#NOTHING COMES AS EASILY AS YOU- CAN I LAY IN YOUR BED ALL DAY??

[asparagus-antics]

There is like NOTHING for conquest 😭 nsfw alphabet for my favorite old man? Or just any crumbs in general I'll take it

NSFW Alphabet - Conquest

Here are the headcannons for my old man! I love him so much. Sorry if these are choppy or seem rushed, I really need to get back into my groove, man😭 I had a hard time writing these. I tried to keep this as gender neutral as possible, since I wasn't sure if you wanted a specific gender! Also, to give myself a little more of a direction to go in, this is Conquest x human reader. Enjoy!

Not proofread, sorry for any grammatical errors and or spelling mistakes!

18+, minors do not interact, please! - you are responsible for your own content consumption, the media below the cut will contain nsfw themes and explicit description of sex.

Aftercare - what they're like after

Conquest might not be too adapted to how soft humans are in comparison to viltrumites, so he might need some time adjusting—a gentle nudge in the right direction from time to time. Overall, he's generally like a huge cat. If this man could purr, he would; in fact, he can manage a hum so low it actually does really sound like one! He's a cuddler. Big, rough hands grab you as soon as he's down on the bed next to you, pulling you close and inhaling your scent like like the faint smell of your sweat is the most heavenly thing to him. He's scared he might hurt your body, so little compared to him even if you are tall for the average human, but the urge to pull you close and smother you in his big arms is something akin to cuteness agression. If you ask, he'll fetch you water or a snack, maybe a heating pad or an exrta blanket. Over time, though, he'll get used to what you usually desire after a few rounds, and after cleaning you up, he'll get them without a specific request needed.

Body part - whats their favourite body part? Theirs and yours

It might sound cliche, but if you were to ask him what his favourite part of you was, he would jump at the opportunity to say everything. The soft skin he can nuzzle his face into, the limbs that try to tangle themselves around him in a hug or the hands that scratch at his skin when he's so focused on your pleasure that he gets lost in it all. Your favourite part of him would probably be your hands, though. How gently they can handle him even when there really is no need. How soft they feel all over him and how you love to hold his big, calloused palm in yours. It grounds him, calms him down when needed, and he'd die a happy man if your hands were on him while he went. His favourite part of his body? His arms. How such muscular, big sources of power that have blown through civilisations could now cradle you so gently. How easily he could pick you up and carry you where you needed to go or throwing you up into the air like a little child to hear you laugh.

Cum - anything to so with cum, really

His loads? Huge. Downright terrifying because where has this poor man been storing all of this? He prefers to come inside, liking the sense of intimacy it brings him, the idea that some piece of him will be with you at all times for a few days at least. He definitely had a breeding kink that just goes wild at the sight of you on his dick. If it's not inside you, he'll cum all over your stomach, your face if you let him. He loves seeing you streaked in something so innately his, marked by the evidence of what you do to him. If it comes time to clean up the mess, he'll lick it all up himself without a single complaint to be heard. You don't prompt him to, you're just laying there, still coming down and catching your breath when you feel that hot tongue strace over the lines painted on your stomach, up to your chest and neck.

Dirty secret - whats a dirty secret of theirs?

Secrets? Not this mans thing. He'll blurt out anything that comes to mind no matter how vulgar it is. Honestly, it gets you blushing and embarrassed most of the time because it just comes out of nowhere! He doesn't even try to make it sensual. It's just him still getting used to the fact that humans aren't as direct. It's just a remark here and there, in the middle of you and him minding your own business, cuddling, or anything that might be happening.

Experience - how experienced are they? Do they know what their doing?

Conquest has gathered lots of experience over his.. what? Five thousand years of life? He's not ever really had a partner, or maybe has, but had never really been in love—hence his lonliness. Despite that, his experiences are plenty. Tons of hookups over the years from planets he's conquered (I mean, who could resist him? Even if he's murdering their people with a smile on his face? I couldn't.). Maybe one or two other viltrumites in his earlier years, but none in the later ones, since not many are even willing or daring to get close. He knows exactly what you need, even if he unintentionally handles you a bit rougher sometimes. He's attentive and more than eager to please you. There's never a one to one ratio on orgasms, which 100% of the time works out in your favour, even if unintentional. He just loves to have his hands on you, and he gets plenty carried away sometimes.

Favourite position - self explanitory

It depends on the sex. In his desperate, rough days, he enjoys doggy a lot. It gives him plenty of curves to grab, limbs to restrain and skin to lick and bite. It allows him to reach deep, to be able to push and pull you away, and to him, it lets him move your body to a way that feels good for the both of you. On his gentle days, when he really wants to savour the moment, he prefers missionary, maybe something with you on top. In these positions, he can really admire you, watch you move and react to all the sensations he's making you feel, and be able to press his skin to yours. He enjoys the contact and intimacy of it, revels in the way you cling to him, and move against him. Your pleasure is his, and it only heightens his excitement to know and feel that you're having a great time. He lives for it. If he could see it all day every day for the rest of his life, he would.

Goofy - are they more goofy or serious in the moment? Do they make jokes?

Jokes, maybe, but he's mostly more serious during. He wants to be focused on you and your pleasure, as well as his. His intensity usually doesn't leave a lot of room for cracking jokes. On the other hand, he is a huge tease. Some days (the rougher ones), he's relentless, taunting and teasing non-stop, driving you mad with touches without getting you anywhere. He'll sneer when you whine and beg, making remarks about the fact that you have to be patient for him, taunting you for being so desperate, all the while not letting up on any of the shit he's pulling.

Hair - how are they groomed? Do the carpets match the drapes?

It's all grey. Everywhere. Obviously. He's got a nice amount of chest hair that matches the remaining ones on his head and his moustache. His forearms have a nice coating, too, that looks absolutely amazing when he rolls his sleeves up. The muscles with a dusting of grey body hair absolutely gives him some sort of greek god look that he really pulls off. The hair on his chest conects a trail down his softer stomach to his pubes, which are very much there, but he keeps them trimmed nicely. He's definitely not shaven, but he's neat and tidy. It honestly looks nice, framing him just right.

Intimacy - how intimate are they in the moment?

There's always a sense of intimacy with him, rough or gentle. Either in way he looks at you, caressing over the planes of your skin softly or the ragged breaths in your ear as he lays himself over your back, his face over your shoulder as he grunts out praises to your fucked out body, his firm hands keeping you in place and his pace showing absolutely zero signs of faltering or stopping any time soon, no matter the rounds you've already gone. His hands are so big, either very capable of grabbing at each and every part of your flesh, groaning about how good you're doing and how nice you feel around him, or how they cradle your body as he moves so slowly, cherishing you like his most prised posession, looking you deep in the eye as he commits the sight of you right to his memories, to keep this piece of you with him always.

Jack off - anything to do with masturbation

That piece of you leads him right to here, preserved for when needed, for the occasions where one of you is away. He doesn't really enjoy masturbation as much, since he rarely sees need to if he can't spill anything into you or feel your warm, soft touch or the scratches along his arms, sides and back whike he's so engrossed in the pleasure of it all. It just doesn't feel as good; his hands could never recreate the feeling of yiu around him or your hands caressing him, your mouth moving over and around him till he's all happy and sated. If he really is that messed up over the fact he can't have you, and he really can't stop thinking about it, he'll frustratedly take himself in hand and just force everything out of him over the span of fifteen minutes to an hour, depending on how desprate he is.

Kink - a kink of theirs. What are they into?

He has a huge breeding kink. Huge. Most viltrumites don't need or desire sex outside of breeding urges. They don't see the need to look for a partner who will only slow them down or make them soft outside of missions. If they do have one, though, it's on. Conwuest would do anything to keep you stuffed full of him all the time. Whether it is indeed for breeding perpouses or judt the thought of you being so full of him, he wants you to drip it when he's done with you, so to speak. Because he will indeed not let you drip it. If it's not quicky, he loves to stay buried inside you even after he's softened, letting you rest in a position that will allow it, keeping everything he's poured into you firmly there with no escape. It fills him with a sense of pride and duty, even if it is just for himself.

Location - what's their favourite place to get into it?

He mostly just prefers a bed, where he can take his sweet, sweet time with you and enjoy you thoroughly. Though, if we're being real, he would take you anywhere. In the kitchen, outside, on the floor, in the air.. the list goes way on. If it is indeed in a bed, he loves it because he can pound you silly into the soft surface, watching you bounce with the movements his heavy build is forcing on the mattress.

Motivation - what turns them on? Gets them going?

Everything. The way you walk? His dick is hard. Give him one wrong look? He'll absolutely pound the thoughts out of you. Caress his face just right? He wants to take care of you and make you cum till you go deaf and blind. He's just an absolute sucker for you, as serious about you as he ever has been and ever will be about another being. He wants you always, all the time, everywhere at once. He knows how to reign himself in of course, but when it comes time for that sweet release, he will ravenge you for just about anything that you do.

No - something they won't do / turn off.

Outside of the morally messed up shit, even if his morals are kind of messed up, absolutely nothing. Your wish is his command; this man is a freak and is proud to let you know it. You want to try something new? On it, boss. He's ready. From vanilla things to stuff that would make the devil break out a sweat, perhaps a little blush. He's all yours, opwn to experimenting snd switching things up. Positions? This man can bend you into whatever shape you want. You taking charge? Go right ahead. Even if proportions are off or you are nervous about things, he'll do his absolute best and try his hardest to make everything judt as enjoyable for you as he can. I mean, he'll enjoy it regardless.

Oral - preference in giving / receiving, skill, etc.

He doesn't mind receiving head, though with his size, it's hard for anyone to fully take him. Even half would be more than enough for the average person, so he doesn't really expect it or request it a lot. Giving, on the other hand? This man will slobber over you aaaalll day. Sucking, licking. Just nuzzling into you and nudging with his nose, he's got it. He's messy with it, but it's intense and pleasureful. He'll have you coming with his mouth plenty of times before you even get to the big event if you let him. He'll keep going till you try to tug him up or whine for him that it's too much. He loves overstimulating all your nerves till you beg him to go easier, to at least let you catch your breath. Sometimes, though, as much as he loves hearing you beg, it falls on deaf ears anyway. He blames it on his age. Yeah, right.

Pace - are they fast, slow, stamina, etc.

He varies, but boy when he switches it up from one to the other? Slow, deep, more grinding than anything turns to your hips being lifted off of whatever surface you were on an held up by him as he plummets your depths like a man on a mission. He can be relentless, so quick and hard you'll definitely not be walking straight if at all tomorrow, but at the same time, he can be so slow, sometimes barely moving yet still so intense it gets you where you want to go, less intense than usual, it's a slow and rolling sensation that lasts a while, something that you feel you'll never come down from, so opposite from the harsh, quick snap and bursts that usually take place, though even that varied in it's levels of intensity.

Quickie - their opinion on them, how often, etc

He definitely prefers to be able to take his time over anything else, so quickies aren't really his deal. When you do have them, though, they're usually in a fit of desperation. Maybe squeeze one in one last time before saying goodbye for something like a mission or trip that the other can't join on, maybe after an argument of any kind.

Risk - are they game to experiment? Do they take risks?

Conquest gives absolutely no fucks when it comes to risking a lot of things, even his life, as we've seen. It exitedls him, gives him a rush. Getting beat up with thr risk of very bad bodily injury? Bring it on. Toying with people to bring out the absolute worst in them and taunt them till they snap? Definitely his dead. Something he doesn't like to risk, though? Is you. Seeing you in any type of trouble or danger would send him mad, so he doesn't like to risk anything dangerous, even if you are the type of person who gets a thrill from it just like him. A place where you risk being seen is okay with him, of course, since there is something so exiting about that, but anything that crosses his line of danger is off limits. Somewhere public, like a bathroom stall of storage closet? Have at it! He's more than happy to oblige you if that is something you're into or would be willing to try. Despite that, he couldn't bare seeing anything bad happen to you, especially if it could be partially caused by him. So, he'll play it safe with you, make sure everything you do together is something that could easily be fixed by him if something were to happen.

Stamina - how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?

All viltrumites have great stamina, since that was insured when only the most virile of the species were allowed to reproduce. Conquests stamina is something that never seems to run out, bred and trained for long and hard battle, sex is at the least of his worries when it comes to a workout. He can take you round after round after round until you're so spent you're barely awake, and he'll barely have broken a sweat, if at all. He'll let you rest when you're clearly too tired or you ask, of course, but trust me when I say that when you wake up, he's ready to go right back at it again.

Toys - Do they own toys? Do they use them?

I don't think he'd really have any at home, but if you suggest it, maybe give him some, he's eager to try it out. On you, on himself, whatevers possible. He wants to appreciate your gift to the fullest and is more than happy to do so. Things like vibes, he'll tease you for hours on end and try and figure out every single way to make you come using them. He enjoys seeing them used on you more, but if you want to he'll let you try whatever you want on him, just content to have you paying him such close attention, to have your hands on him making him feel so good in that way just you do.

Unfair - how much do they like to tease?

As mentioned before, Conquest will tease and edge you till you're begging and in tears if you let him. He loves seeing you desperate, hearing all the noises you make for him. The way you squirm and whine for him to just let you come already is just music to his ears and plenty of strokes to his ego. Knowing that this is the way he can make you feel, no one else, just exites him more than anything. He's infuriating. The endless taunting is so frustrating, yet somehow it still manages to brighten that fire inside of you. You desire it, his hands endlessly roaming with no intention of taking you any further for a good while.

Volume - how loud are they? What sounds do they make?

He's fairly quiet in terms of noise, but he loves to talk. Taunting, teasing, praising, remarking about how good you feel, hell, he'll tell a story or to to your absolutely fucked out body after multiple rounds, all while he's still moving into you relentlessly. He does make the occasional noises, rough and fairly hushed; hell groan out his words or give a grunt here and there. He just can't possibly keep completely muted with the way you feel around him, like he's wrapped up in heaven itself. Sometimes, he muffles the noise by shoving his face to whatever skin he can reach from that angle or kissing you till you're even more out of breath, if that was possible.

Wild card - a random headcannon

He has a thing for his size. Naturally, most(all) of his partners are smaller than him, even if they're tall for whatever species they are from. If he's relieving oral from you, he likes to just see the size of him against your face. The difference gets him going, how easily he can manhandle you even if you're strong. It makes him feel strong, powerful—which he loves. It's never at the expense of you feeling useless, but the way you're so small next to him is just a huge turn-on.

X-ray - whats going on underneath them clothes?

He's big for his size, and as a man of around 7 feet or taller, that's absolutely huge. He's around the girth of an average human fist, just a bit skinnier when flacid. The length of it is definitely enough to struggle with, but you make it work together. It's got a couple of veins along the side and underside, a colour just a bit darker than his usual skintone, and it turns a more reddish colour when hard, the more desprate, the more colour. It's pretty, which is weird to say of an old, weathered conqourers uncut dick, but it's true. The dusting of nest grey hair compliments him well—he's definitely an eyeful, and his naked body in all its glory is something to blink at. The source of attraction, though? It's definitely the junk he's packing. You just physically cannot stop yourself from sneaking a peek whenever you can.

Yearning - how high is their sex drive?

All day, every day. If he has the chance, he'll keep you to himself multiple hours a day, if not the whole day. For him, of course, it's the blink of an eye. In his 5000 years, you are the brightest thing that's happened, and he just wants to keep quaking those memories and moments with you like there's no tomorrow—including plenty of orgasms and then some.

Zzz - how quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?

He doesn't sleep that quickly afterwards. Sex just seems to wake him up more. Eventually, when you're asleep, he'll likely end up just watching you, so peaceful in his bed after the romp you've had. He's smitten, and he'll just sit or lay there for hours, watching. He'll never get tired of it, but it does help him calm back down, have him settle in with you, and scoot your body to his so he can tangle you up in his strong arms. He listens to the sound of your breathing until, inevitably, he too falls asleep.

Thank you for the request, anon!! It took me a while to get to it, sorry for that. I'm still getting back into writing but if anyone has more requests, please let me know! See my pinned post for the guidelines to my writing.

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Please support your writers! Reblogs and comments are much appreciated.

[runa-falls]

what a mess~

pairing: miguel o'hara x reader cw: smut, established relationship, superhuman stamina, overstimulation, cum EVERYWHERE, 'use a condom, it's too messy X(', 'bitch stfu i'll show you messy'..., so many sheets, reader is a pushover (bc I WOULD BE TOO) wc: 1k + a/n: i um... just take this and I'll go to a corner of a room and think ab what I've done.

---

Having a superhero boyfriend is great – he gets you discounts at your favorite restaurant, he easily carries you home after a long night out at the bar, he saves you from getting kidnapped by his arch-nemesis for the fourth time this month (though isn’t that his fault in the first place?....) – but there are aspects of the relationship that you didn’t consider before. 

Apparently, with great power comes great… stamina. 

To put it plainly, Miguel’s (sex) drive is unheard of. You better clear out your schedule for the whole day because he can go for hours. And most nights, you can barely sit up after he fucks you.

You like that – or you did when you could afford to be sore every other day. You like how enthusiastic he is – how much he wants you. It makes you feel desired and beautiful. But it’s not just the intense workout you risk every time you steal a kiss that turns into more – it’s the number of times he can…finish. 

Every time you think he’s finished, he’s still hard and thrusting into you, overstimulating you until black stars start to fill your vision. 

It’s a mess in the end. 

You lay on top of him, filled to the brim, dripping all over his lower stomach and onto the sheets under you, breathing so hard you’re sure you’d rupture a lung. You feel like you’re barely conscious on the bed as your heart beats harshly against your chest from how hard you came. Hair sticks graciously against your forehead as your eyes struggle to stay open to see Miguel, who gently pulls out and watches his mess spill out of you. 

He whispers sweetly of how well you took him, how pretty you look all fucked out, how much he loves that he can turn you into a blabbering – mindless whore. Being the possessive man he is, he attempts to shove it back in, using two of his thick fingers to gather and push his essence back into you, hoping that, against all odds, it’ll take, despite the fact you take your birth control religiously. 

Of course, when he sees how your thighs shake and squeeze around his hand from the overstimulation of him fucking his fingers into you after you just came, he immediately gets hard again. 

He gazes down at you with apologetic red eyes as he bites his lip under a sharp fang, “I can’t help it when I see how wrecked your pussy is for me…”

It’s nice – it’s hot – but you end up having to change the sheets 5 times a week. He’s insatiable… well ok, you’re just as thirsty as your boyfriend, but the amount of maintenance you need for each session is ridiculous. You basically gave up washing your sheets after every fuck, and instead ordered several identical sets of bedding to make the process easier. 

Many sheets have been destroyed beyond recognition. Okay, maybe you’re being a bit overdramatic, but the amount of cum-stained sheets in your linen closet is insane. How are you supposed to hide this if you were to have guests over?!

After staring at the layers of folded-up and stained sheets that you’ve accumulated over the past few months, you decided you were going to do something about it. 

You can still have fun without the mess.

…right?

—

Miguel has you on your back at the end of the bed with your legs resting on the crook of his arms. You have on a cute little nightgown – white to symbolize purity (though what you were about to do was far from pure) – with nothing underneath. It was one you bought just to get a reaction out of him – and now you got it. 

He holds you open for him, regarding you like he would a special gift – though there’s nothing to really celebrate (unless you count his raging erection). He breathes harshly against your neck as he paints your skin with kisses and nips. You’re nearly folded in half with how closely he’s pushed against you, but you can barely recognize the mere tinge of soreness in your legs with how fluidly pleasure seems to travel from his lips down to the apex of your thighs. 

Miguel O’Hara, the strong, independent Spider-Man, is truly a mess in front of you. His once neatly ironed tie now hangs loosely around his neck, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned halfway down, and his hair a tangle of unruly curls. His fingers, now caressing your body, are already dripping in your slick from when he forced a couple of orgasms out of you right when he got home. 

You find a sense of satisfaction in the disheveled state of his appearance, relishing how his once meticulously groomed demeanor has been disrupted – how his eyes transition from their usual chocolatey brown to a striking blood red, how his lips swell sweetly with lust. 

Miguel groans deeply as he grinds his clothed hardness against your wet center, “Mm…I want you so bad.” He unbuttons and unzips his pants, sighing as he releases himself from the tight fabric. No underwear? 

“Wait, Mig." he pauses his movements, waiting patiently – prepared to do whatever you want. “Get a condom.” …Except maybe…that. 

“Condom?” He could barely hold back his sneer, but you could faintly hear the growl vibrate from his chest. 

“Mhm, we’ve been too messy lately. We can’t just keep buying new sheets every week!”

“...We could…”

“Miguel!”

“I don’t see what the problem is… this is just how it is.”

“But it’s too messy.”

“I thought my baby likes to be filled up…”

“...I-I mean, I do sometimes, but –”

“Don’t you like it when I get you all messy?” He leans in close, distracting you from denying him. “Have you dripping with me for days?” He presses closer, and you can feel his hard cock slip against your wetness, dragging against your sensitive clit. 

“Miguel.” You whine.

It’s so hard to deny this man.

“How about we just try to be more careful, hm?” He presses against you gently, nearly entering you, but not quite. It feels so good, the tip of him barely stretching past your entrance. 

“Okay…j-just this once though…” You surrender with a whisper.

[trivia-yandere]

ending one to "beast of busan"

alternate ending one to "beast of busan"

warning: non-con/dub-con, yandere jungkook, dirty talking, unprotected sex, creampie, orgasm, obsessive behavior, doggystyle, cow-girl, impregnation kink, face-slapping, rough sex, stockholm syndrome,

word count: 6.153

valentine's day masterlist

“I wanted it to come naturally, Y/N. But if you won’t comply, I’ll just force the submission out of you.” Before you could blink, Jungkook is forcing you up onto your feet. He drags you inside the home and slams the door shut behind him. He pushes you away from him and you stumble. Quickly, you swirl around to face him.

“Pick your choice, Y/N. You’re either going to listen to me or not.”

You inhale deeply.

You’re unsure what has gotten through you. Maybe it’s because Jungkook, in a way, has been lenient with you. This was a man who’s killed far too many people to count, and yet he’s allowing you to defy him until you’ve given him the answer he wants. What he’s done to you is child’s play as you understood what he’s truly capable of.

“Fuck you, Jungkook.” you hiss low, voice fully of venom.

Jungkook tilts his head a bit, watching you. 

“You’re going to have to kill me.”

“I would never.” Jungkook retorts with a scoff. “What’s gotten through to you? This self righteous act you’re portraying is cute.”

Jungkook begins to smirk as if you were a joke and it causes anger to seep through you. Without much thought, your sprint towards him once more. You attack him, punching and scratching at him like an animal. The flashes of how frightened you were of him while incarcerated go through you. The long nights of staying up because you knew people were watching you. The bloodied roses and disgusting letters all at the hands of him.

Jungkook doesn’t put up much of a fight, allowing you to attack him for nearly five minutes until he thinks you have enough. He wraps you in a tight embrace to stop your attacks. The nearest area is the living room and he throws your body right onto the loveseat. You squirm in his embrace but Jungkook doesn’t let up. “You’re so cute when you’re angry, baby.” he murmurs against the skin of your neck. “Your attacks don’t hurt me.”

Jungkook presses himself against you. “If anything, it excites me.” he murmurs right in your ear, assuring that he shows you just how excited he was. His bulge sits right on your clit, twitching with excitement. “You want to make things harder then so be it. I’m a patient man.”

Jungkook’s hips buckle once more, rubbing against your clit. His groan is low and daunting. His tongue pokes up to slowly lick onto your neck possessively, continuing to rock his hips.

“I’ll have to make you submit to me, baby. It wouldn’t be hard, you know?” Jungkook says, arms loosening so his hands can slide down the sides of your body. “You already want me to fuck you into submission. It’s that stubborn pride of yours that is fighting me.”

Jungkook pushes himself away from you so that he could easily tug off his pants - the plaid pajama shorts he often wears to bed. 

Your eyes were widening at his actions. You want to scream and fight, but it’s as though all the adrenaline left your body completely. You could only lay there as Jungkook undresses himself, greedy hands then placing themselves back onto your body. 

“That look in your eyes…”

Jungkook grumbles something inaudible under his breath, but your eyes have a hard time looking away from him. Mainly, what was between his legs. 

“…it’s so devilious, my love. It’s one of the main reasons why you caught my attention.”

Jungkook comes back down, his lips peppering such soft and sweet kisses onto your face. Kisses that should be foreign to a man such as him, but they aren’t. His right hand engulfs your breast with such greed. 

“Nothing scared you. Not your peers dropping like flies." Jungkook chuckles darkly as he speaks of the dead reporters and journalists he’s murdered.

Jungkook’s teeth sink into the nape of your neck and you let out a yelp when it begins to sting. You squirm beneath the man but that does nothing for him. He proceeds to press his now bare cock - hard and begging for any attention you’re willing to give it - against your clit. The pre-cum already oozes out and now meets your own arousal.

“I like when you fight me, Y/N.” Jungkook’s tongue licks over the bite mark on your neck, possessive behavior for a deranged man such as him. “You’re such a strong-willed woman and that’s what I love about you.”

You cannot suppress the moan that comes from your lips that you immediately regret. Your body was going to cloud your mind like before, and this time Jungkook wasn’t going to let you go. His cock rubs between your wet fold tenderly and the both of you shudder. 

“Are you going to continue to fight me?” 

Your eyelids flutter a bit. You couldn’t want to look at Jungkook. You would be fair and not lie to yourself. He was handsome and it made everything harder than it needed to be. Why couldn’t he be a normal person? It would’ve been easier to open your legs with no remorse if he wasn’t who he was.

“You’re thinking too hard into it again, baby.” Jungkook quips with another thrust of his hips. 

Jungkook’s lips find yours in a second. He doesn’t intend to hold back his hunger for you any longer. He would’ve been more lenient if you hadn’t tried to run away - and fight him, but he loved the fight in you that he doesn’t mind. 

Jungkook's eager hands find their way from your breast towards your ass. He squeezes it tenderly in the palms of his hands, groaning against your moving lips. He holds you in place so his hips could jut against you, your juices coating his cock entirely that he couldn’t wait to have you.

“Jungkook,”

Jungkook’s teeth grazes your bottom lip before he hums a response. Your chest presses against his and your hands are on his shoulders. 

“Life would be easier for you if you’d just submit.” 

The kisses began once more, soft little pecks onto your chin and jaw. They’re so sickly sweet that for a moment, your mind forgets just who the man doing such a thing is. It’s though you and he were a loving couple who had an amazing start - how wrong it was. 

“I can tell you what you might be afraid of.” Jungkook murmurs. Your pussy is sopping wet and at this moment, he never wants to be away from you. Your skin still smells of the lotion you coat yourself in after your nightly showers and it’s intoxicating. “You might be afraid that you’ll like the way I fuck you.”

Jungkook’s hand squeezes your ass and you bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from letting out a whine. Without even realizing it, your hands grip his shoulders and wrinkle his shirt. It’s what causes Jungkook to chuckle because he was right, even if you didn’t want to see it for yourself.

“But it’ll be alright, baby. Don’t you want to feel good, again?” Jungkook loves the way your ass feels in the palms of his hands and it nearly hurts him to let it go. But he only moves away so he could remove his shirt and he tosses it aside.

Your swallow, your throat dry. You’ve only ever seen Jungkook shirtless for a short period of time and it was always from the back. You’d always avert your eyes before you’d ever had the chance to look any further. 

Now, however, there wasn’t averting your eyes. Jungkook was right in front of you, equally as bare as you are. It’s now that you allow your eyes to roam his body. His naked chest first, where you note there’s a few scars along his right collarbone. It’s far too late to turn back once your mind registers your hand had lifted to his chest and you traced the scar on his collarbone.

Jungkook’s eyes connect with yours for a second before you turn them away, a shy look drawing onto your face. You then turn the same eyes to his sleeve of tattoos. This is your first time actually seeing it in its entirety. It adds to the man that is Jeon Jungkook - the Beast of Busan. 

“You can touch me.” Jungkook murmurs, amusement in his voice. Your fingers lingered on his collarbone and even he could sense that you were curious.

You do, against your brain's best judgment, touch Jungkook. Both hands this time, first touching along his chest. Next, you go to his arms. The muscles flex a bit, half on instinct upon being touched and because Jungkook wants to impress you further. 

The more your hands roam onto Jungkook’s body, the more your mind screams at you to stop. This was an attempt to distract you. These same biceps you’re marveling belong to the man who’s murdered without a second thought. 

You inhale through your lips and exhale through your nose. Your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders, hands having roamed upwards. You glance back to those dark eyes just as he comes closer to you, both hands on either side of your head.

“I hate you.” you speak softly, the words coming out a mere whimper. From his shoulders, you glide your hands up to his neck and entangle your fingers through his hair.

Jungkook snickers and licks his lips. You touching him feels good - amazing, even. It’s something he’s longed for since he saw you for the first time on the news and now he has it, along with your undivided attention.

“I know, baby.” Jungkook responds before capturing your lips in a heated kiss. This time, it’s one you return with the same amount of passion.

Jolts of electricity flow through you rapidly, your legs tightening around Jungkook’s waist just as his arms wrap around you. His hips rut against you repeatedly, shaft sliding between your folds with such intensity that you gasp. His tongue digs into your mouth and dances along with yours, fighting for dominance that you were positive Jungkook was going to win.

Regret was going to seep through you when your lustful high was done and you’re sure you’d want nothing more than to roll over and die. As of right now, there was no denying that you wanted Jungkook as much as he wanted you. At least your body did. The sane part of your mind was slowly slipping away into oblivion with each passing second of you being with him.

“I hate you so fucking much.” you groan when Jungkook lifts his lips from you for a breather. 

“It’s okay,” Jungkook grunts. “I love you.”

“N-No you don’t.” you say, even if the words do cause your heart to jolt a bit faster in your chest. “You’re an obsessed piece of shit.”

Jungkook finds your words amusing, mainly because they were true. He was obsessed with you, his barely sane mind not truly understanding why. What he did know was that you captivated his thoughts on a daily basis; over and over and over again.

“I am obsessed with you, baby. Is it that obvious?” Jungkook couldn’t hold himself back any longer. He needed to be inside of you. Without lifting himself away from your warm embrace, he dips his right hand down between the two of you so he can grasp his hardened cock and center it at your entrance. “Every fiber of my being is obsessed with you. I’ve killed for you.”

Jungkook begins to enter you as he speaks and you gasp. Your right hand grips the back of his hair as he enters you ever so slowly until his cock is fully inside of you.

“Fuck,” Jungkook’s voice sounds animalistic as he begins to thrust inside of you. His right hand holds onto your outer thigh, his forehead pressed against yours. “fuck you’re so perfect, baby. I don’t deserve you.”

Fuck Jeon Jungkook and his way with words. His hips begin to snap in you at an alarming pace, skin slapping echoing across the walls of the home. Your pussy grips around his cock so heavenly that he doesn’t want to ever stop or be without you entirely. 

“Shut up.” you moan, un-gripping his hair so your hand can roam his chest. Was Jungkook always this…ripped? Maybe his time incarcerated he only gained more - which wasn’t fair. It added to the attraction and you hated him (and yourself) for it.

“No. I don’t deserve you but I’m a selfish man.” Jungkook enjoys the way your hand roams his chest. Your palm is soft and if he could brand it right onto his chest, he would. “And I won’t allow anyone else to have you.”

Red flag, but you’re far too fucked out to truly care right now. Especially not when Jungkook pushes himself back and forces your legs apart so he can get deeper access inside of you. His hand lays right underneath your knees, pressing them up to your shoulders, rutting his hips so his cock presses against your sweet spot.

“So beautiful, baby.” Jungkook grunts, blown out eyes watching the way your breast bounces as he fucks you, shirt is scrunched up against your chin. “I’ll kill anyone for you.”

You clench around Jungkook because of those words, such disgustingly heinous confession that for some reason causes you to grow even wetter. You’d always thought you’d want a partner that would kill for you - except, not in the literal sense. 

Jungkook meant it entirely too literal.

“You’re not a good person, Kook.”

The nickname was new, far too personal. Intimate. You don’t catch it but Jungkook did. He groans, pounding in you at a faster pace. “I never said I was, my love. You can hate me all you want but this pussy loves me.”

Jungkook removes himself from you so he doesn’t cum. Not yet, he thinks. He forces you up from the couch so he can turn you around and shove you right back onto it. He enters you once more, your ass arching perfectly for him.

The new position was damning and you find yourself squealing. The floorboards creaks with each rut of Jungkook’s hips. His hands squeeze around your waist to keep you right in place for him.

Your ass is amazing from this view and Jungkook’s throat releases inhuman noises. There’s a milky ring around his cock that he witnesses in between thrusts. Your pussy is so tight and wet that there isn’t any possible way he couldn’t stop just fuck you this once.

“You hurt me when you said those things about me in that interview.”

Your hands dig into the fabric of the couch. It felt as if Jungkook’s cock was in your stomach, drilling you so deep and deliciously. 

“After all I’ve done for you, I wouldn’t stay in prison if you would’ve just come back to me.”

A hand wraps around your neck and yanks you back. Your back slams against Jungkook’s chest, and even then does Jungkook not halt his abusive thrusts. Your smaller hand places itself on top of Jungkook’s on your neck.

“I ruined my reputation with my story about you.” you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, releasing a few struggles curse words at how good Jungkook was at fucking you. It’s insane to think that all your mind can muster up is wanting to continue with this - to have him fuck you in any positon he wanted as long as he continued with that pace. “People called me…such awful names.”

“I’ll kill them.” Jungkook grumbles, squeezing your neck a bit. “Just tell me.”

Shit.

Your thighs widen a bit and your head turns so you're coming face to face with Jungkook. He’s surprised that you initiated this kiss this time, but he doesn’t dwell on it. Any moment he has to kiss you, he will. 

“You’re such an asshole.” you hiss against his lips, pecking it once more. “You don’t…fuck,”

You’re unsure where the adrenaline or the power comes from. You push Jungkook away from you and turn to face him. He’s a bit stunned at your sudden actions, but when you push him towards the couch and sit right on top of him, he doesn’t complain.

“You-”

You enter Jungkook’s cock right in you with one movement, a hand on his shoulders. You let out a soft huff, head pulled back.

“-oh fuck.” Jungkook hisses as your hips buckle, rising and falling on his cock. “You’re so-”

Jungkook’s words are cut short when your hand collides with his cheek. It stings, but fuck did it feel good. Your hips continue to buckle, eyes looking into his own.

Licking his lips, Jungkook begins to thrust upwards to meet you halfway. “You can hit me again.” he says, the sting in his cheek feeling amazing because it came from you. “I know you hate me, baby. You hate how good my cock feels in you.”

You slap Jungkook again, his cheek glowing red, but he only keeps on. 

“You hate me but love my cock. You’re dripping all over me, baby.”

Jungkook says whatever to get a rise out of you, enjoying the way your hands feel against him - no matter how hard you hit him. Maybe it was what you needed, to feel in control of a situation for once.

“You’d look beautiful pregnant.”

The words itself stops you mid-slap. It’s an observation Jungkook says randomly, eyes slit. Once more, he’s gained control in this situation, fully taking over the thrusts.

“Fuck you.” you hiss, slapping your hand against the man's cheek once more. This time you keep it there, bouncing on Jungkook's cock as if your life depended on it. You hated the way your body reacts to his words - and Jungkook can tell.

“You hate me but deep down, you’d like that.” Jungkook laughs. “You’d like to be full of my cum, right? Big and swollen,” Jungkook groans and damn was his mind imagining it right now. You round with his child - something that was a part of you that he would cherish until the day he died. “carrying my baby. Fuck, baby, you’d be so beautiful.”

Your mind is screaming at you, more red-flags blaring right in front of your eyes, but your body is ignoring it because Jeon Jungkook was not just a good fucker, but he was a damn good talker, as well. You milk his cock perfectly, clenching at the thought of him breeding you right here.

“Your breasts will be full, too. You’d be perfect.”

Jungkook’s thrusts were sloppy. Just the thought of witnessing you round with his child, something so pure that an impure person like him could create, drives him crazy. He wasn’t going to last long and by the looks of it, neither were you.

“K-Kook,” you huff out.

“Yes, baby?” Jungkook leans forward to press wet, open mouth kisses against your chest. “Fuck, cum all over my cock, baby. It’s okay to let go.”

And you do, cumming all over his cock just as Jungkook told you to. Your body trembles, goosebumps littering your skin. Your eyes flutter a bit as Jungkook continues to fuck into you until he’s cumming. Milky substances coat your walls deeply, Jungkook not wanting a single drop of his seed out of you.

You fall against Jungkook’s chest, exhaustion flowing through you. You know soon the regret would come and so would the self-hatred. As of right now, all you wanted to do was sleep.

Jungkook places a hand onto the low of your back. He inhales your scent, satisfaction brewing throughout him. He gently begins to tap his fingers as his lips press against your forehead. 

This was just the beginning, Jungkook thinks. The beginning to an eventual end that meant that you’d always have a piece of him. Even if he wasn’t around.

“You don’t have to do this, Y/N.”

You’re unsure how long you’ve looked at yourself in the mirror for, your eyes barely recognizing the woman staring back at you. It takes you a few moments to blink and regain the moisture back into your eyes. 

You don’t have to turn your head to look at the man who’s speaking to you. You can see Jimin through his reflection in the mirror. He’s looking right at you, attempting to mask the obvious tint of concern in his eyes.

“I had blood thrown in my face, Jimin.” you murmur, the corner of your lips turning up a bit, but you’re the least bit amused. You sniffle a bit, glancing away from him as your mind replays the moment.

You suppose you couldn’t blame the public's reaction to you suddenly emerging from the scene. You were missing for months and suddenly you return - this time with child.

Your return caused a frenzy. Media outlets were going crazy trying to get your story. You were blasted all over newspapers. There were podcasts made about you, some you chose to not listen to as the conspiracy theories were heinous; but the truth was stranger than fiction.

“Just this once. Then,” you turn to face Jimin this time. He’s leaning against the door frame with crossed arms. “I’ll be out of the public eye.”

Jungkook being incarcerated once more meant that the fear he caused when he escaped slowly subsided, but that didn’t mean the side-eyes you received aren't noticeable. Hours of police interrogation on your “truth” and Jungkook being arrested and now in maximum security, it’s like now you’re left completely alone. You had Jimin, yes, but even Jimin has a look in his eyes that you know has a deeper meaning to it. Even if he’d never tell you.

Now, your hand places itself on your stomach. You were weeks from giving birth - a home birth was what you decided. You didn’t desire going to the hospital and being seen more than you had to be. Even now as you sit with stage lights shining in your face and cameras from different angles there’s nerves flowing through you. 

“Y/N, welcome back.”

The interviewer smiles at you. A fake-lipped smile that appears more so like a grimace as eyes rake over your appearance.

“It was almost a year ago when you sat in that very seat, right?” the interviewer asks and slowly you nod. You recalled how cocky you were to speak about Jungkook. How you called him a monster. It wasn’t a lie by any means, but you don’t have the same confidence you once had. “And now you’re back and with child.”

“I am.” you murmur meekly. 

“How about we start from the beginning?” the interviewer asks.

The beginning.

A whirl of emotion goes through you, as do countless memories of your time with Jungkook. The first one that hits you was the first time you’ve slept with him and how intoxicated with lust you felt. The regret that came over you was depressive afterwards, holding more hatred for yourself than you had for him. 

You didn’t know when your feelings for the man began to slowly shift and right before your eyes, the murderer that Jungkook was appears to be nothing but a blur. You found yourself wanting to be held by him at night as you two slept. When he cooked, you would join him and the entire act felt domestic. Like two couples living together.

The Beast of Busan had changed right before your eyes and he became just Jungkook. The same Jungkook with the amazing singing voice. The man who would bring you into his arms and swing you around in random moments just because. The man who was also an amazing artist and had drawn dozens of pieces for you - sometimes you’d join in, but your art was never as good as his.

You found your heart beating rapidly around Jungkook and not because you were frightened by him. No. Your beating heart was something else entirely. It felt like a school girl's crush and at first, you hated yourself for feeling this way towards the horrible human being that he was. It was as if your sanity was slowly subsiding and admiration grew through you.

Sex with Jungkook became as normal as breathing. There wasn’t a moment where you and he weren’t entangled together - even if it wasn’t entirely sexual. But when it was, it was powerful. Passionate. 

The way Jungkook would hold you close against him so lovingly while he fucked you disrespectfully. You can still feel the way his wet lips would glide across your naked skin greedily, licking and biting with such possession. You were his, he told you, no one else's. His to love and fuck on at any given moment - and you allowed it.

“That must’ve been terrible.” the interviewer speaks.

You weren’t here to tell the truth, however. 

The truth would paint you as the horrible person most people saw you as. 

This was Jungkook’s idea, after all.

“It was.” you nod your head in agreement. “When I…managed to run away,” you begin, turning your eyes to scan the sea of cameras in front of you. Your stomach churns and you truly wished you looked convincing. “all I thought about was saving me and myself…from him.”

“You did amazing.” Jimin says, placing a hand onto your shoulder as you enter the dressing room.

You close your eyes again, inhaling deeply. Everytime you did, you saw Jungkook. The way he looked drenched in blood right before he pointed a knife at you and told you to run. To run as fast as you could and to not look back at him.

If it was a part of Jungkook’s plan all along, you’re unsure. What you did know was the surface level of it all. You and Jungkook had been found, a mistake by his hands. He wasn’t supposed to use the fireplace and draw attention, but he had. No one had lived in this home for years as it was considered a vacation home and that drew attention from the neighbors - if you could call people living miles away that.

You recall the way the door was kicked in and guns were pointed right at you as you sat right by the fireplace. Much of it was a blur as your eyes were blinded with tears, but what you did understand was that Jungkook had two options. He and you could continue to hide out, either in the same home or somewhere else. Or, you could return to your life.

“Run, Y/N.” Jungkook had hissed, removing the knife from the last officer's neck and he pointed it straight at you. “Run as fast as you can. Don’t look back.”

“W-What?” you had asked, the tears fresh on your cheeks. The metallic smell was going to make you vomit. “What about you-”

“It’s over.” Jungkook drops the knife. His feet caused the floorboards to creak as he made it over to you. The anger he felt when he heard you cry out and to come out from the kitchen to witness you on your knees and in distress had caused him to snap. Not to mention the guns pointed right at you. “You…are in no position to be out here. Not like this.” Not while pregnant, he wanted to say.

You did what Jungkook told you to. You memorized the story he told you to tell to the public - the one that would demonize him and humanize you. It wasn’t entirely a lie; but you were supposed to leave out the part in which you willingly desired to stay with Jungkook. Your sane half told you that it was manipulation; stockholm syndrome.

“Did I?” your question causes Jimin to tilt his head. “I…people are-”

“People are going to talk regardless, Y/N.” Jimin interrupts. “That’s what I’m here for. Leave the rest to me.” 

Jimin had become a true friend over time that you were grateful that he remained by your side - even when you ultimately confessed to everything. You confided in Jimin the absolute truth of it all - you being held hostage,  you slowly seeing Jungkook as more than a murderer to…more personal matters that led you to being pregnant.

“Jimin,” you swallow. You were a highly emotional person and half of it could be blamed on the hormones. “thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Y/N.” Jimin chuckles, but he squeezes your shoulder before dropping his hand. “You and I are friends, right? I’ll always be here for you and…well he or she.”

The gender of your child you wanted to be a surprise. Jimin supported your decision and assisted you by building furniture for the nursery in your new home. Your old one was considered a crime scene at one point. Besides, you wanted to start fresh.

Your new home is secluded, surrounded by trees that brought you a sense of familiar comfort.

“Have you…spoken to him?”

Jimin never says Jungkook’s name but you always understood when he was being spoken about.

Slowly, you nod your head. 

“That’s good.” Jimin murmurs. “I’ll take you home.”

“She’s…so beautiful.” Jungkook murmurs, the chains on his wrist clash against the metal table he sits at as he grips the picture in his hand. “So tiny.”

Maximum security was much more gruesome than what he had prior, but he wouldn’t complain. He still managed to get visitors from time to time - even if it meant his arms and ankles being chained as if he was going to escape.

“She looks a lot like you.” Jimin snorts, leaning back into the cold metal chair with crossed legs. “She does that nose scrunch you used to do as a kid.”

Jungkook raises his brows, a genuine smile on his lips.

Jimin and Jungkook went back all the way to childhood. Jungkook was the younger one of the two, but for what he didn’t make in age, he brought in mischief.

“I wish I could hold her.” Jungkook murmurs, doe-like eyes staring longingly at the picture of his newborn daughter. “And Y/N.”

Jimin turns his eyes away to look around the small room. There’s guards outside the door, but he doesn’t notice any cameras inside - isn’t this supposed to be maximum security?

“Why didn’t you go further?” Jimin questions, returning his eyes back to Jungkook. “You were only supposed to be there for a month or two. Then work your way out of the country.”

Jimin watches as Jungkook drops the picture onto the table. He brings his eyes up to his friend - more like a brother - and he shrugs. 

“That’s it?” Jimin snorts. “A shrug? You told me you had a plan.”

“And I did.” Jungkook clicks his tongue. “I just…” he exhales with a shake of his head. “Y/N…I didn’t…how long was I supposed to keep running, hyung?”

Hyung was new, Jimin thinks, and by hearing the word with the sound of vulnerability, Jimin backs down. He was upset to learn that Jungkook had not gone through with the plan and for the life of him he couldn’t understand why. 

Now, however, by being with you he understands a bit. Jungkook’s obsession towards you was unhealthy from the start. It began with him raging on and on about you - how you were only a bitch in front of the camera who wouldn’t challenge the Beast of Busan if he was right in front of you.

That quickly turned to infatuation when Jungkook learned you weren’t going to be scared easily. It was tiresome having to be the middleman and be friends with the both of you. He felt like a mailman delivering letters and flowers but it all led up to the very moment in which Jungkook got his hands on you. Of course, he could’ve done it a more safer way - pushing you into a coffee table wasn’t ideal, but it worked.

“You love her.” Jimin states with a roll of his eyes. “And…she…well you broke you.” Jimin quips.  “Whatever you did in the cabin, Kook, made her feel like you and only you could make her feel that way again.”

Jungkook blinks. His legs spread a bit - not too much as his chains wouldn’t allow him too much comfortability. His own mind wanders to his time with you and how a warm feeling spreads throughout him. Even now, he can recall the scent of your skin after a fresh shower and the warmth of your skin besides him at night.

“I do love her.” Jungkook mumbles meekly, His leg begins to tap against the tiled floor. “That’s why I couldn’t keep her living her life running away because of me. It sounded amazing in the beginning but…”

Jungkook shows little remorse in being who he is. He was an asshole. He was a murderer. But, he loved you - call him obsessed or not. There was little sanity in him but the tiny bit he held told him that it wouldn’t be fair to keep someone as lively as you trapped forever. He couldn’t be the man he thought you needed him to be. Witnessing you on your knees with guns pointed at you caused him to snap. You were in said position because of him - you were looked at like scum because of him.

“...I don’t want my sins to be hers.” Jungkook continues before he has a chance to get deeper into his thoughts. “I hadn't thought about murder until I saw those guns pointed at her. I thought maybe…with Y/N and the baby that I was better. But,” Jungkook's eyes glanced down at the picture once more at the tiny, sleeping baby. “I snapped. What if they would’ve killed her?”

“Maturity is a different look.” Jimin states, his sassiness masking the loving tint in his eyes for his younger friend.

“As much as I wanted Y/N and our baby by my side, I couldn’t risk putting her through that again.” Jungkook shakes his head. “I told her to go and lie. To lead the police right to me so I can be arrested again.”

“That was better than your freedom?”

Jungkook glances at Jimin.

“If it meant that Y/N wouldn’t be blamed for my actions then yes.” Jungkook nods his head, his words truthful. “Take care of them.”

Jimin snickers. “You don’t have to ask.” he says. He loves Y/N and the baby - his god child. There’s so much of Jungkook to the small being that it’s shocking already. “I’ve taken care of all of you this long, haven’t I?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but the grin forming on his lips is evident. 

“The beast has gone soft.” Jimin jokes. “To think this is the same man who forced me to assist in murder.”

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “I’m a family man now.” he states. “Thank you.”

Jimin waves Jungkook off. “How far you’ve fallen, Kook. You’re not even scary anymore.”

“Fuck off.” Jungkook chuckles.

The metal chair screeches against the ground as Jimin stands. He nods his head towards Jungkook. “I can’t stay long,” he says.

“I understand.” Jungkook gathers the photo of his daughter, his heart swelling. “Don’t forget about the flowers for Y/N.” he says.

Jimin rolls his eyes. Of course he was back on mailman duty. But, at least this time you’ll be accepting to the gifts.

It takes five minutes for the guards to escort Jimin out and for another one to come in and grab Jungkook. The hallway is bright as he is led down it towards his cell - all the way at the end of the maximum security unit. He wouldn’t  complain. It was quiet and peaceful and he even had a small window to look out of that overlooked a lake.

The guard puts the code to his cell and the door opens slowly. 

“Jeon.” the guard says from behind him as he uncuffs him. “There’s something for you underneath your pillow. Make sure it remains there at all times.” he murmurs before pushing Jungkook into the cell and pressing the button to close the door.

Jungkook hums to himself, his footsteps slow as he makes his way to his cot. Slowly, he lifts the pillow and his lips twitch upwards.

Underneath his pillow is a small, flip-phone. Outdated, but amazing on battery. Jungkook grasps it and flips it open, going to the call log to find two numbers, one he recognizes as Jimin’s and an unknown one.

Jungkook presses the unknown one and places the phone onto his ear. It rings, and with anticipation he finds himself breathing harder.

“Hello?” your voice rings from the other end of the phone and immediately, Jungkook lets out a short gruff.

“Y/N, baby.” Jungkook murmurs, clenching the flip phone in his hands. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

alternate ending (2) | valentines day masterlist

[madaqueue]

LIKE WE WERE MADE TO

of course your doting boyfriend satoru cares about you - he walks you to work every morning, packs your lunches, makes you tea every night before bed. he'd do anything for you, so of course he'll help you with your heat.

pairing: alpha!gojo x omega!f!reader

themes/content: dark content (omegaverse). smut. heats, fingering, knotting, light dumbification, satoru being a little lovesick. (wk: 1.3k)

a/n: YAYYY happy quintober everyone >:) here's my contribution for the @ficsforgaza kinktober event, so excited to be a part of this and check out the link below for more works under this project! view my full kinktober masterlist and the google form for signup to be tagged in other works too! hope you all enjoy :3

quintober masterlist | sign up form | ffg kinktober

Satoru had no idea what to expect as he ran home through the crowded streets; since reading your brief text of ‘Come home. Need you.’ the alarm bells sounding in his head had failed to quiet. He prepared for the worst, scenarios racing through his mind. Were you hurt?

As he barrels through your front door, he certainly doesn’t expect what lays behind it: you, sprawled out naked on the couch, flushed cheeks and sweating, two fingers buried deep inside your cunt.

“What’s going on-”

The sentence dies in his throat as his entire body tenses. Something new hangs in the air, something sending his every sense into overdrive. Almost sickeningly sweet, with an unmistakable, carnal need.

Your heat.

“‘Toru,” you breathe out - even his name on your tongue sounds different, an unfamiliar desperation dripping from it, “need you, now.”

In an instant he’s by your side, your scent growing exponentially stronger with each step he takes until it begins to cloud his own thoughts, overcome with his body’s innate desire to care for you, to care for his omega.

He’s never seen you like this - in your time dating, your suppressants had done their job; maybe that’s why you barely noticed when they ran out last week. Just a few hours ago he was walking hand-in-hand with you to work, your eyes glimmering as you told him about your plans for the day. Something about a big meeting with supervisors? He was honestly a bit distracted by the way your thumb drew circles along his skin, the new perfume he thought you were wearing, how pretty you looked all bundled up in your coat and scarf, like a little present waiting to be unwrapped - before you lightly smacked the back of his head.

“Are you even listening to me, ‘Toru?”

“No,” he beamed.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stifle the smile spreading across your lips. Pressing a peck to his cheek, you turned on your heel with a small wave, your fingers dancing against the backdrop of the fall sky.

You always knew how to handle him - that was something he admired about you. He knew his personality easily veered into chaos, and yet you never seemed bothered by it, holding him in your palms and keeping him a stable shape. It took strength to do that, to not let his soul blend the edges of your own.

And yet, now, his strong, independent girlfriend has become nothing more than a sweet, desperate mess. The thought makes his teeth ache.

“Please,” the broken mewl pulls him back to the sweetness surrounding you as you continue pumping your fingers in and out.

Before he can choke out a response, your hands begin hastily removing his clothes, tugging off anything you can grab, palms sweaty against his torso as you unzip his uniform. With a harsh tear, his shirt falls to shreds on the floor, muscles rippling beneath. He was never known for his patience, after all - could you blame him?

“I got you, baby,” he murmurs, climbing on top of you so his thighs straddle your body, sinking into the cushions. “I’m here, m’gonna take good care of you.”

Two lanky fingers collect the slick pooling at your entrance as his free hand wraps around your wrist, gently pulling your palm from between your legs. He holds it above your head, leaning forward and blanketing you in his warmth. A wave of pleasure crashes over you as he slides inside, curling his fingertips towards that spot only he seems able to reach.

But it’s not enough.

“More, ‘Toru, please, need more,” you whine, your hips bucking up involuntarily. The words continue spilling into the air, desperate pleas for what you really need, what only he can give you.

“Okay, just - fuck - gimme a second.” And he’s panting already, the biological drive within him threatening to take over, to pin you down and fuck you until you’re nothing more than a limp little mess beneath him. But he’s better than that.

Right?

It takes every ounce of control to align his tip with your core and stay there for a moment, allowing you to adjust to the stretch as he knows you would want him to, but it’s made all the more difficult with your hands weakly grasping at his hips in an attempt to pull him forward.

“Please, pleasepleaseplease,” you babble, “pleaaaseee-aaaahhh.”

When his cock finally enters you, all your nerves alight in flames. Your vision goes white, eyes rolling back as he fills you up. Exactly what you needed. For a moment, everything stills, returning to your senses as his own musky scent begins mingling in the air with yours.

The brief clarity lets you pick up on the prettiest little whines falling from his lips at the way you envelop him so perfectly, two souls made for one another.

In only a few thrusts he’s sweating, his body sticking to yours with each push and pull of his pelvis. It’s hot, impossibly hot, both of your cheeks flushed and gasping for air. When his lips meet yours, it’s imprecise and messy, breathing into each other’s mouths as your tongues meld. He tastes like sugar and desire and love and cinnamon, like some dessert you were denied as a child for fear it would give you a tummy ache. But now, it’s the only thing satiating you, the only thing you can stomach.

“M’gonna make you feel better,” he’s mumbling into you, “gonna fuck you so good.”

“Only you, ‘Toru,” you babble, and you’re just as gone as he is, “has to be you.”

There’s truth to it, of course - only he could quell the growing ache inside you. Only your alpha. Your bodies were made for this, you realize: with each increasingly rough thrust, he hits every spot inside you so perfectly, and as your walls begin to flutter around him, you squeeze him in just the way that has him losing the last remaining shreds of his sanity.

Each beat of his heart echoes through his ears, overshadowing the wet squelches of your cunt around him and the lewd slapping of his balls against your ass. All he knows is you - his sweetheart, his other half, his omega.

As he ruts into you, something hot and thick begins coiling in his stomach, something unfamiliar, but the words are engraved into his soul as he slurs, “gonna take my knot f’me, yeah? ‘S’gonna help, okay?”

Teary eyes blink up at him, glossed over in pleasure as you nod. “Need it, please,” you whimper. Your mouth forms the word on pure instinct, “Alpha.”

And that’s all it takes to make him snap.

With a broken cry of your name, he releases into you.

The sensation of his cock twitching sends you over the edge, the heat in your chest burning brighter and brighter and brighter until it’s all you can feel.

As you come down from your high, there’s a new pressure in your core - you feel so, so fucking full.

His cum swells inside you as he cautiously adjusts his body weight. Pink cheeks and blue eyes find your gaze and he gives you a weak chuckle, met with your own equally fucked-out grin as you brush sweat-slicked hair from his forehead.

It takes effort to slow his breathing enough to speak, enough to think. “Your first heat with me,” he muses to himself. His heart warms at the thought: now he can take care of you in the way he was made to. “Love you s’much, baby,” he hums, pressing a sloppy kiss to your lips before nuzzling into your neck, softly breathing in the warm scent.

“Love you, too.” Your fingertips slowly scratch his undercut, the haze now clearing enough that you swear you hear him purr. Your cunt involuntarily clenches around him - around his knot - as you gently run your nails down his back. His body melds perfectly around yours. “Alpha.”

[arouravis]

☀︎ 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙶𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝙼𝙰𝙸𝙽 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙴𝙽𝙴𝚁𝙶𝚈

✿ 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜 𝚏𝚘�� 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝, 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚍𝚊𝚢!

𝙻𝙴𝙾 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂:

Leo placements have a natural abundance to gain attention from the social masses. They truly cannot help that. With their warm, exuberant personality. They’re able to blend within any crowd effortlessly with little to no effort.

I’ve personally seen this placement have a hard time being friends with the opposite sex (usually within heterosexual relationships). Or, they have a hard time being friends with people who have insecure partners.

For some reason, the partner becomes automatically intimidated by the Leo rising. Even if the Leo rising did nothing but exist. I’ve seen it happen, crazy work indeed.

𝚂𝙰𝙶𝙸𝚃𝙰𝚁𝙸𝚄𝚂 𝚁𝙸𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙶:

Gods children! They have a natural luck to them, even with other-more “unattractive” placements. Sagittarius risings are one of the strongest soldiers of the zodiac and they deserve all the luck!

Usually, these people have an idea of what they want. They know they’ll get it, they just don’t know how. Usually, it’ll take a while to get what they desire, but before they know it they’ll be blessed with whatever they asked for— down to the little details.

These people usually attract a gravitational pull towards them and people who need spiritual/intellectual change will come into their lives (vice versa).

They bring a natural light to those around them when their presence is gone. You’ll feel it!

𝙻𝙸𝙱𝚁𝙰 + 𝙿𝙸𝚂𝙲𝙴𝚂 𝚁𝙸𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙶 + 𝚅𝙴𝙽𝚄𝚂:

Naturally beautiful, ethereal, otherworldly. The type of people who can easily gain/attract secrets admirers without even knowing. They don’t have to be loud or boisterous to gain any attention. As soon as they are in a group setting, the attention is gonna happen whether you like it or not.

I notice that within men and women, these placements give them wonderful warm smiles. How could you not like them?

𝚂𝚄𝙽 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝟷𝟶𝚝𝚑 𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚂𝙴:

THE go getters, so hardworking, naturally a beast in whatever they do and will gain recognition/envy for it. Ex: Beyoncé

These people work hard day and night to make sure that their craft is absolute perfection. Sometimes they don’t even have to try, their vision is only theirs. And they know it’s good, usually due to this. There will be suspected enemies.

They wonder how come these people are able to get away with whatever in the work force… even if it’s the bare minimum! Because at the end of the day, they know they’re good at what they do and they have the receipts to back it up.

𝚅𝙴𝙽𝚄𝚂 + 𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚂 𝙸𝙽 𝙻𝙴𝙾 𝙳𝙴𝙶𝚁𝙴𝙴𝚂 𝟻* 𝟷𝟽* 𝟸𝟿* :

We’re born on this planet to be admired. Simple.

𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙴𝙼𝙽𝚃𝚂 ���𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝟸𝟸𝚗𝚍 + 𝟸𝟿𝚝𝚑 𝙳𝙴𝙶𝚁𝙴𝙴:

29: These people hold an intense transformational energy that cannot be ignored. The amount of power these people are able to hold is astonishing!

22: If you'd like to know more about the 22nd degree, I'd suggest going here for better confirmation.

These people are restless and have a yearning to achieve and be something. They have a designated purpose on this earth to show themselves and let their presence be known.

𝙲𝙷𝙸𝚁𝙾𝙽 𝙸𝙽 𝟷𝚜𝚝 + 𝟷𝟷𝚝𝚑 𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚂𝙴:

This gives the main character in very sad and depressing way lol. From someone with Chiron in the first. In the beginning years of my childhood, I felt as if I was watching my own life from a different point of view. Like something as if it was out of body, the feeling of not being good enough and sulking within your own solitude kinda makes these people feel like that one scene in Twilight where Bella lays in bed as the seasons go by.

For Chiron in the 11th house, these people will ALWAYS be going through some type of friendship drama. It's like being a main character in the worst way, it's like an episode of Degrassi every single day.

✿ 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚜

[asxgard]

Companionship | pt. 4

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: The lines of your agreement begin to blur with one simple word: sweetheart.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: Thank you to everyone who liked, reblogged, commented and/or followed me!! I truly appreciate each and every one of you💜(I’m screaming with joy on the inside)

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: age gap, alcohol, mild fluff, feelings, foul language, hospital stresses, some angst thrown in because what the hell, slowburn, they AWKWARD (I love them)/bad jokes, idk Robby’s a hockey fan because I could totally see that (baseball too)

not beta read

When one of your co-workers had asked you on a date the following week, you had turned him down. It had come as a surprise, not having said much more than pleasantries to each other when you passed in the hall. He was nice, attractive enough to have caught your attention before, but you told him you were not looking to date. Too busy, gotta focus on school, just not for me right now, were all valid reasons. Not because of Michael. Nope. That would be stupid.

You tried to remove yourself from getting too wrapped up in your imagination. Frankly, because it was making you incredibly anxious. You texted Erin and Marsi to hang out, to come study, to go out for brunch, anything to get you out of your apartment. You worked longer hours. You even joined a random study group with some other accounting majors.

You believed you had it all back on track just two weeks after your dinner. But it was hard to ignore the way your pulse quickened whenever he called. You kept telling yourself it was still the anxiety around the arrangement and not the person on the other end.

Michael called late one Tuesday, exhausted from his shift. You began to think that perhaps he did not enjoy returning to an empty, quiet apartment to be alone with his thoughts.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, rougher than usual.

“Long night?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, laying down on your bed after changing into some pajamas.

He let out a long sigh, “Perhaps another time.”

You were smart enough to pick up on the deflection, but you hummed, “Sure.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You felt stupid for getting upset over his deflection, annoyed that it was likely just going to be another night you filled the void with your voice. Was it stupid and unjustified to get frustrated with him? More than likely. Did you feel that way anyways? Definitely. You kept trying to remind yourself you were both barely acquaintances, and this was exactly what you had signed up for.

“Can I ask you something?” You ventured, glancing at your nails.

“Shoot.”

“Why’d you become a doctor?”

There were several moments of silence as he digested the question, and you anxiously bit at the side of your nails.

“I wanted to help people.” He told you, but there was something in his tone that suggested it was just a reflex answer. In the quiet that followed, he cleared his throat, “It wasn’t easy. I was tested at every turn, still am. But it meant something. It mattered.”

Something so large went unspoken between you — I mattered. You did not dare speak on it.

“That’s very honorable.”

“Honor’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Well, I find that very honorable. Selfless.” You stressed, staring up at your ceiling.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, “how was your day?”

Despite wanting to push, you realized that perhaps you had wandered into territory far too personal for your arrangement, which made your cheeks flare with heat. You found yourself wanting to get to know him more than was likely appropriate.

You launched into your day, discussing a few minor details about work and the new system they were slowly beginning to implement. You paused after he yawned, causing you to mirror it.

“Goodnight,” you said first, eyes heavy.

“Goodnight,”

—

It was easily your busiest day all month. Between onboarding a bunch of new employees, cashing out a handful of ones that had quit, studying for an exam, a project and a few prior commitments to hang out with your friends, you were stretched thin. You left your apartment early and were not set to return until late.

Hunger ate away at your stomach as lunchtime came and went without stopping to eat. Thankfully you had left a granola bar in your desk drawer, but it did little to satisfy you.

After clocking in overtime, you left the office just after 6 — moving into your car and finally taking a breath. You quickly went through a handful of notifications, before finding a text from Michael timestamped at 2:23.

Can we talk tonight?

You debated it. You wanted to, but you still had things to do and you were starving.

Raincheck?

I had the busiest day and I haven’t been able to eat yet.

Your phone buzzed with an alert not even a moment later, while you sat still in your car, trying to take a moment for yourself.

We could grab food instead?

. . .

New Thai place opened up near me

Your stomach grumbled, making up your mind for you. Smiling to yourself and deciding the last details of your project could be edited the following morning, you agreed, asking for the address.

You were far too hungry for the nerves of seeing him again to invade — instead trying to freshen up with the aid of your sun visor mirror and whatever you could find in your bag. Lipgloss and a tiny bottle of perfume were going to have to make it work. You studied your reflection, and tried to fix your hair as much as you could given the circumstances.

The Thai place was busy, which considering they had only just opened, should have been expected. You found a parking space near the back and sent a text to let Michael know you had arrived.

Smoothing out your work slacks and blouse once you were out of the car, you pulled your blazer tight — the evening having grown chilly. You saw Michael waiting near the front door, dressed in jeans and a casual zip-up sweatshirt, a festival t-shirt peeking through.

You smiled as you approached, “Hi.”

He smiled in return, taking you in, putting his hands in his sweatshirt pockets. “Hi.”

You glanced in the window to see how busy the place was and your stomach protested.

“They said the wait to sit down was likely going to be an hour,”

You frowned, glancing around at the other buildings on each side of the street.

“There’s a Chinese place just a block away, we could try that?” He offered.

“Do you mind?” You asked quietly, bringing your arms across your body. “I’d still like to check this place out, but I don’t think I can wait that long.”

He smiled easily, “Not at all.”

You stepped into pace with him, heading down the sidewalk towards the Chinese restaurant. You were away from the more central part of Pittsburgh, but traffic still whizzed by, undisturbed by the darkening skies.

“Did you work today?” You asked, peeking at him from the corner of your eye.

“No, but I have a swing shift tomorrow. Haven’t had to work one of those in awhile, but we’re short staffed.” He explained with a tiny shrug.

You absorbed the new information. “You usually work days?”

“Normally, yeah. Sort of a perk of…my job title.” He chuckled.

Part of you wanted to ask what exactly that title was, but realized it would likely give away too much information. From everything you knew about his job, it definitely seemed like he worked in a hospital as opposed to a clinic or private practice — ICU perhaps? Emergency room? Curiosity ate away in your mind, picturing him in a white lab coat, but you tried to shake off the thought.

He held the door open for you, and you stepped into the restaurant, taking it in. The smell of food was overwhelming until it was all you could consider, your stomach making it painfully obvious how empty it was. You took note of the vending machines against the wall and the two tables — both occupied. You turned back to him and watched as he noticed the lack of seating as well.

“We could just get take out,” he said, eyes meeting yours. “My place is just a few blocks away.”

You swallowed, and genuinely considered it. You were far too hungry to try someplace else and you turned to look at the menu. Fuck it.

“That was—that was forward of me. I didn’t mean—just so we have a place to sit down and eat. We can—”

You looked up at him and smiled, “No, that’s fine. Killing me would be so hypocritical of the whole ‘do no harm’ thing.”

He blinked and your face instantly heated, digesting your own words.

“That was a terrible joke, oh my god—”

He laughed. He laughed.

All your fears washed away at the sound of it, and you smiled sheepishly before turning towards the counter at the end of the restaurant.

“I’m sorry,” he said, taking a breath, grin still stretched across his face, “I wasn’t laughing at you.”

“No! I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to insinuate—”

He waved off your concern, moving towards the counter. “No harm done.”

You both ordered, and you got your usual and Michael ordered orange chicken — but you both moved to pay. You stared down at each of your cards, catching just a glimpse of his full name on the front — Michael C. Rob — the rest covered by his thumb. You glanced at his face.

His brown eyed gaze was on you, too, holding steady for several beats of your heart, and it took the sigh from the woman behind the counter for you to move again.

“I got it.” He said.

“Thank you.” You whispered, putting your card back into your wallet.

The woman informed you it would just take ten minutes, much to your relief. You moved off to the side and leaned against the wall to wait, Michael leaning next to you. It was a small space, filled with the sounds from the kitchen seen behind the counter, and the light conversation from the five other people sitting down.

Thoughts moving from your hunger and the food, you absorbed the information that he lived near here. It was a considerably nicer part of Pittsburgh, you knew you could never even afford a studio in the area, but it made sense. He had money — he had money to burn, considering your monthly stipend.

The walk back to his place after you had collected your food was quiet, and you savored the sound of his street — off the main streets, it was nice. You had long grown used to the white noise of cars outside your window in your own apartment.

There was a doorman when you arrived at his building, and you craned your neck to look up at it. Red brick and large windows, and your shoes clacked! on the clean tile once you were through the main door. It was immaculate, and gave you the sudden intrusive thought that you did not belong. It worked up your throat like bile and you turned your eyes to the floor.

You took the elevator up with him to one of the top floors, and you stared at yourself in the mirror on either side of the elevator. His reflection watched you, until the elevator doors opened. The hallway was empty and quiet, and you reflexively reached for the takeout bag so he could get his keys.

21B

His apartment was beautiful. Even before he flicked the lights on, you knew — late evening light spilling in from the windows along the far wall. It was an open floor plan, his front door opening into his living room with a tiny entryway. His kitchen was laid on the right side, with a quaint dining room set up, large windows and a door to a balcony. There was an archway that led to a hallway along the wall to your left — presumably to his bedroom and bathroom.

The brick accents did wonders for the space, and the furnishings were modest. Not fancy or flashy, but clearly not second-hand. There was something distinctly lived in about the space, a discarded book on the end table and scattered coasters on the coffee table. There was a dip on the L-shaped couch, a favorite spot undoubtedly, with the remote haphazardly discarded on one of the cushions.

He removed his shoes in the entryway, and you followed his lead before you followed after him.

“I don’t have much in terms of drinks,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh, I’ve got water and iced tea…wine, I also have wine.”

You smiled at him, placing your bag on the granite countertop. “Water’s just fine, thank you.”

He nodded, putting the takeout bag next to the sink, when he reached into one of the cabinets to get a glass. While he sorted through the bag, and got your drink, you wandered over to the windows, glancing at the city sprawled out before you, the sunset burning behind the buildings. The sky was a fine array of oranges and reds, and you found you loved the view.

Michael cleared his throat behind you, making you jump. He smiled sheepishly, handing you the glass of water. You took it with a smile of your own and sipped it.

“You have a really nice place.” You found yourself saying, still looking over the walls and wood finishes.

“Oh, thank you.”

You walked back into the kitchen with him and followed his lead bringing your food into his living room. You glanced at his dining table, but did not question it — not being able to argue to sit down on a very comfortable looking couch after you had been running around all day.

You both began eating with a Penguins game in the background, and you did your best to be polite and not inhale your food.

“Did you want to talk about your day?” He asked after a few bites of his orange chicken.

You looked over to him, swallowing a mouthful of food. “Me?”

He looked amused, “You.”

You blinked, “I mean, aside from it being an incredibly long and busy day, there’s not much to say. A shitshow, but hey, that’s showbiz, baby.”

The corners of his lips rose into a grin, “Yeah? I didn’t know accounting and show business were related.”

You held up your hand and crossed two of your fingers, “Incredibly intertwined. You could play ‘pick the narcissist’ with either profession, and you’d be right either way.”

Michael laughed, “Run into a lot of those today?”

You shrugged, but your lips were inching upward, “Without delving into company secrets, yeah, my boss can be a bit of a megalomaniac. It’s all a numbers game, even at the price of employee satisfaction. There’s been a high turnover rate recently.”

Michael nodded like he fully understood what you were talking about. “Have you considered leaving?”

“Frequently. Once I graduate, for sure. Only a few more months.” You chewed a bite of your food, the hunger in your stomach ebbing away, “How has work been for you?”

“Admin has been on my ass,” he told you, eyes flickering to the tv and back to you. “Patient satisfaction scores, you know?”

“You have satisfaction scores?” You asked incredulously, confusion knitting your brows together. “That sounds like some shit they do for a fast food chain.”

He gestured wildly with his hands, “That’s what I said.”

“I mean, sure, satisfaction is important in any industry — but that wouldn’t be my main concern in a hospital environment. How is employee satisfaction?”

“Down,” Michael said with a frown. “Understaffing is a big problem. Nurses, attendings, techs, you name it. Wait times are high, and I just don’t have the staff to bring it down.”

“Damn,” you breathed out, “I guess I can’t say I’m surprised, especially not after the pandemic.”

He looked down into his food, nodding, “The pandemic hit us hard. There’s definitely a distinct difference in life before and life after for most of us.”

You watched him, noticing the smallest wince in his cheek at the mention of it. And to think just the other week that I had been thinking how nice it had been to work from home. You swallowed your guilt with the last bite of your food, noticing how the mood shifted.

Your knees brushed when he turned his eyes back to the television, a faraway look in his eyes. You bumped his knee purposefully the second time, gaining his attention.

“I don’t know how to help you, or even if I can, or if you even want me to. But I’m always here if you want to talk, or if you need a distraction.” You offered with a small smile.

His face relaxed at that, “And that’s enough, sweetheart, thank you. Being able to talk, or think about anything else has been incredibly helpful.”

While you absorbed everything he said, the word sweetheart bounced around in your head, making your palms clammy.

“Of course, yeah,” you looked away from him, unable to hold his gaze.

“I mean it.” He said, gaining your full attention, “Thank you.”

A genuine smile appeared on your face, soft and gentle.

Hours passed with simpler conversation, both your attentions on the hockey game. But you would be lying if you said you missed the way his touch lingered on your skin, or how warm his body felt next to you, throwing your thoughts in a frenzy.

You were thankful that he was talking about simple, mundane things, because you were having a hard time focusing on it. You felt like a stupid hormonal teenager sat next to him, stuck in your own head rather than the moment.

When the game ended at a brutal 3-0 against, you could not help but yawn.

“I should probably call it,” you said, glancing at the time on your phone.

He nodded, moving to sit up, rolling his shoulders with the softest groan that short-circuited your brain. He held his hand out to you and you took it, gathering your scattered thoughts, trying to remember to grab all your things.

“Let me walk you to your car.” He said, putting on his shoes.

“You don’t have to do that—”

“Well, I’m going to anyway. It’s late and your car is several blocks away.”

You grabbed your bag, cheeks heating, “Alright.”

Once outside, you absentmindedly looped your arm with his, his hands in his sweatshirt pockets. Neither of you spoke on it, his eyes only lingering on your face for a few short seconds. You enjoyed the warmth of his body, pressed into his side — the thoughts in your head momentarily quieting.

You felt like the walk to your car had been far too short as opposed to the walk to his place, and it took a moment to finally let go of him.

“Thank you for walking me.” You said, looking at him. “I had a good time tonight.”

“I did, too. Spontaneous. It was good.”

Nodding in agreement, you stepped toward your car. “I’ll let you know when I get home?”

“Yeah,” he smiled softly at you. “get home safe.”

You parted with a lingering goodbye.

—

It had only been a few days since you had heard from Michael, though that wasn’t uncommon. Part of you felt antsy about it — fingers itching to send him a message or call to check in on him. You felt foolish, a tiny part of your brain aching to connect with him. Every time the thought crossed your mind, you pushed it back down, desperate to discard it. He wasn’t looking for connection — that was the exact opposite of what he was looking for.

Sweetheart echoed in your head even now, the rough timber of his voice burrowing deep, making your heart flutter.

Huffing a long sigh, you focused back on your report, but your eyes seemed to look straight through the screen like it wasn’t even there.

When your phone buzzed, you quickly reached for it. You tried not to feel the disappointment flood through your system at the text from Marsi.

I had the worst day. Let’s go out tonight?

You pursed your lips, debating it. It surely would get your mind off a certain someone, and maybe even help you get your thoughts back on track.

Please

You sent back.

—

The bar was pretty busy. It had been a long time since you had been out on a Friday night. Marsi clearly had been through it, her numerical analytics presentation for her computer science masters had gone terribly when she had misunderstood a pretty large part of the project. She had the weekend to correct it — the professor not wanting to fail her.

But she had needed a night off, and you decided a night off would be good for you, too. It was nice. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

Marsi ordered shots, downing hers as quickly as it came. You hesitated, staring at the clear liquid. You debated it, but then decided a shot and a drink wouldn’t throw off your weekend too much.

“Alright, you’re so off. Spill.”

Your eyes went wide, looking back to your friend. “What are you talking about?”

“That! That look right there.”

You pursed your lips and frowned, sipping your drink. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Is it a guy?” When she received no immediate answer, she continued, “Oh jeez, did he find out about that sugar daddy thing?”

“No! What? No, of course not.” Speaking quickly, you turned her eyes away from your friend, hoping she wouldn’t notice you flustering. “There’s no guy.”

Marsi did not look even slightly convinced, narrowing her eyes over her jack and ginger. “You suck at lying.”

Flustered, you tried to change the subject. “Did you catch the Penguins game last night?”

“What?” Marsi laughed, “Don’t try to change the subject!”

“There’s no guy.” You huffed, stressing your words.

She quirked an eyebrow, “I don’t believe you. Is it a taboo thing? Is it a co-worker?”

You tried to quiet your friend, hushing her. Give it to Marsi to see right through you. At least it’s not Erin, your mind commented.

“Professor?” Marsi shooed away your hands, “Jeez, stop that!”

“What? Ew, no!”

“Oh fuck.” Marsi said after a moment's realization. “Is it the sugar daddy?”

“No!” You protested quickly, too quickly, before adding with your nose scrunched and face ablaze, “Don’t call him that,”

Marsi groaned, “Jesus. Didn’t Erin warn you about that?”

You tried to collect yourself, taking a deep breath to steady your heart, your thoughts hazy from the questions. “Please don’t get it twisted. It’s not like that.”

Marsi gave an unconvinced hum, sipping her drink. “Do you wish it was?”

“I don’t—I—uhh—no!” You closed your eyes tight, leaning your head back trying to stifle your annoyed groan. You looked back at your friend, “No.”

Marsi was quiet, watching you closely.

“Look, I don’t want that. He’s nice. I enjoy talking with him, but that’s it. It’s not complicated like that.” You told her, gulping the last of your drink.

“Whatever you say,” Marsi waved off. “That guy across the bar has been eyeing you up for the last ten minutes. Maybe you should get laid.”

Your face burned, not even bothering to check. “I’m not into one-night stands.”

“I’m sure that’s the reason you haven’t looked.” Marsi said with a smirk.

You groaned in frustration. “Can you just drop it?”

“Sure, sure,” she sipped her drink. “You’re awfully flustered for it being something that’s not complicated.”

“Please.”

When you opened your eyes, Marsi was frowning at you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push.”

You sighed, “Thank you. I just don’t want a lecture right now.”

Marsi nodded, “You’re right, we came out to have fun! Let me tell you about this—”

Your phone buzzed on the bartop, Michael’s name lighting up your screen. Marsi’s eyes flickered from the tv above the bar to your phone to your face. She gave a wry grin.

Exasperated, ignoring the butterflies in your gut, you grabbed your phone. “I don’t wanna hear it.”

Marsi laughed, “I didn’t even say anything!”

You gave her a dry look, “I’ll be right back.”

You were out of your seat, moving quickly towards the entrance of the bar. Your heart picked back up, worry ebbing into your excitement. He never called this late without warning you first.

Not wanting to risk missing his call, you answered, “Hold on.” You moved out onto the sidewalk, moving until you were under the streetlight. “Hey.”

“Am I interrupting? I’m sorry—”

“No, no. Is everything alright?”

“I just wanted to—I thought—” Michael sighed. “I just wanted to talk.”

“Oh.”

“I shouldn’t have called, you’re clearly busy,”

“I want to talk to you, too.” You said, I wanted to talk to you all day went unspoken.

“Oh.”

You smiled gently, staring down at your feet, ‘I’m just not home yet. Can I call in like an hour?”

“Please do.”

—

“So…night out…uh, solo?” He asked after you greeted each other.

Was that jealousy in his tone? No, it couldn’t be.

“Yeah, one of my friends really needed it,” you explained, kicking off your shoes and moving into your bedroom. “She had a bad day.”

“Oh.”

“I’m glad to be home now,” You said, removing your dress, placing him on speaker. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy hanging out with her. Just Friday nights out aren’t always my thing, not much anymore, anyway.”

“I get that,” he said, his tone raspy. “I wanted to check in about work. I know the last week has been stressful for you.”

You pulled a pajama top over your head. “Some of the new staff is picking up the slack, I just hope they don’t leave before I do.” You chuckled.

He let out a breathy laugh.

You crawled into your bed, stretching out with a long yawn. “Admin still up your ass?”

“More than usual, yeah.”

It did not take long into your conversation for the light snoring on the other end to start, indicating that Michael had fallen asleep. His soft breaths in and out brought a comfort to you, enjoying the simplicity of him. Instead of ending the call, you placed your phone on the nightstand next to your head.

Closing your eyes, you laid back on your pillow and went to sleep.

[ Next ]

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jUST KISS ALREADY jeez

[mournthebird]

Domestic Winter Soldier / Soldat Stuff

warnings: PTSD | Slight self-harm | Mentions past abuse

a/n: Idk I wanted to write this because he deserves some love even when he's the soldier. Various hcs about domestic life with the Winter Soldier. Actual fics in the works. I run four blogs so I try to balance it all. Not edited ignore mistakes.

Soldat is a little awkward with home life at first. He isn't sure what to do, being free from constant control isn't something he can easily adjust to.

He looks to you for commands all the time. Can he sit? Can he go to the bathroom? Can he sleep? Can he eat? Every little thing he does. You have to reassure him that he doesn't need to ask permission for anything, but he still does.

He sometimes gets snappy at you, since he still can't decide whether or not to trust you 100% or not. He can't understand why someone is being so nice to him.

Sometimes he accidentally breaks something and he flinches away from you, or he hides out of fear. You have to coax him out, telling him it's okay and that you're not going to hurt him. He always hesitates.

He struggles to sleep so he comes into your room most nights and stares at you or roughly shakes you to wake you up. "Can't sleep." he speaks lowly, and he grunts and climbs over you into your bed, never waiting for a response. At first he sleeps away from the door, but as time goes on he moves to sleep closest to the door in case any unlucky person breaks into your apartment.

Very much like a cat, he stays back but when he wants attention he sort of just...flops near you and demands it by laying on you somehow, or sitting super close so your bodies are touching.

He watches you cook a lot. He sits down at the counter and watches or he stands over you and watches. Sometimes you have to pull him away from the stove because the oil will burn him and he doesn't bother moving away on his own.

He's much more curious than you'd think. He watches you do a lot of things, almost as if he's never seen anything like it. Something as simple as brushing your hair or doing laundry, he's mesmerized by it.

When he's not watching you do something, you notice that he just stares a lot. He always watches you, at first out of uneasiness, but then...just because. He's always watching you, almost like he's worried you'll disappear.

You help him shower, he doesn't like touching his scars. He tries to rub them away, and he's tries to claw his metal arm off. So you help him clean to prevent him from going into one of those episodes of hurting himself in that way.

He used to get aggressive when you came around him when he was naked, treating you like some big threat, but you realized this was something more than just fear. It took a lot for him to get comfortable enough to allow you to touch him in the shower/bath.

For being so heavily trained as the best assassin, he's quite accident prone. Nothing major, but enough to warrant some kind of care. He feels a little confused whenever he gets hurt by accident, like he never expected the corner of the table to leave a small cut on his flesh arm. He focuses too much on things he knows hurt, that other things go unnoticed.

He learns to cook with you some days, he was tired of just watching. It's a good way to show him you trust him too, letting him handle things like knives or sharp objects without worrying he will hurt you.

You learn he really likes pie. Apple pie especially.

You also learn the alarm on the oven is too loud for him so you use your phone instead.

If you bring him out with you, he's very protective. His head is on a swivel, constantly observing everyone around you. He stays glued to your side, not letting you take many steps away from him.

Gets overstimulated easily.

Sounds that are similar to a blender or electricity freak him out. A bug zapper is also a sound he hates.

Some foods he looks at with newfound curiosity, like he hadn't seen them before. There are things he doesn't even recognize, newer or modernized things, he didn't know what to think. What the hell is an air fryer? How do you fry with air??

Get one and watch how he looks at it with amazement and confusion.

He seeks out spaces where he can be alone a lot, he needs space sometimes and you understand.

During bad episodes he sometimes disappears from your apartment, making you panic a little each time. You find him in alleys or the streets from time to time, he never wanders too far. You are worried sick but your priority is to get him back home.

It's hard for him to show it, but he does appreciate you and everything you've done for him. He gives you hugs from behind a lot, sometimes he whispers a word to you, but mostly he's silent.

He likes puzzles. He likes putting them together. Maybe because he himself feels like there are so many pieces of himself missing and it's satisfying to fill a picture.

One thing that calms him down are fresh cookies. Chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven, he can go from high strung to calm and docile.

He hates porridge and/or oatmeal. It's too similar to the things he was forced to eat in HYDRA. Tasteless slop, he can't stand the texture.

He loves when you brush his hair. His scalp is sensitive since he had his hair yanked and pulled so much, but you're always gentle. He loves feeling your fingers run through it and it puts him to sleep within minutes.

You're the only one who can touch his scars. Not that he is close to anyone else, but he doesn't fight you when your hand roams over where metal meets flesh.

Watches over you when you sleep a lot, his eyes glued to the door and his ears alert to every single sound. He stays up until he literally can't keep his eyes open.

He's very attached to you and never wants to leave you, ever.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

[xoxomilesteller]

Beau Arlen NSFW Head Canons

Beau Arlen does not give one, he’s disgusting. he comes home from work or from working on the farm, covered in dirt, mud, and sweat, but he’ll still lay it down on you. he’s disgusting in that way. he’d come home all sweaty and practically smother himself on you to cover you in his scent. it starts off cute, he just holds you down and rubs himself on you as you giggle. then his hands slides up under your shirt. there’ll be times where both of you are covered in mud and dirt, but that only seems to spur him on. and then he’d ask to shower with you, so you can both “clean up.”

Beau Arlen is a big fan of day time sex. if the sun is shining, his cock is hard. In the mornings before work, he doesn’t even ask you to turn to the side. a little morning breath can not get this man’s lips off of yours. you’d playfully smack his arm, earning a lazy smile from him, which makes you give in. in the afternoons, if you guys are both outside, it’s ending in a fuck. the sunshine just does something to beau. he cannot keep his hands off of you when it’s present. you can be outside, sunbathing while he washes his truck and he’ll come up, blocking the sun. if you’re not already on your back, he’ll flip you over and pull the flimsy strings of your bikini off. he owns a lot of land, so no one will see either way.

Beau Arlen loves cowgirl. to him, there’s nothing better than a face full of tits and being able to see your pretty face scrunch up. he likes making the eye contact with you, seeing your pretty eyes glass up as his cock destroys you.

Beau Arlen is a spitter. before he even gets his face near your pussy, he’ll always spit on it, just because. he just likes coating you in something that’s his. before he slides himself in you, he’ll spit into his palm and lazily stroke his dick. when you give him handjobs, he’ll spit right onto his cock, not your hand because that’s disrespectful, and encourage you to spit on it too.

Beau Arlen gets messy. if you guys are on the bed, pillows will be thrown off the bed. the sheets will be slipping off. if he sets you on the counter, you better hope there’s nothing breakable on it, because he will be pushing it all off. in the moment, the only thing running through his head is you to the point that he cannot care less if there is anything in his or your way, it’s getting pushed or thrown. he sweats easy, so his hair is stuck to his forehead. his body is glistening with sweat. he’ll make sure you feel his sweaty body too, pressing himself to your body so you can feel just how easily his skin slides against yours. and if he decides to pull out, his cum gets everywhere.

AN: ugh i want beau SO bad also this was not based off like any au or anything like that buttttt it’s a work in progress i have a very long dbf!beau coming soon (like 40+ chapters long bc i can’t write for crap and idk how to pace) and some of these things can be liked tied back to him idk now im just rambling have a great night/day

banner by: @cafekitsune

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 1: "The one with the proposal" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: The journey from Dallas to Austin is tense but tolerable, as you and Frankie do your best to ignore the mutual disdain simmering between you. But everything derails when a chance encounter with Harry—your ex—and his fiancée pushes you to tell a spur-of-the-moment lie. Frankie’s reaction makes it clear he’s not on board. WC: 14.3k

A/N: Okay, here's my new baby! And I fucking love it! I hope you enjoy this story as much as I've been enjoying writing it. Also, just a heads-up: I’ve taken some creative liberties with the characters. While this story is inspired by the ones in Triple Frontier, it barely follows the events of the movie, and the characters themselves aren’t portrayed exactly as they are in the film. PS: I’d love to hear your thoughts—your feedback means so much to me! Knowing what you think truly motivates me to keep going. So don't hesitate and let me know <3 Also, if you want to be on the tag list, let me know. And don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifs :)

When Santiago’s message arrived, you read it three times, as if repetition might change the words or soften their impact.

[Santi]: Hey bubs, mornin. I’m really sorry but I won’t be able to come get you. I’ll meet you at home later tho. Frankie will pick you up, same time as planned, don’t worry:)

The words seemed to pulse faintly on the screen, a quiet disruption of the neat plan you’d constructed in your head.

Frankie. He wasn’t your first choice—or your second, or third. If you were honest, he didn’t even make the list.

That morning had started with a sense of calm, a kind of orderly anticipation. The steady hum of the fan in the corner of Emma’s room, the cool sting of the shower water, the first sip of coffee, sweet and bitter all at once—it all felt like the clean slate of a well-prepared day. You’d zipped your suitcase shut with a satisfying finality, placed your carry-on by the door. Nothing left to chance.

The plan was simple: you’d take the bus. Predictable, unremarkable. But Santiago had insisted earlier that week, his voice crackling through the phone with a kind of rare, unguarded enthusiasm.

“We can stop for lunch, you know? Like we used to do with dad. Maybe even take a detour if we find somethin' cool,” he’d said, his tone warm, almost playful.

You’d been leaning against Emma’s kitchen counter at the time, a glass of wine in one hand, a cube of cheese in the other, and your phone between your cheek and your shoulder. Emma raised an eyebrow from across the room, silently prompting you to explain.

“Everything okay with Yovanna?” you teased, your voice carrying just enough edge to feel like a joke, even though it wasn’t entirely one. “Or is this an excuse to run away for the day?”

“Fuck you,” he laughed, the kind of laugh that came easily between you two. “I just want to spend time with you. It’s been ages since we really caught up. I miss you like hell.”

That stopped you. He wasn’t wrong—months had passed since the two of you had talked properly, beyond the surface-level exchanges over meals or texts.

“Okay,” you’d said, your voice softer than before, though you avoided looking at Emma. “I miss you too. I’ll wait for you then.”

And now, this. No Santiago, no shared lunch or detours. Just Frankie, an unwelcome rewrite of the day you thought you had mapped out so clearly.

You sat back against the bed frame, rereading the message one last time. Frankie will pick you up. Frankie will pick you up. Frankie. Frankie. Fucking Frankie. Now the plan had unraveled, and the disappointment felt sharper than you wanted to admit.

You let the phone fall to the bed beside you, the screen dimming as it landed.

Emma lay stretched out next to you, her head tilted toward the TV, where an episode of Friends played on low volume. It was one of those episodes you both knew by heart, the kind you could recite without effort. The one where everybody finds out. The blue light from the screen washed over her face, softening her features, making her eyes look brighter than they really were. Without looking away, she reached out and hooked her arm around yours, a quiet gesture that felt like home. She’d done the same thing when you were teenagers, sharing the lumpy couch in your parents’ living room, giggling over something trivial while your mom cooked dinner in the next room.

“What happened?” she murmured, her voice soft but curious, as if she could already sense the shift in your mood. The laugh track bubbled in the background, filling the space between her words.

“Santi’s not coming,” you said, glancing at the TV without really seeing it. “He sent Frankie.”

You felt a pang, not just from the change in plans but from the weight of the goodbye looming in the background. You’d learned to carry that feeling since Emma moved out of Austin—this persistent ache, like a thread pulling tighter with every visit that ended. On most days, it faded into the background. But today, it stuck to you, clinging like a damp sock you couldn’t quite shake off.

“That Frankie?” 

“I doubt he knows any others.”

“How convenient,” she said, her voice low with mockery, though her arm squeezed yours gently. “Well, call me when you get there. And try to be nice to him, if you can manage it.”

Emma turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at you out of the corner of her eye. “And don’t take too long to come back and visit me, okay?” 

“You could always visit Austin, you know."

“It’s more fun if you come here. You get to be a tourist,” she said, with that breezy logic she always used to disarm you. “I already know Austin. That’s not so exciting.”

You snorted, more out of habit than disagreement. She wasn’t wrong. Emma rarely was.

The rest of the evening passed in near silence, broken only by the low murmur of the television. First, another episode of Friends, then one of The Nanny. The rhythm of the shows was familiar, the kind of easy, forgettable comfort that didn’t require much from you. At some point, Emma shifted closer, resting her head on your shoulder. Her breathing slowed, deepened, a steady rise and fall that seemed to sync with your own. She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. There was something about her presence, her weight against you, that felt like a reminder—you were understood here, even when you didn’t have the words to explain yourself. She wasn't just your best friend, she was your sister.

The sharp blare of a car horn shattered the calm, breaking through the evening like the crack of distant thunder. You flinched, your body instinctively tensing, the warm cocoon of the moment dissolving in an instant. Emma didn’t stir much, her eyes still closed, her arm still draped over yours. You nudged her gently, tapping her arm until she groaned softly and sat up, squinting against the glow of the TV.

“I think he’s here,” you said, your voice low but cutting through the quiet.

Emma stretched in one graceful motion, her arms arching overhead before she bent down to grab the bright lavender Crocs she kept by the bed. The shoes, adorned with an assortment of decorative pins—a blue flower, a miniature coffee cup, and a small plastic dinosaur—were an oddly perfect reflection of her: delicate, energetic, and just the right amount of ridiculous, in the best way. 

“Come on, I’ll walk you out,” she said, her tone casual, but there was a softness to it, an unspoken understanding that made the impending goodbye feel heavier.

Outside, the heat clung to you immediately, the air thick and sticky, humming with the faint buzz of cicadas. Your gaze landed on the car parked in front of Emma’s house, and something in you tensed. It wasn’t Santi’s car, of course, and it wasn’t Santi standing there waiting.

Frankie was leaning against the hood, arms crossed, his whole posture radiating impatience. He looked as though he’d been sculpted there, his bored expression so exaggerated it almost felt theatrical. The heat shimmered in waves around him, but he didn’t seem to notice—or care. He wore a rumpled gray shirt that looked like it hadn’t been ironed in weeks and a pair of dark sunglasses, their reflective lenses hiding whatever was going on behind them. The cap was familiar, too—plain, worn, the same style you’d seen him wear before, though this time in a faded gray that matched his shirt.

For a fleeting, irrational moment, you thought maybe this was all a mistake. That Santi might suddenly appear, stepping out from behind the car or walking up the driveway with that easy laugh of his, telling you it had all been a joke. But the driveway remained empty, and Frankie, noticing you, straightened up with a kind of deliberate slowness.

He started walking toward you, each step measured, as if he were pacing himself for an obligation he didn’t particularly want to fulfill. His movements had the casual indifference of someone who would rather be anywhere else, but was too resigned to argue.

“Where’s Santi?” you asked as you approached, the question coming out sharper than you’d intended.

Frankie didn’t answer immediately. He simply closed the distance between you with deliberate, unhurried steps. Then, without a word, he grabbed the suitcase from your hand in one fluid motion. The gesture caught you off guard—not because he took it, but because of how mechanical it felt. He didn’t look at you, didn’t acknowledge you in any meaningful way. It was as though you were just an extension of the bag he was moving, an obstacle to be dealt with as quickly as possible.

“He couldn’t make it,” he said at last, his voice flat, almost dismissive.

He hauled the suitcase toward the trunk and tossed it in with a thud that seemed louder than it should’ve been. The sound echoed briefly, underscoring his lack of finesse. He slammed the trunk shut with a single decisive motion and turned back toward the driver’s seat, his body language broadcasting that he considered the interaction over.

“He didn’t tell me anything about it,” you said, your voice rising slightly, tinged with disbelief. You stayed rooted to the spot, your feet planted as if the weight of the confusion had sunk into the concrete beneath you.

Frankie paused, his hand on the car door.

“It was a last-minute thing.” 

Before you could respond—before you could even begin to untangle your frustration into something coherent—he opened the door, slid into the driver’s seat, and pulled it shut behind him with a force that made the air shudder.

You turned back toward the house. Emma was watching from the porch, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. Her expression hovered somewhere between curiosity and bewilderment, her head tilting slightly as you approached.

She hugged you tightly, holding on a beat longer than usual. When you pulled away, her eyes searched yours, silently asking questions you didn’t have answers for.

“I’ll call you when I get there,” you said, though you weren’t sure what the call would entail—whether you’d laugh about all this, or vent, or just let her voice fill the empty spaces.

Her lips twitched into a faint smile, one tinged with resignation.

“I love you so much,” you added, your voice quieter now. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I always do. I love you too. Take care and call me as soon as you can."

She stepped back as you turned toward the car, your feet dragging slightly with each step.

Now, an hour and a half later, the car sped steadily toward Austin, the scenery blurring into a series of indistinct shapes. Frankie hadn’t said a word since you’d left Emma’s house, and the silence had settled in the car like a heavy fog, pressing down on you with every passing mile.

You’d considered speaking—several times, in fact—but every potential conversation starter you thought of seemed pointless. What was there to say to him? You barely knew each other, and what little you did know felt more like a series of grudges than shared history. The only things you had in common were your mutual love for Santi and, apparently, your mutual irritation with each other. Neither felt like enough to bridge the yawning gap between you.

You stared out the window, the dry, flat landscape sliding by in endless monotony, like a movie stripped of plot and color. Pale beige fields stretched into the horizon, broken only by the occasional cluster of power lines. The sameness of it all seemed to lull the world into a kind of dull, static hum.  

The only relief came from the music spilling softly from the car’s speakers—classic rock, its grainy tones unmistakable even at low volume. The sound was tethered to Frankie’s phone, resting in the cupholder beside him, the screen glowing faintly every so often with an incoming notification he didn’t bother to check. A Fleetwood Mac song began again, its familiar opening chords filling the silence for the third time since you’d left.  

You shifted in your seat, glancing at him from the corner of your eye before turning your attention back to the road ahead.

“Do you like this song?” 

“I think so.”

“It’s played three times already.”

“It’s a good song,” he said softly, his voice low enough to be mistaken for an afterthought. 

You turned back to the window, letting the conversation dissolve into the space between you. He hadn’t said it to be defensive—just matter-of-fact, like the song itself was reason enough. You folded your arms across your chest, the seatbelt digging slightly into your side.  

Then, your mind wandered back to Santi, to the message that had upended your day. What had he been thinking? Of all his friends, why send Frankie? The question rolled over in your head, each repetition more insistent than the last. Was it an oversight? A logistical decision made in haste, without considering how you’d feel about it? Or was it intentional? That idea sat uneasily with you, gnawing at the edge of your thoughts. He knew how strange things felt between you and Frankie. Hell, everyone knew. They’d all been there, witnessed it firsthand—the arguments, the uncomfortable silences, the way your personalities seemed to clash as naturally as oil and water.  

The possibility that Santi might’ve chosen Frankie on purpose—maybe even as some misguided attempt to force you into tolerating each other—bothered you more than you wanted to admit. You shifted again, suddenly restless, as the car hummed along the empty stretch of highway, the silence between you growing heavier despite the steady background of Fleetwood Mac.

Over the last few years, Frankie had been a fixture in your life, the way someone else’s shadow might be—not yours, but unavoidable. Being your brother’s best friend meant your paths crossed often enough, though you both seemed to approach these encounters with mutual disdain. You didn’t like him, and he didn’t bother pretending to like you. Disgust was the word that came to mind when you thought about how he looked at you. Not exaggerated or theatrical, just a cool, unflinching disgust, as though he found something about you fundamentally wrong. 

The last time you’d spoken more than a handful of clipped, perfunctory words to each other was in Santi’s kitchen a few years ago. That was the breaking point. The fight. It wasn’t dramatic, not really—no yelling, no slammed doors—but it was the kind of exchange that changed things irreversibly. After that, you decided you didn’t want to think about him, let alone look at him, ever again.

And that was the end of it. You stopped trying to explain. You'd come to accept that to Santi, Frankie was probably nothing like how you saw him. You weren't sure what it was about him that rubbed you the wrong way, but you knew that with your brother, Frankie surely couldn't be as unpleasant as he was with you. 

So, you ignored him. Every time you saw him, you made sure your gaze passed over him like he was just another fixture in the room. And he did the same. It was as though you were two people occupying the same space, but never truly sharing it.

Why on earth, then, had he agreed to come and pick you up?

The silence in the car stretched on, and you settled into the uncomfortable rhythm of it, letting it fill the space between you and him. Frankie’s eyes stayed fixed on the road, and his thumbs twitched restlessly over the steering wheel.

Finally, he broke the silence, but his words felt like a formality.

“We'll stop for lunch,” he said, his voice low, almost indifferent. His gaze flickered to you for a brief second, enough to make sure you had heard, before returning to the road. “I haven’t eaten anything all day. Do you mind?”

You were starting to feel the pangs of hunger yourself, but you didn’t let that soften your response. You couldn’t. 

“No,” you replied, your voice curt, colder than you intended.

Frankie nodded, the movement barely noticeable. He turned his attention back to the road, his expression unchanged, as though you hadn’t spoken at all. His calmness was maddening. 

For a moment, you considered breaking the silence again, saying something just to disrupt his steady composure. But then you thought better of it. There was still a long way to go, and the last thing you wanted was for this trip to feel even more suffocating than it already was. So you stayed silent, the weight of your irritation pressing down on you, knowing that with each mile, you were only getting closer to end of this torture.

Fifteen minutes later, the engine turned off  and you looked over at the driver's side, half-expecting Frankie to say something—anything—but he was already in motion. Before you could open your mouth, the door swung open, and he was out of the car, his body moving with an urgency that seemed to come from some invisible force, as though he were escaping the confines of the vehicle. For a moment, the empty passenger seat seemed to expand, making the car feel smaller, quieter. 

You stayed there a second longer, watching as Frankie made his way across the parking lot. His steps were steady, deliberate, almost too casual, as if walking away from you might somehow erase you from the moment entirely. He didn’t look back, didn’t pause to see if you were following. And honestly, you weren’t in any rush to do so. There was no reason to catch up with him. He clearly didn’t want you there, and you didn’t want to be near him either. This trip wasn’t about you; it was about doing your brother a favor.

The parking lot was modest, just enough space for the few cars scattered about. It wasn’t anything remarkable, just a typical lot for a small, unassuming restaurant. The faded lines barely marked the spots, and you counted five cars parked across the patch of asphalt. The windows of the restaurant were perfectly clean, and you could see people inside. A couple of families were chatting animatedly at their tables, and a few solitary diners were hunched over their food, their focus far from the simple meal in front of them.

With a sigh, you walked toward the entrance. Above the door, the sign Jimmy’s buzzed softly in red neon, its glow a little too bright for the evening light. Next to it, a yellow arrow with tiny, flickering bulbs pointed inside, inviting anyone who passed by to come in. "Eat here!" The sign seemed eager, almost enthusiastic in its attempt to catch attention.

You pushed open the door, the bell chiming brightly above your head as you stepped inside. The rush of cool air from the air conditioning met you instantly, a welcome contrast to the heat that still clung to your skin from the car. The coolness was almost too sharp, sending a slight shiver down your spine as you paused just inside the doorway. Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the softer light inside. The diner was small, but it had a cozy, familiar feel, with colorful walls and a few tables scattered around. The noise inside was a comfortable hum, punctuated by the occasional clink of silverware, low conversation and the music in the background.

It didn’t take long to spot him. Frankie was seated at the bar, absorbed in the menu in front of him. His posture was casual, but there was something about the way he held himself, his shoulders slightly hunched, that made it feel like he was a little too withdrawn, like he didn’t want to engage. 

You walked toward him slowly, the sound of your footsteps softened by the tiles beneath you. You were just about to sit next to him when he looked up, his gaze meeting yours briefly before returning to the menu. His voice was flat, almost bored as he spoke, as if the interaction was nothing more than a passing inconvenience.

“Go find a table,” he said, his tone neither rude nor warm.

You frowned, taking the menu from his hand without a word. His gaze didn’t follow you as he stood up, stretching slightly as he rose from the bar stool. There was something about his movements—relaxed, yet sharp—that made you feel like you weren’t really a part of whatever was going on. His shirt clung slightly to his back from the heat of the car, the evidence of sweat still visible on his skin, and you couldn't help but notice the fine hairs on his arms standing on end, a subtle sign of the sharp contrast between the stifling heat outside and the chill of the air-conditioned room.

“I’m goin' to the bathroom. Be back in a sec,” he added casually, his voice even, before disappearing down the narrow hallway to the right. No expectation of a response. No glance to see if you were still standing there, just a simple statement. He was gone before you could offer anything in reply.

You were left standing there, the laminated menu in your hands, a slight weariness creeping in.

With a sigh, you turned on your heels and began scanning the room for a table. There was still at least an hour and a half of travel left, plus however long you'd spend eating. Why hadn’t Santi given you a heads-up? You could’ve taken the bus or the train, something that didn’t involve sitting in a car with anyone but him. But no, that wasn’t even an option, apparently. 

You spotted an empty table near the back, next to the window, and as you walked toward it, the decor around you caught your eye. The place had a playful, nostalgic vibe, as if it were trying to channel the spirit of another time. Framed posters of Grease, Fame, Footloose, and Saturday Night Fever hung on the walls, adding to the feeling of a throwback to the ‘70s and ‘80s. It was all very upbeat, almost theatrical, like a movie set. The tables were red and white, and a jukebox stood in the corner.

You glanced at the posters, half wondering if the owner had lived through that era or just loved the aesthetic of it all. Either way, it gave the place a sense of warmth and a bit of character, a stark contrast to the outside. 

Suddenly, a voice cut through the quiet murmur of the restaurant, sharp and unexpected, and your name echoed in the air. You froze, the sound ricocheting in your chest, followed by a rush of emotions you didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone feel. You could feel the familiar tension ripple through your muscles, a mix of surprise, confusion, and something deeper you couldn’t quite place. Slowly, you turned to face him, every step feeling like it took an eternity.

“Harry,” you said, the name falling from your lips like it belonged to someone else, someone distant. A smile flickered across your face—perfectly timed and just the right shape, though it felt hollow, as fake as the kindness you were trying to project. Your lips tightened, a familiar mask of politeness slipping over your expression, one you wished you didn’t have to wear. “What... what are you doing here?”

His smile was instant and disarming, his surprise clear, and his happiness so genuine it made your chest tighten. For a moment, it erased the absurdity of seeing him here, of all places, in the middle of nowhere. The coincidence felt cruel, as if the universe was playing a cruel joke on you.

The last time you saw him, three months ago, it felt like a lifetime ago—a goodbye steeped in heartbreak. You’d clung to him, tears soaking his crisp white shirt as he whispered reassurances: “It’s okay. You’ll be okay. I care about you.” But the words he didn’t say cut deeper: he cared for you, but he loved her.  

It had been a casual fling, no strings attached—or so you told yourself. Then came the day he confessed: he was in love with Lisa, a friend you’d never met. They were getting married. His words, calm and rehearsed, felt like a gut punch, but his excitement betrayed him. He was happy. You weren’t.  

You tried to be strong, to tell him you were fine, even as you broke down. Because you loved him, and you couldn’t bear the thought of him with her.  

And now, here he was, smiling like nothing had happened, curiosity in his eyes—oblivious to the wreckage he’d left behind.  

In front of him, Lisa was sitting with a big bright smile. You’d seen her face before, her perfectly curated Instagram photos, her flawless smile that could have been lifted straight from a movie. But in person? She was even more striking, the kind of beauty that didn’t need filters or captions. The kind of beauty that made everything around her seem insignificant, that made you feel small just standing next to her. Her presence was magnetic, the sort of thing that pulled your gaze despite every instinct telling you to look away.

Suddenly, the air conditioning hit you like a blast of cold, sharp enough to make you flinch. But then again, maybe it wasn’t the air conditioning. Maybe it was just your body freezing in place, rigid with surprise and something much harder to define. You didn’t know how to respond. Harry was talking—his voice was there, filling the space, but the words barely reached you. They felt like distant echoes, the kind that might have meant something once but now were just noise, reverberating uselessly around you.

“What are you doing around here?” he asked, pulling you back from the tangle of thoughts you were trying so hard to keep at bay.

You blinked, trying to center yourself, but it was like you had forgotten how to breathe properly.

“We’re... I’m just passing through, heading back to Austin,” you said, your voice sounding too steady, too rehearsed, even to your own ears. Your heart was lodged somewhere near your throat, threatening to choke you if you said too much. “I went to visit Emma.”

“Ah, Emma. How is she? Is she still in Dallas?”

“Yep,” you answered, the word sharp and clipped, offering nothing more. 

The silence hung between you, thick and uncomfortable. You could feel it stretching, wrapping itself around your words, making them heavier than they needed to be. Finally, you exhaled, the air coming out in a slow, resigned sigh.

“What about you guys? What are you doing around here?”

You didn’t really want to know, not at all.

“Lisa’s grandparents live in Waco,” Harry said with that wide smile of his, the one that always made you feel like you were watching the world tilt on its axis. He looked at Lisa like she was the center of his universe, as if everything that mattered began and ended with her. “We went to take the invitation to them personally and I met the rest of the family while we were at it.”

You didn’t smile. You couldn’t. Your lips pulled tight, the gesture feeling almost painful, like your face wasn’t sure how to form the expression anymore. The words were there, though, just beneath the surface.

“Right, right.” You swallowed, forcing the words out despite how hollow they felt. “How cool. You must be so excited—a summer wedding, then?”

You’d known for weeks—September 13th. The invitation, with its sparkling gold lettering, had made your stomach churn. You buried it under junk mail, unable to face seeing him so happy, so certain of what he had.

But you couldn’t say that, could you? You couldn’t tell him that the mere thought of them together, of their future, felt like a knife to your chest. So you forced a smile, a tight, lifeless thing, and let the conversation carry on.

"That's right," Harry said, laughing as his gaze flickered to Lisa, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Even though we wanted to enjoy the early days of fall, Lisa wanted to get married around summer, mostly because of her parents. They got married during summer too."

Lisa laughed softly, the sound like a note held too long, then spoke, her voice low and warm.

"It's not just that," she said, her hand resting lightly on Harry's. You found yourself looking away, unable to hold the image of them together for too long. "Everything looks more beautiful during this season, doesn't it? Even the days last longer."

Her voice was thick with something you couldn't quite place—familiarity, maybe. Or maybe it was love, that unspoken thing that you couldn’t ignore, even if you wanted to. The way they fit together made everything else seem smaller, less important. And yet Harry’s eyes shifted to you, seeking something. Approval, maybe. He didn’t say it, but it was clear. His look said: Don’t disagree.

"That's true. Summer is beautiful," you replied, feeling the words slip out too easily, forced through your teeth. Your voice came out softer than you intended, and you felt Lisa’s smile hit you like a jolt. It was stunning—perfect in a way that seemed almost too much, like she’d been born to smile in that exact way. You hated her for it, just a little.

"We look forward to seeing you there," Harry said, breaking the moment, his words direct and heavy. "We haven't received your confirmation—you’re going, aren't you?"

How could he ask that, not see how unnatural this felt? But Harry wasn’t cruel—just unaware. You’d never told him you loved him, never made your feelings clear. To him, this was normal. He thought you’d be fine.

“I... um—” 

“Don’t worry about going alone,” he said, that same nonchalant tone that had once made you smile. "You always meet people at weddings."

Heat flooded your face, burning like a slap. The words stung, but his obliviousness made it worse. You wished the ground would swallow you whole—or anything to escape. Instead, you laughed—a thin, brittle sound that barely masked the pain.

"Ah, no, that’s not it," you lied, your voice trembling just enough for Harry to notice. "That's covered."

“Oh, is it?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow, his interest piqued. He leaned forward, a relieved smile crossing his face.

"Sure," you said, forcing a confidence into your tone that you didn’t feel. "I’ll... I’ll go with my boyfriend."

Harry's eyes widened a little, and then the smile appeared again—this one more genuine, more curious. He tapped the table, an excited gesture that made your stomach twist.

“You don’t say?” he said, his voice rising in pitch. “And who’s the lucky guy?”

You wanted to crumble. You wanted to say nothing, because the truth felt too big, too overwhelming, and there was no way to say it without everything falling apart. But you couldn't. You just couldn't.

As if by some celestial miracle, you saw Frankie emerge from the hallway, his attention absorbed by the screen of his phone, scrolling, unaware of anything around him. His timing was perfect, and relief washed over you, as if fate had sent him. He wasn’t supposed to be here, yet there he was—a lifeline in the chaos.  

For a moment, he seemed to glow, his familiar, worn cap catching the harsh lights like a crown. You’d never been so glad to see someone. Then his eyes met yours, and his expression shifted—confusion flickering as he took in your frantic stance, the mess of emotions written on your face.  

Before you could stop it, before you could make any sense of what was happening, a smile stretched across your face—too wide, too fast, like a reflex you hadn’t been prepared for. It was probably a little too sharp to be anything but forced, but you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t help anything.

"Frankie," you said, the words tumbling out with more enthusiasm than you intended. It sounded too bright, almost exaggerated, but there was no stopping it now. "This is Frankie... Frankie, my boyfriend.”

You weren’t sure what you were doing, but it didn’t matter—you needed to make something clear. Frankie tensed beside you, glancing your way, trying to read the situation. His eyes met yours, and you silently begged him: Help. Please.

For a moment, he studied you, his gaze flicking between you and the couple. Then, as if something clicked, his expression shifted to understanding. He realized what he had to do and adjusted instantly.

"Right," he finally said, his voice low, the smile on his face still a little unsure but polite. "I’m Frankie."

Harry extended his hand with a practiced smile, warm but a touch too bright. Frankie hesitated, his gaze shifting from Harry’s hand to your face, brow slightly furrowed as he tried to assess the situation—or his role in it.  

You stepped closer, tapping his waist lightly, a subtle signal to act. He blinked, refocusing, and finally took Harry’s hand, his grip firm and deliberate. But in his eyes, there was a flicker of discomfort—one only you noticed.

“Frankie,” Harry said, his voice carrying a weight of something too calm for the situation. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I'm Harry.” Then, he nodded enthusiastically, dropping his hand back to the table. “And this is Lisa."

Lisa smiled, her gaze bright and almost blinding.

“Nice to meet ya, Frankie,” she said, her voice the epitome of warmth, her charm effortless, her presence just... perfect. Oh my God, just stop it!

Frankie finally turned his attention back to you, though it wasn’t immediately clear if he was still processing the social niceties or deciding how best to carry this conversation forward. His voice shifted slightly as he spoke again.

“Same here,” he said, his tone unfamiliar to you—something smoother, almost softer, like he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. 

He moved closer, just a bit too close, slipping his arm around your waist with ease, sending a flutter through your stomach. His hand rested lightly against your side, his palm warm at your back. You froze, unable to focus on anything but the pulse of his touch, the way he effortlessly played the boyfriend role.

It felt wrong, uncomfortable.

Confusion and relief mixed inside you, unsure if the relief came from the act itself or the distraction it provided from the situation.

"Well," Frankie broke the silence. "Sorry to interrupt, but we need to leave soon. I want to make sure this beautiful woman gets some food before we go—otherwise, she goes bad."

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the way he phrased it. 

Harry chuckled, his easy laughter filling the space.

“Yeah, I believe you,” he said, his grin still wide but with a spark of curiosity. He shot a look at Lisa, then back at Frankie, narrowing his eyes just a touch. “That’s the main reason we stopped. Though I’ll admit,” he added, glancing down at the table with a mock grimace, “I was the one really starving.”

The awkwardness of the moment barely registered for Harry. He seemed to think everything was going smoothly, unaware of the small cracks in the facade that were threatening to show. Frankie, however, was more aware than anyone, and you could see it in his eyes—the way his face shifted from the casual smile to something more guarded, something more carefully neutral. 

Frankie gave a short, almost amused laugh, pulling his arm back from your waist with a light tap. His tone was polite, more deliberate than before.

“Yeah, I’m sure you can relate,” he said, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. “Keeping your lady happy, that's what it's all about, isn't it?” 

You tried to smile, but it came out thin, tight around the edges. Your legs became weak. 

Harry’s laugh was light. He buyed it.

Frankie straightened up slightly, offering his hand to Harry in that careful, calculated way that now seemed practiced, even though it hadn’t been moments ago. His movements were calculated, polite, but entirely different from the Frankie you knew. The way he was acting felt like an entirely unfamiliar version of him—Thank God.

“Okay, thanks for the chat, but we bett—” 

"Yeah, of course," Harry interrupted, still upbeat and completely oblivious to the tension. "It was nice meeting you, Frankie. Take care of her, alright? She's... well, you know. A special one."

Frankie’s smile stiffened, the edges barely moving as he gave a short nod. His eyes flicked to you for a fleeting second, his expression tight and controlled, though something was definitely off.

"I will, man," he replied, voice steady but carrying an underlying edge. "I’ve got her covered. Don’t worry. She’s in good hands."

“Bye, Harry,” you said, turning to him with a friendly but somewhat distant smile, your hand lifting in a wave that felt too casual for the weight of everything you hadn’t said. “And you too, Lisa. Good luck with the wedding!”

Lisa smiled warmly. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice smooth. “Let us know if you're coming."

“Yeah. Hope to see you at the wedding. You too, Frankie,” Harry said, just before you thought about starting to walk to the table at the back of the place.

Frankie looked confused, and looked at you for an answer, or for you to say something.

"Sure," you said, taking him by the arm, ready to leave. "We'll definitely be there!"

You moved in silence toward the booth, Frankie's hand resting at the small of your back, guiding you like an automatic reflex. The low hum of conversation in the restaurant seemed to fade as you both reached the table, and you were strangely relieved that the high backs of the seats shielded you from Harry’s view. 

He dropped into the seat across from you, his presence as loud and brash as ever, even without a word. When you looked at him, it struck you how quickly he'd reverted to the expression he always wore around you—furrowed brows, lips pressed into a thin, almost unnatural line. It wasn’t clear if it was annoyance, confusion, or just him being him.

“I’m so hungry,” you said, flipping through the laminated menu like it might hold the answers to something bigger than lunch. “I really want a burger, and some fries.”

He didn’t reply immediately, his stare heavy on you. Then:

“What the fuck was that?”

You sighed, closing the menu and flattening your hands on the table as if bracing yourself. His face was a familiar mix of wide eyes, creased forehead, and that particular grimace that always made you feel like you’d said something wrong.

You shrugged. “My ex.”

“Okay? And?”

“And that’s it. Nothing else.”

Frankie leaned back with a dramatic exhale, the leather of the booth creaking under him. He shook his head in disbelief, his jaw tightening.

“Since when am I your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone sharp with irritation. “Last time I checked, I was doing your brother a favor.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said quickly, cheeks warming. You picked up the menu again, trying to will your face back to neutrality. “Thanks for playing along, anyway.”

He sighed—loud, pointed. You glanced up, and sure enough, he was staring at you, his fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the table. Not impatient, exactly. Calculated.

“You’re not going to tell me what the fuck that was?”

You ignored him, letting the embarrassment swirl hot in your stomach as you fixed your eyes on the menu. Burgers. Burgers. Burgers. Burgers. Fries. Onion rings, maybe.

“Hey,” he said sharply, snapping his fingers in front of your face.

You blinked, snapping your head up to look at him.

“Oh, are you talking to me?”

Frankie gave you a look so exaggerated you almost laughed, except you knew he wasn’t joking.

“Who else would I be talking to? You think I’m out here monologuing? Who are you, fucking De Niro?”

“Hey!” you snapped, slamming the menu down on the table. The sound echoed between you, a sharp punctuation that sent a ripple of air across his forehead, lifting the dark strands just slightly. “Don’t talk to me like that, Francisco. Who do you think you’re talking to? We’re not friends.”

He snorted, the sound sharp but oddly soft at the same time, pulling off his cap and placing it on the seat beside him. With a low groan, he ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching briefly in the strands. His gaze found yours again, his posture seemingly relaxed but betraying a subtle tension. You could see it in the way his shoulders didn’t quite settle, in the way his eyes didn’t blink as he studied you.

“I know, we’re not friends. But I just lied for you. Why? Who was that? And why are you acting so weird?”

Before you could answer, he straightened in his seat, leaning forward slightly. “No, wait. The real question is: why are you acting weirder than usual?”

You folded your arms, leaning back until you felt the booth press into your shoulders. Your gaze flicked to the front door, the thought of walking out taking root in your mind. Leaving felt easier—safer. Honestly, you’d rather trudge all the way back to Austin on foot, the heat and endless asphalt blistering your skin, than sit here and explain yourself to Frankie. He wouldn’t care. Worse, he might care just enough to make you regret opening your mouth.

When your eyes returned to him, though, his expression surprised you. Serious, yes. But not angry. He was watching you with an almost disarming calmness, like he’d decided he had all the time in the world to wait for your answer.

You sighed, the sound shaky as it escaped your chest.

“It’s my ex,” you said, barely above a murmur.

“Yes,” he said immediately. “Your ex. I got that part. And?”

“And his fiancée.”

“Aha,” he nodded slowly, like he was piecing something together, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “Why did you lie to them?”

You swallowed hard, the pulse in your neck thudding too loudly in your ears.

“Because...” Your voice wavered, and you hated it. “Because... Um, he told me I might meet someone at the wedding.”

Frankie blinked, his confusion shifting into something closer to disbelief.

“What?”

“God,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as heat crept up your neck. Your hands dropped to your thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans. “We dated for four months, and he broke up with me to get engaged to her. Then he invited me to their wedding. When I said I’d go, he told me not to worry about showing up alone, because I’d probably meet someone there.”

Frankie’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out, so you pressed on, a flush of anger sparking under your skin.

“So, I panicked,” you admitted, your voice sharpening. “I told him not to worry, that I’d bring my boyfriend. And then you showed up, and it just—it made sense in the moment, okay? That’s it.”

“It made sense to you to say I was your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “You couldn’t have said I was someone else? Made up something better?”

“No, it didn’t occur to me!” you hissed, your eyes widening as your voice rose, though you kept it just shy of shouting. “I panicked, okay? I’m sorry! What was I supposed to do?”

He stared at you for a moment, his face a mix of annoyance and bafflement, before leaning back again. You could see the wheels turning in his head, though whatever he was thinking, he wasn’t about to share it with you.

You sank deeper into your seat, glaring at the table like it might offer some kind of solace. But all you could feel was the mortifying heat of his gaze, still fixed firmly on you.

Frankie scratched his forehead, his fingers dragging slowly down to his chin, where they rested briefly before falling to the table. His expression was skeptical, as if he were trying to solve a particularly irritating puzzle.

“Okay,” he started, his voice even but edged with disbelief. “So, you dated this guy for three months—”

“Four months,” you corrected, your tone clipped.

“Right. Four months. And then he left you to get engaged?”

“Yeah.”

Frankie leaned back, his posture deceptively relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes gave him away.

“You’re telling me he cheated on you, and you’re still planning to go to his fucking wedding? Are you out of your mind?”

He propped his chin on his left hand, elbow planted firmly on the table, and his gaze locked onto you. There was something in his expression that made your stomach twist—a combination of pity and incredulity that made you feel stupid, even if he hadn’t said the word outright.

“No, he didn’t cheat on me,” you replied, lowering your voice as you leaned forward slightly, not wanting anyone else to overhear. “We weren’t in a serious relationship. We were just... casually dating. He was always in love with her, but they couldn’t figure things out. I knew that. He told me.”

Frankie’s eyebrows lifted, his disbelief evident.

“He told you he was in love with another woman, and you still kept dating him?”

“No,” you shot back, frowning. “He told me after a while—around the time we broke up. I would never date someone who was in love with someone else.”

“But you were in love with him, weren’t you?”

There it was. That tone. The one that suggested Frankie thought he had you all figured out, as if your life and feelings were nothing more than a series of obvious moves on a chessboard he could read from across the room. He was so infuriatingly arrogant, so sure of himself.

You narrowed your eyes, but the involuntary twitch of your eyebrows betrayed you.

“I had feelings for him,” you admitted, your voice stiff with frustration.

Frankie tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking into a half-smile that made you want to smack him.

“Okay, let me make sure I’ve got this straight: this guy you casually dated for four months left you for another woman, got engaged, invited you to the wedding, and you, still hung up on him, agreed to go but invented an imaginary boyfriend so you wouldn’t have to show up alone. That about right?”

“I’m not in love with him,” you snapped, crossing your arms defensively and shaking your head.

“I don’t believe you."

“I don’t care what you believe."

“You want to know what I think?”

“Are you deaf?” you said, your lips pressing into a pout. “I just told you I don’t care.”

“I think you’re crazy for going to that wedding,” he said, leaning forward slightly. His voice dropped lower, as though he were sharing a secret, though his words carried no sympathy. “Do you want to torture yourself or something? Are you a masochist?”

The word slipped out like a dagger, his eyes narrowing as he studied your reaction, his face drawing closer, his voice almost a whisper.

You exhaled sharply, a mix of frustration and disbelief, biting your lower lip as you turned to look out the window. The distant hum of cars on the road outside felt like the only thing grounding you in the moment.

When you looked back at him, your voice was steadier, quieter.

“We’re friends. Things between us ended well. Why wouldn’t I go to his wedding?”

“So he broke your heart, and you’re still going to his wedding. Got it.” Frankie leaned back slightly as he said it, his tone deliberately even, but the words were sharp enough to make you flinch.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, anger mixing with a deep, familiar embarrassment.

“Why the fuck do you care anyway? I already told you everything. Make fun of me all you want, but stop interrogating me and leave me alone.”

Frankie’s eyebrows lifted, his expression shifting into something maddeningly amused. A slow, sarcastic smile spread across his face, the kind that made your stomach twist in irritation.

“You got me involved in this, remember?” he said, his voice light, almost playful, which only made you angrier.

“It was just a little lie, that’s all.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head.

“Well, you didn’t think it through,” he said flatly, reaching across the table to grab the menu you’d abandoned. He straightened it out in front of him, his fingers smoothing the creases, and his eyes scanned the options with an air of exaggerated focus.

For a moment, you thought he might actually drop it. But of course, he didn’t.

“I wonder what he’ll think,” Frankie said suddenly, his tone casual but cutting, “when he sees you show up to the wedding alone.” His eyes stayed on the menu, but his words hung heavy in the air between you. “You should’ve come up with something else. Be more witty next time. Or, I don’t know, just don’t go to the wedding. That works too.”

Oh.

Your stomach churned at the thought, the weight of it pressing down on you as your mind raced through the possibilities. He was right, of course. What were you going to do? There was no way you could actually show up to the wedding now. You’d have to turn down the invitation at the last minute, make up some absurd excuse about why you couldn’t make it. Or maybe you wouldn’t say anything at all. Harry didn’t deserve an explanation. He wasn’t entitled to one.

The silence stretched between you, uncomfortable and loud. You didn’t answer him. What could you say? You felt silly, even ridiculous, sitting there, replaying the moment over and over in your mind. Of all the places in the world, did you really have to run into Harry there, in the middle of the road, with Frankie of all people?

None of this would’ve happened if Santiago had come to pick you up like he was supposed to. If he’d warned you he couldn’t make it, you would’ve saved yourself the humiliation. You wouldn’t have had to deal with Frankie’s smirking face or his infuriating commentary.

You stared at the table, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of it. God, why did everything have to turn into a mess? Why couldn’t things just go smoothly for once?

Frankie didn’t seem to notice—or care—that you hadn’t responded. He flipped a page of the menu, his expression unreadable now, as if he’d already moved on. But his words lingered, heavy and persistent, refusing to leave you alone.

With your appetite nearly nonexistent, you ordered a hamburger. It sat heavy in front of you, unappealing and far too big. You nibbled at it slowly, methodically, as if chewing it down might somehow help you swallow the rest of your humiliation. Across the table, Frankie made quick work of his own meal. He ate like someone who hadn’t seen food in days, the kind of eating that could make anyone watching feel small.

When he finished—barely ten minutes in—he leaned back in his chair and fixed you with a look. Not an outright stare, but enough of one that you could feel the weight of his impatience.

You didn’t care.

Instead, you turned your attention to the fries on your plate. Picking up each one with deliberate slowness, you savored them, your gaze drifting toward the window. Outside, the road stretched on endlessly, shimmering in the summer heat. Frankie sighed, low and exasperated, every few minutes, but to your surprise, he didn’t rush you.

When you finally stood to leave, Harry and Lisa were nowhere to be seen. Relief swept over you like cool water. If you’d had to exchange goodbyes with them, you were sure you’d lose every bite of food you’d managed to stomach.

You followed Frankie out to the car. His footsteps were quick and purposeful, the kind that demanded anyone trailing behind him keep up or risk being left behind. Once inside, the tight, enclosed space of the vehicle made your skin crawl. You clicked your seatbelt into place, but the snugness of the strap across your chest only added to your discomfort.

For a fleeting moment, you considered bolting. What if you just opened the door and threw yourself onto the hot, sticky asphalt? You’d roll a little, maybe scrape a knee, but at least you wouldn’t be here.

The car started with a low rumble, and Frankie turned up the music without a word. The sound wasn’t loud enough to drown out your thoughts, but it added a layer of noise, a distraction you didn’t ask for but didn’t resist either.

Your gaze shifted to the scenery blurring past the window. You rested your forehead against the cool glass, welcoming the breeze coming in through the lowered window. The air smelled faintly of gasoline and sun-warmed earth.

Frankie drove in silence, his hands steady on the wheel. His thumbs tapped along to the rhythm of the song playing faintly in the background—Rebel Yell by Billy Idol. You stared at the horizon, but your mind kept circling back to him.

He probably thought this whole situation was hilarious. You could see it in the way his eyebrows had lifted earlier, the way his lips twitched with incredulity every time he asked about Harry. He didn’t need to say it—he thought you were foolish, and maybe you were. You felt it, deep in your chest, that heavy, sinking shame that told you he was right to think so.

What the hell were you going to do?

Not going to the wedding wasn’t an option, not unless you wanted Harry to think you were still upset—or worse, that you still cared. But going? Going alone? That wasn’t an option either. You could bring someone else, maybe. But who?

Harry knew all your friends, and you didn’t have many male ones left who weren’t married, taken, or entirely inappropriate. Your brother’s friends? Sure, because that would work out great. Another one of Santiago’s buddies, strolling in on your arm. You ran through the list in your head. Will? No. Ben? Ben had a girlfriend.

It was hopeless. Every scenario felt more humiliating than the last.

God, you wished you could disappear. Or better yet, transform into something simple and unbothered. A worm, maybe. Worms didn’t have exes. They didn’t have weddings to dread.

You were spiraling, and it must have shown on your face because Frankie spoke up, his voice breaking through your chaotic thoughts.

“We’ll make a stop to fill up the tank, okay?” His tone was casual, distracted, as he turned left into the gas station lot.

“Sure,” you mumbled, barely lifting your head.

The car slowed to a stop, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. For a moment, the world outside felt steadier than the one inside your head.

You followed Frankie out of the car, your steps slower and more hesitant than his easy stride. He moved with the kind of casual confidence that seemed effortless, his shoulders relaxed and his head bobbing slightly as he hummed along to a song that had been playing a few miles back. The heat pressed down on you, thick and relentless, but he didn’t seem to notice.  

You lingered by the passenger side, arms folded across your chest. Your gaze flitted to the gas station shop, where shelves of snacks and cold drinks promised brief relief from the sweltering air. For a fleeting moment, you considered going inside—maybe grabbing a soda, or even just standing under the blast of an air conditioner. But then you thought about how much longer that would draw out this journey. The idea of extending your time in Frankie’s company, even by a minute, was enough to keep you rooted in place.  

So you waited, watching him in silence. He moved with the kind of efficiency you’d expect from someone used to things like this—mundane tasks, long drives, solitude. He didn’t rush, but he didn’t dawdle either. He glanced at you once as he replaced the nozzle, his expression unreadable, and then he climbed back into the car without a word.  

You followed suit, settling into your seat and pulling the door shut with a soft click.  

The miles ahead stretched out endlessly, yet the closer you got to Austin, the more your thoughts swirled. You cycled through possibilities, none of them good. Each option felt like another layer of embarrassment, a new way to showcase just how deeply you’d tangled yourself in this ridiculous situation.  

Eventually, your mind settled on one solution—a compromise of sorts, though it was far from ideal. You turned it over and over, weighing the risk against your pride. It felt heavy in your chest, but the closer you got to the city, the harder it became to ignore.  

Finally, as the familiar outline of Austin came into view, you forced yourself to speak.  

“Frankie,” you said, your voice tentative. You turned to look at him, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap.  

He didn’t take his eyes off the road. “What?”  

“You know,” you began, cautiously, “Santi loves you a lot. You’re one of his best friends.”  

“I know.” 

“And you must love Santi too, right? I mean, you’d do anything for him.”  

At that, he glanced at you, his brows knitting together in confusion. The kindness in your voice must have thrown him off. But what really seemed to unnerve him was the faint, almost hesitant smile you were giving him.  

“Of course I love him,” he said slowly, his tone edged with suspicion. “What do you want?”  

You smiled a little wider, tilting your head. “Why do you think I want something?”  

“Because you’re smiling at me like that,” he shot back, returning his focus to the road. “And it’s creepy. Stop it. You’re scaring me.”  

“I just think,” you said carefully, “that it was really nice of you to go all the way to Dallas to pick me up. You didn’t have to, you know. I could’ve taken a bus or figured something out. But you did it anyway. You did me a favor today, and I just—”  

He cut you off with a dry laugh, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. A bead of sweat had formed there, glistening in the harsh afternoon light.

“If you want to call it that,” he muttered.  

“I mean it,” you insisted, leaning slightly toward him. “You didn’t have to do this. You could’ve said no, and I wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. Why?”  

His grip tightened on the wheel, and he shot you another quick, sidelong glance. His expression was guarded, like he wasn’t sure where this was going or if he wanted to know.

“I dunno,” he said finally, his tone clipped. “Because Santi asked me to. Because I had nothing else to do. Does it matter?”  

You pursed your lips, staring straight ahead as your thoughts spiraled. Why were you nervous? It wasn’t fear—definitely not fear of him. But still, there was something about Frankie that unsettled you, something sharp-edged and unyielding in the way he looked at you, like he could see more than you intended to show.

You forced yourself to steady your breathing, trying to reason with your own hesitation. It didn’t matter if he was intimidating. It didn’t matter what he thought of you.

“I think you should come to the wedding with me,” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you had the chance to second-guess them. As soon as they were out, you snapped your gaze away, focusing intently on a crack in the dashboard as though it held the secrets of the universe.

“What?” Frankie’s tone wasn’t as surprised as you’d expected—it was more amused, like he thought you’d just said something profoundly ridiculous.

“You should come to the wedding with me,” you repeated, forcing yourself to look at him this time.

He turned his head briefly, his eyes scanning your face, his expression unreadable. He seemed to be studying you, trying to decide whether you were joking or if you’d completely lost your mind. Finally, he clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“No,” he said flatly.

“Frankie.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked, his voice rising slightly in exasperation. “Did you hit your head or something? Have you completely lost it?”

“No, just hear me out,” you said, raising a hand in what you hoped was a calming gesture. He shot you a wary glance but didn’t interrupt. “It’ll just be a favor—a small favor. I swear, if you do this for me, I’ll give you whatever you want. Wathever. Um, well—not whatever you want,” you corrected quickly. “Something reasonable. Something human. Please.”

Frankie snorted, a small, incredulous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re asking me to pretend to be your boyfriend at the wedding of a guy who dumped you? And you’re the sister of one of my best friends?” He shook his head, laughing quietly, like he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of your mouth.

You sighed, the weight of your desperation pressing down on you.

“Santi will understand,” you argued, your tone bordering on pleading now. “He will. And it’s not like I’m asking for much—just come with me for a little while. We don’t even have to stay all night. Just long enough to…” You trailed off, realizing how pathetic you sounded. “Just long enough to make it believable.”

“Sorry, no,” Frankie said firmly, cutting you off. “I’m not getting dragged into your drama. And honestly? I think it’s stupid for you to go to that wedding in the first place. What are you trying to prove? My answer is no. Invite someone else.”

Frustration burned in your chest, rising up to your cheeks as his words landed. You could feel your face heating, both from embarrassment and anger.

“I can’t invite someone else,” you snapped. “You’re my boyfriend, remember? That’s what Harry thinks. He saw you. They saw you. And you did a pretty good job pretending to be nice to me today—can’t you do it one more time? Just this once?”

“No—”

“I’ll do anything you want,” you interrupted, your voice insistent. “I mean it. Any favor you can think of. Just name it.”

Frankie tilted his head, giving you a skeptical look.

“I’m not interested in any favors from you,” he said bluntly. “I don’t need anything.”

“Then do it for Santi,” you said, desperate now.

Frankie laughed at that, a low, disbelieving sound that only irritated you further.

“What does your brother have to do with any of this?”

“He’s your best friend,” you said, leaning toward him slightly, like you could will him to understand. “And you love him. And I’m his sister.”

“Uh-huh,” Frankie said, still smirking. “So?”

“So, doesn’t that mean you should help me?”

Frankie’s laugh grew louder, his shoulders shaking slightly as he glanced at you.

“You’re really reaching now, aren’t you?”

He turned to look at you then, the movement deliberate, his eyes narrowing slightly as they met yours. There was no malice there, but the firm set of his jaw told you all you needed to know—there was no convincing him. He understood the weight of your request, the quiet urgency stitched into each word, but it didn’t sway him.

“I’ve never asked you for help before,” you said, your voice softer now, almost brittle. “In fact, I’ve refused your help plenty of times. You said I was childish, remember? Well, fine. Maybe I’m being childish. But now I’m asking. Just this once.”

He shook his head slowly.

“It’s not the same thing,” he said, his voice low and steady, like he was trying to explain something simple to a child. “And you are being childish. Like I told you—no. The answer’s fucking no.”

You blinked hard, swallowing against the sting of rejection that settled heavy in your throat.

“Okay, fine,” you replied, the word clipped, your voice devoid of emotion. You turned your face away from him, angling it toward the window, not wanting him to see the look on your face—humiliation, maybe, or something closer to defeat. “Thank you.”

Frankie sighed, long and low, his hands flexing around the steering wheel as though he were squeezing the last ounce of patience from himself. The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the low hum of the car and the faint thrum of your pulse in your ears.

The rest of the drive passed without a single word exchanged. You stared out the window while Frankie focused intently on the road, his grip on the wheel tight and unyielding.

When the car finally pulled up in front of your house, the relief that washed over you was immediate and overwhelming. You reached for the door handle, your fingers trembling slightly, and stepped out into the humid air.

Frankie followed, moving around to the back of the car with the same mechanical precision he’d had all day. He popped the trunk and pulled out your suitcase, the effort seemingly as uninspired as when he’d loaded it hours ago.

He carried it to the door and set it down, his movements brisk, almost dismissive. You stood there, arms crossed, your body angled away from him, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“That’ll be all,” he said finally, his tone flat, his sunglasses obscuring his eyes on your face.

“Thank you,” you murmured, barely audible. “I’ll let Santi know I’m home.”

“Good.”

You didn’t look up as he turned back toward the car. You didn’t watch him leave, but you heard the sound of his door slamming shut, the low rumble of the engine as he drove off.

As the noise of his departure faded into the distance, you stayed rooted to the spot for a moment longer, the weight of the day pressing heavy on your shoulders. The heat prickled against your skin, and your head ached faintly, a dull reminder of how much you wanted this day to end.

You grabbed the handle of your suitcase, pulling it inside as the silence of the house enveloped you. You needed a shower—cold water to wash away the heat, the frustration, the embarrassment of it all. You needed to be alone, to let the day dissolve into nothingness behind a locked door.

Nearly two weeks slipped by, lost in the haze of your routines and the background hum of self-destructive thoughts.

What were you going to do? Probably nothing. You wouldn’t go. That was the easiest answer, and maybe the only one that made sense. What choice did you really have?

Still, Frankie’s words stuck in your head, gnawing at the edges of your resolve. What are you trying to prove? he’d asked. And after a few restless nights, staring at the ceiling and replaying the conversation, you realized he was right. You did want to prove something—to Harry, to yourself. You wanted him to see you happy, radiantly happy, at his wedding, as though it didn’t touch you at all. You wanted to seem light and unbothered, the kind of woman who could be at her ex’s wedding without flinching.

Except you did care. Of course, you cared. You hated that you cared. And you hated Harry for putting you in this position. How could you not be upset? The man had left you only a few months ago, and now he was marrying someone else. It wasn’t normal—none of it was. But you couldn’t shake the question gnawing at the back of your mind: why did you have to be the one left hurt?

And Frankie. You’d hated the way he’d looked at you when he said it; What are you trying to prove? What the hell were you trying to prove? like he couldn’t believe how foolish you were. If you hadn’t wanted to see him before, you definitely didn’t want to now. You resolved to talk to Santi, to tell him how uncomfortable the trip had been—without blaming Frankie, exactly—and to ask, kindly but firmly, that he warn you if Frankie would be around in the future.

It was humiliating, this whole situation. But you were sure about one thing: you never wanted to see Francisco Morales again.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving your kitchen in soft shadows as you stirred sugar into your coffee. Your gaze stayed fixed on your laptop, on Harry’s wedding invitation glowing on the screen. You’d read it so many times it felt permanently etched into your mind. But now, you’d decided. You weren’t going.

Your finger hovered over the trackpad, guiding the cursor to the “RSVP not attending” option. You paused, just for a second, your chest tightening. Then, before you could click, the doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, making you flinch.

Setting the mug down, you crossed to the window, peering out at the sidewalk. The sight below made your brows knit together. That couldn’t be right. Surely, you were imagining things.

You slipped on a pair of shoes and headed downstairs, opening the door without much thought.

“Francisco,” you said flatly, his name sitting awkwardly on your tongue. “What are you doing here? Did something happen with Santi?”

He dragged a hand over his mouth and shook his head, slow and deliberate.

“Can we talk?”

“About what?” Your tone was sharp, incredulous, your expression twisted like he’d just said something absurd.

He looked different somehow. Neater, you thought, though you hated yourself for noticing. His hair was slightly shorter, his beard more trimmed than usual.

He sighed, long and heavy, like he’d been forced into something he didn’t want to do. The sound made you laugh, a sharp, derisive snort. As if he had the right to be irritated. He’d shown up unannounced, at night, on your doorstep. If anyone should feel fed up, it was you.

“I’m going to help you,” he said finally, the words clipped and begrudging.

“With what?”

“With your ex.”

“What?” The confusion on your face deepened. “Harry?”

Frankie glanced to the side, as if checking for onlookers, before returning his gaze to you and nodding.

“Are there other exes you need help with?”

His question was thick with sarcasm, and you rolled your eyes in response.  

“Well, I don’t need your help anymore. But thanks,” you said quickly, your voice tight, as you began to push the door shut, inch by inch.  

Then his hand was on it, stopping you.  

“Wait,” he said, and this time his voice was different—tinged with something almost like desperation. “I’m serious.”  

You paused, narrowing your eyes at him through the gap.

“Why would you help me? You were very clear the other day,” you said, your tone sharp. “There’s no point in me going to the wedding.”  

“True, there’s no point,” he said, his gaze steady on yours. “But I know you well enough to know you’d love to go anyway. To show Harry how great you’re doing. Am I wrong?”  

“You’re wrong,” you shot back instantly, too quickly.  

Frankie sighed, the sound dragging out like he was trying to buy himself time. He glanced away for a second, then back at you, his expression suddenly resolute.  

“I’ll do whatever you want,” he said.  

You blinked at him, stunned into silence for a moment.

Then, with a raised brow, you asked, “Are you sick? Do you have a fever, Francisco?” You brought your hand up toward his forehead, but he flinched back dramatically before you could touch him.  

“What are you up to?” you asked, pulling the door open wider, suspicion laced in your tone.  

Frankie stood there, his posture stiff, his expression uncomfortable, like he was holding something in that might burst out if you pressed too hard.  

“May I come in?” he asked finally, his brown eyes soft and glinting, almost boyish.  

You hesitated, studying him for a few beats, letting the curiosity outweigh your disdain. Then you stepped back and opened the door fully, sealing the moment with the soft click of the latch behind him.  

Frankie climbed the stairs ahead of you, pausing at the top to wait as you opened the door to your apartment. He stepped inside, scanning the space.  

Your living room was warm, cozy but cluttered—books and mugs scattered across the coffee table and nearly every other available surface, interspersed with pens, pencils, and random odds and ends. Behind the sofa, the kitchen was visible, small but functional.  

You stood back, watching him take it all in. His expression was unreadable, but you imagined him silently judging the chaos. You almost wanted him to—let him think it was messy, or that your style was lacking. You didn’t care.

He didn’t belong there, in your space. Everything about him seemed incongruous with the world you’d built for yourself—his presence like a mismatched puzzle piece, forcibly shoved into place where it clearly didn’t fit. He was out of tune with your reality, standing in the warmth of your living room like he’d wandered in from an entirely different life.

You crossed to the kitchen island, where your half-drunk coffee sat waiting. Sliding onto the stool, you gestured at the one across from you.

“Have a seat.”

Frankie hesitated but eventually sat down, his movements stiff and reluctant, like he’d rather be anywhere else. His expression was tight, uncomfortable, like he was a vampire catching the faintest whiff of garlic in the air. His eyes landed immediately on your laptop, still glowing with Harry’s wedding invitation.

“I see you’re taking the wedding well,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You sighed audibly, refusing to take the bait.

“What do you want?”

As you waited for him to answer, you lifted your coffee to your lips. It had already cooled, the bitterness more pronounced now that it was lukewarm. Another thing he ruined for you, you thought bitterly. Your fucking coffee. 

“I’ve been thinking—”

“Congratulations,” you cut in, deadpan.

Frankie’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and unamused. He didn’t even blink, just stared at you like he was waiting for you to get it out of your system. You shrugged, feigning indifference, though the weight of his gaze made your skin prickle.

“I’ve decided I’m going to the wedding with you,” he said finally.

You raised an eyebrow, lowering your mug to the counter.

“You decided? I thought you didn’t want to go with me.”

“I don’t,” he said. His fingers brushed the edge of your laptop, tracing a line along it.

“But you’re still here,” you said, your voice laced with suspicion.

Frankie exhaled slowly, leaning back slightly.

“I’ll help you… if you help me.”

“If I help you? With what? Don’t tell me you’re finally going to therapy,” you blurted out, a half-smile tugging at your lips.

Frankie straightened in his seat, his back stiffening like you’d just landed a verbal jab. For a moment, it looked like he might get up and leave—walk out and never look back. But instead, he stayed. He clenched his jaw, his eyes locking on yours with a determined, almost defiant look.

“I had dinner with my family tonight,” he began, his voice measured but tense. “With my mom and two of my sisters—”

“Is that why you look like that?” you interrupted, tilting your head.

“What?”

“Like you finally took a bath,” you said, your smirk widening.

Frankie exhaled sharply, his patience visibly fraying. “Can you shut up and listen to me for a second? I’ll be brief.”

You held up a hand as if to say, Fine, go on.

“They’re nice, my family, but they won’t leave me alone,” he said, his tone growing more frustrated. “All through dinner, they kept asking me these awkward questions, trying to convince me to go on these dates they’ve been setting up with their friends’ daughters or coworkers or whoever.”

Your smile widened, thoroughly amused. “Why? Why don’t you just go? Come to think of it—”

“No,” he cut you off, his voice sharp. “I already agreed once, and it was a disaster. I’m not doing it again. And I’m not about to get into that with you.”

“Good,” you said, leaning back slightly. “Because I’m not interested.”

Frankie sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair.

“Every time I see them—for over a year now—it’s the same thing. They won’t leave me alone. And look, I get it. They’re trying to be helpful. But I’ve had enough.”

Your curiosity piqued at that. “What happened a year ago? Why?”

Frankie’s face tightened, his upper lip curling slightly as if the question had caught him off guard.

He frowned, his brows drawing together, before finally muttering, “That doesn’t matter.”

The dodge only made you more curious, but you let it go, watching as he leaned forward slightly, his hands gripping the edge of the counter.

“The point is,” he continued, “I got fed up. So tonight, when they started in on me again, I told them to back off. That I didn’t need them setting me up on dates because… because I already have a girlfriend.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, their weight sinking in.

Oh.

“Oh,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your eyebrows lifted just enough to show your surprise, though you tried to mask it.

Frankie shifted in his seat, his gaze falling to his hand resting on his knee. He shook his head slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible motion, as though he was trying to block out whatever he feared you might say next.  

“Funny,” you said, your voice light with mockery. “And your mother believed you?”  

When he looked up at you, his expression darkened. The amused smile playing on your lips ignited a flash of irritation in his eyes. You looked entirely too entertained by the situation, and it made him bristle.  

“Hardly,” he admitted, his tone sharp. “I don’t even think I convinced her. That’s why I need your help.”  

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly, as though creating space from whatever absurdity was about to come out of his mouth.

“You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”  

Frankie nodded once, curtly. “My mom’s birthday is in a few days. She’s turning sixty. She’s having this big nice party, and she told me she wants to meet my girlfriend then.”  

You crossed your arms, still trying to gauge whether or not this was some elaborate joke.

“When’s the party?”  

“Next Saturday.”  

Your eyebrows shot up, and your lips parted in disbelief.

“Francisco,” you grumbled, the word low and heavy. “That’s in three days.”  

“I know,” he muttered, matching your tone. His jaw tightened like he was already regretting the entire conversation.  

“And what did you tell her?” you demanded. “What did you say when she asked?”  

Frankie’s hand moved to the counter, his fingers drumming once before he let them still.

He hesitated, and then, in a resigned voice, said, “I told her yes. That I’d bring my girlfriend to her birthday.” He paused, meeting your gaze. “So she’d finally leave me alone.”  

You pushed back from the stool, standing in one swift, exasperated motion. Your hands flew to your hips, your whole body radiating irritation as you glared at him.  

“Oh, so you just assumed I’d help you, didn’t you?” you snapped, your voice loud in the otherwise quiet apartment. “What if I said no?”  

“I knew you wouldn’t say no,” Frankie said, meeting your anger with calm certainty.  

You let out an incredulous laugh, your head tilting back briefly before you fixed him with a sharp look.

“My God, what’s wrong with you? You don’t know what I’m thinking.”  

He didn’t flinch, though you could see his patience thinning in the slight twitch of his brow.

“I know you well enough to know you’ll say yes,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact, as though he were stating the obvious.  

The sheer audacity of it made you want to scream.

Frankie rose from his spot, his movements deliberate and quick. His footsteps echoed as he crossed the room, closing the space between you with purposeful strides. He stopped in front of you, standing taller, looking down at you with an intensity that was hard to ignore.  

“I know you want to go to the wedding,” he said, his voice firm. “I know you asked me to go with you, and you were persistent. And anyway, I think you owe me.”  

You blinked, incredulous, a small laugh escaping your lips despite yourself.

“I owe you?”  

Frankie’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he took a small step closer.

“Don’t forget that the only reason you didn’t make a complete fool of yourself in front of Harry was because I decided to help you. I played along. If I’d wanted to, I could’ve exposed you in front of him and his fiancée. I could’ve made it worse.”  

“Thank you so much, Francisco, you're a fucking angel,” you spat, your tone thick with sarcasm, though the incredulous smile on your face betrayed how absurd it all felt. “What do you want me to do? Give you a hero of the century award?”  

Frankie’s expression didn’t waver; he was dead serious. “No. Come with me to my mom’s birthday and we’re even.”  

You froze for a moment, processing his words, the sheer audacity of them making your heart skip a beat. This was beyond ridiculous.  

"You're fucking crazy! Are you serious?" you demanded, unable to hide the disbelief in your voice. "It’s not even close. Harry’s my ex something, nothing more. And you’re asking me to go with you to a family event, full of your relatives, and you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend in front of all of them?”  

Frankie’s eyes flicked upwards, his impatience seeping into his expression. He rolled his eyes.  

“It’s not like we’re getting married,” he said, dismissive, his voice tinged with frustration. “You’re exaggerating. It’s not the first time I’ve taken a girlfriend to a family thing. What are you, fifteen?”  

You crossed your arms, giving him a skeptical look. “I don’t know, by my standards, introducing a girlfriend to your family seems like a pretty serious thing.”  

Frankie exhaled through his nose, clearly growing more insistent. He looked at you with unwavering intensity, his gaze now pointed, as if trying to break through the walls you were building between you and this ridiculous proposition.  

“I’ll take care of that,” he said, his voice steady but with a finality that made it clear he wasn’t backing down.

You stood there for a moment, the room stretching in a strange, suspended silence. You weighed his words in your mind, the absurdity of the situation tangled with a strange sense of reluctant curiosity.  

“Are you really going to accompany me to the wedding?” you asked, your voice quieter than you’d intended, the question slipping out like something you hadn’t meant to say aloud.  

Frankie nodded, a reassuring, almost teasing gesture, as though he was certain he had already won.

“I’ll help you catch the bouquet and everything,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling in a grin that almost made you want to punch him.  

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, your voice edged with irritation.  

“And yet, here you are, still going with me to that wedding.”  

Frustration rose in your chest, pooling in your throat like heat. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the rush of emotion that threatened to spill over. How utterly insolent. How impossible.  

“Fine,” you finally spat out, barely containing the anger simmering beneath your words. “I’ll help you. But you’d better make my time count, Francisco.”  

He flashed a half-smile, the kind of smug, self-satisfied smirk that made your fingers itch to slap him. You wanted to say something else—something cutting, something that would make him regret this entire conversation. But you couldn’t.  

Instead, Frankie reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen a couple of times before handing it to you.

“Give me your number.”  

You took the phone from him with a swift, almost startled motion, your fingers brushing against his as you punched in your number. The action felt mechanical, as if you were moving through a script you didn’t want to follow. When you handed it back to him, you watched him tap the screen, adding you to his contacts with deliberate motions. His fingers moved quickly, but you couldn’t catch the name he gave you. It was probably something ridiculous, something that made you cringe even without knowing it.

He didn’t say anything, just slid the phone back into his pocket, and turned to head for the door. But before he reached it, he stopped and looked at you, his eyes meeting yours once more.  

“I’ll text you,” he said abruptly, almost as if it were a last-minute afterthought.  

And then, without waiting for a response, he opened the door and left, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the quiet stairs. You stood there, still staring at the empty doorway, the weight of his words hanging in the air long after he was gone.

With one click, you confirmed your attendance.

tags: @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti (a few of the tags aren't working, idk why, fix it tumblr!!!!)

beautiful divider by @saradika-graphics 💗

[d-emeter]

Breakfast, lunch and dinner (or: cod characters and how they eat you out) — plus-size!fem!reader x cod characters

Includes: Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, König, Graves, Alejandro, Rudy, Valeria

Note: take this as my formal apology for being inactive for so long :') exam week had me hanging on by a thread and i'm also suddenly moving so. yay. expect some more action after like... this week i hope

John Price

Listen. Getting eaten out by Captain Price is not, in any way, meant for your pleasure. No, this is him disciplining you. It hardly even matters what for. Maybe you have been teasing him, sliding your hand up his thigh under the table, rubbing your ass against him while passing by him. Maybe you've been a brat all day, complaining and huffing and puffing about everything, barely listening to any of John's requests and/or demands. Either way, sit on his desk and spread your fucking legs, doll. He'll be edging you for what feels like hours, tongue moving so torturously slow that all coherent thought has seeped from your brain aside from how badly you want to cum. Too bad, bad girls don't deserve to finish this easily.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

With Simon, it's always a surprise what position you'll end up in. The only certainty you have is that it's definitely not what you'd expect, and sometimes you wish that for once he'd just lay you down and get busy. But alas, he'll have you kneeling with your face in the pillows, or bent over the back of the couch. Maybe he'll have you hanging off the edge of the bed so all the blood flows to your already overheating brain. You're clinging onto whatever you can get a hold on, mostly in pleasure, and sometimes in fear of falling when he has you up on his shoulders and leaned against the wall. Well, he doesn't exactly hear your complaining over your moans and whimpers, he argues, and he wouldn't dream of dropping you.

Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish

As with Price, this has little to do with your pleasure: it's all for his own benefit. Please, lass, he loves your cunt, and she loves him, doesn't she? Come on, let him have a taste. He could give two shits about where you are or how convenient it is— if he wants to lick your pussy, he's going to. He's down on his knees while you're desperately clinging onto the kitchen counter, or the shower wall, or the shelves of your pantry. Hell, you'd have to hope and pray a sales associate won't come by your changing room in fear of them hearing all of his moans. Oh, and you quickly find out you cannot wear a skirt around him, because it won't come down from your hips if he has any say in it.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

He's devastatingly methodical. He knows your body better than you do at this point, and he's not afraid to use this to his advantage. He can work you just right, but the worst part is that he will refuse to. Unless you kindly ask him for it, that is. Tsk, pretty girl, use your words. Let him know where you need him, what you need him to do. He's hovering close enough that you can feel his breath on your neglected clit, your cunt clenching around nothing in desperate search for friction of any kind, but he won't do anything until you tell him in excruciating detail what you want. And be aware, any time you stop talking, he's pulling away in a second.

König

Oh, König... Sweet, wet-rag-of-a-man loser that he is, will completely lose his mind any time you allow him near your pussy. He can practically feel his brain melting while he's drowning himself in your slick, and he looks like it too. His eyes have rolled back, face flushed and his eyebrows scrunched in pure, unadulterated pleasure. His body has turned to complete mush, his cock leaking against the sheets and hands clawing onto any part of your body he can reach (which, with his arms, is basically everywhere). Unintelligible mumbles made into your cunt, teetering the edge between praise and begging. He is a little inexperienced, Schatz, so you'll have to show him how you like it. Shove his face between your folds and ride his nose, and you'll have him moaning like a bitch in heat. When he finally comes back up for air you can tell you're not the only one that reached heaven just now.

Philip Graves

I'm going to speak my truth here, he does not strike me as the kind of man to give you oral all that much. I am SORRY, but it's true. He usually prefers to get you nice and ready for him with his fingers, or by having you ride his thigh, or simply from the absolute filth he spews into your ear while dry-humping. However, on the odd occasion that Phil does get down and dirty, he aims to make it special. It's strangely sentimental, actually. It'd be outside on a picnic blanket after his homecoming, or in your shared bed after your anniversary dinner. Anything that reminds him how much he loves you, and how much you mean to him, and he's going to show you with his tongue. There's reverence in every suck, praise in every lick and prayer in every word he murmers into your core. You're his goddess and he's just here to worship you, baby.

Alejandro Vargas

For Ale, it'd be a form of gratuity much in the same way it is for Graves, though the difference is that he'll use that as an excuse even for the most menial things. His belly nice and full after your homecooked dinner, grin on his face and asking when his dessert is being served. You've been so good to him, amor, welcoming him home with a smile and a kiss and a plate waiting for him, now let him thank you properly. You fixed the button on his shirt that had fallen off? Well, put it on and lay yourself down, time to lap at your cunt in thanks. It's gotten to a point where you're convinced he just decided his goal in life is to pull as many orgasms from you as possible. Not that you're complaining, of course.

Rodolfo 'Rudy' Parras

Eating you out is, in many ways, a means to an end for Rudy. He wants to make sure you're properly prepped and ready to take his cock, so it's almost instinctual for him to bury his face between your soft thighs for a while before inching himself into you. It's part of the routine, the way he thought sex was supposed to go. It's not until you explain to him that it can actually be the main event, and that you'd thoroughly enjoy it if he maybe put in a little more effort, that it dawns on him just how much he can actually do down there and how much time he's wasted not doing it. Now, tesoro, you may have shot yourself in the foot with that one, because he now can keep you pinned down for hours, just suckling away at your clit and fucking you on his tongue, dumb grin on his face after your fifth orgasm renders you basically comatose.

Valeria Garza

The only way Valeria will actually relax for once is with your pussy in her face. Seriously, you've tried everything else: lavender baths, deep tissue massages, even trying to get her to meditate. But no, the only time you actually see her shoulders lose all their tension is when she's between your folds. She's had such a long day, vida, come sit on her face. She's not even groping you the way she usually does during sex, hands instead playing idly with the fat of your thighs and ass while all her worries melt away. There are no thoughts running through her mind aside from how good you taste, how pretty you sound and how nice you feel under her hands.

[dwaekkicidal]

𓆩Face Sitting with Felix𓆪

fem!reader | warnings: felix is a munch + pussydrunk, overstim, oral (f receiving), spanking, dacryphilia(?)

brought to you by @chvnmax and i's genius noggins. we spoke about this earlier today so i had to write about it teehee

Munch Masterlist

Munch!Felix who comes home after a rough day to see you asleep in his bed in nothing but his shirt

Munch!Felix who finds himself immediately gravitating towards you, he runs his hands along the skin of your legs, thighs, and arms to ease you awake

Munch!Felix who, once he gets you half conscious, asks you to ‘help him feel better.’ And being the good, caring lover you are, who are you to deny him?

Munch!Felix who begs you to help by sitting on his face, even going as far as to pull out puppy dog eyes and a teary pout. "Baby pleaeeeese.. It's the only way!!"

Munch!Felix who easily convinces you to agree and once your still sleepy form is hovering over his face, he can already feel the stress start to melt off his shoulders

Munch!Felix who sinks his fingers into your plush thighs, pulling you fully onto his face as he showers kisses on your thighs, then trailing them to your now bare pussy

Munch!Felix who pulls you harder against his face as he swaps between sucking your clit and licking long, slow stripes along your folds, occasionally even dipping his tongue into your hole

Munch!Felix who moans against you with every grind you make, placing a kiss to your clit as a reward and as encouragement for the times you do it without his help

Munch!Felix who thrusts his hips from below you, humping the air as he eats up you and your moans as if he'll never experience them again

Munch!Felix who trails his hands under his shirt on you when you finally start to grind completely on your own, grabbing a handful of your boob with one hand and pinching your nipple with the other

Munch!Felix who brings you to an orgasm scarily fast like this, moaning into you as he finally gets his well earned reward: the taste of your cum on his tongue

Munch!Felix who ‘still doesn’t feel good’ and decides that he needs more.

Munch!Felix who stares up at you with darkened eyes, staring into your teary ones as he holds you to him tighter and doubles his efforts

Munch!Felix who you feel smirk against your folds as your legs try to close around his head when the overstimulation starts to hit hard

Munch!Felix who moves his hands to your hips and your ass when you go to pull yourself off of him, pulling you back onto him and mumbling something along the lines of "Where do you think you're going..?"

Munch!Felix who slams his hand down against your ass as a warning to sit still, “or else.”

Munch!Felix who inevitably adds his fingers to the mix, shoving two into you off the bat and making sure to curl them nice and roughly

Munch!Felix who holds you against him, growling against your cunt and smacking the skin on your ass until its a bright red every time you try to push him away

Munch!Felix who does this nonstop until tears are rolling down your face you're convulsing uncontrollably. Then he FINALLY allows you to pull away because he's officially satisfied with his efforts

Munch!Felix whose beautiful freckles glisten from your cum all over his face, the light on the bedside lamp illuminating it further

Munch!Felix who holds the biggest shit eating grin as he wipes off some of his face and pulls you into a kiss, squeezing and massaging the fat of your hips and your ass as you guys make out

Munch!Felix who puts you in a false sense of security when he lays you back down, only to hike the shirt above your chest and grope your chest

...but if you think that even after all the orgasms he pulled from you that he won't fuck you into the mattress right after, then you are severely mistaken <3

[everythingspokenfor]

Helping hand

All characters are aged up 18+. MDNI

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

"So you have never done it." You looked at him expectedly, like the answer you want from him is a day to day query, like this isn't an embarassing situation to land up in.

Bakugou fidgeted with his fingers, rosy blush spreading from his ears to the column of his throat. He looks at everything but you.

"there is nothing wrong with it," you are trying to help, "you have nothing to be embarassed about", but you aren't really helpful, every word that leaves your glossy lips pushing Bakugou further into humiliation.

"it's just.. I don't do it.. like my quirk, I sweat alot, I don't wanna blow my, you know", words finally spill out his lips, a little jagged but you take what you get. A big small part of you want to make a crude joke, tease him, say something stupid like he doesn't want his dick blown- but you stop, he has barely started coming out of his shell, any further teasing is simply going to get you kicked out of his room.

So, you choose to wait, let him get out any more words he wishes to say, when he doesn't, you continue," I see, we don't have to do anything major today", the implication of your statement makes Bakugou's imagination wild, his hips subconsciously humping the air, you notice it, he doesn't, "I'll go easy today, it'll help with the nerves, do you watch porn?."

You question baffles him but he still answers, nodding his head before already answering the question you would have asked next,"it's.. mild.... Like mild stuff, foreplay then sex haven't really paid mind to it", he is no longer fidgeting with his hands, they are now tightly gripping the bed beside his thighs.

Nothing to obstruct your view of his lap, you see his cock, it's hard and it's thick so thick that it probably won't be able to lift it's own weight. And it's creamy, distinct head of his cock, visible easily because all the precum that's leaking out, it's alot, messily smeared over his sweats.

"I guess I'll take things in my hands", another crude joke bubbles in your mind at your own words,"I'll do things at your pace, today I'll give you a handy, tomorrow we'll figure more out."

As much as teasing him was fun, you knew he needed release, today you'll spear him, you suppose.

Bakugou tensed up, probably imagining you giving him a handy, the word itself making him cringe. "you can do it", he mumbles, humping his hips up again this time more prominent. "Do what?", you question innocently, hand barely hovering over his thighs.

He knows you are teasing him, he looks at you like he hates you but his cock weeps, prominent drop of precum dribbles out. "Give me a handy, bitch." Desperation evident in his voice, tongue spitting venom because you won't let his cock splurt.

He barely has time to react before you grab his cock through his sweats and squeeze , already hard for so long, poor Bakugou cums before you even have a chances to stroke him.

His orgasm causing him to hunch over, both his hands grabbing your wrist and tightly pressing against his cock. Mouth open, in a silent moan, toes curled hlon his sock clad feet. He lets go of your hand and collapses back on the bed. Heavy breathing, accompanied by loud heart beats ringing in his ears.

You slowly pull your hand away, motion causing him to let out a hiss. "Don't fucking say it." He grits out, hand over his eyes.

You don't really know why you do it, the thought of teasing him not really in your mind, maybe you were asking pathetic of a mess as he was.

You looked at your hand, cum smeared on your fingers, before you put them in your mouth and sucked them clean.

"good diet." You breath out, before swiftly leaving the room.

Bakugou lay there, dumbfounded, and more pent up than he was before.

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

[tsukkilody]

ride of his life ── .✦ tsukishima kei

cw: fem bodied, chubby reader, smut, pwp, face fucking, pussy eating, gn!reader, wears panties tho.

words: 2,5k

"but kei, I'm gonna crush you" your voice comes unsteady as you nibble on your bottom lip, he just finished getting comfortable after laying down on the bed.

"I don't see the problem with that" he deadpans, locking his eyes with yours. you swallow hard, him being so nonchalant about this is really hot, the scene right in front of you is unbelievably hot on itself, your shirtless boyfriend lying comfortably with both hands resting behind his nape against the pillow, pants already undone pooling right under his underwear that's showing the outline of his hard member which you've been previously playing with, you'd be still going at it if he hadn't stop you, offering a hand for support helping you up from your knees as he voiced his desire for you to sit on his face.

you felt your cheeks get even warmer and your body tremble at the thought, you've never done that, not with kei nor with anyone else, sure you knew it was a possibility but never considered it something you'd actually do, not with a build like yours at least, just the solid mental image of your voluptuous body dropping it's full weight on someone's face made you flinch, but with kei it was a different story, since you started dating him not so long ago, there's hardly a day you feel ashamed about your curves, he makes you feel lovable and sexy, maybe he's not his best when it comes to verbal compliments, although he's trying, but he doesn't need them to make you feel that way, you can see it in the way he eats you up with his eyes, the way he embraces you fully, the way he touches you, all of you, doesn't skip over your stomach or your plump thighs, he says he's gonna devour you whole and he does. the mental image becomes less cringy and more appealing if it's him, but there's lingering doubts you wish just disappeared.

he looks up at where you stand right on the side of the bed, one of your legs is bent on top of it as if you were about to step up, but you don't move yet, still biting on your bottom lip and fidgeting with your shirt hem, you feel kei's warm hand against the thigh that's on top of the bed. his warm touch easing you up for a second, you observe him, his lips are parted as he breathes heavily but steady, glasses nasty from rubbing against your face when you two were making out just a few minutes ago, his fluffy hair disheveled against the pillow, and his half lidded gaze full of lust observing you with restless need, he squeezes your thigh and rubs it, his touch is far from soft but it isn't too harsh either, he's growing impatient, and that only turns you on more.

how could you decline your man's wish?

"look if you don't want to that's o-" he starts but you cut him off

"i want to" you bite your lip, your chest raising with hefty breaths, kei raises his eyebrow and slightly tilts his head, a little smile forming on his glistened lips.

"then what the hell are you waiting for?" he's so fast that you don't even notice when he sat up slightly, grabbing you by the thigh and hips, getting you on top of him with one quick smooth motion. he manhandles you so easily as if you weighed nothing, and it's so exciting, always is. 

you are now sitting on his lap as he observes you and caresses your thighs, tracing circles with his thumbs and squeezing the flesh there.

he breathes in, then looks you in the eyes, and starts speaking "you feel so good on top of me babe..."then waits a few seconds, he drags his gaze through your whole body, before continuing talking "I can't begin to imagine how incredible you'll feel when you sit on my face"

you are very aware of the ability kei has to read you like an open book, and it's crystal clear that he senses your nervousness, but also your excitement.

he knows you're not laying, you want to do this, and he will never force you to do something if you don't want to, but needs to make sure that you're completely comfortable, so he's encouraging you. it's arousing to hear him talk like that, doesn’t happen very often, it’s mostly teasing he does, not that you mind tho. as you can feel right under your own crotch, his words and touching aren't just affecting your body but his too. his hands start pacing up your thighs to your hips then your waist, his grip firm, a repeating motion, up and down, you catch his hands with your own, like you were guiding them across your figure, but he's the one actually pulling the strings and you just need something more to anchor yourself to, you look at each other intensely, you are flushed, he nods slowly, a nonverbal agreement between you too.

you lean forward arching your back, cupping his cheek with your hand and deeply kissing him, the action was intended to come out a little softer but it wasn’t like that at all, too desperate for each other at this point to keep it toned down.

almost unconsciously you start rocking your hips, and his grip on them tightens, pushing you against his own, the friction finally giving you two some type of relief. a rusty moan escapes from your mouth and dies on his, he replies with a playful lopsided smile before continuing devouring you. 

you are too lost in his kisses that you don't even know when you lost your shirt, too lost in how your crotches meet against the other with every desperate thrust, he starts sucking on your tongue, and that’s what brings it back to your mind, the image of you on top of his face while he sucks on your clit the exact same way he’s sucking on your tongue right now. 

you pull away slowly, hips quivering and unsteady breaths, flushed cheeks and lidded gazes.

“let me eat you out already” he comes back to caressing your tights while looking directly into your eyes with his intense hazel ones. you don’t know how it’s possible, but every time after blinking he keeps looking hotter than the second before. 

in this state of mind you’ve lost the capability of overthinking, so you just lift yourself up from his lap and start dragging your knees through his sides until they reach the pillow where his head is resting, he embraces your tights from the top and places his hand on each of your ass cheeks, squeezing them, you bite your lips and impatiently wait for his next move.

he wiggles his head trying to find the most comfortable position, noticing that you’re still slightly stiff lifting your body above him, so he decides to grab your hips and pull you down himself, so now you’re squatting, almost sitting on his face, finally.

you grab onto the headboard, feeling a bit lost on where to place your hands, but you won’t fall forward anyway, he’s holding you too tight for that to happen.

he licks his lips, your crotch is right in front of his face, still covered tho, but your labia is sticking to the underwear fabric so beautifully, making it’s outline clearly visible and decorated with a big delicious wet spot, it’s a mouth watering sight, literally. kei swallows and looks up at you once again only to redirect his gaze to your aching core. 

he detaches one of his hands from your butt and guides it to your front, he holds his index finger against the skin right under your belly button and teasingly trails it down until it’s between your folds, he stops there for a second, and you’d swear you heard him cuss under his breath, then he drags the finger to the side hooking it on the hem of your panties and moves them out of the way, leaving you on full display just for him.

you nibble on your lower lip, hips eagerly trembling as you expect kei to to just connect his mouth to where you most need him, but instead he starts talking.

"you're such an idiot" he says, you can't really see his mouth from this angle but by the way he sounds and his eyes slightly squint is enough to tell you that he's cockily smiling. Your breath gets caught for a second, it confuses you, why would he say that just now? but he doesn't give you time to overthink it.

"how could you ever think that i wouldn't enjoy this…” he sighs slowly, you’re so wet that his breath against you feels almost cold “when it's the hottest thing ever" his voice gets deeper and low as he finishes that sentence “fuck babe…” says almost inaudible before finally connecting his mouth to your sex. 

your hips tremble as you arch your back, even with only one arm he’s got you secured so you don’t fall forward, said arm is strongly pressing you down, urging you to stop being rigid and simply drop onto his face, you comply, lowering your hips slightly, he starts lapping on your clit heavily, making your eyes roll back. 

your taste on his tongue is delightful, but kei wouldn’t dare to close his eyes and just enjoy the meal when he has such a show in front of him, not only in front of him, above, below and beyond, at least that's how it feels. if he looks at his sides your thighs are there, not quite crushing him but god he wouldn’t mind that, if he detached from your center, thing that he had to be crazy to do just now, he’d have the gorgeous view of your body above him, your stomach hanging perfectly for him to hold and caress. you’re all over him, everything around him is you and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

he’s too lost in you, smooching, licking and sucking fiercely on your folds, squeezing your thighs and butt, pressing you down onto him. he lets his hand off your panties, his face is stuffed in there so they’re not gonna get in the way at all. he places his hand on your stomach fondling it as well, he’s in heaven.

kei’s mouth is working wonders on your core, any second thoughts just fall silent as you only focus on how he’s making your body feel, carefreely moaning and slightly rocking your hips, it’s liberating. with each whimper that falls from your lips, you can feel how kei’s sucks harder on your swollen bud, making you sound even more worked up.

kei notices how you’re slightly thrusting onto his face and it makes him roll his eyes, he squeezes your body harder and for one second he dares to disconnect his mouth from you “yes! keep doing that, fuck” he shouts, sounding almost desperate, absolutely drunk on you. you’ve never witnessed him like this during sex and it awakens something in you.

you start to speed up your movements and he just opens his mouth and lets his tongue hang off, you get the hint, he wants you to ride it on your own and again, how could you decline kei's wish?

with each thrust your movements get bolder, intensely rubbing yourself further, from the bottom of his chin to his nose. the friction feeling fantastic against your swollen clit. 

you hear a low grunt that makes your core vibrate and tighten ‘did he just moan?’ you keep moving frantically and there it is again, a low groan, ‘oh god’ he’s getting so off to this, and the solid thought rises an electric wave from your lower stomach that spreads through your whole body. you whimper, it’s high pitched, it’s loud, it’s desperate “fuck! kei!” another wave strikes you, you’re on the edge, each brush against him making you jolt, it feels like you’re gonna combust and he senses it as well “cum for me, cum on my face!” he says, rushed so he can keep lapping on you but demanding. 

your movements start to get erratic and unsteady as you reach closer to your release, so he grabs your butt and moves you himself, helping you drag yourself against his tongue, a scream urges to escape from your throat but it only comes as a silent plea, your eyes shut together instinctively, he rolls his own as waves of pleasure erupt right from your core making each of your muscles tremble, you lose balance, but he’s holding you right where you belong in this exact moment, hips in his hands and lips sucking on your clit, letting you fully ride out your climax.

when it’s too much that you start to back down, he removes his mouth from you with a little squeaky sound and helps you sit back on his chest, fixing your panties on the way. he holds you softer now and comes back to tracing random patterns on the skin of your hips and thighs.

your eyes feel too heavy to open them yet, you can still feel how your core pulsates from such an intense orgasm, your ears are ringing, your body is covered in a layer of sweat and your muscles feel heavy, so you let your head fall back for a minute as you try to regain yourself. 

kei doesn’t stop the little motions with his fingers as he comes down from his own high, he’s painfully  hard but that can wait, he wants to focus on you, so he waits patiently.

when your breath starts to steady it’s when you look down at kei again. he looks so messed up, his glasses sit crooked almost on his forehead, they’re foggy and dirty, the bottom half of his face is coated with your juices, it glistens. you almost feel bad, but it’s the look of pure bliss and that smirk on his face that retracts your head from feeling any close to sorry.

he adjusts his glasses and runs a hand through his bangs pushing all his hair back with it until it rests on his nape, he licks his lips, the smugness never leaving his expression “told you” 

you slide yourself down until you’re resting again on his lap, you quirk an eyebrow “told me what?” 

“that it’d feel amazing”

“i don’t think you were speaking for me there” your expression is tired but playful as you engage in his little banter.

he shrugs unbothered�� “i’m still right tho”

you roll your eyes and simply agree with a hum in reply as you lay down in his chest, he holds your face and closes the gap between you too, planting a sweet kiss on your lips.

“tired?” he asks, the complacent look replaced by a genuine smirk. you simply nod, your heavy eyelids closing on their own again, the feeling of his steady breaths and his hands running through your back are enough to put you into a pleasant sleep.

notes: aaaahhh!!! it's my first time posting something this long here, i think about sitting on tsukki's face so much so i finally wrote something about it... please be kind english in not my first language :p

[caitified]

Could you write something with CC who loves naps like always begging r to lay down with her and cuddle. I feel like her room is def -10 degrees and she uses it as an excuse to practically crawl under your skin

nap time

caitlin clark x reader

this was so personal to me as a nap enthusiast,those sound like my ideal conditions

caitlin loved naps more than just about anything. it didn’t matter how busy her schedule was—practice, games, workouts—she always managed to find time to crash for an hour or two. she swore it was essential for her performance, but you were pretty sure she just loved curling up in her fortress of blankets and dozing off whenever she could.

and since the two of you started dating, she’d made it her personal mission to drag you into her napping habits. at first, you resisted—claiming you had too much to do, that it was too cold in her room, or that you weren’t tired. but caitlin was nothing if not persistent, and her endless whining (paired with her ridiculous pouting) eventually wore you down. now, it had become routine for her to beg you to nap with her, using every excuse in the book to get you to crawl under her mountain of blankets and cuddle up.

so, when you walked into her room that afternoon and saw her already burrowed in her usual spot, you knew exactly where this was going.

“come lay down with me,” she whined, stretching out her arms toward you from her cozy little nest.

“caitlin, your room feels like a walk-in freezer,” you reply, arms crossed and standing your ground. “i swear i saw my breath when i walked in.”

“that’s because it’s the perfect temperature for napping,” she argues, sitting up slightly. the blanket slips off her shoulder, and she immediately grabs it and tugs it back up like a burrito. “come on, it’s freezing—i need you to warm me up.”

you raise an eyebrow. “if it’s so cold, why don’t you just turn the heat on?”

she gasps like you’ve just suggested something heinous. “are you trying to kill me? it has to be cold so i can burrito up. but you’re supposed to be part of this equation. please.”

her pout is devastating. it always is, but you don’t let her win too easily. you stand there for a moment longer, pretending to deliberate while she stares at you with wide, pleading eyes. finally, you sigh dramatically. “fine. but only because i don’t want to listen to you complain all day.”

she grins triumphantly and throws back the corner of the blanket. “come here. you’re not going to regret it.”

the second you climb into bed, caitlin wastes no time wrapping herself around you like an octopus. her arms encircle your waist, her legs tangle with yours, and she tucks her face against your neck.

“see?” she mumbles, already sounding halfway to dreamland. “this is perfect. you’re so warm.”

“you’re like an actual furnace,” you counter, laughing softly as she squeezes you tighter.

she hums in contentment, pressing a lazy kiss to your jaw. “that’s the point. now we’re the perfect temperature. don’t move.”

“i wasn’t planning on it,” you admit, feeling yourself start to relax against her. the chill of the room is long forgotten with caitlin clinging to you like a second skin.

her breathing evens out within minutes, and you glance down to find her completely out, her mouth slightly open and her hold on you still as firm as ever.

just as your own eyelids start to droop, she stirs slightly, nuzzling closer.

“love you,” she murmurs sleepily, the words barely audible but enough to make your heart swell.

“love you too,” you whisper back, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

thanks for reading! requests are open

[hh0320]

. ♡ ۫ . ୧ ⠁ room shots.

🪐 synopsis. you’re certain, if he moves away from that window, if he trespasses the invisible wall between you and gets what he came here for—there won’t be anything that either of you can do to stop him. he’ll ruin you. you’ll let him.

🪐 warnings. use of pet names, melancholy, alcohol abuse, rough play, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex.

🪐 word count. 3.6k

Three weeks.

The heart was still raw, tender. The flesh decaying, the sheets warm, the wine glasses untouched, as they were, as he left them on your window, the red deep, surface rippling every day with the evening train.

Sometimes, late at night, surrounded by unshakable silence, and only ever in the dark, you’d touch between your thighs and swear you could still feel his mouth hot on your aching cunt, his hair tickling the sensitive skin around it, his forehead feverish, resting against your pubic bone, his favorite spot to lay. It used to mortify you, that he would do this. You’d get all shy and red-faced, hiding your face in your hands, trying with a humiliating desperation to close your legs and push him away.

San would chuckle at your fickle attempts and pin you down on the mattress—the bed in the corner you cannot fall asleep on anymore—trailing open mouthed kisses from your navel all the way to the tips of your feet, whispering filthy things, things he did to you over and over again, despite your weak protests and even weaker threats.

‘I love this,’ he’d murmur with eyes closed, head returning to the place he knew most intently. ‘You give it to me so easily, it can’t be anything but mine. Here is where I can be closest to you. Show me you understand, sweetheart, because there’s no other way I can explain it.’

You did not understand. As he rings the doorbell to your apartment over and over like a madman, you cannot understand. Twenty-one days. He left after an argument over nothing of importance, and you haven’t seen him since. There were things that he’d said, words that you logically knew but could not comprehend, not when they came out of his mouth, and even now you refused to acknowledge. For all intents and purposes, this had been a break-up.

The break-up. One and only. San was an atomic bomb, a nuclear weapon that had wiped everything from your map, all familiarity, all dream of waking up after and somehow surviving his disappearance. You’d been a blank canvas when he met you, complete in his presence, completely empty in his absence. He’d taken all sun, all meaning, all joy and purpose with him, and left a harrowing death behind as white as snow, cascading over your entire life, sinking you down under.

Do you open the door? Do you let someone like that back in, after the wound had barely stopped resembling the shape of a being that could irrevocably hurt you; after the bleeding had finally managed to stop, and the tears had dried?

Let me mourn in peace, you plead in your mind. Go, and never come back, as your gaze remains locked on the doorknob, his shadow visible under the chipped door. You’ve been meaning to repaint. He’d offered to help you, to get all the parts you couldn’t reach, to ease the burden of mundane tasks that seemed to overwhelm you the most. Now, he stands on the other side, like a stranger. Self proclaimed.

You never agreed to this.

“How long are you going to pretend you’re not in there?”

Your heart does somersaults, your system kickstarting, voice operated. The flowers on your nightstand startle awake, unbending their back, proud and freshly cut once again. The lamp above your head stops flickering, your sink stops leaking. Your house was holding its breath, waiting for its unofficial owner.

Strange you don’t feel the same relief. Grief has wrapped vines around you and is squeezing with every haggard inhale. San is not using his key. He has one, you know because you gave it to him. He’s waiting for your consent. He’s being kind. Considerate.

You hate him a little, you think. You have no kindness for him, no compassion. He hurt you. A different sort of hurt than the one you allowed him. A hurt that went against everything you thought he was.

“Sweetheart,” he tried again. The pet name stabbed at you, pointed, a well-honed dagger. “Let me see you. ‘S all I want. Allow me. Please.”

“Why?” It comes out without you meaning to speak. The bitterness is choking you, thick and heavy in your chest. “Why should I?”

A long pause. The shadow shifts. You hear him sigh deeply, a sad sound that cuts your anger in two. Is there a possibility he’s hurting as much as you? Could there be an explanation for this mess he put you both through?

“I have no answer for that,” he replies, his voice faint. “You’re holding the reins, baby. It’s your choice.”

For a long time, you don’t move. You think, surely he’ll leave.

Now.

Now.

Now.

But he doesn’t. He stays put, and waits patiently. He has hope. He thinks you naive and foolish. Taken for granted. (He doesn’t.)

You reach for the knob out of spite. Greet him with all your broken heart, and find his soul bared in front of your eyes, pulsing miserably, half extinguished.

The usual glint in his gaze is muted, his face gaunt, pale. His hands are stuffed in the dark pockets of his coat, an impenetrable object that has never before revealed any weakness to you. It springs tears in your eyes where you thought there were none left to cry. San, the sweet man that had been whispering your name against your temple like the most ardent prayer every night, the man you never needed a label with because he was above all, above everything—

He towered over you like a place that was forbidden to enter. His raven hair had grown, the smudge of sleeplessness painted under his eyes like a repentance. Was he punishing himself for what he did? Did you want him to?

He looked so sad. His expression unreadable, but you could see his eyes roaming over you with a raw urgency, like he wanted to make sure you were unharmed, like there was nothing else he cared about in the whole world. You don’t know how much time passes before someone stirs.

It’s you. You’re the first one to break, moving aside for him to pass, for him to enter once again, and if it happens twice, at least you know it was your fault this time. You love him. You tried to forget him, but it’s too early to move on. He knows this. You hate that too. You hate it the most.

He looks around like he doesn’t belong, and then he stops. His eyes fall on the wine bottle, on the glasses. You watch him watch them. You left them there on purpose. You left them there because you couldn’t bear to touch them, and if he ever came back—you said this to yourself many times—you would make him wash them. You would pass him the towel to dry their rims, and you’d let him open your cupboards and store them where they go.

You’d leave it unsaid. You know me this well. You know me this well, and yet you dared to leave me anyway.

“You saw me, then,” you say, willing your hands to stop shaking, willing your voice to sound impassive. Who were you kidding. Your cheeks were wet. His jaw was clenched, locked at the sight. “Is that all?”

His hands come out of his coat. You notice how tightly shut they are, stuck to his sides as if gravity itself was pulling them down with extreme force. His boots were shiny leather, slightly worn out with use, the black of his pants pressed neatly to his long legs. He looked so put together, like nothing could ever possibly affect him. (You’re wrong.)

“Are you eating well?” Then something impossible happens. Something that, in the beginning, sounded like a harmless cough to you, turned into a wretched sob he shoved behind one of his fists, a dry, guttural sound that shook you to the core and scared you back. San rubs at his face once, exasperated, lonely, so impossibly lonely, his eyes coming away bloodshot.

“My fucking God, I can’t stand the sight of you so far away from me.”

There’s nothing you can say. Everything’s lodged in your throat, tearing at the flesh but ultimately unable to come up. You’re too shocked to speak, too stunned to react. You can only stare. You can only see him come apart at the seams.

He’s drunk, you realize in an absent sort of way. He’s fucking drunk. He came to you like this, a kicked dog, searching for his owner. But you were the one kicked. You were the one without an owner. Why, then, did it not feel like it anymore?

What has he done?

“Why are you here, San?”

“There’s nowhere else, sweetheart. Nowhere else I can go. Nowhere I belong.”

Lies, you vehemently refuse. You left that night. You had somewhere to go that night. He looks at you like you’re the only source of light. It fans a flame inside you that burns brighter and brighter. You’re afraid it’ll consume you before you’re done with him.

“Did you get your answer?” Behind your eyelids, a party, two people dancing, the distance between them carved with a knife, set in stone. Then, San, ruining everything. Going for blood. “Did you find out what you couldn’t get out of me?”

The man in front of you flinches, as if you hit him across the face. You want to, your palms are itching, but the thought of causing him pain is unfathomable. He was always the one drawing it out of you. Pleasure and pain. Pain and something worse. The recognition on his face is enough to erase all else.

This is how you two communicated best. You gave your body over to him. He did all, he did everything else. Trust absolute.

“Don’t do that,” he shakes his head categorically, and shrugs his coat off in an attempt to cool off, moving by the window, pain self inflicted. It’s not anger what he’s feeling, rather . . . a craving. An insatiable hunger. A longing desire. As gruesome and just as cruel as anything that could have his fists flying. “I never doubted you. It was me. I was furious with myself.”

A twist of the knife. Time wasted, time taken away from you because of a mistake. You cannot forgive that. It makes you feel better that you now know—so can’t he.

“So, that’s it then? All this for some heroic sense of self sacrifice? You broke my heart because you broke yours?”

He signaled with his eyes you were trudging dangerous waters. His straight brows falling heavy, expression becoming one of stoic rage, a careful edge to it that you had to walk through. You’ve understood it many times, have breathed deep breaths and taken your time with it. It means ‘don’t test me’. It means ‘me and you are the same, and I am telling you to stop.’

“How can I take care of you when I get like that?” He crossed the Red Sea to reach you, but he still wouldn’t touch you. From up close, making the effort to crane your neck brought all the memories back and the tears hot and running. San watched them fall with utmost difficulty, his hand raising to your cheek, a phantom haunting. “Do you even know, sweetheart, what you fucking do to me? I could lose my mind over you. It would be so easy . . .”

The bitterness that spills out of you in the form of a crazed, manic laugh does nothing to stop your heart from contracting all over again. “Then do it. Do it. Show me!” Your hands come up to bang against his castle wall of a chest, against stone and more stone. “Show me. You wanted to leave so bad, but what about me? What about me?” Uncontrollable, the avalanche of emotion. It tumbles out of you violently, it rages against everything that he is. “It was nothing to leave me behind. Nothing. That’s what you did. That’s all you did.”

San shakes his head, absolving everything. He binds your wrists under one big hand, and pulls you on him, his mouth crushing against yours ruinously, and as always, like every single time he does that, everything bleeds away like rain on glass.

It hasn’t been twenty-one days, instead mere hours, and he didn’t leave you as much as he went to get a change of clothes and came back right after, like promised. Time is impossible around him, it forgets to exist. He silences your mind, and induces memory loss. His strong legs carry you back to your bed, and when he lays you down, your bones sigh in relieved rest.

He never breaks away from you, not once, and you think it’s so he never has to hear those words come out your mouth ever again. As he pulls your hands over your head, you open your eyes to see he’s moving downwards, over your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin there, taking what has been left to pale over, no longer a painting of purple hues, but instead the blank canvas once again.

“I’ll say this to you only once,” he whispers fervently behind your ear, his knee parting your legs with ease, your hands reaching between you to unbuckle his belt, unzip his trousers, claw at his shirt. No time wasted. A river sweeping along everything in its path.

“Only once, because I cannot fucking bear it any longer,” fingers digging into your scalp as yours wrap around his cock, a hissed breath, a rocky exhale, then his tongue parting your lips, washing over you, washing away, taking for his own. “He’s in love with you. My best fucking friend, in love with my girl and I had to choose. I had to choose, because I love you both,” his erection pressed against your entrance as you angle your wrist, the tip rubbing on your clit as his hips begin to move, to familiarize themselves again—

“Because me being here hurts him, and me not being here hurts us.”

You hide your face in the crook of his neck, too lost in the feeling of him to realize the extent of his agony. What he’s really trying to tell you. Wooyoung has always been important to San. It’s been the two of them since before you came into the picture, since the beginning of existence it’s felt like, at times.

But as San shoves two fingers in your mouth and forces you to coat them with your saliva, as he curses at the sight and orders you to open wide and spits inside, as he shifts on his knees and pulls your panties to the side, as he delves deep and curls those same digits in your cunt—you forget what he means. You don’t think of the loss, or the sacrifice.

He’s here, his weight intoxicating, his breathing heavy, his hard cock arched upwards, touching his stomach. He wants to fuck you. He wants you. He never truly left.

“Please . . .” You moan brokenly, body writhing under what he only can provoke. “I missed you, please . . .”

His hair falls over his forehead, over his eyes, finally the last pretend making way for the man he is in your bed, for how he is when he’s with you. The warmth radiating through him is enough to solar an entire ecosystem, but his eyes, his mocha eyes—

They stare at you with something akin to marvel. Something that could go to war for nothing. I could tear myself apart for you, they say. I would betray my country. I would turn away from my friend.

It’s a sobering fact.

“Please what?” He asks, fucking his fingers into you, other hand rubbing over his lengthy cock sloppily, rocking with you to an invisible rhythm only your bodies understand. “What is it, sweetheart?”

You don’t even have to say it, your gaze is pleading enough.

When San enters you, you burst into tears and hold him close, tight against your breast, terrified for what will come next. Afraid for the moment this is over with.

“Why did you leave?” You sob at the top of his head, and he wraps his arms around your entire body, lifting you off the mattress to bring you on his lap, the position deeper than anything ever, the connection inexplainable.

“I don’t know,” he kisses your collarbone, your earlobe, pacifies you, brushes your hair away from your face, pistoling into you with fervor, with longing, begging for forgiveness, for retribution. “I don’t know, baby . . . Hush now, hush . . . I’m here, I’m here, I’m here,” a pitiful lullaby, words you can’t hear.

He lets you bounce on him, lets you hold onto his face and hatefuck him, lets you make him feel like shit and takes it all in stride. You need this, he knows. You won’t let him anywhere near your heart if he doesn’t give you this.

And when you ask him to slap you, he does so tenderly, he does so because he loves you and you’re surrendering so beautifully, and no one’s ever given him this much power. He hopes you know he’ll never take advantage of it, but even as he thinks this, he’s aware you probably think he already has.

“I wanted him to,” you gasp as he bites on your shoulder, hands palming underneath your ass, lifting you high, dropping you savagely onto his rock hard erection. It hurts, but your cunt squeezes around him, soaking wet, aching for more. “He asked me. Would you let me? He asked. I almost said yes. I wanted to understand why.”

San growls with the effort it takes him to not lash out. Putting distance between you for a second, he pulls out and flips you on your stomach, the room spinning, the window open, as he presses your head against your pillow, and takes you from behind, hard and fast, your pussy clenching, sore already. How you like it.

He spanks you. Again, and again, and again, until he pulls tears out of your eyes. You think he will always be able to. You think you’ll be crying oceans of tears for him, forever and ever. With every rejection, no matter how small. You love him as much as you love your life. Little by little, suffering.

“Why would you say that?” He grunts, nails digging crescents at your hips. “You want to hurt me, is that it, darling? You want me miserable. Why would you fucking tell me?”

Slap.

“Admit it,” you cry out. Slap. “You can’t stand it because you can’t have it for yourself. Because you refuse to.”

His rough hand coming from behind to rub circles against your clit, brutally beating against your raw center, drawing your orgasm out of you prematurely. You whine and try to push off, to get away from his rampant storm, from his malicious ministrations.

The world tilts at its axis and you’re being pulled by your hair and forced to face him. His expression is that of a wild beast, tear stains dried on high cheekbones, red blotched and palming his cock, releasing on your stomach, a man mad with grief, unrestrained, obsessed.

San crawls down suddenly and hooks his arms under your thighs, pulling your crotch directly to his mouth, licking at your juices as if starved. You fight to break free but to no avail. He’s locked on you. Locked to what he missed. He’s come to take it all back.

And then?

“Tell me it turns you on to hear me talk about another man fucking me,” you lean into the fantasy, feeling his tongue lap between your lips, the smell of what you’ve done enveloping your senses. “Or is it specifically this man?”

“You’re out of line, sweetheart,” he spits on your glistening folds and sucks hard on the little bundle of nerves, making you see stars, making you wish you were dead. “Be careful now.”

“Or what?” You pant. “Admit it,” softer. Sadder.

When you come again, he finally rests his temple on the inside of your leg, a man ruined, exhausted, poring over his work of art. Your fingers rest in his hair, playing with the sweaty strands, your body shaking, your heart pounding.

“Nothing to you,” he rasps. “Doesn’t hold a goddamned candle.”

Your eyes involuntary fall closed, the pit of your stomach hollow. “You’re lying.”

“No,” San replies. “You want me to, but I haven’t. Not once.”

“Everyone lies.”

“Not me. Not to you.”

Nothing but your breathing returning to normal for a while, the wind from outside picking up, sky nearly black now.

His breath.

Your breath.

“I wouldn’t mind, you know,” you say very quietly, willing your voice to keep steady. “If you brought him. If you wanted to.”

A warning bite on your thigh. The ceiling is painted in shadows. His scent is overwhelming.

“Stop talking about it,” he cautions. “Please.”

His breath.

Your breath.

Then, “Don’t forgive me.” A long pause.

A car drives by. Goosebumps rise on your skin, unwelcome, and yet it’s warm where San’s seed is on you. You don’t want to get up. You don’t want to move an inch. If you ruin this he might leave.

Your fingers continue caressing. A lump rises in your throat.

“I love you,” you say.

“Don’t say that.”

“You know I do.”

“I don’t deserve it,” as he wraps tighter around your lower body, pressing his nose against your opening. You think he’s trying to suffocate himself in you. “I haven’t deserved you for a single moment,” he confesses. “Yet I keep coming back. I can’t stop myself. You’re every road I take.”

Your sharp inhale.

His soft kiss.

Your bodies, melding together, again and again.