stay busy enough, you can ignore it. Mostly.

You stick to your plan, steadfast that time will heal your wounds. Days pass, and you find yourself once again asking Frankie what he has planned for the day. But this time, he hesitates.

Frankie tells you he’ll be out of town for a few days. You aren’t sure why, but it feels like he jammed his fingers into that hole in your heart when he tells you. Don’t abandon me. Please.

He must see right through you.

“Here,” he says, holding out his hand. “I know it’s only a few days, but I was thinking I don’t want to miss out on your remarkably accurate reality TV predictions. You take the napkin with his number written on it. How old-fashioned. It makes your heart flutter. “Keep me updated.”

You swallow the butterflies and turn the energy into a smirk. “You’re so going to regret this,” you tease.

You feel lit from within, glowing and floaty for the rest of your shift. Getting the hot regular’s number gives you a rush. It’s not like he asked you on a date or anything, but still, it feels good to have someone want to keep talking to you.

Until you clock out and immediately start spiraling. Should you text him now just to give him your number? Wish him a safe trip? Play it cool and wait until tomorrow morning? Or maybe he’s busy in the morning? Shit. You never even asked what his trip was for.

……

It’s early afternoon when Frankie’s phone buzzes. Your shift must have just ended.

You: it’s me!

You: figured it’s only fair you get my number now, too

Frankie: Hey you :)

You: hey :)

You: i hope the trip goes well

Frankie: Thanks, it’ll be better now.

You: how come?

He underestimated you. He thought he wouldn’t hear from you until tomorrow. Thought it would take longer.

Frankie: Well, I just got this pretty girl’s number. Now I’ve got her updates to look forward to.

He shakes his head to himself, pocketing his phone and stretching out on his sofa.

Maybe he didn’t need the ruse of being out of town at all. You don’t need the absence to suck you in any deeper; you’re moving on faster than he thought. Good.

He sprawls out across the couch like a lazy dog in the sun, TV on mute, still fully dressed. He drags his eyes over the bare walls of his apartment. He’s going to need the next few days to make the place seem a little more welcoming. More like a place you’d be happy to wake up in.

He checks the notes hidden in his phone of places you shop, your favorite color, the way your apartment is decorated. He already knows what you want. What you need. With that thought, he drifts off, satisfied, into a long nap.

He doesn’t wake until his evening alarm goes off, checking his phone to see what reality show you’re going to be glued to tonight. MILF manor. Who comes up with these? He rolls his eyes, stretching, yawning, and traipsing across his apartment to find some cold pizza in the fridge.

Holding one slice between his teeth and the other in one hand, he debates whether he should take a drive through your neighborhood or stay in for the night. His phone buzzes again, and he figures it’s a sign. He drops his pants near the hallway and scarfs his cold dinner as he settles back in the living room, unmuting the show and opening your messages.

You’re funny.

Sending quick-witted observations and callbacks.

You force him to pay attention. You’re sharp. If he doesn’t watch, you’ll know. You always call him out for missing the nuance. You challenge that he could predict the next winner if he paid closer attention.

When you get frustrated with him and huff about how he missed something completely obvious, he memorizes your expressions. The fire in your eyes when you’re passionate. You feel so deeply and express your emotions so freely.

He likes that about you. Funny. Smart. Bold. Passionate. Sexy.

Perfect.

He lets his mind wander as he leans back. The room glows from the light of the TV, flashing brighter and dimmer. The look on your face when he said he’d be gone for a few days pops into his mind, how your eyes flashed wide and the soft pout that tugged at your bottom lip.

You need him. It’s so clear. And you’re so perfect.

The show is just noise. Static.

He closes out of your messages. Opening up his photos. Scrolling through pictures of you. Some from social media, and some taken while you were working and unaware.

Perfect.

His eyes fall shut as he tips his head back, relaxed and comfortable as he sinks deeper into the cushion.

“Perfect lips, perfect mouth,” he mutters to himself as he sets the phone aside altogether.

It’s a simple but effective scene that plays out in his mind. A go-to fantasy since the day he first laid eyes on you.

He wedges his boxers down just far enough to free his half-hard cock. He tries to start slow, with languid strokes as he imagines the heat of your mouth sucking him deeper. The sight of you looking up at him with your lips stretched around him.

“Just perfect,” he groans to himself. He can’t hold back his urgency at the thought of you, quickly amping up the speed of his wrist and the strength of his grip. It’s minutes, or maybe seconds before his muscles are tensing and jerking as he comes to the thought of you.

It eases the tension, but he still needs you. Soon.

……

The rest of your week passes quickly.

Your head is in the clouds over your new texting buddy. You check your phone on all your breaks but send yourself into another spiral, trying to work out the balance between enthusiastic but not needy. Responding quickly, but not being too much. You don’t want to come off as crazy.

It fully absorbs your attention. The excitement and the anxiety. The rush when you get a new message and the anguish over every word you type. Rereading your messages until you get a response. Worrying yourself over your silly jokes and banter. But when he responds, it’s addictive. You’re smitten when he matches your energy or sends a flirty quip.

It makes you smile so hard your cheeks burn. You get distracted taking orders. It’s all-consuming.

………

Frankie keeps tabs on you the rest of the week. When you walk home from work, when you run errands, when you’re out with your friends. He picks up things for his apartment while you’re at work. At night, he drives down your block. He watches you watching TV. Until dark, then you diligently shut your curtains just as the last dregs of the sunset disappear.

Tonight, he lingers, still parked across the street from your apartment building. He sends another text, and his eyes flick to your curtains like you might open them back up just for him. You’re such a good girl for that, though–not letting anyone else watch.

Frankie: I’m back tomorrow. You have weekend plans?

You: that’s great! no plans for me

Frankie: You want to watch tomorrow’s episode together?

You: that would be fun!

Frankie: Perfect :)

………

You don’t know why you offered to host. You feel like your place has been a mess. Since Joel left, you’ve been letting your depression piles calcify. You shove your laundry into the washer, toss your unopened mail into a drawer, and do your best to make it look like you’re a fully functioning adult.

Something about having Frankie over has you feeling pent up.

You’re nervous. Excited. And you’re still unregulated and exhausted from the emotional devastation of Joel disappearing on you. You’ve been letting yourself sink into the distraction of making a new friend. A hot, new friend. But as helpful as the distraction is, you still haven’t really processed the pain.

Maybe it’s too soon to let yourself think about Frankie all the time. Maybe you need to really feel your misery and figure out what you missed. What you did wrong. No, even your body rejects that idea, sending a shiver of anxiety through you.

Fuck it.

You’re both single adults. There’s no rulebook that says you can’t entertain a new crush. So what’s the harm? You’re hoping that seeing Frankie in person will help you get clarity on the flirty vibe of his texts. Are they truly flirty, or are you just delusional?

You do your best to find a casual “just watching trash TV” type of outfit after your everything shower. You bought enough snacks to feed a high school football team, you know, just in case. You flutter around your space, hastily cleaning anything else you can think of, worried about details that only an evil in-law would scrutinize you for.

Despite your frenzy and feeling on edge all afternoon, the concern all seems to vanish when Frankie shows up at your door. You welcome him in and swoon a little over the fresh flowers he brought you. You still have some nerves that don’t relent, but they’re the smiley, giggly, butterfly type of nerves now.

As you get settled, it all feels surprisingly easy.

You make each other laugh. You offer your insane spread of snacks, and he settles next to you on your sofa before the episode starts. He appreciates all of your commentary and banters with you over your strongest opinions. It feels surprisingly natural to be spending time together like this. Without an espresso machine between you.

You’re taken with his presence. He balances you. Even when he debates your controversial takes and unpopular opinions, he doesn’t get worked up like you.

His calm demeanor is grounding. His nearness and steadiness relaxes you.

The stress let down makes your head feel heavy, and without thinking, you rest your temple against Frankie’s shoulder with a deep sigh. It feels comforting until you realize how forward you’re being and snap your head back up.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you blurt out, scooting away. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” he reassures you, voice soft and low.

He’s staring at you so intently. You feel the heat in your face, embarrassed at acting so comfortable with him and self-conscious under his gaze. You still don’t really know what he wants. And you don’t want to fuck anything up. But he doesn’t seem bothered. In fact, you swear his eyes drop to your mouth before they flick back up.

“More than okay,” he adds, and your stomach flips at his honesty. “Here,” he shifts and invites you to scoot under his arm. You get comfortable, resting your head on his chest.

You try to watch the TV, but you can feel Frankie watching you. It makes you restless and unable to think clearly. You peer up at him. It’s a charged look; maybe it was already obvious, but you hadn’t felt confident enough to put the pieces together until now.

“What?” You whisper, unable to fight the smile pulling at your mouth.

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs.

Uh oh. Your breath hitches, and something in you cracks. A tear slips from the corner of your eye, and you try to hide it, whispering thanks into his chest and looking down.

“Hey,” he tilts your chin to look up at him. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you choke out, trying to will away the emotions that bubble up inside of you. “That’s really sweet of you.” You steady your breathing, slower and deeper. What is wrong with you? You expected something flirty. You didn’t expect something so.. heartfelt?

The more you slow your breathing, the more it feels like you’re inhaling the essence of Frankie. Whatever combination of laundry detergent, deodorant, body wash, whatever it is is all combined it’s soothing. Nice. It calms you.

But why? How does just breathing against him make you feel safe?

You can’t even think about safety. You can’t count on anyone else. What if he leaves out of nowhere, too? Your thoughts pick up, racing. Falling deeper into your anxieties. You aren’t even on a date; you shouldn’t be worried about this guy abandoning you.

Your fears eat at you, worsening your fragile state. Your body shakes gently as you try to breathe through the anxiety.

Frankie runs his hand along your back. He’s so warm, solid, and strong.

You feel like you must seem insane, which makes your emotional flooding worse. He just keeps murmuring at you about how you’re okay, and he pulls you into his arms to give you a firm hug, regulating you. Fixing you.

When you lean back to apologize for crying on him, he shakes his head in disagreement.

“Don’t apologize,” he says it like he means it, like he won’t be taking questions or arguments. You sniffle as you do your best to accept that. “You still look beautiful,” he says, pulling you back towards him.

It’s everything you didn’t know you needed to hear. Your face nestles against his neck. Delirious with your state of mind and his flattery and reassurance. You can’t stop yourself from kissing his neck. The exact spot you’ve been so distracted by on so many mornings. His skin is soft and warm; you can taste your tears, wet and salty on your lips. You do it again before you freeze. What are you doing?

Frankie’s hand slips up the back of your neck, cradling your head in his warm palm. It feels like encouragement. You test your theory, pressing another gentle kiss to his jaw where his scruffy beard tickles your nose.

The TV might still be on, but all you can hear is your breathing and his. The sound of your lips against his skin. And the low-pitched noise in Frankie’s throat that urges you on. Provoking a needful fire within you. Intense and frantic. You nip at his ear before stamping open-mouthed kisses back down his neck, pulling back only to breathe hot and humid against his skin.

You hesitate, a frenzied desire has you wanting to straddle his lap and take more and more, but something makes you pause. Frankie knows. He feels your weight shifting and makes the move for you, pulling you onto his lap.

“I know,” he says as his large hands wrap around both sides of your jaw. “Keep going.” The encouragement pours over you like warm honey. Face to face, you wrap your arms around his neck. The last thread of your doubt snaps and you close the gap. Pressing your lips together. Softly for a second, before your mouths are parting and your tongues and teeth work fervently to express your desire.

Then it becomes a desperate blur, your fingers curling into his hair, tugging until he’s groaning into your mouth. His hands slipping under your shirt, hot against your skin, snaking back down to knead the curve of your ass while you roll your hips, grinding into his lap in search of friction.

You feel him hardening beneath you and a molten hot thrill radiates between your legs. There’s a raw quality to your movements as you bite at his lip, scratch at his shoulders, and whine with a frustrated edge.

You’re taking out all your emotional distress on him. Or, rather, you’re begging him to erase it all, to bite back harder, to use force, to dominate. You keep trying to use your body instead of words. Just teeth, nails, and needy writhing. Anything sharp, forceful, rough. An offering.

Tears still roll down your cheeks, hot with anger, anguish, and everything you can’t name. You aren’t interested in exploring your emotions. You need something more visceral.

You sit back, hands shooting towards Frankie’s belt, chasing more, when he stops you in your tracks. His hand possessively grips below your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

Your cunt throbs at the look on his face. The soft, gentle Frankie is gone. His face is hard and dangerous as he studies you. For some reason that makes you want him even more.

His fingers dig into your cheek eliciting a sharp inhale from you, parting your lips into a small “o” shape, before he releases you. You know you’re a mess. Teary, panting, wild-eyed–but his lips curl into sinful grin. Reflexively you tilt your pelvis, drawing the heat of your core along the ridge of his erection. Your eyes flutter shut, as you aim to forget yourself and focus on the sensation.

But his chest shakes, jostling you in his lap, with his rumbly, dark chuckle. It’s condescending, startling you and stilling your hips. You blink at Frankie. The charged air is thick. The rest of the room has faded. Your brows furrow as you wonder, but your thighs tense.

“Keep going.”

It’s a demand this time, not an affirmation or encourager. His sinister smirk is gone, replaced by a frighteningly blank stare. His carnivorous eyes drop, watching your fingers as you work open his belt and jeans.

Shit. You can tell he’s big as you trace your fingers along his cock, over his boxers, savoring the heat in your palm. The damp fabric at the tip pleases you, and you peel the waistband down to reveal the glorious vision that has you wetting your lips.

“Shit,” you repeat out loud this time. A primal, hungry need possesses you as you admire his cock. The glistening head, thick shaft, and dark patch of curls at the base. Just the sight of him is intoxicatingly masculine and dominant.

You need him in your mouth.

You slink off his lap, sinking to your knees between his legs. Excitement flutters in your pussy and you feel like you’ve fallen into a into a trance. Your body moves faster than your mind, tugging at his jeans as he repositions at the edge of the couch.

“I know,” he mutters under his breath as you wrap your hand around the smooth skin. “I know what you need,” he continues. You can only hum in response. Preoccupied by the slip of your thumb dragging a trail of precome down along the underside of his cock.

He cups the back of your head, urging you towards his tip with a commanding open growled down at you. You want to pout for not getting the chance to tease and savor the moment, but you don’t have the time when he slides past your lips and hits the back of your throat.

You choke, sputtering around him and pulling back. His hand encourages you to try again and you’re eager to take it like he gives it. Refocusing on controlling your breath, you look up to see the fierceness in his eyes on his otherwise blank face. A confusing mix of warning and excitement stirs in your core, making you squirm on your knees.

The discomfort makes something flicker across his face.

You try again, determined, like you’ve got something to prove. You pull his other hand to your cheek. Please lead. You catch the start of a smirk on his face before he’s guiding you once again. It makes your mind blank; all you can do is breathe and focus on relaxing your muscles. It’s a welcome release from the stress. Grounding you in the present. You can only think as fast as he can glide along your tongue.

As you build a rhythm, he verges on brutal, but when you’re rewarded with the delicious sound of Frankie groaning because of you the intensity means nothing. Your eyes water as you refuse to gag out of sheer willpower. His thumb smears your tears across your cheekbone, and he pulls you off of his cock.

He takes in your swollen lips, ragged breathing, and wet lashes like he’s committing the details to memory as you catch your breath, before he’s tapping at your cheek. You open wide for him and he rests the head of his cock on your tongue, shallowly tipping you back and forth.

Your jaw could be aching or your knees may be digging into the rug, but it doesn’t matter to you. It’s much easier to meditate on the weight of his length slipping along your wet tongue. Centering yourself on that thought, your eyes flutter shut.

You wonder if this side of Frankie has always been lurking beneath the surface. Chillingly collected, but with something viscous bleeding into the edges. You wonder if maybe you’ve called to this part of him with the mayhem of your state of mind.

“Yeah,” Frankie rasps in his gravelly tone causing you to blink back up at him. You wonder if he can read your mind; if he was answering you. The hint of a smile remains on the corner of his lips when you look up, “Making you feel better already.” He’s presumptive but accurate.

You give a muffled affirmation that vibrates in your throat as he slides past your lips and you take him deep as he can be. All your senses are filled with Frankie when you inhale, when you swallow, when you blink. You give, pliant for him, trusting him with the control. You don’t worry about how obscene you might look with tears rolling down your cheeks. You just want to hear what other sounds he might make for you. His thumb drags over your cheek again, wiping away the wet streaks.

“This is the only reason you ever cry for me.” Frankie’s voice is dripping with affection. And possession.

It makes everything foggy. The sentiment, the delivery, the authority. He doesn’t let you dwell on the unspoken commitment in his statement. Doesn’t give you the time to question him or spiral inward.

Your head swims until he pulls you up, strips you, and settles you back onto his lap. Some action movie autoplayed after your episode ended. The crashing and explosions of the chase scene in the background don’t ruin the moment, in a twisted way it’s almost a fitting soundtrack for the two of you.

Frankie allows you to pull his shirt up, over his head, and time slows. The warmth radiating between your bodies is nothing compared to the searing heat of Frankie’s gaze. It’s dizzying, between his torrid expression and his grip on your hips as he guides you closer.

You go entirely mindless when the head of his cock nudges your clit, gasping as he slips along your wet seam. It brings everything into focus for you, and you reach between your bodies to guide him directly to your deplorably empty cunt.

“Oh, fuck,” your word turns to a groan as he breaches your entrance, and you tense at the stretch, holding still.

“Keep going,” he orders lowly, and you inch down until he impatiently takes control, slamming you down until you meet his hips. Your mouth hangs open at his move and the immediate fullness. His hardened look softens as your walls ripple and flex, adjusting to his size.

At least until you start moving, grinding against him, slowly at first. Then the sharp sternness returns. You’re unaware, chasing the friction as your clit rubs against the dark hair surrounding the base of his cock.

“Knew you’d be perfect,” he says it more like an I told you so to himself than praise for you, but the words affect you just the same. Your chest rises, swelling with pride, and you chase his approval instead of your pleasure.

You ride him until your thighs burn. His hands are everywhere. Rolling your nipples between his fingers, squeezing all of your soft curves, spreading your legs wider to watch where he disappears inside of you. You bounce eagerly for him, spine arching to draw his eyes to the way your tits ripple from the force of your body colliding into his.

You whine in disapproval when he interrupts you, pulling you flush against his chest, grazing his teeth along your neck. “Give it to me,” Frankie demands, his voice rough and raw, breath hot along your sweat-damp skin.

He runs his hand down your body, thumb circling your clit, adding the pressure you need. You edge closer and closer, body taut with anticipation. “Come for me,” he commands. It’s the authority and his gravelly voice rolling through you that launches you into a shuddering release.

Frankie continues talking while you’re disoriented by the overwhelming pleasure. “For me,” he grunts through clenched teeth as your pussy contracts around him. “I know that’s what you need.” You can only moan as you cling to his broad shoulders. “Only me.”

You figure he’s just rambling until he grabs you by the jaw again, demanding you respond. Demanding you repeat it for him. And you do. With glassy eyes and you mutter his words back to him. Declaring you only come for him. That you need him.

Your words unlock something within Frankie. “Good,” he approves. “Good girl.” He praises you gruffly as he holds you steady, pounding into you with an untamed strength. You’re floating, starry-eyed and softheaded at his praise. Murmuring sentence fragments and his name, conjuring throaty grunts from Frankie until he stills, coming deep inside of you. “Only me,” he echoes and you confirm.

“Only you.”

In your unguarded state, it’s a welcome commitment. Maybe you haven’t had any real dates yet, but he knows you. He wants you. He tells you he wants to take care of you, and that feels fucking good.

You collapse against his chest, matching his breathing. The movie playing behind you reaches a tragic twist, setting the third act in motion and solidifying the protagonists dark path. You run your tongue along the column of Frankie’s throat as the score of the film hangs unresolved on a dissonant chord. He pulls you to his lips, kissing you possessively and captivating you.

Your bodies flow, connected and attuned. In his lap, in his arms, with his tongue slipping between your lips, you feel wanted. Assured. Content to accept that he knows what you need.

And he’s unrelenting. Determined to prove it to you. Again and again.

All night. On the couch, in the shower, in your bed.

Until the night bleeds into the morning and he doesn’t disappear.

You take turns waking and watching one another sleep. Verifying he’s real. Watching your chest rise and fall before drifting off again. Until the sun heats your room and you wake again to find yourself curled into his broad frame. His chest to your back as he draws his fingers down your along the dip and swell of your waist and hip.

“Did you mean it?” you ask, in a strikingly solemn tone for the soft setting. Breath shallow as you stare off toward the window. Not ready to turn and face him in the daylight.

“Every word.” He punctuates his affirmation with a tender kiss behind your ear. His reassurance satisfies you; warmth blooms from your chest spreading to your fingers and toes.

You spend a lazy Sunday together. Eating, laughing, fucking, and gazing at each other like lovesick teenagers. It’s too sweet to end. Instead, you become inseparable, taking turns staying at each other’s places until you have to go back.

The world feels bright again. Lighter.

He had paid such close attention as you got to know each other. He’s almost suspiciously perfect. Picking up your favorite takeout meals, putting on your favorite movies, and keeping your flowers fresh as the weeks pass.

You feel like you can never get enough of him somehow. You think about him all day at work, even though he still visits you every morning like clockwork. Your heart swells when he meets you at the end of your shift to walk you home.

You find yourself canceling your happy hour dates with friends to stay in with Frankie instead. Postponing and rescheduling, you’ll see them soon. It’s like there aren’t enough minutes in the day to get your fill of Frankie.

You’re insatiable, always needing him in your mouth, between your legs, fucking you through the mattress, on the counter, any surface you can find. You’re never too much. He’s equally infatuated with you, a mutual obsession. Fulfilling your darker desires and unleashing fantasies you’ve never felt safe enough to explore. He’s greedy and hungry for you. Making you feel wanted and desired.

With your head in the clouds, all you can see is how much he cares about you. He texts you whenever you’re apart, picks you up after your shifts, shows you off to his friends.

You barely have to do anything for yourself. He’s always thinking of you, predicting your needs before know them yourself. He picks up your mail for you, runs errands before you get home, and stocks his apartment with all of the products you use and love so you don’t have to go home for days at a time.

Things are so good that it’s rare when something goes wrong.

But when it does, it really fucking hurts.

When you get into an argument, a real one, he doesn’t fight with you. He leaves, swiftly and without another word. He doesn’t respond to your texts or calls. It feels like you’ve been torn in half; you sob and shake alone in your bed until your alarm blares and your headache throbs.

He doesn’t respond the following day, doesn’t come in for coffee, and doesn’t show any signs of existing. You move through your shift like a hollow corpse haunting the cafe. Time drags agonizingly slowly.

Every time the door opens your eyes snap towards the entrance, hoping to see the familiar curls and broad shoulders, but it’s not him. You restart your phone just on the odd chance there’s something wrong with it. He wouldn’t abandon you. He knows that would destroy you.

The void in your chest is cold and dark. Anger simmers somewhere inside of it, but it’s not strong enough to set you off. When Frankie shows up at the end of your shift, the anger is snuffed out completely. His presence immediately reverses your heartbreak, and suddenly you’re apologizing to him before he gets a word out.

You have to. He has to know you wouldn’t do anything to make him leave. He can’t. He’s calm, accepting your apology and taking you home where he erases your pain. With his hands, and mouth, and cock. Until you forget what the argument was ever about, and what it felt like to watch him walk away. Until it’s back to normal.

Every day you rely on him more and more; you can’t breathe without him. But when he’s with you, everything feels easy. Right.

Not many things can throw the two of you off. Your friends seem happy enough for you, despite their questions and insistence that you come out with them more often. You get along well with Frankie’s friends. They’re quick witted and welcome you genuinely.

They treat you like family, but it doesn’t stop Frankie’s jealousy from flaring up. If Benny smiles at you for too long or if you rest a hand on Will’s bicep when you laugh it only takes minutes before Frankie’s fingers dig into your arm and he whisks you away.

It gives you a perverse thrill every time.

When he folds you over the bathroom counter at his friend’s house. Demanding you watch in the mirror as he reminds you with a fierce snarl and devastating thrusts that you’re his. When you can still hear his friends horseing around outside, but he pounds into you with such force, you can’t quiet yourself. He slaps a hand around your mouth to silence you, growling into your ear that you’ll take it quietly, like a good girl.

Sometimes you aren’t even sure what triggers him.

Like when he fucks you against the side of his SUV in the parking lot of the trendy bar Benny had invited you both to. All you can piece together is Frankie muttering something about your dress as he yanks the top of it down letting your tits spill into the cool night air. He’s reckless and animalistic, claiming you roughly under the stars and streetlights before you can even get into the car let alone through your front door.

…..

Tonight, you both know exactly what got under his skin. Maybe not the why of it all, but he’s sure you know how he feels, and he wants to hear you say it.

It started this afternoon. He picked you up from work, like usual, and you chatted in the car as he drove to the grocery store. You sighed, tiredly as you recounted an exchange with a rude customer, but when Frankie pulled your hand towards his mouth to press a gentle kiss to the delicate skin on your inner wrist.

Predictably, it brightened your features. Knowing your buttons doesn’t dull the intoxicating effect you have on him, though. He loves the way you light up so easily for him and it serves to deepen his conviction time and time again. Like a constant affirmation that he is where he is supposed to be. That everything he does for is exactly what he should be doing. Exactly what you need.

He was still ruminating on this as you led him through the aisles of the grocery store. Unbothered that you had to double back to the produce section after forgetting some fresh herb you determined was crucial to the dish you planned out. You dashed around the corner in front of him, with a giggle when Frankie’s heart stilled.

He didn’t have time to distract you. Your laughter cut off immediately.

“What the fuck?” you muttered and Frankie grabbed your hand.

Joel’s pace quickened as he brushed past you. Your head turned, calling his name once, but Joel carried on as if you didn’t exist. Frankie studied your face, emotions flooded your expression as you watched Joel walking away. Something darker flickered across them.

Frankie followed your line of sight. Flowers. Joel was carrying a bouquet of flowers.

You apologized to Frankie. Clearly thrown off, but determined not to let it get to you or to Frankie.

“I didn’t know he even lived here still,” you remarked.

He doesn’t. The possessive fire burned through Frankie’s veins. “We’re going,” he commanded in a low tone that made your eyes flare wide.

“What?”

“Now.”

“We can’t leave everything.”

“They won’t arrest us.” He argued, as he all but carried you out the door, ushering you in a blur to his car and all the way home. Frankie moved swiftly and silently. Wholly consumed by the need to feel you writhing underneath him and crying out his name. He needed it so viscerally, he didn’t even have time to process how he was going to deal with Joel.

Until you’re breathless and shuddering beneath him. Repeating everything he wants to hear.

“Only for you,” you repeat as you rake your nails down his shoulder blades and the plane of his back.

“Again,” he demands. You don’t know if he wants you to keep talking or to come again, but both are inevitable at this point.

“I’m yours,” you pant, wrapping your legs around him as if you could pull him any deeper inside of you. He shifts slightly, angling your hips and your cunt clenches around him pulling him devastatingly close to the edge as you moan his name.

He stills and you whine in protest as Frankie stretches past you to pick his phone up off the bedside table. “Keep going,” he orders as he points the lens at you. He needs you to say it again. He adjusts to resume his pace, snapping his hips into causing your lips to part with another moan.

“I’m yours,” you repeat, “all yours.” He gives you a dark smile as he records you. Capturing all the lewd, wet sounds as he drives his cock into you, the euphoric smile that spreads on your face, and the words you know he always wants to hear.

“Mine,” he agrees.

……

You don’t see Joel again. And you don’t have time to dwell on the encounter anyway. Frankie keeps you busy and satisfied, and even surprises you by asking you to move in with him officially. Maybe it feels soon, but you spend nearly every day together anyway and the idea delights you.

It’s an easy transition. You downsize some of your duplicate appliances, joking with him about how he must have great taste for having so many of the same products. He admits that you inspired a few of his purchases.

You settle into a routine quickly, not much changes.

Sometimes in the early morning, when you slip out of bed in the dark to get ready for your shift, you wonder if it’s all real. If someone can care about you as deeply as you care about them. But by the time you’re showered and dressed, he greets you with a sleepy kiss before pulling on his usual workout attire and driving you to work.

You let your gaze linger this morning. Trailing along his profile as he drives, admiring all the details that you used to wonder about from the other side of the counter. His neck, those arms, his hands, those lips. They’re illuminated in flashes as you pass under the streetlights.

You catch the twitch at the corner of his mouth. He always knows when you’re looking. He rests a hand just above your knee. He always knows what you need. And idea takes root in your mind, and you do everything to stop yourself from smiling and giving yourself away. It’ll take a few days to organize. He’s almost impossible to surprise.

……

Later in the week, Frankie is on autopilot. Kicking off his shoes and pulling his sweaty shirt over his head before he lopes towards the ensuite for a shower. He only makes it a few strides before he’s on edge, noticing the lights he didn’t remember leaving on. He hears your voice. Relief and confusion twist together in his chest. How did you get back here before him?

Walking into the bedroom you are a sexy surprise wrapped in red lingerie he’s never seen you wear before, but something is wrong. Your shoulders are curled inward, your cheeks are wet, and you’re hastily tying up your matching red satin robe.

He scans the room, swallowing thickly when he notices the open coset door and the missing box on the shelf.

He calls your name softly.

“What is this, Frankie?” your voice shakes. Unsteady and wavering between fear and anger.

You hold up his phone. Well, his other phone. Shit.

…..

“Answer me,” you beg. Desperate for an explanation. For something to make sense. To understand how you went looking for the box with fuzzy handcuffs and instead found a phone with a new message from a number you still recognized.

Your heart is pounding in your chest and when he takes you into his arms you flinch. You want to shove him off of you. Despite your hostility, your body is still drawn to his. He always knows what you need. In his arms your heart feels tethered to his, like they could merge through the proximity of your rib cages. Like they beat for each other.

“You trust me, right?” he asks.

“Explain, please,” is all you can whisper.

“It was to keep you safe,” he starts.

“From what?”

“To protect you. Joel wasn’t good for you. He couldn’t take care of you. Not the way you deserve.”

“How would you know?” it’s still not making sense to you.

“You told me.” He’s so self-assured. Like, he’s always right. Like, he can’t even imagine why you’d be upset right now. “I did it for you,” he adds.

“Did what?” you need him to say it out loud. You need him to fix this.

“I know you thought Joel was trying, but he was only going to drag it out. Disappoint you over and over. Can you imagine what it would’ve been like for me to watch you go through that?”

You don’t answer.

“I couldn’t watch. I made him an offer, but he’s a stubborn man.”

You snort quietly at that understatement. Nobody tells Joel what to do.

“I just had to find the right leverage.”

Frankie holds you so tight, you can’t wriggle around to look him in the eyes.

“He couldn’t give you what you need, not like I can. I know what you need. And, think of how fast you got over him anyway. You were mine all along.”

You’re lightheaded. From the shock of finding the evidence. From his words. From the way you believe him. You want to sit down. You tap at his arms insistently, begging against his chest, but he keeps talking. His deep voice rumbling in your ears.

“You wouldn’t have understood it then. I had to keep it from you to protect you. So we could have what we have now.” He’s not listening to you. Not letting you go. It makes you snap.

“Let go of me!”

“You have to understand first.”

“I’ll listen,” you plead. “Just let me breathe.” He lets you step back, but doesn’t release you from his grip. His hands are glued to your arms. He waits, steady and chillingly calm.

Slowly, the pieces start to fall into place. The unanswered questions from your breakup. The way Joel completely vanished.

“I thought he just left,” you whisper to yourself.

“He did,” Frankie argues.

“I thought he didn’t want me,” you continue.

“He didn’t. Not the way that I want you.”

Something cold trickles down your spine and you look at Frankie. For a moment he’s a complete stranger. Your stomach sinks and your vision spins. Slamming your eyes shut you filter through your racing thoughts.

It wasn’t fate that led you into Frankie’s arms.

You wound up crying on his cock by design, trying to fuck away the pain of a heartbreak that wasn’t even real. You’ve fallen into a whole new life, while the man you had loved may have never stopped loving you back?

“You blackmailed Joel Miller?”

“Technically, it’s extortion.”

It’s all there on the surface. Exposed between the two of you. Who Frankie really is. Cunning and competent. Devoted and dangerous. Possessive and powerful.

“It worked, until he came to town for someone’s engagement party.”

“When we saw him at the store?” Frankie nods. “And then you sent him the video we made.”

“Hearing it from you seemed to do the trick. He knows you’re mine and you only want me.”

Frankie gives you time to study him. Absorbing the information. The gleam in his dark eyes. The same eyes from when he would visit you at work. Just as fierce and just as earnest.

You’ve always known him for his true self. He’s been yours since he first laid eyes on you. And he knew you needed him.

“And you did it… for us.”

“For you.”

You can see it plainly on his face. He’d do it again and again to have you. Because you’re his. It’s all you ever wanted. It has to be wrong, but it’s the hottest thing anyone has ever done for you.

You push him back towards the bed, climbing onto his lap in a recreation of the first night you spent together. It’s reflexive. The magnetic pull between you has your hips rolling in his lap as he’s already hardening beneath you.

“You’re sick,” you tell him before you lick a hot stripe up his neck.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he growls back before you’re crashing into him with a ravenous kiss.

dividers by @cyberangel-graphics

General tags 💗:

@lovely-vamp-princess

@gothcsz

@auteurdelabre

@adoreyouusugar

@swankyorange

@itwasntimethatdidit40 tags for folks who seemed interested when i shared a lil wip about it (aka no worries tags)

@hoelaris @punkseyes @ace-turned-confused @magneticecstasy @lotusbxtch

@bitchesuntitled

@baronessvonglitter

@thundermartini @milla-frenchy

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #ppcu fanfiction #frankie morales x f!reader

364 notes · View notes

fallingformatt · 5 months ago

Text

“IM NOT THAT SCARY AFTER ALL” C.S.

dealer Chris x fem!reader

summary: what happens when you go to the beach with your dealer in the middle of the night?

warnings: smut! 18+ unprotected sex, mentions weed

word count: 1.9k

a/n: heyy everyone my name is lily and this is my first fic, please don’t be hard on me. Leave suggestions or requests! Hope you enjoy

➽───────────────❥

I kept tossing and turning in my bed, I couldn't fall asleep for the life of me it was so hot in my room that even only wearing my oversized t-shirt that barely covers my ass and a thong I was still too hot to fall asleep. I picked up my phone to check the time. "Fuck" I said under my breath as the phone screen read 2:37 AM "Well there is only one thing that can help me," I said to myself as I swiftly hopped out of my bed, rushing to my vanity. I pulled out my pink 'makeup bag' which really wasn't a makeup bag but a special bag that holds weed for when I want to smoke and that's the beauty of it, my parents would never think to look in my makeup bag that is placed on my vanity, hiding in plain sight.

I pull on the zipper revealing the contents of the bag: some papers a lighter and a small tin container "Bingo" I say to myself getting excited to smoke. I opened the container and was left shocked. It was empty not even a little left for me to smoke. I sighed as I knew what my two options were. Option one go back to bed and try to fall asleep in this hell-like heat or option two message my dealer who I'm scared of. I try to see him as rarely as possible. Chris is so hot but also hella scary and always seems cold and distant so I always kept it short and always buy enough to last me at least a month. I weighed out my options and decided that there was no way that I was falling asleep without smoking so I grabbed my phone.

"hey r u still up?" I texted him and waited for an answer hoping he was still up so I could get my weed.

"yeah i'm still up, need something ma?" he answered. He always called me ma or princess which I found weird but never dared to say anything about it.

"can I buy my usual? im all out" I text right back happy that he's still awake

"sure ma gonna be there in five" he answers

I quickly go out of my room and check if my parents are asleep. I go down the stairs and quickly sneak out of the backdoor as I usually do since it's the furthest from my parents room and they wouldn't hear the door opening or closing. I go around my house and he's already at my front door waiting in his car. I quickly get in the car. "hey ma I like what ur wearing" he says smirking. I look down and realize I forgot to put on shorts or pants and now I'm sitting in his car bare ass on the seat as my shirt raised up a bit while sitting down. "well I rushed outside and it's really hot outside" I said quietly. "Do you have my weed?" I continued right after. "Of course I do ma, here," he said and pushed a baggie with weed in my hand. My eyes lit up seeing my goods and a smile creeps on my face as I reach out my hand with cash "Damn, you're so excited over some weed. You know it's not good to do drugs right?" he says in a cold tone taking my money. "Well, this weed is the only way I'm falling asleep in this weather. Besides you should want people to buy weed it's how you earn your money" I say back. "Do you wanna go somewhere cooler?" Chris asks. " Well I don't know, my parents are asleep" I answer. "Exactly they won't even know you left the house," he says smirking again. "You've got a point, sure let's go," I say.

This interaction was a bit different than all other ones. He didn't seem as cold as usual but maybe I'm just imagining things.

We have been driving for at least 10 minutes now and I'm sitting on my side both my legs horizontally on the car seat as I look through the window listening to the music that's quietly playing in the car. "Where are we going? You never told me" I ask as I turn my head. I saw Chris looking at my ass as it was fully visible in the position I'm sitting in. "We're almost there" his eyes quickly shot to the road as he answered. "Were you looking at my ass?" I say changing my sitting position. "Well ur the one who's not wearing any pants" he scoffs coldly. "I didn't know we would go somewhere" I quickly answer. "We're here," Chris says and I look outside the window. We are at the beach, the moon is shining and the waves look so calming. We both get out of the car and head to the shore.

We find a good spot and sit down. We are the only ones here no people in sight, just me and him. Well if I think about it he could kill me and no one would ever know, the thought of that made me uneasy. "You good ma?" he asks "Yeah I'm fine" I answer looking at the pretty waves as the warm breeze hits my skin. "This feels so nice," I say quietly. "It does, do you want to smoke?" he asks holding a joint that he had just rolled in between his fingers "You bet I do" I answer and he puts the joint in between my lips and lights it. I take a puff and let the smoke out. We finish the joint and sit for a bit.

I look at Chris and notice his beautiful features in the moonlight, my gaze moving from his hair to his lips, as my eyes travel down further my eyes fall to his crotch and I feel my panties dampen. He turns his head looking at me and his clear blue eyes with a hint of red surrounding them meet mine. "what's up ma?" he asks not breaking the eye contact. "You know, you're not as scary as I thought," I say looking down at my fingers and playing with the sand beneath me. "Why do you think I'm scary, do you think I'm going to kill you or something" he shoots back a question. "That thought did cross my mind if I'm being honest. You're always so cold towards me" I say and he chuckles at my confession. "I would never kill such a pretty lady. I always love seeing you ma" he says and a smile appears on my face.

"You wanna go for a swim?" he asks "I don't have a swimsuit" I answer "Neither do I, let's go anyway, cmon ma don't be shy," Chris says looking at me shooting me a quick smirk before standing up and pulling down his shorts and his shirt running towards the waves. I get up and pull off my t-shirt throwing it into the sand and covering my bare chest with my hands as I have no bra on.

I start running towards the ocean as well, seeing Chris already in the water fully swimming. I swim to him and he looks at me staring me down, till he glances at my boobs and licks his lips. "Kiss me," he demands with a lustful voice. He takes my hand and pulls me closer until our bodies meet pushing his lips onto mine unexpectedly. His tongue exploring my mouth before breaking the kiss. He moves to kissing my neck sucking on it leaving a mark. I tilt my head back and let out a quiet moan as he hits my sweet spot. "Oh you like that don't you ma," he says and moves to kiss my collarbones leaving a trail of kisses till he gets to my breasts nibbling on my nipple. "Oh fuck" I moan. "Tell me what you want, and I'm gonna give it to you princess," Chris says in a deep voice. "I want you" I manage to say. He grabs my hand and starts running towards the shore as I'm following him. We get to the shore where our clothes are.

I lay down and he crawls in between my legs his chain dangling above my face his eyes full of lust staring at my lips before smashing his lips on mine once again as we share a passionate kiss. He pulls down my thong not breaking the kiss, doing the same for his boxers. As we deepen the kiss his fingers move up and down my heat before slamming them into me. I throw my head back as a loud moan leaves my lips. "Oh fuuck Chris" I moan out loud as he continues to thrust his fingers into me at a rapid pace. "Tell me what you want," Chris says as his voice grows deep "I-I nee-" I try to say but can't finish the sentence. Chris suddenly pulls his fingers out of me and my eyes shoot open in frustration "Full sentences princess. Tell me what you want" he says his eyes darkening with arousal "I need- I need you in me Chris" I manage to squeeze out as my hips buck up yarning for him. His thumb presses against my lips before I open my mouth sucking on it. Without any warning, he pushes deeply into me causing me to let out a scream-like moan, tears forming in my eyes. Without letting me adjust he starts pounding into me his tip kissing my g-spot "Oh my god Chris you're so big" I moan as I throw my head back. He pounds deeply into me keeping the same rhythm hitting my g-spot with every thrust "Look at me" he says but I keep my eyes shut. "I said look at me princess," his voice getting deeper than before as he grabbed my jaw, and our eyes met. "Look at you, taking me so good princess," he says as he pushes his lips on mine my hand travels to his wet hair lightly pulling it and he places his hand on my thigh, our bodies sticking to each other like glue.

He continues to thrust deep and hard as my moans slip against his lips, my hands traveling to his back. He breaks the kiss and throws his head back, rolling his eyes and letting out an animalistic growl I feel my climax coming. "I- I- I'm close don't stop please don't stop Chris" I cry out as I arch my back, digging my nails into his back leaving scratch marks, bucking up my hips to feel him even deeper. Chris lets out a moan as his thrusts become more aggressive and faster. I dig my nails into the sand holding on to anything I can "I'm so close I'm gonna cum" I moan out as I feel my walls tightening around his cock. Chris hearing that thrusts in me harder than ever making me almost scream out in pleasure. His breathing became hitched as he trusted a few more times before cumming letting out a loud moan, leading to the knot in my stomach to unravel, I let out a pornographic-like moan as my orgasm took over me.

As we both came down from our highs, he pulled his dick out of me kissing me before laying in the sand next to me. He turned his head to look at me and said "Come here ma" and pulled me closer as I laid my head on his chest. We watched as the sun started to come up "See I'm not so scary after all" Chris said with a chuckle. "We should do this again" he continued and I nodded my head in agreement. "Common let's get you home," he said and we got dressed heading for his car.

427 notes · View notes

sturnslovie · 4 months ago

Text

‧₊˚.𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜˚೨ৎ⋆｡ - 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨

𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬: after being a brat to matt all day, he finally decides to put you in your place.

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚: smutt, nsfw, swearing, teasing, slight humiliation if you squint, sub!brat reader, dom!matt

you sit on the couch scrolling mindlessly on your phone, and you decide to text matt

“matt” read 4:46pm

“yes ml?”

“can we go shopping im bored” read 4:47pm

“be ready in 10”

(Time skip)

as matt drives, he notices you have your arms crossed.

he puts reaches his hand to place it on your thigh, but you smack it away.

matt glances at you in confusion and asks, “you okay babe?”

you just continue to cross your arms and look out the window, ignoring his question.

he glares at you one last time before putting his eyes on the road, thinking you’re gonna be fine once we arrive at the mall.

while in a store, you purposely grab a bunch of random things you dont need.

matt notices how much stuff you have in your arms. “here, let me help you.” he reaches his hands out to grab a plushie from ur arms

“no!” you exclaim. “I can do it myself, im not a baby.”

he sighs, “really? Better not drop it.”

as you walk to the cash register, you drop it. everything falling out your hands.

you kneel on the floor as you hurriedly pick it up, and matt kneels over to help you but you smack his hand.

“i. dont. need. your. help.”

matt reluctantly stands up as you pick up all ur things and head to the cash register, not wanting to make you more angry.

as you walk out with all the bags on each side of your arms, matt offers to hold them for you.

“fuck. off.” you say with a sharp tone.

matt glares at you with a irritated expression. “thats it, we’re leaving.” he says with a sharp tone, clearly furious.

matt grabs your hand and immediately exits the mall. he shoves you roughly in the passenger seat and slams the door. when he gets in the drivers seat, he speeds off out the parking lot, and immediately to our house.

when we arrive, he exits and grabs you by your wrist, not even bothering to grab the shopping bags that are still in the car.

we get in the house and he slams the front door, immediately dragging you upstairs.

“m-matt-!” you exclaim,

“Shut it.”

he drags u into the room and throws you on the bed.

“Clothes, off. Now.” He says sternly with a sharp tone.

you immediately take off ur shirt, then your shorts, Matt crossing his arms as you do so, leaving you in just your bra and underwear.

“those too.” He points out your underwear and bra.

you immediately remove ur bra and underwear, waiting to see what he’ll do next.

“All fours, Now.”

“…” you hesitate for a second before getting on all fours, exposing your wet pussy.

he gets on the bed behind you before sliding down his pants and boxers, his hard dick slapping his stomach as it drips with pre-cum.

he slides his dick into your pussy, and thrusts it fast and hard, letting out moans from your mouth and he puts grabs a fistful of your hair and shoves your head into the pillow.

you cant help but let out pornography moans,

he begins to speak,

“So you wanna be a little brat all day huh?” He thrusts harder and faster.

“AH~! M-MATT~!” You moan in the pillow, sweat forming on your forehead as more pleasured moans slip out.

“Acting like a brat just so i can fuck it out of you, isnt that right? You- *thrust* little- *thrust* fucking, *thrust* slut.”

“I-Im~ s-sorry~!” You manage to slip out through every breathe.

“Damn right you are.” He says, as he finally releases inside you, letting out a groan.

You can feel yourself close, and as you’re right on the edge, matt pulls out of you with a smirk.

“H-hey, what!?” You exclaim.

“Nope. Thats what you get for being a brat all day.” He pulls up his boxers and sweatpants, giving your ass a hard slap before kissing u on the forehead.

He gets up and walks downstairs to the living room. He plops down on the couch before the turning on the tv.

You put your clothes back on, and follow him downstairs. You sit next to him on the couch.

“Matt please..im sorry..” you plead with puppy eyes.

“..” Matt hesitates for a second before patting his thigh. “Sit.”

You shimmy out of your brandy melville shorts and sit on his thigh. You turn ur upper body around to pull down his sweatpants, but he grabs your wrist.

“Nope.” He glares at you.

you groan as u turn back forward. You cant help but slowly grind ur hips, first going slowly but then progressively faster.

Matt smirks as he sees how desperate you are for release, but he can’t help but watch as your hips grind against his thigh. He gets an erection, and fists his bulge through his pants.

you continue to grind your hips, slowly coming to the edge. And as you do, matt puts his hand inside his boxers, cupping his dick and rubbing it back and forth.

You grip onto matts other thigh as you feel yourself get close. You finally then release on matts thigh, moaning and leaving a wet patch on his grey sweatpants. matt also feels himself about release, his climax reaching as he groans in pleasure, making his crotch a sticky mess.

I WAS TO LAZY TO WRITE THE REST SORRY😭😭

#chris sturniolo #the sturniolos #smut fanfiction #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #Reader #Mattxreader #matt x reader #mattsturnioloxreader

133 notes · View notes

eupheme · 10 months ago

Text

— will you show me?

no-outbreak!joel x f!reader, joel x reader x tess

Rated E - 4.2k

Tags: switch!joel and switch!reader, poly relationship, use of alcohol, light sub/dom elements, sex toys, references to threesomes, sexual photos, oral sex, anal play, pegging, joel teaches you what to do

a/n: when the wonderfully talented @wannab-urs announced her #PMAMC event, I knew I had to sign up! Thank you so much, this was so fun 💖

When Tess lets slip an unknown dynamic of your shared relationship, it’s impossible not to think about it. To wonder… to wish. Luckily, Joel is more than happy to show you how.

It starts over drinks.

Time ticking down more quickly than you’d like. Each sip of your cocktail brings you closer to her leaving, as you sit in the booth between Tess and Joel.

Her thigh pressed snug against yours. Fingers drifting along the back of the booth, the tips stroking the side of your neck. Goose bumps rising in the wake of her touch, making you shiver.

A warm hand wraps around your knee on the other side - a silent, possessive weight. Legs that are still jelly from the hours before - during a soft, drawn-out goodbye.

One that signals the end of a long, perfect weekend. Every detail carefully planning to celebrate Joel’s birthday, filled with family and friends. Squeezing in just enough alone time to ensure it’s one he won’t forget.

It would be a couple weeks before she would be back in town again. Leaving you in very capable hands, ones you’ve gotten to know well over these last few months.

The neon lights above the bar flicker with the stuttering of your heart, as she leans. The room dark enough that the illumination of her phone feels too bright, as she flashes the screen at Joel.

Something from earlier.

Something you remember because you were there - just positioned on the other side of the lens. Memories ooze and wash over you with the quick glance you manage to catch.

Framing you from neck to hips. Broad hands palming your breasts, molding you to their touch. Thighs splayed wide, where there’s the blur of something in a pretty shade of purple moving between them.

You clench at the reminder. The snap of her hips. The leather and silicone. Joel’s hands cupping and squeezing, just before your head had tilted back to take him.

“Send me a copy of that,” Joel murmurs, a small curve of his lips as his eyes drag across the image.

It makes your cheeks burn, to be stuck between them. Their tones so casual, as if it’s just an interesting article online, instead of an illicit memento.

Tess grins, thumbs already tapping to pull up his contact.

“Thought you’d like that, birthday boy.” She muses, tongue trapped between her teeth as she sends it off. “Seeing as you both like the same one.”

There’s an almost imperceptible stiffening beside you. His hand clamping down a little more tightly - a flatness in the press of his lips.

You already hang onto his every word, so it’s not hard to miss - your eyes darting up to his as they narrow in her direction.

Leaving Tess oblivious, on the other side.

It stays with you, as your time runs out. As you say your final goodbyes in the parking lot outside the airport. A quick pressing of mouths, embracing arms and murmured words, as you wave her off.

Watching her grow smaller. Leaving you both alone.

It stays with you on the drive home. Joel’s silence is not unusual, the radio filling the cozy space with Johnny Cash and Bruce Springsteen.

The usual comforts, but you can’t help the slow drift of your eyes in his direction. Once and then twice, until he’s catching you - an eyebrow raising.

“Been lookin’ at me an awful lot,” He comments - eyes drifting back to the road. “Somethin’ on your mind?”

That slight sort of tension coming back in the way his hands twist around the wheel, how his eyes slide away before you can answer.

“Maybe I just like looking at you.” You smile - at him, the small shake of his head at your words. He takes to compliments like oil in water, but it doesn’t keep them from slipping from you.

But that silence still hangs, and you frown. More curious than anything. A sliver of worry - knowing if you press too hard, you’ll meet a wall.

“Joel.” There’s a short inhale of breath, “Can I ask you something?”

It lingers for just a second too long, before he’s answering.

“Think you just did.”

The dry humor makes you smile, a small laugh as your eyes drift over the traffic, the hanging red stoplight above.

You should ask him before it changes.

“At dinner,” You start, “You got funny at something Tess said.”

“''S not a question,” His answer is evasive, and that grabs your attention, as you shift his way.

“Fine.” You narrow your thoughts down, “Was it what she said about the toy? Or was it the photo?”

“Weren’t the photo, sweetheart,” The soft name has sharp edges, a hint that you’re onto something. A few weeks ago you would have dropped it.

But they had both pressed that communication was important. Something you had really tried to upheld, for them.

“The toy, then?” You press - letting your fingers drift between the space that separates you. It only takes a moment before his hand drops to curl around it, resting on his thigh.

“I don’t-” Joel inhales a short breath, and then frees it, “I just didn’t want you finding out like that. Wanted to talk to you properly.”

That has you frowning, your head tilting, “Why would you need to tell me you use a toy on Tess? You think I’d feel weird about her using it on me?”

You wouldn’t.

You’ve had her on your fingers, on your tongue.

You’d tasted her on Joel’s cock, before you swallowed him down.

“Don’t use it on her.”

Another beat of silence, “She uses it on me.”

This time, it’s you that’s gone quiet. Your thoughts swirling messily as you try to process what he said.

What it means.

You’ve read about it. There’s so much Tess and Joel had introduced you to. Your own curiosity sending you into your own forms of research.

But, this hadn’t been brought up. Not that you can remember. In your time spent together Joel always had a commanding tone and a firm touch, though softened when directed at you.

Perhaps it fits, though. He bends, for Tess.

It’s hard not to let the images swirl in your mind. Knees nudged wide. Red-tipped nails sinking into dark curls, the slap of skin on skin. Hips and a hard cock grinding into the mattress - that pretty, rough groan he makes when he’s close.

“Oh.” You breathe, eyes a little unfocused, where they stare ahead. A moment, as you collect your thoughts, “Why… why would that make you angry?”

He sighs then, some of that tension ebbing from him, “’m not angry. It’s just not something we’ve done together.”

A hint of that edge comes back, “And I don’t like discussing our private affairs out in the open.”

That makes you smile, “It was an empty bar, Joel. We go there all the time-”

But then you’re pausing, thinking. Your words coming slowly, “Were you worried what I’d think?”

The truck pulls up in front of his home. A light left on in the living room, in Sarah’s rush to meet a friend. The engine idles until he’s switching it off, though neither one of you move.

Silence hangs, for a moment. You feel as if you can almost hear the click of his watch, the seconds slowly ticking by.

He doesn’t answer, so you do it for him.

“I don’t mind. Not at all.” You slowly lean, reaching - fingers pinching at his chin, until he’s facing you, “I just didn’t know you liked it, that’s all.”

The corner of his lips curl, “Been busy. Had our hands full with you, honey.”

It’s the Joel you know, now. His back easing against the seat, the stiffness leaving his shoulders.

Your hand still lingers on his thigh, gently tracing.

“Is that…” The prospect feels thrilling, the question on the tip of your tongue, “Is that something I could do for you? Will you show me?”

His eyes dart to yours. But there’s only an awe in your tone. A desire.

It wouldn’t be the first time a switch had been flipped in your brain. A latent urge to return all the pleasure that’s been given to you. The thought of rolling them beneath you - riding and touching them until they’re trembling.

“Is that right?” He asks, slowly. The glow from the street lamp outside cuts across his face, a dark eye hilighted in gold, “Is that what you want?”

You nod. No hesitation in the gesture, your mind already running wild with the thoughts of his pleasure in your hands. Of being able to do this for him.

Of something new.

“Alright,” He answers.

“I’ll show you.”

The harness feels heavy. Black leather that fits around your hips, circling your thighs. Something pretty on underneath, your favorite shade in layers of satin and lace.

Picked up a few days ago, in one of the shops the next town over.

Your eyes had been wide, perusing the shelves with Joel. A new perspective this time - looking at the different options, for an item not intended for yourself.

Strapless. Double-ended. Vibrating.

The cock had been easy. A copy of the one Tess had brought with her, the same shade of purple.

A heat rising in your cheeks at the thought of using it with Joel. Spreading to your neck and ears when more was added to the basket.

The harness. Another bottle of lube.

Something else - a heavy silver plug, the gem a glittering shade of emerald green.

“For later.” Joel hints, before you can ask, “Maybe next time you can take us both.”

The thought had made your breath catch in your chest.

“We’re shopping for you.” You had hissed, his hand warm at the base of your spine. Burning.

“Savin’ us a trip.” He murmured back.

It had led up to tonight. An evening alone, the planning giving you time for your nerves to make a home in your chest and belly.

Your fingers wrap around the plastic cock now, the angle so different than what you’re used to. Joel’s fingers still linger at your hips, adjusting the straps until it fits snugly against you.

It feels pleasing, in your hand. The curving thickness, how you can see the shadow of your fingers beneath from the jelly-like texture. The dim lights from above shining off it, and then you’re picturing how it would look glossy.

Your hand pumps, from thick base to tip. Embers sparking in your belly, as you think about him being the one to do it. How pretty it would look, disappearing between his lips.

“Are you going to get this wet for me, Miller?” There’s a commanding edge to your voice, just barely concealing the waver.

His eyes and then a brow lifts, from where he sits on the bed. Where you stand between his spread knees, the dildo bobbing between you.

“You get bossy with a cock, sweetheart?”

There’s a little tilt to his head. A rasp in his voice, and your cheeks are burning again for more than one reason.

“I, I just thought-” Your words trail off, until his hand is wrapping around yours and squeezing, “I thought that is what you wanted. How Tess would do it.”

Tess, with her pretty voice and blunt words. So much like Joel - how they always had you scrambling to obey.

Stay still. Be good. Just like that, honey. Make me come.

“You don’t gotta be her,” His look softens, “I just want you to be yourself.”

They way he says it, so bluntly, so certain, loosens the tight knot in your chest - easing some of your embarrassment.

“What do you want, honey?”

It’s easy for you to answer, “I want to make you feel good.”

He smiles at that. It’s familiar, his eyes crinkling at the edges, “I think we could work with that.”

There’s a soft squeeze of his hand against yours. Fingers that slip free and then drop, wrapping around the silicone. Squeezing there too, with a slow pump of his fist.

“Now, if you wanna see me suck your cock, I will.” Joel’s voice lowers then, “But you gotta as me nice, baby.”

For a moment, you forget how to breathe. Dumbstruck, with how pretty his drawl sounds, curling around those words like the careful grip of his fingers.

The breath you inhale is shaky, small. Eyes widened where they’re focused on his face, his lips.

“I want you to,” You breathe.

“You can do better, sugar.” There’s that heat then, in his eyes. That teasing tone, back in place. “Come on, now.”

“Please, Joel.”

You’re not sure when things got turned around. How you ended up being the one begging, but it’s there - the soft whine in your voice. The want.

And you think you don’t mind at all.

“I want to see you suck my cock.”

There’s the flash of white teeth then, with his smile. The slow stroke of hands as they move against your hips. Easing you back one, two steps so he can slip from the bed. Sinking to the floor on his knees.

Your feet widen on their own. Watching his fingertips against the silicone. The slow duck of his head, the peek of his pink tongue.

Carefully taking one inch, and then another. A wet suck and bob of his head, as he slicks you up. Fingers pressing into the dark denim of his jeans, clenching, as his eyes flutter shut.

Taking his time. Touching and stroking and licking, with sure and steady hands. Hands that make you clench, as he groans around you. As you sigh, feeling flood of arousal at the sight on him, on his knees for you.

He leaves the base untouched, lips wrapping around as he works his way down the shaft, and then back up.

It’s here, that you gain your footing again. Fingers wrapping in his curls, gently tugging.

“You can take it,” You urge, gently, “You’re much bigger and I can take you.”

There’s a rough sound, at your words. Eyes that burn, as they flip up to yours. As he listens - inching further down, until the tip of his nose ghosts against your belly.

It thrills you.

Holding himself there for a long moment, as your hand frees itself to stroke his cheek, all rough stubble and warmed skin - before gently easing him off.

“You did so good,” The praise feels different, coming from your mouth. An urge to hear transforming into an ache to give, as you look into dark, blown-wide eyes, “Let’s get you on the bed, okay? I want to touch you.”

That smile coming back, as he rises on stiffened joints - where knees pressed into the hardwood floor.

A tenting in his pants that was not there before, becoming more prominent when he settles back against the pillows. Pulled half-way down the bed, calves dangling off the side edge. The hem of his black t-shirt riding up, your eyes snagging on skin as you climb on beside him.

Where he put you together, the careful fastening and tightening of straps - you take him apart.

The heavy buckle cool against your palm, the leather stiff as you work his belt open. Plucking at the button, his own hands grasping at the dark denim. A lift of his hips as they are tugged down, slowly baring him.

Inches of skin, the trail of hair that only darkens the more you ease down his jeans. Thickening at the base of his cock, already hard at curving against his hip.

He makes a sound, a hushed inhale of breath through his teeth as you palm him. Fingers wrapping around as his jeans and boxers fall to pool together on the floor.

Socked feet spreading as you inch between his thighs - as he opens himself up to you.

You look is reverent. Waiting for him to show you, like he promised. Teach you how to make him feel good.

Watching, as he does.

The lithe pull of muscle as he leans - a hand reaching up to hook around the handle of the bedside table. Drawing out the bottle - fingertips glossy with lube, as they dip.

You can feel him jump against your palm, when the tip of one presses against his rim. Sinking down to the knuckle - forearm flexing with the careful pump.

Working himself open, slowly. That warmth in your belly pooling lower - the toy shifting with you, a reminder. The base bumping against where you throb, only fueling your eagerness.

“Come on.” His voice is strained, as he holds the bottle out, “You wanna learn, right?”

It’s slippery against your fingers. Cold. You try to rub them against your thumb to warm them - before he slips free.

“Just-,” There’s the hitch of his breath, as your touch drags from cock, to his heavy sack, then lower. “Go slow, okay?”

“Okay.”

Your eyes are on his - a promise in them. The careful press against his opening, until you’re sinking in. Warm now, his groan so pretty as his head tilts back against the pillow.

It’s slow, the rhythmic pump of your fingers. Almost familiar, moving with the memory of other nights. Knuckle-deep before withdrawing, never leaving him completely. A second slips in with his encouragement - coaxing words and the swell of his cock.

Twitching against his stomach, an errant drip smearing against skin and coarse hair. It’s easy to dip your head, fingers curling as you lick the weeping tip.

He jerks beneath you, clenching. Tight around your fingers as he groans, the sound coming from deep in his chest. Hands leaving where they grip in the pillows to brush your cheeks.

“You can’t-” Joel’s lips are parted with a heavy breath, a rough sound, “Gonna cut this too short if you do that, darlin’”

And god, it’s tempting to try. You think you could - keep those fingers buried in him while you suck him off. Keep him warm in your mouth, while you figure out just what he likes.

Your own question is low, as your face tips up to his, “Would you let me do that?”

His laugh is strangled and hushed, “You can do anything you want, honey. But if you want to do this, you’d better that it easy on me.”

The this that he is ready for. Nerves skitter across your skin, as your fingers slip from him. Eyes watching and expectant as the lube is passed to you again.

The silicone slick and glossy from the pass of your palm, wrapping around the thick base. Stepping back off the bed, feet planting on the floor between thighs that spread wider, hips tilting up.

“Take it slow, you got this.”

It almost feels funny, his encouragement. More used to coaxing you in other ways.

You can take it. Another inch, honey. Just like that.

Well, you can do that for him. Your own words mirroring his, as you line yourself up. A shiver as the blunt tip slides against his rim.

A shallow shift of your hips as you move forward. Slowly sinking into him.

He stiffens beneath you - back bowing and chest rising with a held breath. Fingers that slip down until they’re gripping white-knuckled against thighs that inch wider.

You take it slower than he does for you. He knows you can take it - but you’re in control here, soaking in every sigh. The pretty groan as you rock back and then forward, deeper.

A hand coming to rest on his, fitting your fingers against his knuckles.

“Feel good?” You ask, softly. Trying to keep your shallow rhythm steady. Eyes dragging from the harness to the hard curve of his cock, up,

To where he nods, breath inhaled through clenched teeth.

“Doin’ real good, honey,” His hand twitched beneath yours. A flexing of the muscles in his forearm, matching the clench of his belly, “Move your hips more. That’s my girl.”

You’re moving with his words, the praise like a glittering warmth against your skin. Another groan knocked loose as you do as he says.

Thrusting until you’re truly buried in him, pressed skin-to-skin. Pulling back to do it again, his cock bobbing against his stomach with the force of your hips against his.

He’s pretty, like this. Want blooms beneath your skin, prickling. Eyes greedy with the way they watch sticky patch glistens against his abdomen. As thick thighs press about your hips, hitching higher to drive you deeper.

The harness biting into your skin, the way the base grinds against your clit each time you hilt yourself. His pleasure held in the tilt and grind of your hips, your hands. You think you get it. What she sees, what she wants-

And the sounds. The wet slap and suck of skin. His words, running from his mouth. The growl in his throat when your fingers hook under his knees, the angle changing.

“Fuck.” It’s a loose, ragged sound, “Fuck, honey. Just like that-”

It has you alert. Heart thudding in your chest and between your thighs, with his desperate plea. Your pace slowing until you get it right, grinding against that spot inside him.

Watching how the flush rises from his chest. Dark curls mussed above eyes that are now heavy-lidded and blown wide. His strong hands anchored in the sheets again, using the leverage to help him meet your thrusts.

Your head ducks, saliva pooling on your tongue. A hand leaving his thigh so you can spit on your palm - too focused to search for the bottle that’s now lost amongst the bedding.

Wrapping around his cock - where he’s flushed there, too. Another rough curse, the edge razor sharp as you stroke him from base to tip.

The thrust of your hips stuttering, unused to the coordination. A new appreciation for Joel, the way he ruins you so thoroughly and so often.

His hand covers yours. The press of his warm palm and thick fingers enveloping yours. Wrapping your hand tighter, guiding you to stroke him faster, harder.

“Don’t stop.” It’s a ragged plea, “You’re gonna make me come, sweetheart-”

In this moment, you think there’s nothing that could make you. Your own breath short and panting - eyes fixed on the pull of his brow, the part of his lips.

The way he thrusts into the tight clutch of your fist, fingers pinching harder. Your name a ragged groan that draws out long and low as he stiffens, the messy spill of his release over your knuckles with the next twist of your wrist.

His hand falls limply away as he comes - painting the curve of his belly, arcing up to his chest, sticky and glossy against his skin. You can feel the pulse under your thumb, see the tightening jerk of his cock, when your eyes tear from his face to drift down. Watching him, until he’s fully spent.

Only then do your hips carefully slow, your hands loosening to drift across his stomach and hips, tracing his skin.

He’s beautiful.

A tanned arm thrown across his face. Sweat dewing skin, the soft and unsteady inhale-exhale of his chest and belly.

Stained with himself, smeared across his abdomen from your hands and his. Glinting in the low light of the lamp, a low hiss as you carefully ease yourself from him.

Resisting the urge to drag your fingers across, collect him - slip them into your mouth.

Instead, you do what he does for you.

There’s the damp sway of your cock against your thigh as you move to the en-suite. Wiping him clean with a dampened cloth, as his fingers pluck at your harness.

Leaving it to pool against the mattress. An ache left behind - a sticky wetness in the crux of your panties that he’ll find in a minute.

For now, he fits you against him. Joel’s arm looped bonelessly around you, as your cheek presses into his shoulder.

A small flicker of pride in your belly. A heat - pleased that you had been able to do this for him. That he had trusted you, like you so often do for him.

Your fingers scratch into skin, the dampened curls at the base of his neck. He moans, heavy-hidden eyes cracking open to look your way.

There’s a depth to them. A loosening, making them soft and warm and you can’t help but press your mouth to his.

A hand coming to cradle your jaw, a little flick of your tongue telling him how needy this has made you.

He swallows your groan, with a sound of his own.

It’s bliss, sharing this moment with him.

There’s the dull hum of the traffic outside, the light breeze of the fan that sits on the dresser. Hours left until dawn - the promise of coffee and breakfast and a morning spent together, before you’re supposed to pick up Sarah and meet Tommy for the afternoon game.

“You still mad at Tess?” It’s more tease than question - teeth sinking into your bottom lip to bite back the smile.

A smile that is returned, with a little huff of a laugh. Voice rough and low, as he rolls you beneath him to nose at your jaw.

“Can’t say that I am.”

Thank you for reading!! 💖

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel x reader x Tess #joel miller x reader x tess servopoulos

309 notes · View notes

rougepancake · 1 year ago

Note

Hello! I love to ur writing so much ml!! It’s so descriptive and the plot is incredibly well written. Is it possible for me to request aged up genya x f. reader, where he has a breeding kink? thank you!! 💘

SBWJWJWNWJS TYSM GWEN!!!

Not baby, babies

FT. Genya Shinazugawa

WARNINGS: Suggestive content under cut. Minors and ageless blogs dni, you will be blocked. Breeding kink, modern au.

How long had you been sitting there?

You figured it didn’t matter, since it kinda was your job to look after this kid.

That’s right. You work at a daycare, and it was just you and this kid here. His parents had yet to come pick him up, despite your hours being posted clearly on the window. It sucked for you too, since Genya was on his way to take you home.

The poor kid was miserable too. He was crying the whole time, clinging to your side as if you were actually his mother.

Eventually, after what felt like hours of sitting there, Genya and the kid’s parents showed up. Thankfully, the parents explained why they had been late, and even handed you a little cash as compensation, which meant you were free to go home now.

And Genya was uncharacteristically quiet.

“Honestly, I’m just glad they didn’t forget the little fella.” You sighed and leaned back in the passenger’s seat of his truck, closing your eyes with a frown. “Could you imagine? I’d have to get the police involved.”

You were met with silence.

“He was crying so hard too, I felt awful.”

Nothing.

“Genya?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you so quiet?” You finally looked over at him, and noticed how red his face was. Holy shit was he okay?? “Oh my god are you running a fever?!? Pull over!!” You panicked and grabbed ahold of his arm, frowning as he avoided your worried gaze.

“Y/n- I uh- I’m fine. Don’t worry…” He cleared his throat nervously, and you knew something was up.

“What? Was it something I did?”

“W-Well- I uh- yeah…” He finally turned his head to look at you, his eyes lidded and his face flushed. “You looked so damn hot with that kid. I kinda wanna give you one of my own just to see what you’d look like.” The words left his mouth, and it was clear that he didn’t think before he spoke.

You were both surprised by his words.

“H-Huh?!?”

“N-NOTHING!!!”

It was an awkward drive home.

#props to me for the creative title LOL #okay okay time to be serious #x reader #demon slayer #demon slayer x you #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer x reader #genya smut #genya shinazugawa smut #shinaguzawa genya #demon slayer genya #kny genya #genya shinazugawa #genya x reader #genya shinazugawa x reader #shinazugawa smut #kny smut #demon slayer smut

559 notes · View notes

tojipie · 1 year ago

Note

ahhh truck driver toji so cute ur aus for him are srsly superior i swear!!! i think it’d be so cute if maybe you wrote abt the items/souvenirs toji has collected and gifted you as you travel together :D the emotional meaning and why hehe

hii ! here’s a list:

disposable cameras: he buys them more for himself then he does for you. he’s the type to refuse to delete photos to free up storage on his phone, and won’t pay for the extra gigabytes, so naturally he just started opting for hard copies.

there’s shots of you two tucked into every crevice of the truck, and he has an old shoebox full of them tucked under the driver’s seat. he usually keeps his weekly favorite tucked away in the visor mirror.

coins! he’s constantly sifting through his change from gas station purchases to look for older or unique coins to gift to you. he loves how excited you get when you come across those vintage coin press machines and insists he be the one to press the lever down.

trucker hats again, these ones are more for him than you. you just end up wearing them more than he does (and he lets you). he literally can’t help himself when it comes to getting new hats. and when he decides to bring one up to the counter you always have to remind him that he has at least 6 just like it.

he’ll send you into gas stations with a crumpled 50 from time-to-time, telling you to go ham as long as you make sure to get him a case of beer. you’ll sometimes get yourself a gag gift out of boredom, showing it off to him with a smile.

you bought him a gag hat one time that read “#1 MILF.” he found it funny at the time, using it to push back his fringe once the sun started beating down on you two. he ended up forgetting that he had it on by noon, sitting through an entire meal at an ihop not knowing why everyone was giggling at the two of you.

keychains! he loves giving you the ones with little snow globes attached, you have a key ring where you keep all of them. they always change depending on what season you’re in. if it’s cold he tends to go for winter themed charms, and if it’s warmer he likes to get you the kind with pressed flowers.

bottle caps: random sobriety checks are frequent depending on where the two of you are driving through, so toji knows not to let himself get caught with alcohol in his system before the two of you have gotten to your destination for the night. when he finally gets to crack open a case, he’ll give you the bottle cap to fiddle around with.

you’ve since started saving them in a jar after learning they could be exchanged for cash! you’re saving up to buy him something for his birthday.

#adah’s asks #truck driver toji #truck driver!toji #truck driver toji x reader #toji x female reader #toji x reader #toji x reader fluff #fushiguro toji #toji fluff

873 notes · View notes

kirarifutari · 2 years ago

Text

enhypen as fast food workers (enhypen ot7.)

GENRE .. !? enhypen ot7 headcanons i guess... pureee crack, comedy

WARNINGS .. !? not proof read, swearing, for shits and giggles don't take anything to heart lol

WC ..?! approx 852

NOTES.. ?! okay pls blame @dazed-hee for putting this thought into my head and helping me w this... i cannot believe i sat my ass down and wrote this,, yes i just got off work ... anyway i hope u enjoy this goofy little piece pls like + reblog to support!!

heeseung

actually does his job properly LOLLL

he's so good at it asw he is never ever stressed 😭😭 he never complains either he just gets shit done ?? like you'll be on shift w him and magically you don't have to do anything ever bc somehow he has it under control…?

all the customers love him asw LMAO he's the type to remember regulars 🙏

god sent everyone needs a heeseung to work with, he's even nice to the rude customers but is not afraid to be a little passive aggressive bitch 🤧

he never talks badly about anyone so no one ever shit talks him?? but if you ask him ab drama he'd be like “not naming any names but…” 😭

jay

he is exactly like heeseung except when is jay ever NOT stressed

he is internally crying every five seconds over something and every time a customer complains about something you can see the light in his eyes die little by little 💀💀

he doesn't even care what anyone else is doing he's just so caught up in doing his job he doesn't realise that he's doing everything himself… more utc!

if you catch him on a good day tho you can hear him make fun of customer orders 😭 “who the fuck orders 3 hamburgers past the age of three years old…”

let's you do whatever you want bc hes too busy dealing w the emerging grey hairs 🙏

jake

the best person to work your shift w for a good time hands downnn

he's so funny he will make you cackle every five seconds,, you'll be taking a drive thru order and you'd be trying so fucking hard not to laugh into the mic 😭 he will fr start SINGING in ur ear goodbye

super friendly w customers and will literally start a conversation ab the most random things ?? “bro did you just order this family box?? you eating that yourself? that's crazy, mad respect” 💀

dawg does everything all at once, making burgers, taking orders, handing out food, changing the bins ??? yet somehow he's the one goofing off the most ?

sunghoon

doesn't know how he landed the job tbh… everyone expected him to be unemployed the rest of his life 🔥

HE DOESNT KNOW HOW TO COUNT CHANGE W CASH 😭 bro tries his hardest but is always fumbling around fr,, our maths legend

the type to be like “hm? i can't hear you” “what did you say? “yeah just gimme a minute” he is TOO CHILL he's so unserious ab this job he clocks on and does nothing half the time 🙏 he'll say he'll do what you ask him too but... you both know he won't xoxox

somehow he's still one of the managers favourites and gets good shifts every week…

if a customer yells at him he'd be like “yeah give me a second” and then just gets someone else to deal with it LMFAO 💀

sunoo

THE BIGGEST SHIT TALKER having a shift w him is so good, he somehow knows everything that's going on w everyone ??? fills you in w all the gossip fr.

he's rly bubbly w all the nice customers and is one of the nicer employees to work with but if ur on his bad side … 💀💀💀

like if you annoy him as a customer he will hand you order wordlessly and look you up and down HE DOESNT CAREEE BROOO 😭

if anyone ever blames him for doing something wrong on shift he literally will just be like “that wasn't me tho 😄😄” biggest liar and everyone knows it but no one cares cus we all love him 🫶

sunoo will definitely be the type to buy you food on his break or give you free stuff when you clock off 😭

jungwon

would be the biggest gas lighter LMFAO

“oh you ordered a double big mac and not a regular? yeah on our register it's gone through as regular so i don't know what you want me to do, you can pay for another one tho!” 💀💀💀💀

bro gives so much sass to rude customers he does NOT gaf, he does it all w a smile on his face too like “sorry about that but we can't do anything to fix it 😊”

he’d be so chill w his co workers asw, he would really care if everyone's messing around but somehow w him on shift everything goes oddly smoothly…

working w him is so fucking funny cus he will never take no for an answer w a customer he will keep pushing until they LEAVE 😭

niki

LMFAOOO okay this kid fucking hates his job LOL

will spit in a customers drink because he can 🙏 he will not take shit from anyone and he knows no one will fire him bc they're understaffed 😚

plays the best music and always has kitchen speaker aux !!!

if you ask him to remake a burger or help you with something he'll either give you a blank stare or a “no, i won't.” and then do it for you anyway 👊👊 he is such a little menace but he doesn't care

w annoying ass customers he will literally start arguing w them STOP

would go viral on tiktok cus some customer was filming him being rude but everyone would be siding w him bc niki is always in the right godbless.

#ser writes !#enhypen x reader #enhypen ot7 #enhypen #niki x reader #jake x reader #sunghoon x reader #heeseung x reader #sunoo x reader #jay x reader #jungwon x reader #enhypen fic #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #im past the point of caring this is too funny to me #yes i work at a fast food joint and yes i hate my job

572 notes · View notes

pumpkinsy0 · 3 months ago

Note

hcs of stevepop being haters to papercut but specifically curly😸

rare stevepop mention in my inbox omg

•first of steve dont even hate curly fr, its soda that dont like him, its like a “curly shepard slander is not only tolerated, but highly encouraged” typa thing, steve has no strong feelings about curly, thinks hes trouble and a nuisance but nothin noteworthy, everyone thinks that of curly, steves not special in that regard😢

•soda could b ranting about how curly isnt good for pony and steves just not paying attention, he’s just staring at soda thinking he looks good😭😭, but if soda does say something outlandish that curly did, he will make his own comment

•i like to think that curly and steve r similar in some aspects so when soda mentions something steve also does, the convo goes “dont i do that same thing” “yea but ur u, so thats different” and steve squints his eyes cause he doesnt know how to take that one

•instead of just paying for the snacks at the drive ik, curly and pony go to the dx to pay for snacks and just sneak into the drive in w the snacks in curlys secret pockets, and will soda admit that thats clever as hell??? NO HE WILL NOT☝🏽☝🏽, he makes sneaking glances at him

•only time steve rlly talks to curly is if he makes some kinda comment towards soda, so at that cash register, curly teases soda and i WAS gonna say that steve doesnt say much and aggressively keeps it professional but id b a liar, steves saying something slick right back

•bc steve and curly dont rlly know each other that well, their banter is pretty much limited to curly talking about steve being w soda and steve WOULD say something about being w pony but sodas right there and he wouldnt like that, so he says something about curly being a pain in the ass, very surface level bullyin goin on here

•when soda sees pony and curly, hes literally pulling steve along, steve is 95% unwilling 5% willing bc he rlly does care for pony and wants to know whats up w em

•HOWEVER, he’s not that interested that he wants to be around them for longer than an hour when theyre supposed to be hanging out, steve just wants to question em for 5, maybe 10 mins THEN leave but soda wants to stay for way longer

•i feel like ppl also forget that steve still goes to school, so when theres a school dance steve takes advantage of that and uses it as a date opportunity and brings soda, but on e again much to everyones disappointment pony n curly r there too, so sodas like TRYING to enjoy his time w steve but look at curly over there,,,breathing near pony,,,how dare he share the same air,,,

•steves the one who drove all of em to the dance, however soda promised to not be too overbearing for pony and steves sake, which he kinda???did???? he was staring at em ofc but so was steve, but steve was just laughing at the stupid shit curly was pulling pony into while soda was makin sure nothin too over 18 was goin on

•steve is still like one of ponys biggest haters, once he told pony something about him being so desperate to not be a tag a long he mustve picked the closest person to him to prove that he wasnt and it just so happened to be curly and thats how they got together

#curly shepard #ponyboy curtis #purly #PaperCut ship #sodapop curtis #steve randle #stevepop

40 notes · View notes

sillypikmin · 1 year ago

Note

rolls up at ur inbox like im at a drive-through. can i have one (1) breadbug please and thank you.

that will be 3 pokos, will you be paying with cash or card

#breadbug #oughh breadbug .... my son glurmble he is 2 years old and made of baguette

192 notes · View notes

crookedkryptonitebeliever · 10 months ago

Text

Best and worst of both worlds (part 12)

Tw: injury, yandere and monty just being a creep

the University option was 60% wben the votes were 20, idk y suddenly u guys decided to favour 5 blocks away from ur house too

Damn from what i seen theres like distinct team monty and team Yves, ngl as writer i am biased towards Yves he my favourite

Part 13

You told him that you need to go to class.

Montgomery frowned. "If ya' say so." He shifted his gears and began driving away.

You looked at the scenery around you. This place is definitely not somewhere you visited before, you see a few buses driving by. But none of which you recognize.

"You free during the weekends?" He asked.

You said no.

Montgomery pouted. "Well, when are you free?"

You shrugged and said being a university student is demanding.

He sighed dejectedly. "What do I know, I only have a high school diploma. Wasn't one for the books, I'd rather git' out there and make me some cash."

You stayed silent.

"You ain't built for that, it really ain't for the faint hearted. So you gotta stay in school and try your hardest, sweetheart. Follow your dreams of becoming... whatever you wanted to be."

You nodded in acknowledgement. But Montgomery kept talking.

"I came to the city 'cause I heard I can make it big there. I didn't really have a plan, I was hopin' I'd make big bucks and start my own business." He switched his blinker on as he readies himself to make a turn.

"It was totally harder than I thought. I moved from city to city, was broke in every single one and I had to live out of my car if I wanted to eat. The people, all of 'em were mean as hell no matter where I go. They're nothin' like the people back home."

Curiosity gets the best of you and you asked why didn't he just return to base.

He laughed. "I didn't wanna hear an 'I told you so' from my family. I had to fight to get out of that damn farm. I can't imagine the humiliation if I come back home, tail between my legs, empty handed."

The air between you became quiet after that.

"So... what are ya' studying?"

You tried your best to explain your degree and the profession that you're hoping to work as. Montgomery hummed in response.

"I dunno much about that. But it sure sounds stressful and too brainy for me. You're such a smart kid."

You said thanks.

"A little lackin' in the brawn department though. That's why you need me to protect ya'." He grinned. "We sure are such a great match! When I get that business idea of mine up and runnin', you're gonna be handling the books. I'll be handlin' the shop- the physical part. We're gonna be swimmin' in riches, in no time!"

You didn't respond to that, making his excited laughter die down quickly.

"...Or you could just choose what'cha wanna do. Fine by me, I'll fund it the best I can." Montgomery is starting to look uncomfortable, it seems like he's trying to make some conversation with you. But you didn't want to give him any more of your attention.

The rest of the ride went by smoothly.

"Sixth period, I guess." He stopped in front of the entrance. You wonder if he's confused as to why he barely sees anyone around now.

You looked at the time. It's 11:45AM. The bus is coming in 5 minutes.

"Here." He shoved something into your hands. "Treat yourself to something nice." You uncrumpled it to reveal two $20 bills.

You thanked him and pulled the handle of the door.

"Wait! I want your number!" He got out of his car and ran up to you.

You said that you don't remember and you don't have your phone with you.

"You don't remember your own phone number?" He stared in disbelief.

You said that with the advancement of technology, no one needs to remember any phone numbers. It's all stored in the smartphone.

He scratched the back of his neck. "Well, I think you should memorize at least a couple of em'. What are ya' gonna do when your phone breaks, huh? You're gonna be doomed!"

Yeah. Like how you are right now.

You tried to end the conversation by agreeing and saying bye.

"I have an idea." You yelped as he grabbed you by the wrist. He pulled out a pen and uncapped it, Montgomery wrote a string of numbers on your arm.

You can only watch as he decorated your entire forearm in horror. How are you going to explain this to Yves?

"There, that's my number."

You pulled your arm away and told him that you're going to be late for class.

"Don't forget to call me!" He hollered as you move far, far away from him.

Finally, $40 richer, 100% more disturbed, 200% sweatier, you reached your house. 20 minutes late.

You dragged yourself onto the porch and struck your arm repeatedly against the door. Panting with your tongue out like a dog.

You wiped the sweat off your brow as the door opened. Thinking it's one of your housemates, you tried walking past them, only to be grabbed by the shoulders.

"(Name)!"

You looked up and saw Yves with the most haunting expression you've ever seen on his beautiful yet bruised face. Half it was still concealed by his hair. There was a mix of worry, sadness, anger and relief. It was an expression that guarantees you're in trouble.

You stared at him for a few seconds, his dilated pupil never left yours. You felt like you were on a court trial during those 20 seconds, Yves seemingly scrutinizing every aspect of your soul.

You burst into tears, sobbing loudly and pathetically. You didn't know where to start, you had so many unmet needs at the moment.

You're roasting in your own skin and sunburnt, you don't even have a wink of sleep, you feel violated by Montgomery, your stomach hurts from eating the greasy fast food, your muscles are aching from that epinephrine shot, you have a headache, you don't like how your clothes stuck to your body and Yves is mad at you.

One of the needs was immediately met when he pulled you into a hug.

"I'm not upset at you." He whispered, pressing kisses on your head. You cried harder and sunk into him deeper.

Of course, he knew what happened, where you went and what Montgomery did. All of it was caught on surveillance cameras and they're easy to hack into. He heard the conversations between you and him, Montgomery should upgrade his phone, it didn't even put up a fight when he tried accessing it remotely.

All because he didn't predict that you would be anaphylactic to your new medicine. If you knew he's virtually everywhere and watching your every move, Yves would have immediately intercepted before you could even put a foot down on the floor.

Yves let you wet his clothes until you calmed down enough for him to pull you into the house, where it is much cooler and dimmer. Your nosy housemates were peeking from the hallway, but this time Yves wasn't acting so nice. He shot them all a death glare, which made them promptly retreat into their rooms.

He closes the door and leads you to the sofa. Where he allowed you to let your emotions out on his chest, while sitting on his lap.

A hand stroking the back of your head, another pulling you close to him. Yves placed his lips on your forehead as snot drips down your nose and onto Yves. He doesn't mind your sweat or skin flakes.

Yves does appreciate that Montgomery was there at the right time. When you started to rub your eyes excessively, Yves was already on the highway, doing 120 miles per hour on an 80 limit. He knows something is wrong.

Unfortunately, though, he was too late and Montgomery already drove off with you. So he had to do a detour and tailgate him instead.

He did all the calculations and thought of all the possible outcomes in his head. And... to his dismay, the best one was to let everything that happened to you happen. Yves lets go and allows Montgomery to be the hero for today for the sake of your life.

But you were never in any real danger. Yves was following closely behind this entire time. Of course, you're definitely going to be uncomfortable. However, he knows you're not stupid, he could not slip a single "coincidence" that will allow him to save you from Montgomery. It's going to be too implausible to happen given that Yves is still a relatively "normal" person in your eyes.

You hiccupped in his chest, apologizing over and over again. Yves assured you that you did nothing wrong. He reached for his bag, taking out a packet of wet wipes and dry facial tissues.

He began cleaning you with the damp towel. Yves did not flinch when you coughed right into his face and had thick, opaque mucus land on his eyelashes. He continued wiping away the snot and tears while letting a glob of green rest on his eye.

If you had lingered at the university longer, Yves would have 'coincidentally' bumped and picked you up instead. Under the guise of him searching for you because he arrived early at your place to find the front door unlocked, your bag in your room and your phone on the table. Very unusual behavior of you.

But he underestimated your desperation to catch the next bus. You have broken his records, that was the fastest you ever ran since middle school and he has the data to back it up.

Now that you're slowly relaxing, Yves removed the goop from his eye using another wet wipe. His long eyelashes clumped together from the moisture. He continued by drying you using the facial tissues, which includes drying the sweat from your back and to your rear. Who gives a damn if Yves has his hands up your shirt and down your pants, it's Yves. You trust him.

You didn't pay enough attention to wonder why he brought some aloe gel today out of all days. Yves snapped the lid open and applied a pea sized amount on his fingertips. Yves spread it evenly on your now peeling skin, you let your shoulders sag as the gel soothes the burning pain.

Montgomery proved himself useful, twice. First, by saving your life. Second, by helping Yves look much more appealing to you. Doesn't his feather-like touches feel nice? It's nothing like that brute's talons.

Yves only wished that he had half a brain to feed you something appropriate and not an artery-blocking lump of fat and sugar. Four, of them plus two grease saturated hash browns, to be precise. God, Montgomery is spineless, he should have stopped you or at least found a way to make you eat slower.

You fell limp onto him as he skillfully massaged your scalp with his fingers. Your eyes rolled back into your head as the tingles travel down your spine, causing you to forget about the soreness you've been experiencing.

Yves had a look of disdain when he caught a glimpse of Montgomery's phone number written on your arm in pen ink. He doesn't know when to quit, does he?

You never once stopped to wonder how he knew to prepare a pack of ice wrapped in a towel even before you came back. He brought the chilly item to your neck, cooling down one of your crucial points.

Yves continued massaging your head to relieve you of any tension. He ticked off his mental checklists on your needs, another thing is going to be off his list very soon.

He watches your eyelids droop until your eyes are fully closed. Now draped across his lap, you're starting to snore and drift into slumberland.

He sighed. Caressing your tender leg as you sleep.

"You are such a troublemaker." He quietly hissed. Scooping you into his strong arms.

Yves carried you into your room, where he lowered you onto your bed. He didn't put the blanket on you, because you will overheat, wake up and panic again.

He went out and retrieved his bag. Yves took out his portable fan and placed it near you, so the moving air could cool you down further. If you weren't so bashful and considerate, he would have installed a portable air conditioning unit in your room already. But he knows you will find the gesture too extravagant and start to spiral out of control with your self depreciation.

He closed the curtains, turned off the lights. The only thing illuminating the otherwise dark room are the holes in your curtains and his laptop screen.

Yves took a seat, put on his reading glasses and began typing away. One hand keying in the information, the other holding the wretched medication that hospitalized you.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere concept #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader #oc yves #oc Montgomery

79 notes · View notes