#Something about the thought of indulging him scratches my brain. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tieronecrush · 7 months

Text

BNBG (brand new baby girl)

frankie morales x curvy OF/cam girl f!reader

summary: frankie has been needing distractions from a hurdle in his sobriety, so he ventures to his frequented subscription service platform to take his mind off things. he sees the title of your page, intrigued immediately, and dives deep into your content. catching your attention on a livestream with his confident commands, frankie becomes infatuated with you and an avid viewer before he decides to DM you one day...and then ends up with a brand new baby girl.

wc: 11k

rating: E (very)

warnings: daddy kink!! **cover does not depict anything about the reader, simply vibes of softness**, vague descriptions of reader's body (plush, thick, curves, soft, etc. no definite descriptors used otherwise. picture her as you want but she is mid to plus size in my head 🫶), no age specified (only that reader started out of college, no specifications of when she went to school), discussions of addiction & drug use, childless frankie au, sex work, sex livestream, consumption of porn, unestablished relationship, online relationship, pet names (conejita, baby, babygirl, pequeña, bunny, etc.), gratuitous descriptions of frankie's dick, SMUT, male masturbation, female masterbation, sex toys, both frankie & reader have thoughts about the other (unprotected piv, fingering, oral, etc.), major dirty talk, d/s dynamics, some fluff sprinkled in <3, this might be lowkey problematic that frankie uses porn to cope (esp reader's porn) buuuuut hopefully it's hot

a/n: cover design & dividers by me 💋 this is an unhinged daydream of mine, hope y'all enjoy! huge thank you to my besties @kiwisbell and @northernbluess for beta-reading 💓

The time on Frankie’s phone screen turns over to well past midnight. Bedroom pitched black save for the blue light illuminating his face as he scrolls on Instagram, unable to fall asleep from thoughts stirring. He wants to scratch the itch — to pick at the scab that’s been growing in his brain for over a year. Temptation runs hot in his veins. A craving, deep in his gut. A strong inhale or the rub of his fingertip against his gums. It would be fast. And it would only last less than half an hour — he could manage it one more time, he was sober enough for that, wasn’t he? He indulges himself in other aspects now: drinking, food, lax with his once regimented workout routine.

Frankie can hear the voice of his sponsor, the one he listens to speak at his weekly meetings in the musty church hall. Sure, his sponsor’s got valuable advice for him, having been sober for decades now, but he can’t relate to Frankie. Not really. He doesn’t know the level of temptation he’s consistently faced with, doesn’t know the fucked up shit he’s seen that got him into the substance in the first place.

His sponsor tells him to get into meditation. That it helps him turn his brain off when he has a craving, redirecting the energy into himself and crushing the aching want for it. Or some spiritual bullshit that Frankie doesn’t understand.

And besides, he’s found his own means of meditation.

Exiting the social media app, he opens his browser and types in the website. The light of the phone illuminates his face enough for his saved login to work, bringing him into his plane of piety. Where he escapes at least three times a week, late nights like now and the occasional mid-afternoon or morning on his desperate days off. When the urge is too strong. When he’s formulating a plan of how to get his hands on a tiny baggie, he loses himself — distracts his brain here.

Scrolling through his usual subscriptions, nothing seems to be hitting the spot. One hand grips his phone, thumb gliding along the screen, while the other cups his hard-on through his boxers, palming himself as he searches for something to get off to.

That’s when he sees it — the perfect combination of words that draws him in by the title. Clicking the page, he’s quick to pledge his monthly amount, eager to get access to all that lies beyond the paywall. And what he’s greeted with, pulls a sigh from his lips in the quiet room, his large hand squeezing his cock through the thin fabric elasticated around his waist.

“Fuck…” he mumbles to himself when he sees that there’s a live stream happening. A cosmic intervention for him, he thinks, a sign that he’s meant to satiate his vices with this.

With you.

The screen changes to a vertical view of you in front of the camera, iPhone seemingly propped up against something while you sit on your mattress. It’s so…delicate and soft. Those are the words he can think of to describe the backdrop that he takes in quickly. Billowing white comforter on your bed, pillows surrounding you. The first thought he has is that it looks like a bed he could easily sleep in — much more inviting than his. There are touches of blush pink, sky blue, and more. A complete rainbow of desaturated colors.

It all compliments you. Centered in the frame, the next sound you make drags his eyes back to your form as you move around. Another squeeze to his cock draws a longer sigh from his lips as he combs across the view of your body, scantily clad in a thong and a bra covered in cherries. The cups of the bra push up the weight of your breasts, spilling over the edge. His tongue runs across his lips to wet them, a new craving ravaging his mouth as he wonders what you would taste like with the skin of your tits dampened by his saliva.

The rest of your body is as softly lined and curving as your chest, waist swooping into your hips as you sit on your knees in front of the camera. Thick thighs spread with the press of your calves into the back of them, the inside of them meeting at the apex and providing cover for what he so badly wants to be shown. There’s a line of your stomach above the waist of your panties, supple skin glistening. Delicious, is all he can think to himself. You look so fucking delicious that it floods his mouth with saliva, enough that he feels the overwhelming need to push his boxers down, freeing his hard cock to rest against his stomach until he’s spitting into his palm and starting a slow, languid pace.

The grain of his palm drags against the length of his cock as he keeps a steady flick of his wrist. Not too fast, but not achingly slow. Enough to start stoking the burning coals in the pit of his stomach as he watches you on the small rectangular screen. Puffs of hot air leave his mouth, his jaw hanging open while he watches you shift to reach for something out of frame, the first look at your ass gifted to him. Rounded swell of curves with the fabric of your thong dipping between them. The slight jiggle of your cheeks makes Frankie moan quietly, taking the briefest moment to picture that same ripple in your skin from him fucking you from behind.

“Shit…” he grumbles under his breath, minorly increasing the pressure of his grip to squeeze his cock as his hand moves, desperate to mimic the feeling of someone — apparently you, despite not knowing anything close to your name.

Skin on skin catches on the base of his dick and he exhales sharply with his teeth bared, opening his palm to spit once again. It’s not enough, but he continues the slide of his wrist as he sets his phone down on the mattress briefly, reaching over to his nightstand, pausing once again to dispense a pump of lotion into the palm of his right hand. Wrapping the moistened hand around his cock again, he starts a faster pace before slowing down to drag out his pleasure longer.

Returning into the frame fully, he sees your face for the first time and coughs as his open-mouthed inhale seizes in his throat. His fingers circle the base of his cock, squeezing hard as he takes in your face. Perfectly primped with a layer of makeup, but he can tell you’ve got the kind of beauty that wouldn’t ever need changing or enhancing — effortless. Velvety skin, as silky as the rest of your body but with an added glow. Bright eyes that are shining with mischief and want, and a smirk that’s as playful; he finds himself shutting his eyes again, for a few lazy strokes as he pictures that face, and your plush, pliable body, on your knees in front of him. Eagerly awaiting his cock to fill your mouth.

Fuck, you’re really doing a number on him tonight. He needed this. His desperation for a high of any kind coats his open mouth with each labored breath.

Focused back on his phone, you show off the treasure that you dug for off-camera. A lilac vibrator, one that fits the length of your hand, with a swell of size rounded off at the tip and tapered in at the end. Leaning closer to your camera, Frankie groans when your tits bounce, spilling out of your bra with a tiny nip slip that he catches immediately. And it only makes him want to see more.

“Mm, c’mon, pretty girl, show me something here. M’fuckin’ dying…Necesito la distracción (I need the distraction),” Frankie speaks toward the screen, feeling pathetic as he barters with you in the one-way system.

As if you heard his pleas, you adjust your position, laying back on the mountain of pillows to prop yourself up and letting one leg fall open. Even in the lowered lighting of the room you’re in, presumably your bedroom, he can make out the wet patch covering your folds. He finds himself wondering if the act of getting off in front of a camera, in front of people watching live, is what gets you wet. Or if you have a fluffer like he’s heard they do in porn.

He’d wanna be your fluffer.

Or maybe he’d want to be the one to fuck you in the porno. At least both of you’d get to finish then.

“Think I need someone who knows better than me to tell me what they wanna see.” Your voice is saccharine, the slight fry in your voice jolts his hips into his hand, mumbles of curses slipping from his lips. “Anybody have any suggestions for me, chat?”

A low hum starts when you press the button of the vibrator in your hand, spreading your knees further to open your core to the view of the camera completely. Your opposite hand to the toy hooks into the crotch of your thong, pulling the small bit of fabric, practically a string with the amount it’s covering.

Frankie’s mouth waters as the speed of his hand picks up, the grip of his fingers not nearly as satisfying as the clench of a pussy, but he’ll make do. He has been for a year; you know what they say, no relationships for the first year sober. That, and he couldn’t find anyone that could take his mind off of coke long enough for him to get it up. So eventually he just let it be.

Now, though, he’s painfully hard. The quick movements of his hand send a shock of pleasure up to his brain, veins contracting with the extra effort to keep the blood supply to his cock. Thumb brushes over his tip, mixing in his precum with the other lubrication, a hiss from behind his teeth shot out from the stimulation. His gaze is glued onto his rectangular screen, huffing out deep breaths while you press the vibrator against your clit. There’s a quiver in your thighs that he notices, as if this is your first touch after teasing yourself, or someone else teasing you. Sensitive already.

Biting your lip, your eyes scan the screen as you read aloud, “FiveFingersAtFreddys said ‘Take your bra off please.’ Well, actually he said ‘Take your tits out’ but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, dude, and say that you actually do have good manners.”

He laughs, and it’s a first for him. Laughing at someone’s jokes as he jerks off, alone.

You comply with the request, taking the vibrator away from your clit to reach around and unclasp your bra. Tossing the material aside, you lean back into the pillows again and the next sight nearly makes Frankie come right then and there until he takes his hand away completely. Laid out, legs open and fingers pulling your panties aside, vibrator pushing into your clit and driving a high-pitched moan from your lips. All while you're bare from the waist up, cushioned torso melting into your heavy tits, pert nipples bringing them to a point. The form of a Greek classics statue, one with fleshy outlines carved impeccably from marble.

“La obra maestra (A masterpiece)…” Frankie whispers to himself, the squelch of his lotioned hand working his hard length bringing him back into his body, a moan slipping from his mouth.

“I think I need someone else to tell me how I should play with myself. M’so wet, jus’ wanna touch myself but I don’t know where to start. All seems like—like it’s going to feel so good,” you stutter out when your hips buck against the vibrator, a whimper echoing from your chest as you turn your attention to the chat again, awaiting intriguing instructions.

Maybe it’s sexual frustration, maybe it’s pathetic. Maybe it’s the intense fucking craving to replace his need for coke high with a need for an orgasm, but for whatever reason chosen, Frankie finds himself clicking on the comment box with his thumb, typing wildly with one finger. He takes a second to read it for spelling errors before he presses send. Too lost in it all now to care.

Your eyes perk up, smirk growing on your face when you read the influx of chat replies. One must have caught your eye because the vibrator is being left to the side again. Fingers hook into the waist of your panties, slowly pulling them off as you read aloud the comment that caught your attention.

“There’s a new name I see here…Maybe we should do what you want, Mr. FlyingFish. Consider it a welcome gift from me to you.” His heart is pounding in his chest, hand gripping tighter and twisting around his dick as he fucks his fist, mumbles of curses spilling out as he listens to you repeat what he desperately typed not a minute prior. It sounds dirtier coming from you, despite his best efforts at politeness, “You said ‘Please show off how many of your little fingers fit into your pretty pussy. Think a pretty girl like you deserves to fuck her fingers…’ Alright, FlyingFish, you’ve got me blushin’ from that request and that is difficult to do, sir. Thank you for calling me a pretty girl. I promise I’m smart, too. I’ll be sure to count ‘em for you.”

One finger slips into your dripping entrance easily, the other hand reaching for the vibrator and replacing it at your clit while your finger starts to fuck shallowly, “One finger…”

Whines of frustration crack over his small speakers before a bigger moan falls from your lips, a second finger slid into you alongside the first, “Oh, fuck…That’s two. Mm, how am I doin’? FlyingFish, d’you think I can get another?”

Frankie’s wrist flicks rapidly now, the direct address to him driving him mad as the sounds of his arm slapping against his stomach and thigh clap in his room and cut into the sounds your pussy is making as you get yourself off. He types as quickly as he can, strings of curses flowing from his mouth as the heat of his desire burns red hot inside of him. He’s so fucking close but he wants to watch you fall apart at the same time. Wants to be the reason you come.

“Oh, shit—you’ve got a mouth, FlyingFish. ‘I’d hope you can take another, otherwise, you couldn’t take my cock.’ Is that a promise, Fish? You saying you got a big dick for me to take?”

You whimper and he’s edging himself, squeezing hard to stay together when you inadvertently use his call sign. The closest thing you have to his name, and all he can think about is you screaming it while he’s fucking you. He wants to tell you it’s a promise only if you follow through, indulging in the fantasy of actually getting to touch you only for a moment. But instead, his attention is completely drawn to a third finger stretching your cunt in full view of the camera, your wanton moans popping in his speakers and driving his forearm to burn with the strain of muscle as he attempts to fist his cock even harder.

“Fuckfuckfuck…Come for me, baby, please fucking come on those fingers,” he begs no one but himself, a blinding white heat licking the entire inside of his body as he balances on the edge. Waiting for you to fall first.

“Oh my god, fuck…” The last word is drawn out, pitching up at the end as your fingers fuck faster, squelching sounds of your wetness flooding his mouth as his brain pleads for a taste of your cunt. “I don’t think—I don’t think I can get a fourth. M’gonna fucking come—ah! Oh, fuck me, Fish…”

You barely whisper his name, or at least what is his name to you, but it’s singlehandedly what punches out his guttural moan, ropes of warm, sticking spend coating his hand as he keeps moving and spilling onto his stomach. It’s prolonged, the tension in his calves relaxing after he spills the most come he has in a while.

Airy, light, a rush of blood back to his head has his whole body tingling with a high. Satiating his cravings from earlier, dissolving the want, the need, for anything of the sort. Instead, it’s replaced with thoughts of you — the image of you laying fucked out on his phone, adding his own touch of imagination when he closes his eyes to see you as you are but covered with his come the same way he is. Normally, this is when the smallest bit of shame crawls up his spine and sits at the nape of his neck, but instead, he melts into warmth. Faced with your smile as you sit up and lean over toward the camera again, laughing to yourself as you end the live.

“Um, if you’re still here, thanks for that FlyingFish. Felt fucking good…And to everyone else, I’ll stream again on Monday night, same time as always. Night, everyone. Have a good weekend.” All he hears before the sound cuts out is your excited giggles, the brightness of your post-orgasm joy stretching a smile across your face. He’s faced with a black screen, staring back at himself in the reflection with the shit-eating, smug grin he has on his face.

Now he’s got plans for Monday night.

Frankie hasn’t been able to get you out of his head. He’s hooked. Images of your sloping curves flash behind his eyes on the days when you’re not available to watch, his hips fucking his fist in bed, the shower, even on his couch with the blinds all open because he was that needy. Thoughts of you replaced his thoughts of the white powder, chasing after the different high he’s gifted by your voice, your body — all through a screen.

He’s caught himself rasping affections as he pictures you, hissed compliments as he comes and imagining what he’d say if you were in front of him. Letting him use your mouth or your cunt. He’s even gotten into a habit of imagining his head between your legs; the hardest he came is the one time he pictured you sitting on his face and all of the pretty sounds you’d make for him. Fuck, cariño, that’s so good. Mm, bonita, you’re such a good girl. Love doin’ what you’re told, don’t you, baby?

The fact that he doesn’t even know your name but is this infatuated isn’t lost on him. He knows he has an addictive personality, but this feels different. Like he was meant to find you for some reason. His sponsor would tell him it’s a call from the universe that this is all part of his ‘journey to sobriety’, but really, he just thinks that you’re fucking hot. And the tiniest part of him thinks you might like him watching too, even though you have no idea who he is.

Each time he watches you live, his thumb taps across the keyboard, responding to your requests and even adding in some encouragement. Virtually having conversations with you, he quickly became a frequent flyer (your joke, not his). You listen to him. Like the sweet girl that you are. Taking his suggestions — his demands when you beg — and showing off for him, a whimpering mess when he’s done with you.

At times, it feels like he’s the only one watching, or at least the only one that matters to you. With the amount of times his username falls from your lips, it’s easy to fall into a bubble of you and him. You’ve picked up the habit of referring to him as ‘Fish’ and it’s driven him mad, the closest thing to his name that he’ll hear you say. You give him material to think back about for days after. I love a man that knows what he wants, Fish. You can boss me around, Fishie. I always know what you tell me to do is gonna feel so fucking good.

All of this over the last few weeks has built up his courage, which is why he finds himself sitting on his couch with your profile open, the sun barely set outside. A random baseball game plays on his TV, but his focus is completely on his phone, writing and deleting a DM to you about ten times.

It has to be right. Friendly, but not stalker-ish. Flirty, but not creepy. Commanding enough to get your attention among what he imagines are countless messages in your inbox.

After another good ten minutes drafting a message, his thumb hovers over the ‘Send’ button for a few seconds. Squeezing his eyes closed, he lowers his finger and hits the button, anxiety washing over him as he opens his eyes to stare at the blue bubble.

No going back now.

Standing at the stove, water boils over the side of the pot while you pour in the uncooked pasta noodles. A few drops hit your skin, mumbles of curses leaving your lips, “Fucking shit!”

You stir the pasta before reaching for the nearest kitchen towel to wipe the once-scalding water off of your hand. A deep sigh exhales, relaxing your shoulders as the ding of a notification draws your attention to your phone lying on the marble countertop next to you.

What you find on your lock screen sends a shock of excitement down your spine, the warmth of anticipation radiating around your body to tingle your fingers and toes.

[Direct Message:] FlyingFish

Quick to swipe up, the device unlocks with a scan of your face and opens a new notification when you click on it with your thumb. Subconsciously, your opposite thumb has ended up between your teeth, biting down on the skin as you hold back an eager grin while you wait for his message to load.

You’ve never had this reaction to a message before, actually, it was usually the opposite. Rolling your eyes, ignoring the men until the last moment. Only responding to keep them enticed and subscribed — all of which keeps more money in your pocket. That’s really why you started this whole thing anyway.

FlyingFish:

Hey

A puff of air exhales through your nose, a chuckle cutting the otherwise silent kitchen. Shaking your head to yourself, you can’t help but smile at your screen. Heartbeat fluttering, you internally kick yourself for having such a reaction to such a simple message. Not even knowing who this person is, you find yourself typing back a response.

Hey there Fish

Guess I never actually asked if I could call you that

You turn back to your task at hand, continuing to cook your dinner and attempting to put out of your mind all of your assumptions about this person messaging you. You’d guess it’s a guy, an educated inference based on the demographics of your audience, but everything else is a complete mystery. The one time he insinuated he had a big dick stuck in your mind, and based on his behavior, you’d like to assume he isn’t lying. An image of a man sticks out to you each time you whimper his nickname, on camera and that handful of times off camera and alone: tall, solid, and strong. Brunette, only because that’s your type. Rough hands and commanding touches. Someone to bend your stubborn will into submission. He’s confident, at least through the chat, and he seems to know what he’s talking about. Each time you see his username pop up, you can feel yourself start to get wetter. Since you started this whole gig, there hasn’t been anyone quite like him. It’s always people asking for more for them — Show us your tits. Say my name. Turn around so we can see your ass.

But with him, it’s the opposite. He asks for more for you, which you guess is what he gets off to, not that you mind. Bet one more finger would feel even better for you, baby. Curl your fingers, cariño. You reaching that special spot? Gotta get deeper for me, baby. Rub slower, drag it out. Promise it’ll be even sweeter at the end.

Always polite but stern in his demands. Never too much, mostly not enough for your taste. He’s built up an appetite in you that you haven’t had before, a desire to please and to be good for him. All of it doesn’t feel like performing when he’s telling you what to do, it feels like he’s there, deep rasp in your ears as you picture thick fingers in place of yours and tight grips on your plush curves. Fingerprint-shaped bruises left behind and sore muscles in your thighs from holding yourself up as he asks you to come for him over and over and over.

A vibration against the hard surface of the countertop refocuses your gaze from a thousand yards away. Turning to grab your cell, you rub your thighs together in hopes of relenting the ache between them from your daydreams. Wet panties get caught in your folds, discomfort only momentary before you lean over the counter and open your legs, reading the mystery man’s response.

You can call me anything you want bonita

But I will tell you that Fish is pretty close to my name

Fish is close to your name?

What is it? Bass? Salmon? Trout?

Funny

Fish is short for Catfish which was my call sign with my Special Ops team

Ahhh a military man. You know I like a man in uniform

Oh really? :)

Don’t wear it anymore but does it still count if I was once a man in uniform?

Hmm

:( please?

I wanna be liked by you

Showing your cards there Fishie

Not trying to play it cool?

Once you get to know me baby you’ll come to find out that me and cool don’t really go together.

I doubt that’s true

So Catfish is your call sign? Who came up with that?

My buddies on my team

Said I couldn’t grow a beard for shit and that it looked like I had whiskers

So Catfish

Well I don’t wanna call you Fish if it’s mean like that :(

What’s your real name? If you wanna tell me

Are you gonna sell my identity and let someone tank my credit score?

Never

It wouldn’t benefit me much if your card gets declined every month

I appreciate the honesty baby haha

My name’s Frankie

I like your name Frankie :)

It’s nearly an hour of messaging back and forth, flirting intermingled with genuine curiosity about the other’s life, history and background. Frankie learns that you were struggling to find a job straight out of university and needed to make rent, so you figured it couldn’t hurt to try out selling content. You detailed briefly the time that you grew your following, telling him about your Instagram too, which he follows in that instant. The notification makes you laugh and you follow him back despite the profile being completely empty of any information besides his name. Not even a profile picture. He learns that you don’t speak much to your parents anymore, that your siblings live across the country so you don’t get to see them much.

He tells you about his family — no siblings, parents that live in another part of the state and refuse to visit him in the city — and his chosen family, the Special Ops guys. Laughter hiccups from your chest when he recalls a few of the better stories from them, telling you about each other them as if he was preparing you to actually meet them. He has that thought, briefly, about all of you out for drinks. How they would probably like you as much as he does; your charm and sincerity would hook them all just as it has for him. Frankie tells you all about his current hobby, fixing up an old, cherry red 1978 Jeep Cherokee. How the only other time he spends online is searching for car parts, watching Youtube as he works on the vehicle in his garage.

You make a cheeky comment that he must be good with his hands before sending another message immediately:

Would you wanna actually talk? Like on Facetime maybe

Frankie stares at the message, blinking slowly as if it will disappear. You’re asking to talk to him? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? I mean, if he knew that was an option he would have asked himself…

He wouldn’t and he knows he wouldn’t based on the way his stomach has dropped to his feet, his hands have gone clammy and his throat tightened. Swallowing hard, he whispers a small pep talk to himself to work up the nerve to say yes. He wants to see you, he always wants to see more of you, but the fact that you’d see him as well…he can’t cope.

Heat trickles across the back of his neck and up his cheeks, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as his brain completely wipes any thought to respond. Dropping his phone into his lap, both of his hands reach up, one grabbing the brim of his cap and lifting it from his head while the other runs through his hair to push it back away from his face. In the corner of his eye, he catches his left knee bouncing. Lips press together in a thin line, rolling the flesh between his teeth before he picks up his phone again and sends a message back to you with just his phone number.

Not even a minute later, his screen lights up with a list of digits strung together in an unfamiliar order. As if it were possible, he felt his stomach drop lower than his feet, deep into the ground below and burrowing away along with his confidence.

Shit, this was a stupid idea. He’s going to make a fool of himself and you’ll lose interest and he’ll have to think about you every day for the rest of his life and wonder what you’re doing, how you’re doing, even what your name is—

Fuck, he’s gonna miss the call.

Frankie decides that it is much more embarrassing to miss the call he just sent his phone number for than to potentially come off as uncool, so his finger swipes to the right to answer. Quickly, he turns off his camera before you notice, opting for the level of anonymity to remain.

“Hi, Frankie…” Your candied voice drips with sweetness around his name. He’s been imagining you saying it, trying to get it right in his mind over the past few weeks, but hearing it now he relishes in the fact that none of them were right. None of them sounded like spun sugar, like it did just now.

You fill the frame from your shoulders up, the same bright smile on your face that he’s seen at the end of each live, after he’s had his fun with you, but looking completely different out of that context. It’s a bit shy, demure in the way you're resting in your bed against your pillows, t-shirt on and fresh-faced. You look beautiful. And it makes him feel a bit silly that you can’t see his reaction.

“Hey, bonita. M’sorry I don’t have my camera on, jus’ nervous. Didn’t want you to hang up right away gettin’ a look at this mug,” he says with self-deprecating laughter at the end, watching as your brows knit together with a pout on your lips.

“You don’t have to apologize, Frankie. M’happy to do whatever you’re comfortable with. Besides, if your voice gives me any indication of your looks, you’d probably be making me way more nervous.” Teeth bite into your bottom lip as you hold in a grin, a hand coming into view to nudge at your nose. He’s seen you do it a few times on live, whenever you’re waiting in anticipation. For him, he’d like to think.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” he teases, the smirk playing at his face evident in his flirty tone.

“You jus’ sound…nice.”

“Nice? That’s all? Why would that make you nervous, baby?”

A sigh slips from your lips, rolling your head back as he hears the smallest whine from you. His cock jumps in his sweats, already half hard from the flirty back and forth in your messages.

“God, you’re going to be a problem with all those pet names,” you say exasperated. Frankie laughs at his screen, feeling like an idiot sitting here alone and smiling like a fool. You’re cute when you’re mad.

“You can tell me your name and I can use that instead?” he propositions, licking his lips as he awaits the piece of information he’s been chomping at the bit to have.

“No! I mean, I’ll tell you my name, but…I like the nicknames. Keep them. Please.” Your words scramble out and it makes him grin wider, witnessing you as nervous as he’s feeling. When you give him your name, he repeats it a few times, rolling it around in his mouth, tasting the syllables on his tongue. Delicate, floral, sweet but a slight tang. Smooth as it rolls across his vocal cords, soothing the rising heat he’s feeling with a refreshing chill. Like peaches and cream.

The two of you chat back and forth for a while, pride swelling in his chest when you laugh at his stupid jokes or give him a compliment, despite being none-the-wiser to his looks. He’s quick to make you blush with his comments, telling you how beautiful he thinks you are. And Frankie’s thanking himself for keeping his camera off, because at times during the call, his eyes drift to your chest, blatantly staring at your perked up nipples through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. It grows his hard on, the softness of your breasts bouncing around as you restlessly squirm during the call enticing him to picture getting his mouth on them. He’d guess you’d taste the same as your name.

The next time you move, he watches your chest again before a sight in the background catches his eye, drawing a chuckle from his mouth. A stuffed bunny lays next to you in your bed, messy with age and love. A soft pink color with a red ribbon tied around its neck, he finds the need to ask about it prodding in his mind.

“Is that who films everything for you?” he jokes, watching your face twist with confusion before looking to your side and bursting out in a laugh. Returning your eyes to the camera, you shake your head timidly.

“No, unfortunately he’s pretty limited to cuddling.”

“He? Didn’t know you had a man in your life, baby. Feels like we shouldn’t be talking like this in front of him.” The sound of your laughter quickens his pulse, the melody trilling in his ears with comfort.

“Well, I guess if you could offer me more than cuddling, he could be demoted.”

“I think I can offer more, Conejita.” Frankie watches as something akin to excitement, but burning brighter, flashes in your eyes. You sit up more, one eyebrow raising in challenge.

“What could you offer me, Frankie?” It’s a loaded question. He could be polite, steer the conversation away from where he so desperately wants it to go, to be a gentleman. It would be easy to make a joke, to get you both to move on.

But he always wants to see where this could go. You’re the one who wanted to talk on the phone in the first place. And he would never suggest anything to make you uncomfortable, and he thinks that you know that. It’s like what the two of you do in your lives — a conversation, a back and forth that may end up benefitting both of you.

“Depends on what you’re lookin’ for, Conejita. I’m a man of many talents.” The words are slick on his tongue, silvery with enticement.

“Hm…” you ponder out loud, tapping your index finger against your bottom lip before turning back to the camera, “Can you cook?”

“Decently. Can’t claim I’m a chef, but I feed myself. And m’pretty good at a grill and makin’ some of my mamá’s recipes. Insisted on teaching them to me so they didn’t end with her.”

Grinning warmly, he feels his heartbeat kick up against his chest, thumping hard at the sight of you giving him that look. “That’s so sweet that she taught you. You can teach me, then someone else in the world will know her recipes too.”

Christ, you’re so fucking adorable. He doesn’t know what he wants more in the moment: to keep talking and simply listen to your voice, or to flirt his way into something more.

“She might be a better teacher than me, baby. Would probably be over the moon if you asked to learn since she had to force me a bit,” he laughs along with your quiet giggle, taking a deep breath when you bite down on your bottom lip.

“Are you a good teacher of other things?”

“I’d like to think so. Haven’t I taught you new things already, Conejita?”

There goes his heartbeat when you look away from the camera, smirk lifting your cheekbones as your demeanor goes shy, shrugging your shoulders as you lay back again, shifting to get comfortable.

“You have…And now I’ve learned how sexy your voice is, too. I’ll be picturing everything you type now to be said in your voice.”

Frankie breathes out a chuckle, a heat burning the nap of his neck, trickling down his back. He feels the effects of his blood rushing below his belt, ever-so-slightly lightheaded as he quietly palms his bulge in his sweatpants.

“My voice is sexy?”

“Um, duh. Are you kidding me? You sound all…rugged and raspy and deep. Like you could manhandle me easily,” you admit your thoughts easily, and he sighs quietly at the thought of having you in front of him to throw around his bed and mold you into the positions he dreams of getting you into.

“No tienes ni idea de lo que haría contigo (You've got no idea what I would do with you)...” he mumbles under his breath, hearing a soft whimper from you. One of your arms is slung across your front, pressing your breast into the other and he can take a guess as to what your hand is up to. “You want some help, baby? I bet you’re jus’ feeling so needy, aren’t you? Listening to my voice got you that worked up?”

“Mhmm…I need it, Frankie…” Your voice has the edge of a whine and he exhales slowly as he hears you beg for him. Not his call sign or a username. His name. Him. There’s no one else who’s making you feel this way, no one else striving for attention.

He pushes his pants down, pulling his hard cock out to start slowly stroking. You’ve left him aching, dripping precum that his fingers smear around his length to lubricate as he moves up and down in a teasing pace.

“Use your manners, Conejita. What d’you say?”

“Please. Please, Frankie. I wanna hear your voice, I want you to tell me what to do.” He hisses from behind his teeth as he squeezes his cock at the base, leaning his head back against his headboard before his focus zeroes in on you on his screen, asking for his guidance, his control to get you off. No one else privy to the sights he’s seeing.

“Good girl. Such a good girl for me, baby. Why don’t you take off your shirt for me? Let me see you, bonita.” Wetting his lips with his tongue when you move to prop your phone up on your mattress, an expert at framing yourself perfectly. The thin, worn fabric of your sleep shirt slips over your head, leaving you on full display for him — already pantyless. Whether you started the call with any on is a mystery to him, but now, he settles back to tell you exactly what he wants from you…what he knows will feel good for his conejita.

“Okay, bunny, lean back for me…That’s it, get comfortable. Good girl.” Looking into your camera to your side, a nervous smile plays at your lips, shyness overcoming you as you wait with bated breath for Frankie, who’s still a mystery to you, to instruct you. It’s driving him mad, how trusting you are of him without ever seeing his face. Such a sweet girl. His sweet girl.

“Show me how you like to play when no one’s watching.”

When his phone dings one evening a few weeks later, Frankie pulls himself out from under the hood of his project car. A familiar fizz bubbles over his body, a Pavlovian response that’s been built over the last few weeks he’s been talking to you. There have been text chains, full of flirty sincerity, and more phone calls, all with his camera off but not all ending like that first one. There have been times when the two of you have had long conversations, full of laughter and learning about the other. A few calls have ended with you falling asleep, stuffed bunny tucked under your chin and pillowy lips parted slightly with deep, even breaths.

Admittedly, he’s grown attached. Maybe a bit much for…whatever this relationship or friendship is, but he can’t help the teenage giddiness he’s felt with every text chime, ringtone, or dial that he’s found you on the other end of.

He’s got a crush.

So immediately at the peal of his cell, he’s reaching for the rag on his workbench, wiping his hands clean of grease before reading over your message.

Conejita:

Hiii 😚

Are you busy?

Grinning like a fool at the gray bubble, Frankie begins to type out a response before abandoning the message and clicking the phone button at the top of your name instead. Pressing the speaker to his ear, he runs a thumb across his bottom lip while he listens to the trill of the dial tone. Steps pace him across the garage, counting them in his head as he waits for an answer.

“Hey, stranger.” The line clicks on and your voice immediately draws a smile across Frankie’s face, hearing one of yours in your upbeat tone.

“Hey, Conejita. What’s up with you?” Even your presence over the phone calms his nerves, sparking kindling low in his gut that spreads down to his toes and up to the back of his neck. Frankie tucks his phone between his ear and shoulder as he wanders back over to the carhood, shutting it carefully. He retreats inside, washing his hands as he listens to you recount your day.

“...So then I got pissed off and left ‘cause she was being so unreasonable. And then I wanted to talk to you ‘cause, I dunno.” The intensity in your cadence slows down toward the tailend of your story of an argument with a friend of yours; Frankie chuckles, biting his tongue while you sigh deeply and he dries his hands off on a kitchen towel.

“You don’t know why you wanted to talk to me? Don’t get all shy on me now, cariño,” he teases you, receiving a frustrated huff on the other end. “Well, for what it’s worth, I agree with you. She sounds like she has a stick up her ass. And m’glad you wanted to call me, Conejita.”

“D’you wanna switch to Facetime?”

“‘Course, I do. Always wanna see your face, jus’ one sec…” Frankie climbs his stairs two at a time, reaching the landing as his screen lights up with the Facetime request from you. He answers it, camera off, while he changes out of dirty clothes and listens to you chatting about plans for the weekend. He mentions going out with the guys tomorrow night, and you make a jest that gets him laughing, both of you bantering back and forth before he settles back on his bed.

“Y’know, I am content to chat with you like this, Frankie. But I keep wondering what you look like…” In the small rectangle of his screen, you lean forward to fill more of it, cleavage exposed in your bralette. He’s been waiting for this to be brought up again, and feeling so much more comfortable with you, he can’t admit he hasn’t thought about it. But with that stronger connection comes the anxieties. What if he isn’t what you pictured? What if he isn’t your type? What if you don’t like him anymore?

Frankie thinks he’s decent looking enough — he hasn’t had much trouble pulling girls since he was a teenager, but not being the most commanding or charismatic in the room, he has had his bouts of struggle in the relationship department.

“Please, Frankie. S’not fair I get to hear your sexy voice and not know what you look like. Pretty please, I’ll give you something special if you do,” you bargain with a pout on your face, bottom lip protruding and puffy. He wants to kiss it away, bite down on the glossy flesh, work away your frowning moue with his own mouth. Wonderings of what you taste like.

Coming back into himself, he wears a proud, intrigued smirk that you’re blind to except for the way his words curl around his slick, silvery tongue, “Oh, is that right, bunny? What if I wanna know what the something special is to decide?”

“Not how it works, silly. Either you want something special or you don’t.” A stern shake of the head, sitting up straight as you raise an eyebrow at him.

He sits with it for a moment, thoughts warring on the inside. In the end, his realistic side barters that either way could end badly: he doesn’t turn the camera on and you get frustrated, ending it, or he does turn the camera on and you don’t like the look of him, ending it. A phantom whisper of your voice, bubbly and bright, reminds him that it could make everything even better, and that ultimately is what convinces him.

“Alright, alright. You make a convincing argument, Conejita.”

A beaming smile stretches across your face as you draw a leg up to your chest, resting your head on your kneecap while you hold back your excitement and anticipation. Frankie takes in the sight of you, astir on tenterhooks.

“Here goes nothing,” he mumbles to himself before his thumb is pressing the camera button, illuminating himself on your screen. He sees himself in the smaller rectangle in the corner, grimacing before he laughs softly and grins, awaiting your reaction with waves of solicitude raging inside.

You see him, your Frankie. Filling your phone screen. Finally.

A nearly inaudible gasp leaves your lips, blocked from the mic by your knee. Studying his face, you witness the lines next to his eyes deepening as he laughs, his shy smile growing on his face. Big brown eyes strike your chest, their sincere softness making you want to fall into their warmth and stay there forever. Like the comforting heat of a mug of coffee on a chilly morning. You note that your visualizations were correct, mostly. Brown hair, curling out from under the cap branded with Standard Oil that sits on his head. Wide set shoulders that extend out of frame, a build to him that screams he most definitely can manhandle you around in bed. His call sign makes a bit more sense to you, seeing patches in his short beard, admiring the one on his left cheek that is shaped like a heart. Simply endearing. The image of him in front of you sends a shock to your core, wet spot in your panties growing as you begin to imagine what the rest of him looks like.

Hot is all you can think. Frankie is fucking hot.

His voice cuts through your trails of admiration, joking around to break the silent tension, “So are you gonna ask me to keep my camera off now?”

As you swallow to recover some of your composure, shaking your head back and forth quickly before a genuinely eager smile paints your expression. Leaning closer to see more of his details, freckles across his neck and where his shirt exposes a sliver of his chest, the peak of his cupid’s bow shaded by his mustache, long eyelashes that reach toward his eyebrows. You drop your knee from in front of you, leaning an elbow on the surface of your desk and resting your shin in your palm.

“Frankie, respectfully, what the fuck? You’re so hot.”

A boisterous laugh rolls from his chest, the same shy smile returning with a blush across his cheeks, “Conejita, you’re the hot one between us.”

“No, no, I’m being serious. You’re like — Damn. Your smile. And you have pretty eyes, Frankie. And you’re just like…really fucking hot. I can’t even think of another word. You should be the one doing what I’m doing.”

“Oh, c’mon, you’re only seeing my face, baby.”

“Yeah, and? It’s a pretty face…Wanna sit on it.” Your giggle cuts through his speakers, and Frankie groans at the comment. Saliva coats your mouth as you watch the muscles in his neck tense, licking your chops like a prowling lion. If only he was in front of you right now…

“Diablita…eres una problema. (Little devil…you’re a problem.) Do I get my special something now?”

Another giggle and a mischievous smirk make Frankie’s brows stitch together in frustration, your shoulders shrugging as you toy with the strap of your bra, hooked under your index finger, “Actually, I think I wanna move the goalpost. Will you show me what I’m missin’, Frankie? I wanna see more.”

Desire burns bright and wild inside of you, ache building between your legs as your arousal drips from your panties and onto your thighs. You’d been picturing him — all of him — for weeks. Ever since that first message. But now, seeing him on your phone screen, your imagination is running wild with newfound information and attempting to fill in the blanks. He has to be big, thickness would be just right. He’s the quiet type, unassuming in his own looks, which means he has to have a virtually perfect dick. It's the rules of the universe. Undecided if he’s cut or not, but regardless, picturing your manicured fingers wrapped around it and tongue licking at his tip. Watching him come undone from you. Stomach tensing, those long fingers that you sneak a peek of when he adjusts his hat wrapped up in your hair. Rasping moans. What would he taste like?

Frankie shakes his head, a quick tsking drawing your attention back to the moment as he looks on with a teasing expression, “Conejita, I don’t think it works like that.”

“Okay, then no special something for you. Your choice, Francisco.”

He watches as you move the strap back up your shoulder, the soft snap of the elastic against your skin. Huffing out a frustrated breath, he mumbles, “No serías tan valiente si estuvieras aquí conmigo, mocosa. (You wouldn’t be so brave if you were here with me, brat.)”

Uncaring in whatever annoyances he was airing with you, you watch him sit up further in the frame, knocking off his cap and reaching for the hem of his shirt. Despite his words, he lifts his shirt over his head, looking back at the camera, bare shoulders and chest on display, “This is what you get for now, bunny.”

Satisfaction glows from your smile, biting hard into your bottom lip while Frankie watches your eyes search everywhere on your screen besides his own. A stern clearing of his throat breaks your trance, a commanding expression on Frankie’s face.

“You promised me something, Conejita.”

A deep pout replaces your grin, huffing in defiance as you slip your bra straps from your shoulders, “Can’t you please take the rest off? Show me what I wanna see, Frankie. Please.”

“Nah uh. Quit demanding, baby. Y’know that’s my job. Now tell me, what are you gonna do for me to get what you want?” His unwavering voice surprises you, despite hearing it for weeks. With the added heat factor of his looks, you crumble a bit quicker, clenching your thighs as you sigh and nod obediently.

“I’ll do anything, Frankie. Jus’ tell me what to do, I wanna make you happy.”

He grins on the screen, sincere softness peeking out, “Oh, baby, y’know it’s easy to make me happy. Jus’ gotta be a good little bunny, yeah?” He hums, licking his lips as he ponders what he wants from you tonight, a night he wants to fill with another milestone for the two of you. He’s only seen you use a small vibrator or your fingers on the phone with you, but he knows what else you have. He’s watched the video of you using it on your profile only about ten times.

“Get your pretty pink toy for me, Conejita. Y’know the one. And then get on the floor and you’re going to show me exactly how you use it.”

There’s rustling as you follow his instructions, stripping bare and suctioning the toy to your hardwood floors, propping the phone up for him to see it all. The hot pink dildo bobbles from you moving around it, glistening with lube that you applied — even though with one glance at your cunt, both you and Frankie know you wouldn’t need it. Straddling over the silicone, you slowly tease your entrance with it, whining before you make one more attempt to Frankie watching you with a smugness in his smirk.

“Please, Frankie, can’t you please show me your cock? I wanna picture it while I fuck myself. Wanna know if it’s how I imagined…Dream about it a lot.” He can read right through your tactics, but his dick can’t. It strains against his zippered jeans, throbbing under the fabric for some sort of relief. He squeezes his palm over it once, exhaling as he shakes his head, strong in his convictions.

“Be a good girl, and I’ll show you what you wanna see.” No more room for negotiations.

“Yes’sir.”

Frankie’s mouth hangs ajar while his focus trains on the apex of your thighs. Watching you slowly sink down, the bright pink rubbery toy disappears inside of you. Whimpers slip from your lips as you brace your hands on your thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin. Need burns brightly in his chest and below his belt, clenching his jaw while he imagines biting the meaty part of you, leaving teeth marks in his wake before settling his mouth at your entrance.

Your hips set a quick pace, desperate for the high you’ve been dripping for since getting on the phone with Frankie. A low growl followed with a disapproving tut clicks over the speakers of your phone.

“Slow down, baby girl. Not a race…” Frankie corrects, and the only response you have is a frantic nod, turning your movements to a drag. The toy fills you up, stretches you the most that you have ever been. Pain heats your feelings of pleasure, intensifying it all in the lightness of your limbs and head. The ridges of the faux veins of the fake cock impress into your walls, the tip of it notching at the spot inside of you that Frankie taught you to reach. It only skates by it, whines accompanying your frustrations.

Frankie, on the other end, listens to the squelch of your pussy around the silicone. The sound drives him to fully cup his erection through his pants, palming himself with heady breaths as your own moans for him drive the iron hot brand of need deeper into his skin. He can see your need for a change, your need to be given permission to chase that feeling that’s within reach.

“Lean back, little bunny. Sit back on your hands and use your hips…Show me more of that pretty pussy,” he instructs, cool and confident while his hips buck up into his hand. Being his perfect girl, you do as he says and change positions, gasping when you sink down onto the toy. Your cunt clenches around it, a satisfied smirk painting Frankie’s face. He knows he’s gotten you to hit that special spot. With the grip your entrance has around the base of the dildo, he wonders if you’ll pop it off of the floor on your next thrust.

“Oh, fuck…Frankie, wish you were here. Tell me—tell me what you’d do to me if you were here,” you beg, your hips still dragging at the new angle.

A groan escapes Frankie at your request, biting down hard on his lip and taking his hand away from his lap to deny himself the temptation.

“You love hearing me say all the dirty things to you, huh Conejita?” Without waiting for an answer, he continues, “If I were there with you, I’d would be—shit—I’d be devouring you right now. Fucking you with my tongue and my fingers, making you squeeze me and getting your come all over my face. Gotta get you ready for me, bunny. After, I’d flip you over. Get your pretty ass up for me, and I’d fuck you senseless. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Turn it all off up there and just let me take care of you…”

Nodding, your hips start to move faster as Frankie speaks to you. He doesn’t have the heart to tease you anymore, letting you start to take what you want for a bit. Your moans pitch up, tits bouncing with your nipples pebbled and the rest of your soft curves twisting as you rock back and forth on the toy.

“Yes, please. I want that,” you mewl, heavy breaths erratic.

“That’s right. My baby deserves it all,” he says with a sigh, his large palm squeezing his hard cock again, slowly unzipping his jeans and slipping his hand into his boxers to grip himself at the base. “I’d fuck you until that pretty little brain of yours was filled up only with thoughts of how good I make you feel. How good you are for me, pretty girl…Look at you go, bouncing on that toy. Rub your clit, Conejita. Slow, at least for right now.”

You follow his orders, supporting yourself on one arm. Slow circles against your clit have you shuddering with pleasure, a twitch of your tummy as you moan. Your eyes flutter shut, face twisting with overwhelming need. Frankie drinks in the sight, indulging himself in a few long strokes of his cock before he hears it.

“Daddy…” you breathe, near a whisper, but it’s audible to him. Lost in yourself, you don’t even notice you’ve let it slip until it comes again, “Oh my god, Daddy.”

The surprise of it shocks your eyes open, stuttering your hips as you narrow in on your screen. Frankie’s eyes grow dark, licking his lips as he holds in a loud moan. His fingers grip the base of his aching cock, holding off at the edge. So close to coming when he heard that word drip from your mouth like melted sugar.

He can tell you’re attempting to gauge his reaction, nervous settling in as you attempt to move on from it and continue fucking yourself closer to finishing. Frankie’s eager to take it in stride, clearing his throat before he gives it right back to you, opening that door that he knows won’t be shut any time soon. At least not by him.

“Yeah, that’s right, baby. Let Daddy tell you what you need, yeah?” He chuckles darkly, satisfaction thumping in his veins while you nod and whimper yes yes yes back to him, “Y’know, if you like that lil’ toy, baby, Daddy’s cock will feel even better. S’bigger than that fucking thing.”

“Oh, fuck, I need to—I need you, Daddy, please!”

“I know, Conejita, I know. Poor little thing jus’ needs Daddy to be filling her up, huh? You wanna know what my cock feels like inside of you, don’t you, pequeña?” He hisses with a buck of his hips into his fist, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief second.

“Yes, yes, please, Daddy! Please,” you choke on a breath and Frankie can see you twitch at your inner thighs from the full-on view of your pussy, your tell-tale sign that you’re about to come.

“Y’know the rules, Conejita. Better ask before you come.”

“Please, please may I come?” you moan, rubbing faster circles against your clit and grinding down on your toy.

“Oh, bunny, you can ask nicer than that. May I come…?” he leads, smirking devilishly when you nearly squeal from the way he’s holding you out on the edge. Teetering on the verge of that high that he knows well, he can see your legs faltering with a cramp.

“Please may I come, Daddy?” Your eyes open, heavy-lidded and lips parted with shallow breathing. Frankie gets lost in the sight, wrecked from his direction, his words, a sheen of sweat over your skin and the arousal coating your thighs. A fucking dream.

“Mm, come for Daddy, baby girl—” he’s interrupt as you erupt in a high-pitched moan, mouth wide open as you string together mumblings Oh fuck, Daddy, feels so good. Need you so bad…

“Good girl.”

Frankie hums contently, chuckling as a dopey grin finds your face, blinking through the orgasmic haze. Laying back, you slip the toy out of your pussy, leaving it to wobble in place and spreading your legs around it. One arm comes to rest against your forehead, breasts rising and falling with deep, recovering breaths. He’s blocked of the view that would make this moment even sweeter, licking his lips before he speaks up.

“Lemme see that fucked cunt of yours, bunny. Let Daddy see what belongs to him.” You sit up again, popping the toy off of the floor and laying it to the side to be cleaned later. Frankie hums as you part your legs more, the glittering of your come dripping on your thighs and across your swollen pussy. “Eres un buen oyente, pequeña. (You’re a good listener, little one.)”

“What’s that mean?” you ask, a long exhale punctuating the question.

“You’re a good listener, little one.” Frankie grins when you grow shy, inching your legs together before he tsks again, one hand coming into frame to motion for your lower limbs to part again.

“Y’know, it would look even prettier with my come dripping out of ya, baby.”

“Please.”

“What, Conejita?”

“Don’t tease me anymore…Can’t take it, Daddy.” You lips push out in a pout, subtle but he can catch the change in expression.

“Nah uh, no pouting, bunny. Who said that I was teasing? I’m going to make it happen.”

Sweetness slips from your lips in a giggle, leaning over to pick up your phone and hold him closer to your face.

“So, if I was a good girl, doesn’t that mean I get to see what I asked for before?” Wiggling in eagerness, Frankie feigns ignorance, scratching at his beard as he shrugs, acting as if he didn’t nearly come in his pants multiple times in the last few minutes.

“I dunno, Conejita. What did you ask me for? Gonna have to remind me.”

“Your cock. I wanna see it.” Your pout sneaks back, biting your lip. “May I please see your cock, Daddy?”

“I think I could do that for you, baby. Asking so nicely. Such a good girl for Daddy, yeah?”

“Always.” A giggle bubbles up from your tummy, biting down on your lip as Frankie takes you in, shaking his head in subtle disbelief. How the hell did clicking for one subscription get him here, having Facetime sex with you?

He obliges your original requests, moving to prop his phone up in front of him, stripping down his jeans first. The sight of his bulge waters your mouth, pupils widening in want at the outline of his cock. No tricks of the light, no chance of manipulation like some men in your DMs do. All natural.

And Frankie wasn’t lying. He’s big.

The reveal comes when he tugs his boxers down to his ankles, settling in front of the camera again. His heavy length rests against his lower stomach, precum dripping into his dark happy trail. Your eyes drag over the veins ribbing him, leading down to show off that he’s tastefully groomed. Swallowing saliva, you lick your lips as his large hand wraps around, slow strokes that gently shift the foreskin away from his tip. The end of his cock glistens with pebbles of precum, red and aching. Frankie hisses at the contact, the veins in his neck straining against his skin while he starts to fuck his fist.

“You look so pretty, Daddy,” you compliment sweetly, grinning at him as he laughs quietly back at you.

“Such a sweet little bunny. You think you can take me in your tight little cunt?” A long exhales concaves his chest, quiet moans as his hand picks up pace.

You return his regular favor of talking him through it, detailing how good of a girl you’d be for him, telling him all that he would be allowed to do to you. The sounds Frankie makes has you dripping again, getting his permission to fuck your fingers, both of you driving each other to a peak, your second one taking the breath from your lungs as Frankie comes at the same time. Whimpers escape your mouth as you envy his hand and stomach being covered in his release, biting your tongue and crowding the screen as he shows off how much you made him come.

“Wish I was there to clean you up, Daddy.”

“Right back at you, Conejita.”

A few days later, Frankie calls you after one of your livestreams, grinning like a schoolboy when you answer in only your underwear. You laugh as you set your phone down on the surface of your dressing, his childish smirk turning to a pout as he stares at your white painted ceiling. Calling out to him, you ask for one second while you tug a sweatshirt over your head, shuffling around before grabbing the device and relaxing back on your bed, bunny in your lap.

“Hi, baby,” Frankie coos, one side of his mouth lifting in a smile as he drinks in your cozy, drowsy demeanor. Cuddling with the toy against your chest, you grin back at him, curling up onto your side like a cat.

“Hi, Frankie,” you mumble back, exhaustion heavy in your eyes.

“You sleepy, little bunny?” A slow nod answers his question. “Alright, I won’t keep you up for long then. Just had a question for you.”

The vague proposition piques your interest, your eyes shooting open and the camera being brought closer to your face, “What’s your question?”

Frankie works his lips between his teeth, nerves crackling over his entire body. Realistically, he knows you’ll say yes, but there’s still that chance for rejection in the moment. His left leg bounces against his couch, hand running over his face as he takes a deep breath in, “I was wondering if you’d wanna come visit me here in Florida? If you don’t have time—”

“I would love to come visit, Frankie,” you agree immediately, a sincere smile growing on your face. Frankie mirrors your excitement with a goofy grin, the creases next to his eyes deepening and his dimple cratoring his cheek. “I’ll even book my flight right now, that’s how eager I am.”

Shaking his head furiously, he clicks his tongue in a tut, scolding you playfully, “Hey, hey. No, none of that. I’m not letting my baby pay, I’m the one who asked you to come.”

“But—”

“Nope, no buts. Except yours getting onto a plane and coming to see me,” Frankie laughs at his own joke, earning a playful eye roll as you hold back your own chuckle. “Oh, c’mon, that was funny, Conejita. I can tell you want to laugh.”

The two of you go back and forth while he books your flight on his laptop, showing off the confirmation number once it’s all gone through. Both of you wear shit-eating grins on your faces, sitting in disbelief.

Frankie can’t help the rush of anxiety, unable to tell if it’s solely from his excitement. All he can think about is having you in front of him, in the flesh, in person. No screens between the two of you, no broken signals or shitty wifi interruptions. Hearing your voice without the strain of speakers, getting to touch you, taste you, hear you, feel you all over him. There’s the flash of a vision of you laid out underneath him, making your little sounds that drive him crazy and digging your nails into his back…

“Gonna let Daddy spoil you while you’re down here, baby girl?” Frankie smirks as you stretch sleepily, biting down on your lip.

“You’re flying me out, isn’t that spoiling me enough? Shouldn’t it be my turn to spoil you then?”

“Think you know the answer to that, baby. Having you in front of me is spoiling me enough, I jus’ wanna take care of you.”

The simple statement brings a smile to your face, shyly tucking your face into your pillow. The rest of the call relaxes you back to near sleep, listening as Frankie tells you all about what he’ll take you to do. Your drowsiness catches up with you, drifting off on the phone. Frankie chuckles quietly to himself, sitting with you for a moment silently before he goes to hang up.

“Night, Conejita. Can’t wait to see you.”

taglist: @northernbluess @swiftispunk @joelsversion @mrsmando @ilovepedro @lovers-liability @deathwife @undrthelights @atticrissfinch @casa-boiardi @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @fishingforpike @msjarvis @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sugadolly @yazsos @peppesgirl @pastawench @addictedtotlou @brittmb115 @anoverwhelmingdin @spishsstuff @wolfbook87 @mswarriorbabe80 @harriedandharassed @decemberdolly @laiisleitte @fierce-bab @vickie5446 @pertinentpostmortem @livingdeadmaria @sullyosully @bitchwitch1981 @its-nebuleuse @marini03 @piercethevic03 @joeandpedrosimp @kiwisbell @planet-marz1 @txtattoostark @jrosie25 @vee-bees-blog @joelsflannel @k-k0129 @cartoon-garbage04 @nostalxgic @ravenpoe67

#frankie #writing #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfic #tw daddy kink #cw daddy kink

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highvern · 3 months

Text

Casual

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

Genre: angst, fluff, suggestive

warnings: toxic relationship dynamics, alcohol consumption, avoidant attachment, hoshi cries, sex but nothing graphic

Length: ~ 3.8k

Note: the ending is inspired by this post. happy bday to my boo, legally its still your bday in california. sorry i made you cry. thank u @wonustars for sitting through the dumpster fire this was

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

m.list

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

In the past few weeks, something has been different between you and your fuck buddy.

He’s always been relatively excitable, thrilled by life and happy to be wherever you are. But there’s more smiling, more touching, and more moments that feel like maybe you’re in a relationship you didn’t sign up for because now every time you see him it doesn’t automatically devolve into humping each other until your eyes cross and limbs go numb.

Tonight is a prime example.

You happen to end up at the same bar (after he told you where he’d be with the optimism you’d show up, because you typically do). It’s early in the night, when pretending not to realize the other is just a few feet away on the opposite side of the room is still appropriate. Or you pretend while Soonyoung not so subtly follows your every move for the right moment to approach.

You like to act as if it's a coincidence you’d even show up in the first place and that you aren’t wrapped around his finger. Soonyoung, ever indulgent, lets you. He realized after repeated brush-offs that you have to come to him. And you will in your own time; like a cat that will let you look but not touch until it decides to. Make that decision too soon and he’ll end up covered in scratches and alone.

Your friends aren’t dumb to the charade. They know how you and Soonyoung work despite how overly complex you make it. They don’t push to ask questions, preferring to silently observe the back and forth when you two happen to be in public. Like they’re watching a nature documentary. Maybe they think they’re being subtle when they point out he’s sitting a few tables away or how they spotted him on the way back from the restroom with invisible question marks over their heads blaring ‘so what are you guys?’

There isn’t an answer. You and Soonyoung fuck. Sometimes you don’t; like when you were sick or when it's two in the morning and he swears he sleeps better when you’re there. Occasionally, when you feel extra generous, you let him take you out in public and hold your hand. Other times you pretend not to know he’s got his eyes on you from the moment you arrive at a party and go home alone with a handful of missed calls.

It’s…complicated.

So you sit at a table tucked in the corner and stir at the diluted contents of your drink while pointedly avoiding looking to your left where you know a pair of eager brown eyes are waiting to greet you.

“How long do we have to sit here until you go and talk to your lover boy?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You dismiss the very thought that anyone else is privy to the imaginary game of chess you’re playing against no one but yourself.

“Oh, really?” Lily snorts. “Because he’s been moony-eyed for the past twenty minutes and—”

“Shut up,” you snarl.

You're under the microscope and there's nowhere to hide. Not at this table at least.

“Would it be so bad if you guys just dated? He likes you and you obviously—”

The end of that sentence rattles in your brain even as you stomp away, parting the crowd loitering at the ball. You scold the moments of weakness that make it obvious.

It takes all your patience not to bodycheck the people stumbling in your way. Everyone’s packed in tight like sardines, at the mercy of the tide of bodies flowing to and fro. A brief part in the sea gets you to the counter. You barely take a breath before a familiar presence hovers at your shoulder.

“Come here often?” Soonyoung calls in your ear. The warmth of his breath sends shivers down your spine, goosebumps blooming despite the heat.

“Is that the best you can do?” You tease, finding his gaze. “Really?”

He’s warm at your amusement, eyes bright with his own humor or maybe it's the shots you watched Seokmin coax him into from the corner of your eye as you walked through the door. “How about, let me buy your next drink?”

“See if you lead with that I think you’ll be much more successful.”

He snorts before flagging down a bartender and reciting both your orders. The last thing he needs right now is more booze but if things go as planned, he’ll be too distracted to even notice you sipping on the cup meant for him.

The hand at the base of your spine is calming even in the chaos of the bar, his effort to keep you close as possible like you’d go anywhere. A soothing circle of his thumb burns across the sliver of bare skin below the hem of your shirt makes the world shrink down to just you two.

An easily established routine takes over. Soonyoung crowds you in, pushing you back into one of the stools and assuming the space between your legs. The length of his body locks you firmly in place. His eyes trace your mouth as he talks. Calculating if you’ll let him kiss you or if it’s too early to ask for that just yet.

“You look good.”

“Oh?” you ask with fake innocence. You know what you look like. Short skirt, tight top. Enough skin to make him drool and think about what you’re wearing underneath. Or what you aren’t, given your track record.

“Yeah.” A complete sentence. He’s too preoccupied staring at your bare legs to provide more context. Void of an ounce of shame, he traces the curve of your thigh obscenely without a care who might see and the conclusions they’ll make.

It’s hot. Temperature wise. Warm hands you wish would dip between your thighs and play with what’s just out of view rather than stroke at the rough hem of your skirt. But Soonyoung isn’t one for public indecency.

At least not that indecent.

You watch him watch you. The blushed tips of his ears give away exactly what he’s thinking. The memories of you, in the back of his Jeep wearing this very skirt, bouncing on his cock like you’d die without it just last weekend. Blowing his load as you teased him with the idea of cumming inside you without a condom. If he keeps staring then you’ll have no choice but to rush him into the bathroom for a quickie. But tonight, you want him to break first.

“Are you planning to do something about or—”

Your phone is buzzing before you get the chance to finish the thought. It’s probably just your friends giving a fair warning they’re heading out now that you no longer need them to serve as cover for the real reason you’re in a shitty bar on a Friday night. But the name on the screen is one you haven’t thought about in months.

Mingyu (tinder): back in town for the night, u free? [11:34PM]

“Who’s that?”

You bristle at his accusatory tone, locking your phone and hiding it away. Soonyoung assesses with skeptical eyes, chin jutted like you’re under examination because he decided to snoop over your shoulder. “What? No one.”

“Doesn’t seem like no one.”

“It’s none of your business.” You shoot back. He’s starting to piss you off.

The feeling is mutual if the hutch in his shoulders is anything to go by. “Sorry I’m confused why some dude is inviting you over at midnight.”

“Well, it’s a good thing it doesn’t matter if you’re confused because you aren’t my boyfriend.” You spit.

Soonyoung recoils like you slapped the words into his cheek. Cold air floods in between you, filling the newly abandoned space now that he’s stepping back.

“You’re right, I’m not.” He scoffs after a beat.” Sleep with whoever you want. I’m done.”

Soonyoung leaves you standing there without a second glance, melting into the crowd while you gape.

Fuck you, you think after the initial shock wears away. The last thing you need is Soonyoung’s permission. He may be the guy you’ve fucked exclusively for the better half of six months but he doesn’t have a monopoly on your time just because you take your clothes off for him.

Staring at Mingyu’s message, you fire off a response before slipping off the barstool and beelining for the door.

You: send me the address [11:46PM]

The cab ride is filled with Top 40 and the echoes of city noise. A few attempts at conversation fall flat before the driver leaves you alone to stew in silence. Fuming, you stare out the window as streetlights become nothing but streaks in the darkness. Your fingers tap the annoyance out onto leather interior.

Each stop light gives you more time to think about how Soonyoung isn’t your boyfriend. He isn’t your anything. At best he’s an easy fuck that strokes your ego. And even if he asked, which he hadn’t, you don’t do relationships. Commitment isn’t a part of the deal. He takes what you give and he doesn’t complain. At least, not until now.

It’s a casual arrangement for both of your benefit. If he concocted some grandiose illusion it could ever be something more then he’d swiftly come down from that cloud.

Stubbornness may kill you but there’s a point to prove tonight. That you can do whatever you want, whenever, with whoever you see fit.

You don’t even realize when the car stops outside a familiar apartment building.

Mingyu (tinder): lmk when ur outside [12:19AM]

The facade of anger starts crumbling.

You don’t want to fuck Mingyu. His name hasn’t been at the forefront of your mind in months. None of your old flings have. Even new guys at the bar were placeholders to be ignored after Soonyoung arrived with a dumb joke and too much confidence.

Somehow, without you realizing, months flew by without an ounce of interest for any guy other than the one you abandoned in a bar. The one guy you’re pretty sure would give you the moon if you asked.

And you screwed it all up to prove a point.

“Sorry, I gave you the wrong address. Can you actually take me to…” you ramble, typing out your final response to someone who you should’ve left firmly in the past.

You: i cant [12:25AM]

After the message goes through, blocking Mingyu’s number is easier than you’d like to admit.

—

The clock ticks closer to the time for early rises to begin rousing when you start losing hope. The carpet outside Soonyoung’s apartment is disgusting but after the first hour, you braved sitting down over the worsening blisters from an impractical shoe choice. Butt numb and phone battery in the single digits, you search for the courage to commute back across town with a bruised ego.

In all the time you’ve spent on the hard ground, not one of his roommates has come home.

He isn’t aware of your sudden change of heart so there's no reason he’d come rushing home. As far as he’s concerned you're bent in half in some old flames bed without a care for his feelings. Maybe this is how you punish yourself for pretending you’re capable of something like that. Pretending Soonyoung’s feelings haven’t flown to the top of your priorities since that fateful night in his room. Every time you go to his contact the wave of guilt threatens to crush you.

It’s another fifteen minutes before Soonyoung stumbles down the hallway. Alone.

Even from a distance, evidence of the night after your departure is plain to see. His eyes are glassy and the stench of bar floor rolls off him. Soonyoung is a sentimental drunk but knowing you’re the reason for such a sorry state makes you want to sprint out the door into oncoming traffic.

You feel pathetic and small but he doesn’t even seem to realize you're sitting there as he trips over your legs with a mumbled ‘scuse me,’ which only makes that hole in your chest grow. But you can’t find a word to say. Not with the disappointment clear on his face.

Disappointment because you were stubbornly refusing to let him in.

It was a mistake. Coming here, leaving the bar, going to the bar, pretending you could do any of this in the first place. Maybe if you stay still he won’t notice you and you can disappear forever once he’s inside.

But whoever runs things has a vested interest in your love life.

Soonyoung drops his keys after failing to get them in the lock for the nth time. They bounce off the ground and skitter the few inches away where you mourn, gleaming next to your bare thigh. He finally seems to take notice of your presence.

“You’re here?” He teeters, bending at the waist to snatch up his keys and almost ends up head first through the wall. You take mercy and hand them to him instead.

He’s looking straight through you. To the parts you hide beneath snide comments and brush offs, the side that claims none of this is that serious. That he shouldn’t expect anything, that a relationship is so far out of the realm of

“I blocked his number.”

He freezes at the confession, tense around the shoulders like he isn’t even breathing.

It's all too much.

You rock up onto your feet, unbalanced as blood flow is restored to the lower half of your body. You’ve got to get out of here. Somewhere else, anywhere else. Where he isn’t looking at you like that. Halfway down the hall is where you finally hear him speak again.

“Really?” Soonyoung asks, voice flooded with disbelief and maybe something like wonder.

You don’t bother to turn around before answering. “Don’t make it weird.”

More silence. Your shuddering breath and his footsteps fill the hallway. He’s at your back, a hand ghosting along your elbow. “How long have you been here?”

You really don’t want to answer but he needs to hear it. He needs to hear how much you care. Even if it’s scary.

“Since I left the bar.”

“Don’t leave,” he beckons.

It sounds like a thank you. Thank you for… not fucking some guy when you could’ve? Thank you for picking him even if you can’t say it out loud? He knows it's a lot, even drunk out of his mind. One day you’ll have to tell him you’d pick him over anything but tonight carries more than you can handle already.

Your hand finds his. A tight grip, sweaty palms not even a consideration because the contact lifts some of the invisible weight off your shoulders.

He ushers you inside, down the hall to his room. In the silent darkness of the apartment, his hands stay on you. Like if for even a second you two aren’t touching you’ll float away. Fingers laced tight as you shyly shuffle behind him.

Your clothes fall to the ground. Not in the rushed heat of usual encounters, but in a desperate need to feel one another: skin on skin.

Naked in bed, you stake claim to his lap, lost against what comes next. This is usually the easiest part. You know how sex works. But his mouth burns along your palm, savoring the warmth with a long kiss that scratches at your throat. You shake, breath stuttering. Another kiss to your palm, lips gliding across your wrist, your elbow, the curve of your shoulder. Each webs another crack.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper as the dam begins to break.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, voice shaking.

“You thought I didn’t pick you,” you whimper again, tears welling because you’re embarrassed. Both from how you acted and how you’re crying in the first place. But it feels cathartic. Letting him see the parts no one else gets to witness.

“A-and I let you.”

“You’re here now. That’s all I care about.”

Somehow he manages to pull you into a tighter hold, crushing your ribs but you don’t need oxygen. You need Soonyoung. You settle in the cradle of his thighs, legs wrapped around his waist and arms locked across his shoulder.

He doesn’t offer a joke to cut the tension. He doesn’t try to play a simpering fool just to see you smile. Soonyoung tangles you in his arms and doesn’t ease up even when you wiggle for more comfort.

When you kiss him, he kisses back. Your mouth opens when he nudges his tongue at the seam of your lips. Arching into his palms at the curve of your spine, you moan as he flips you over and dips under the covers. Your thighs will be bruised come morning but it’s a welcome thought because that means there’s proof of Soonyoung’s claim on you; one you’ve been too stubborn to acknowledge.

Each stroke of his tongue is another nail in the coffin. Vibrations cue you in that he’s speaking but all you can make out is the break of Soonyoung’s voice when he chants ‘mine,’ into your skin. You refuse to let go of his hand the entire time, while you writhe and shake, brain melting until you shatter with a cry. His fingers stayed interlocked on top of your stomach as your nails bite crescents into the skin. Another reminder that will fade but you look good on him for right now. It’s enough for right now.

His mouth tastes of you when you finally coax him back into another kiss. You lick across his tongue like you could suck away his breath if you tried.

You fuck him like that. Back in his lap, chest to chest, panting into each other’s mouth in a crude kiss because even an inch of space between your bodies is too much. Not because either of you are horny and need release. It’s a different type of sex you’ve never been familiar with. Closer. Needier.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper again.

“Don’t—fuck—don’t wanna talk about it anymore.” He doesn’t sound sure of it. Maybe you’ll have to talk about what this means later, without the safety of a dark room.

The next apology dies at the tip of your tongue. Focused on nothing but the swell between your thighs, his fingers strumming you into another orgasm you’re unprepared for.

“Soonyoung.” You vibrate into the next wave, pinching tight at his shoulders until his lips find your neck.

You cradle his face between your palms, kissing away whatever worries linger. He doesn't say anything as he spills into the condom; silently refusing let go for what feels like hours, catching your breaths until he slouches back into the mattress and your weight follows.

“I didn’t mean it,” you confess. Your fingers busy etching across the jut muscle along his neck, something to take the focus off how awful you feel.

“Okay…” Soonyoung traces the dip between your shoulder blades; a simple touch leaving you on edge. “What did you mean then?”

“I don’t want…that.”

“Want what?” His fingers flex. There’s an unusual level of patience from him tonight but rather than annoyance, you’re thankful. You wouldn’t say half the things you should if Soonyoung wasn’t here to ask for them.

“To sleep with other guys.” It’s half of the truth. The more important half, the part lodged in your throat and refusing to come out, is that you don’t want to lose him. And you’ll do what it takes not to let that happen. But you don’t elaborate on that thought.

“Good.” He smiles against your temple. “I don’t want to sleep with other guys either.”

A weak joke but it’s a start back towards normal. Soonyoung might just understand these feelings more than you think. Thank God someone does.

You both pretend to fall asleep after that, silently lingering in the liminal space between dreams and consciousness. Your cheek on his chest, the beat of his heart lulling your own down from an anxious rush. His arms a cocoon from whatever waits on the other side of daylight for you two to figure out.

Together.

Strips of sun slowly brighten between the slats of the blinds. A signal that it’s time to test whatever happened in the last few hours under the daylight.

“Wanna get breakfast?” Soonyoung asks, trailing gentle pecks across your bare shoulder.

“Waffles sound good.”

“Waffles it is.”

In the bright lights of the diner, your head throbs. Half from the hangover threatening to tie your stomach in knots and the other half from crying. Your eyes are still puffy, throat sore from such an emotional display in the privacy of Soonyoung’s room.

Soonyoung sits across the table, fingers tangled with yours on top for everyone to see. A proud declaration you fight not to shy away from. Even as he digs into his food he doesn’t stop tracing the back of your thumb with his own. Second nature. You should let him do it more often. It’s a nice feeling.

Seeing couples constantly touching in public before was something you watched with disgust. Except now you get it. Because despite the rational knowledge that you’d certainly be fine if he let go, there's also the feeling that you’d dissolve in the wind if he even considered the idea.

You’ve picked apart your plate, remains of decimated waffles and eggs pushed across the booth for his consumption. Soonyoung fumbles with the shaker and douses the scrambled yellows in mountainous trails of salt. He glances up at you, cheeks rounded in shock like you’d be able to help him. Biting back a conspiratory smile, you start shoveling the mess into a napkin.

Soonyoung stares, silent as you impale a slice of strawberry on the end of your fork and pop it into your mouth. It’s salty too but you wash it away with a swig of cheap coffee.

“What?” you ask.

He answers with a peck to the back of your hand, diving into the more edible scraps that escaped his mess as if none of it happened in the first place.

In a sudden moment of clarity, a longing rooted deep in your chest rears its head. You don’t know what love feels like but maybe this is the start of it.

Sitting in a shitty dinner, wearing his clothes, while Soonyoung laughs at some joke you don’t catch because you’re too busy trying to find your breath. It’s good though. Exciting.

But the moment passes with a beat of your heart. It’s just you and him. He’s your something, you the same for him.

And that’s enough right now.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

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

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi @writingbarnes

@dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @idkjustlovingbts @wobblewobble822 @futuristicenemychaos

@seungkw1 @horanghaezone @jespecially @scoupsjin @isabellah29

series: @pinklemonadeflav @gyuwoosbabie @dinossaurz @vixensss

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mydearesthrry · 10 months

Text

baby - h.s.

a/n: self indulgent bc i want to call harry baby so bad. this isnt that great but i wanted to finish it. anyways i hope u enjoy <3

“Hi, handsome,” She grinned as she opened the door, her husband clad in a navy suit, white collar popped over the neckline.

“Mm, hi,” He murmured back, moving into the doorframe and setting down his briefcase almost instantly, hands coming up to rest on her white linen dress covered hips. “Missed you.”

Sweet boy, she thought. “Missed you more, angel.” Placing a kiss on the apple of his cheek, she reached her hands up to loosen his tie, unbuttoning the button that lay concealed under the knot.

“Work’s a fuckin’ drag, woulda been here w’you instead,” He breathed, resting his forehead on hers, one of his hands coming up to rest softly on the side of her neck, scratching gently at the nape as to not ruin her hair. “Pretty baby.”

“Hmmm,” She replied, making him furrow his brows in confusion.

“Wha’?”

“You seem to be laying it on extra thick today, Mr Styles.” She giggled, pressing her front into his, caressing his cheek with her hand, running her thumb along the expanse of his cheekbone.

“Oh hush,” He rolled his eyes, grinning at the giggle from his wife that followed. “Don’t think I am, Mrs. Styles.”

“You want something, don’t you?” His wife observed him. Of course she did. There was something off about him, and she was curious as to what it was.

“Um,” He sighed, removing his hands from her and stepping away to thrash off his jacket. “I- uh,”

“Spit it out, H, I’m not scared of you.” She leaned a hip against the counter, crossing her arms and giving him a look that screamed ‘go ahead’.

“I really want a head scratch and back rub.” He said quickly, following his words with a sheepish smile.

“That- that’s really why you were acting… weird?” She rolled her eyes, heels clicking across the floor as she closed the distance between them. Moving to further unbutton his shirt until she could fully see his chest and tummy, watching as it slowly rising and falling with every breath he took, the butterfly’s wings almost fluttering mesmerizingly. “I’d always do this for you, baby, you know that.”

“And— do you think y’could jus’ call me baby? I… I really like when you call me baby.” He whispered, turning his face away shyly.

“Baby,” she giggled, “You don’t even have to ask.”

And it’s true. He really didn’t. She would much rather call him ‘baby’ more than anything else, but switches up the pet name for the spontaneity and so that he wouldn’t get bored of her.

Christ, she hasn’t even called him Harry more than twice in a day.

In the last 6 years.

“I know, jus’ wanna be babied right now,” He murmured sheepishly, leaning into the hand that was placed on his neck.

“Sweet baby, love you so much. My husband.” She whispered softly, eyes moony in admiration as she traced over every single feature of his face, committing the tiny dips and ridges to a special place in her brain.

“My wife. Only one f’me,” He smiled back, leaning in to rest his forehead onto hers. “I. Love. You.” Punctually, he pecked her lips with every word, sighing when he just rested his lips against hers, both of their lips unpuckered, just merely resting.

“I love you, baby.” And with that, she placed her lips fully against his, embracing the soft plush of his pillowy lips, the faint taste of mint tracing the seams of his lips.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles blurb #harry edward styles

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somerandomdudelmao · 5 months

Note

Have to say I'm loving Marble Sky. It's clear you put a lot of thought into the story and I'm excited to see where it's going.

Figured I'd weigh into the Oscar commentary going on and I think honestly the shirt he was wearing in the flashback when Ward was talking about how he ended up in space might say a lot about his character as a whole.

If you don't look at the shirt closely it says "the earth is fla-" and naturally people will fill in the missing 't'. A shirt that seems to support flat earthers is particularly tone deaf given he'd just walked into a building dedicated to science and specifically space. It's the sort of thing people would instantly react to and think lesser of Oscar for. Much like the fact that he comes from a rich family. Or the fact that he seems to embrace the world with puppy like enthusiasm. It creates an image of someone who is ignorant, who doesn't pay attention, and is careless to the point of being arrogant about it.

However looking closely that's not what the shirt says. it's just the text for the rest of it is small, harder to read and purposefully arranged so its divorced from the rest of the larger letters.

And I find that fascinating.

So reading the shirt properly it says "the earth is FLA-bergasting". This message I think has a lot of layers especially combined with Oscar's established fascination with aliens, biology and stuff that we have seen with him previously. It's a message that celebrates the world and all life in it. It's a message that acknowledges that understanding that world is impossible but compelling none the less. It's a message that says the earth is confusing and hard to understand and Oscar is not pretending to know everything about it. Some of this might be just my interpretation of the message so take that with a grain of salt. Still the difference between the first and second is interesting because in the first its a person asserting they know something as complete truth while the second basically admits they don't know anything at all.

Now apply this to Oscar. We're presented with a chaotic lovable doofus who is brimming with childlike wonder at the start of the story. We're presented with a "rich kid" who got into space because his parents paid for it. We're presented with a guy who seems okay with the slaughter of others in order to protect himself. A lot of people are looking at Oscar and seeing "the earth is Fla(t)"

However we've barely scratched the surface of this story or this character not to mention the situation as a whole. So I'm staring at the smaller hidden letters (metaphorically) and wondering exactly what is actually going on with this guy. Because I'm pretty sure "the earth is Fla-bergasting" and so is Oscar.

Thank you for indulging this long ask. I felt like ranting because I love Oscar and this story.

There are three things in this world I can look at forever. How fire burns, how water flows, and how someone carefully analyzes a character in whom I have invested a lot of time and effort.

Holy shit this is incredibly interesting and oh my fucking god you wrote the entire essay?? your brain?? is powerful??rjfkgi

#marble sky ask

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whorediaries-09 · 7 months

Text

sweater weather;

pairing- roommate!sirius black x reader warning(s)- fluff, some silly banter, tad bit suggestive. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- aghhh just a brain rot 😞🤍. also this whole series is so self indulgent 🤭

masterlist of 'the seven lives;' series

the slut club

and now, so let me hold both your hands in the holes of my sweater

he doesn’t like cats.

much to his dismay, you’re bending down and cooing at the little kitten that curls up against your ankle. it has got soft blue eyes which reflect innocence. you run your fingers through its black fur, picking the small animal up. he likes the soft smile on your face. it fills his chest with a warm fuzzy feeling he can’t explain. neither can he explain why his heart skips a few beats when he notices the twinkling in your eyes. it almost makes him drown into a frenzy of warmth.

‘can we keep her?’ you ask. there’s something in your voice that sends sparks of electricity down his spine. it’s as if he’s known you his whole life. he doesn’t want to say no, but he can’t help it. he digs the edge of his boot on the loose gravel of the path. twirling around the loops grocery packet between his fingers, he whispers, scared to let the joy in your eyes leave.

‘no,’ he tries to predict your reaction, but fails to. surely the joy in your eyes melts, but the hope doesn’t. from what he knows about you, he knows you’re a stubborn person who stands their ground. you always get your way around in some way or the other. but you’re also a people pleaser. you hate it when you’ve to truly go against somebody’s wishes to do something you want.

so, he watches as you wrap the little kitten between the folds flannel you’re wearing. there’s a mischievous glint in your eyes, a small smirk between the curve of your smile. it’s the same one you wear when you read something mildly suggestive in your books.

‘please, sirius,’ you drawl. the kitten mewls from the folds of the fabric, her eyes glinting the same mischief as yours do. he feels his breath palpitate when you move closer, putting the face of the kitten closer to his.

‘look she wants to come with us too, that’s why she’s mewing,’ you justify. he gulps slowly, his barrier of rigidity slowly breaking. he feels his thoughts melt when he stares at your lips. even though he’s never touched them before, he suddenly thinks he knows them. he feels he can carve every shape, every curve of your body with his eyes closed.

‘okay,’ he gulps. you squeal, a quiet sound from your lips.

he thinks it’s melody to his ears.

‘sirius!’ you shout across the room. your kitten, binx, is curled across your chest, purring away silently as you rub your fingers through her fur. you’re laying down, your feet thrown across the sofa, letting the nail paint on your toes dry. the mild winter allows a soft sunbeam to peek through the windows.

‘what?’ he asks, coming out of his door. he has nothing but a towel wrapped around his narrow waist. several tattoos are inked upon his porcelain skin with happy trail on his abdomen which traces down, leaving less to imagination. his hair is wet and droplets of water trace down his defined pectorals. while you’d been living with him for nearly 8 months now, you’d definitely never seen him shirtless. it makes your chest fill with a strange warmth. it makes your brain short circuit for a moment when he smiles, walking towards you.

‘like what you see?’ he teases, wiggling his eyebrow. you gulp slowly, before you regain your composure.

‘i can’t hear you over the loud music,’ you say, getting up. binx falls on your lap, and she scratches your arms with her nails.

‘hey hey, calm down little woman!’ sirius says, noticing her scratching you. he takes her into her arms, her little paws trying to scratch at a surface.

‘don’t do that to your mum,’ he says, looking into her eyes. she stops fidgeting for a bit, before she mews loudly throwing her paws on his chest and leaving a long scratch across it. it digs deep into his skin, letting out blood.

‘binx! you naughty menace!’ you scold as she scurries off, jumping from sirius’ hold.

‘asshole,’ he murmurs, grasping his wound.

‘i’ll patch it up for you,’ you say.

‘do you trust me?’ you ask, holding the cotton soaked with the antiseptic with a pair of tweezers. you’re standing in between his thighs. he’s wearing nothing but grey sweatpants, being overly dramatic for the scratch on his chest. while you think it’s adorable, you’re sure it’s just for the shits and giggles.

‘i do, but i feel like I shouldn’t?’ he answers, grinning mischievously. he likes your form between his legs he thinks. it makes him go feral, you looking down at him while you fix his wounds. it makes his imagination go wild. the idea of you touching him while he’s half naked thrills something inside his stomach.

you slap him across his shoulder. it’s a soft playful blow and he laughs. his hands suddenly grip your waist, as he pulls you closer, almost mushing his face with your breasts. he watches the breath get stuck on your throat, as you wet your lip, tongue slowly darting out over your lower lips. you’re unconsciously leaning over his face, soaking the cotton ball into his blood.

he sneers as a soft burning pain grows, and his fingers dig deeper into your waist. you unconsciously arch your hips towards him, your hands falling on shoulder. the tension grows, and the heartbeats palpitate between the both of you. there’s a look of dreaminess in your eyes he’s never seen before. he thinks it makes him weak in the knees. you trail your fingernail on a tattoo, before rubbing the antiseptic on his wound.

your breaths are ragged when you finally close his wound with a patch. your job was done, you’d move away. you should move away. but his touch burns into your soul, but it isn’t enough. it feels familiar on your skin, yet so unfamiliar. you lean closer unconsciously as if from muscle memory. you cradle his face, your noses rubbing-

a loud noise of shattering glass distracts you. you pull apart, a flustered look on your face. heat occupies your skin as you crumble into a shell of embarrassment. he lets go of your waist, and you stutter,

‘binx- the little fucking minx-‘you say, before you run off.

you’re carrying a cup of coffee in your hand, running late for your job. a piece of toast hangs from your lips, and you’re running around the house, trying to find your tie.

‘you can wear mineeeee,’ sirius drawls, closing the battered copy of ‘the picture of dorian gray’.

‘i could if you gave it to me!’ you shout, swallowing the last piece of the butter smothered bread.

‘you’ve a nice swallow game, i see,’ he muses. you groan, gulping down the last bit of your bitter coffee.

‘that’s a really bad one!’ you say, tucking your shirt into your trousers. screaming internally, you realize you can’t find your belt either. sirius enters his room, seemingly searching for his tie.

‘can you give me a belt too?’ you ask, hurrying off behind him. binx runs in front of your feet, and in an attempt to not fall on her, you fall on the floor with a thump, followed by sirius who trips on you.

his locks tickle your face, his grey eyes staring into yours with an intensity which reminds you a memory you never had. it’s a minor flash, something of a haze like dream, but you remember it so clearly. your breathing rages, hotness searing through you as his scent and warmth looms over you. there’s a glint in his eyes you can’t decipher, but your memory has it engrained. as if you’ve seen it a thousand times.

‘i like it when you’re under me,’ he whispers. it’s a low rasp, one you’ve never heard before, yet it ignites something in you.

something that excites you.

he’s fleeing when he receives your call. your voice was a timid whisper when you’d called him, laced with fear. he hated it, he hated how it sounded. but when he arrives at the bar, he finds you completely safe, surrounded by your friends. you’re chatting happily, your skin flushed with the alcohol that renders through your body. he’s perplexed, till one of your friends spot him. she bats her eyelashes at you, whistling as he walks towards you.

‘what happened?’ he asks. he holds your fingers, gripping them tight. he’s trying to read through your emotions. he’s trying to read you through the happy smile and shining eyes. but he’s too distracted by how happy you look.

‘it wasz a prankh!’ you cheer happily, your drunk state rendering your words.

‘seriously?’ he asks, rolling his eyes. he’s smiling, he can’t help it. you laugh,

‘yess!’ you try to stand up, but trip on your heels instead. he holds you closer, letting you support your weight on him.

‘you’ve had too much to drink,’ he scolds. you gaze at him happily, your hormones getting the best of you.

‘i know!’ you exclaim, feeling the collywobbles consume you as his scent tantalizes into your senses.

‘don’t you think we should leave?’ he asks.

‘should we?’

‘yes,’ he says, pulling you closer. his fingers dig into your skin, feeling your touch. it calms his nerves. still, he needs to hold you closer, to feel you, to know you’re safe.

‘okay i’ll go. will you take me home?’ you ask, an innocence provoked in your voice. he feels himself melt, scarring him and his memories.

‘i’ll do. i’ll always take you home.’

the stars are shining bright on the dark sky. you’ve his leather jacket wrapped around your form, as he holds you close. you reek of alcohol, but he doesn’t mind it. it’s infused distinctly with your perfume, and he finds his comfort in it.

‘hi,’ you say, wrapping your arm across his waist, pulling him closer. he presses a kiss on your hair, breathing you in. it’s perplexing, the burning emotions you let flee in his chest. the warmth he feels with your presence.

‘hi,’ he whispers back. there’s a glazed look in your eyes. he knows it. he remembers it. it reflects him, and he feels as if there’s no one in the world but you and him. his heart beats raggedly, and he’s afraid it’ll pop out of his chest, when you lean closer to him, pressing a soft kiss on his jaw.

‘you’re so beautiful,’ you say, snuggling against him. your heels click against the loose gravel of the path. it’s a moment of softness he wants to cherish forever.

‘but you’re hurting me…so much. i wish i could kiss you. i wish i could hold you like this forever. i wish i could keep you close with me, just for me,’ you ramble.

‘then why don’t you?’ he asks, his fingers cradling your jaw.

‘you’ll kiss me?’ he looks down at you, his eyes scanning your features. the cold air waves over your hair, and he holds your face between his hands. his fingers ghost over your lips. you lean into his hand, as he presses a soft peck on your chin.

‘i’ll do, when you’re sober,’ he promises.

*********************************

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking (if you want to be tagged please reply under this post!)

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #marauders #sirius black #sirius x reader #sirius black smut #the marauders #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #marauders era #sirius black thoughts #sirius black x oc #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanart #sirius being sirius #sirius black fluff #sirius black angst #fanfiction #james & peter & remus & sirius

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shy-urban-hobbit · 6 months

Text

The Cat had a habit and God's alone knew when exactly Lambert had starting indulging it.

"What you working on?" Aiden asked as he came up behind the Wolf, hooking his chin over Lambert's shoulder, hands - as always - folded behind his back in a way he presumed was supposed to come across as harmless (and according to Aiden, removed the temptation to touch) but had Lambert convinced for the longest time those hidden hands held a knife which was about to find itself buried between his shoulders. He had no idea when exactly he'd stopped moving away whenever he heard the other approach, or warning him off completely with a low growl or other threat, but it's what had led him to his current situation. That situation being working on a new bomb with the Cat watching his hands intently.

"Curiosity killed the Cat." Lambert replied, always one to keep his answers vague when it came to his experiments until he was sure it was working as it should. He cursed himself when he realised he needed to swap out the tool he was working with for one which was in his other kit back in his saddlebag, which was way over on the other side of their small camp.

"Hmm." He heard Aiden shift behind him before the required tool entered his field of vision, dangling between dark skinned fingers, "Not just yet, it hasn't."

Lambert said nothing, his brain flitting between his current project and wondering exactly how closely the other had been watching him.

Lambert stiffened under the others weight. He'd grown to tolerate the Cat draping himself over him in one form or another, whether it was plastering himself against the Wolf's back or leaning against his side. Aiden was always quick to move at the slightest hint so it wasn't as if it was too much of a hindrance. The scenting however, was new.

"...Can I fucking help you?"

"Sorry, sorry." Aiden said, bringing his nose away from the crook of Lambert's neck and moving away so he was kneeling next to Lambert instead, the scent of embarrassment growing stronger, "It's been a long day and you're scent...it...."

"You trying to say I stink?"

Lambert was sure if Witcher's could blush Aiden would be scarlet right now, "It's grounding, alright!" Aiden spat out, "It's been an absolute shitshow of a day, and your scent makes me stop feeling like I want to claw my own skin off and don't ask me why because I don't fucking know, but it does!"

"Is that why you've started more or less sitting on top of me some nights, because you like how I smell?"

Aiden shrugged, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable and I swear I didn't plan to scent you, it just happened. If you want me to set up somewhere else, I understand."

"Aiden." Lambert threw him a look the Cat recognised as the Wolf's silent request to 'shut the fuck up' whilst tilting his head.

Aiden blinked, "You're sure?"

"Just don't make it weird."

Aiden tentatively rested his head on Lambert's shoulder, the tip of his nose cold against Lambert's neck, "Thank you."

"Whatever. I just don't want you getting twitchy enough to go on a murder spree or some shit."

Lambert winced in sympathy as Aiden continued to whimper and cry out, trying not to let his own panic bleed through too much and make things worse as the scent of the other pain made his eyes sting like they'd been rubbed with nettles. The burn was deep, leaving Aiden's left leg a mottled mess of raw red and charred black from knee to hip. It was bad - far worse than their potions and enhanced healing were equipped to deal with alone, especially when Aiden's body had decided to go into shock.

The healer had refused to take any coin in payment, insisting it was the least she could do unless the two of them wanted to have effectively done that slyzard contract for free. Lambert felt he owed her something regardless. The healers assistant had taken care to hold Aiden's legs down, but he'd managed to get a few solid scratches in before Lambert had even thought to do the same to the Cats arms, sitting bolt upright with a screech as soon as the healer had touched a finger to the wound. Lambert could only hold Aiden to his chest, his arms pinned by his sides as he continued trying to squirm away from the salve.

"Aiden, you need to calm down alright?" He said as Aiden almost dislodged the assistant for the third time.

"Hurts". The Cat whimpered

"I know, but she can't treat you if you don't stop moving and then it'll feel even worse. You need to try and keep still."

Aiden gave a bitten off sob as he looked at Lambert, his eyes clouded with pain and adrenaline, "Hurts."

And that was a look Lambert never wanted to see aimed at him ever again.

"C'mere." He quickly shuffled so his head was level with Aiden's before quickly relinquishing his grip on Aiden with one hand to tip the others face towards his neck, Aiden immediately sniffing deeply and greedily, his body losing a little of it's stiffness so whilst he was by no means relaxed, he no longer felt close to snapping he was so tense.

"That's it, calm down for me. She's almost done, it's almost over." He soothed awkwardly, feeling every single one of Aiden's punched out breaths and sniffles ghost over his bare skin as he finally tried to do as asked and hold still, although his body still jerked every now and then, especially when his leg had to be lifted so it could be properly bandaged.

"All done." The healer said, placing a sealed jar and a roll of bandages on the small table by Lambert's elbow, "You're welcome to stay back here until he's a little more coherent. Don't forget to take those with you when you leave."

"Thanks." Lambert said with a nod, continuing to run his fingers through Aiden's hair after his hand has somehow found its way there whilst the other pressed their face deeper into his neck.

Lambert huffed a laugh as true to form, Aiden zeroed in on the crook of his neck - alternating between sniffing obnoxiously, leaving nipping kisses little kisses up and down his throat and licking the sweat off his skin with either a quick kitten lick or a long swipe of his tongue.

"And here I thought you couldn't possibly smell any better."

"You say that like you haven't smelt sweat and sex on me before. Probably smell like a brothel."

"You smell like us." Aiden answered, giving another comically loud sniff, "Did you know arousal smells like cinnamon on you?"

Lambert gave a surprised laugh, "Can't say it's something I've ever been curious about."

"Well it does. Cinnamon and-" Another sniff, "Black pepper. It suits you."

Lambert pulled him up for a deep kiss before flipping them so Aiden was underneath him, nuzzling his neck as his hand found its goal between his legs.

"Lambert." Aiden sighed, arching his back.

"Shush now." Lambert admonished lightly with a nip to Aiden's earlobe, "I'm trying to figure out what yours remind me of and you know if you distract me, I'll have no choice but to start over."

Turns out Lambert was very easily distracted that night.

Lambert turned the small trinket over in his hand. Everything looked in working order, so why the fuck wasn't it actually working? He reached a hand behind him when he felt the bed dip to rest it on the first body part he could reach (a thigh this time) as he tilted his head to the right to make room - always the right nowadays - his Cat liked being able to see his face afterall.

"What you working on?" Aiden asked as he hooked his chin on Lambert's shoulder, wrapping his own arms around the Wolf.

"Just something dumb for Ciri." He answered, placed it on the bedside table, "How was training?"

Aiden gave a short, derisive hum and Lambert smelled a spike of annoyance as Aiden shifted to press his nose to his lovers neck as his arms tightened marginally, "I don't think my knife skills will ever be at the level they were now that my depth perception's fucked."

"Oi, less of that." Lambert admonished, loosening Aiden's hold on him so he could turn to see his face and once again feeling a twinge of fondness for Jaskier that the bard had searched high and low to find a shade of green for Aiden's eye patch that matched his remaining eye (everyone who knew him knew he was surprisingly vain about them).

"You weren't an expert from the get-go the first time you learned all this, right? It's only been a few months, you don't need to be so hard on yourself."

"...I hate when you're right."

"You're proud of me when I'm right. Now c'mere and let's see if I can't cheer you up."

Aiden allowed himself to be reeled in, languid kisses turning needy as Lambert worked on the laces of Aiden's shirt before pressing his face to Aiden's neck to fill his senses with the smell and taste of home.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #aiden/lambert #aiden x lambert #lambert/aiden #lambert x aiden #lambden #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #lambert

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writefightandflightclub · 11 months

Text

“Yes man” (Cecil Dennis {fuck me, how did I get here} x fem!reader)

Summary: Blurby McBlurbFace. Mainly chat, slight fluff, smut, pining / friends to lovers vibes.

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

Warnings: alcohol consumption; drug use mentions (weed); smoking; dumbification of Cecil, I guess. Mommy kink if you squint. Public erections / handjob sorta, premature ejaculation / cum in pants. Mentions of dead fish but no fish were harmed. Actually, a surprising number of animal metaphors. Oops. Rimming I’m sorry that one snuck in very last minute Omg.

A/n: having a shitty mental health day (boo) and this Cecil blurb (whilst not my best) is my self-care ☺️ I don’t remember his character well aside from wet bloody cat boy, but I’m damn sure not rewatching that again so this will have to do 😅. Feedback appreciated! 🧡 (Is the rimming too much? 🙈) Not proofed and I’m almost positive autocorrect will have screwed me over.

Also totally inspired by @my-secret-shame’s meme and @foxilayde’s amazing blurb. I will not pretend to have had an original idea! 🧡

“Come onnnn, Cecil,” you whine, poking him in his soft belly with your index finger. He giggles lightly, almost like a hiccough. “It’s always me coming up with the ideas. What do you wanna do next?”

He turns his head as though in slow motion. Moves as if he’s underwater, this one - at least when he’s got food and several beers in him (which is most of the time). He looks up. Blinks at you; dumbly. “What do you mean?”

Eh. You’d really thought your statement had been quite clear.

You resist the urge to pinch his cheek and tell him It’s a good job you’re pretty.

“I mean, that I suggest things, and you go along with them.”

He blinks again. It’s like everything is just a little slower in Cecil’s world. Takes a little longer to filter through. It’s refreshing, in a way. He’s in no rush, and it encourages you to slow down too. To smell the roses.

Cecil is beyond easy-going, come to think of it. Goes with the flow like a dead fish. You’re pretty sure, in fact, that he’d go along with just about anything. With just about anybody’s hare-brained schemes, without once thinking through a single one of the potential consequences.

Scratch that - he probably already has done just that; which would explain a lot of the trouble he’s routinely gotten himself into since you’ve known him.

Though, you suppose, in a way that’s refreshing too. You always did worry too much.

Besides, he always seems to muddle through, somehow. Though quite how has you stumped. It’s hardly due to his charm or his smarts, now, is it? Even so, despite whatever attributes he is lacking in, you can’t deny that he must be doing something right. Trouble simply seems to slide right off the man’s back. Like water off a… well. A dead fish, you guess. What a versatile metaphor.

He blinks at you again. Maybe those big pretty cow eyes help, just a teency bit, to get him out of trouble, you would wager.

Look at him though. You’ve never seen anyone more relaxed. Practically horizontal as he’s hunkered down in the booth, seated next to you in the corner of your usual dive bar. Maybe there’s something to be said for all the pot and seedy hotel room fucks he indulges in. You bet his shoulders are inordinately loose. Maybe he really does have it all figured out, despite appearances.

As you ponder this, Cecil -eventually- makes a non-committal noise, before his bloodshot, glassy eyes flick back to the TV hung up on the wall. He is barely even watching it. Just letting it happen to him, like he does with most everything else.

That’s probably why you’ve never fucked him, you realise, like a bolt out of the blue. He’s pretty, sure. But you wouldn’t.

You don’t mind control - that’s not it. You don’t mind taking charge. But with Cecil? You think he’d take it lying down - a little too literally. If you’d ever suggested you and he fool around, you’d never know for sure. Never know if it really was his idea - a thought or desire he’d ever had before - or if he was simply far too agreeable and opportunistic to decline. So agreeable, that he’d let you ease your vagina up and down on his cock until you came on him. You were intrigued by the thought, sure. But you refused to go there simply because Cecil couldn’t come up with anything better to do.

You look at him, and immediately bat that thought - the vagina all over cock one - away though, as you regard his complete lack of gumption. It’s tangible. Look at him now, for example. He’d seemed to like the way the air from his non-committal noise had filtered over the neck of his bottle, tucked under his folded chin. Indeed, he is now pursing his full, curvy lips, and blowing over the mouth of it until a soft series of “hoots” fill your booth.

You fold your arms and sigh.

You reckon that will amuse him for the next ten minutes at least, so clearly, once again, Cecil’s not the one coming up with a plan for the remainder of this evening.

It’s not that you ever really have to do anything with Cecil to have a good time. It’s just that, tonight, you’re antsy, and it’s making your thoughts wander in directions. Down below his zipper directions, so help you.

“Beer’s empty,” Cecil states flatly, finally noticing after sucking on the bottle for a mo, poking his wet pink tongue around the rim like the little wet cat boy he is. Cute though. Does things to you.

Anyway. You register his statement, but you observe that no action follows. He doesn’t look at all like he plans to do a damn thing about it.

You decide to test your theory, then. Your theory that Cecil’s simply a dead fish swept along in your river. That maybe he doesn’t even want to be here at all. Never did. That you are just another something that happened to happen to him.

“Do you wanna go get Mexican?” you offer, with ulterior motives Cecil is not shrewd enough to pick up on.

His eyes tick back from the captivating, shifting lights of the TV. “Sure,” he smiles softly at you, perfectly content, it seems - and yet, you are less than satisfied.

“See!” You smack the palms of your hands together in triumph, and he jumps. Pushes himself up a little straighter in the seat, his palms disappearing into the worn, lumpy upholstery. “See what I mean?”

He blinks at you blankly. Again.

Clearly not, then?

“You just go along with anything I say. We ate two hours ago, Cecil,” you complain, recalling the all you can eat Chinese buffet you and he had gorged on with two coupons you’d cut out of the newspaper. You drop your hands to your lap, dejectedly. You’re getting agitated with him, which surprises you, in truth. And still… there Cecil is. Unflappable. Calm. Constant. There are pros to his cons, for sure. “I just… I never know if you actually like what we’re doing, you know?”

“But. You always suggest things I like. So why would I say no?” He shrugs a little. “Tacos are good. I like tacos. I like…” he hoots into his bottle again as he says the word. “You-ooooooh.”

You hate to admit it, but his answer has you stumped for a moment. Cecil’s statements may generally be simple. Uncomplicated. But they can be oddly profound at times.

Christ. Maybe… Does the man actually have a valid point? Or, perhaps you’re looking too hard for meaning in his words - it’s possible. You feel like you’ve spent a lot of time lately looking hard at Cecil, perhaps to justify your bizarre and inexplicable feelings.

Possibly you’re even projecting. His seeming lack of independent willpower would certainly make that easy enough to do.

Maybe the man has a point though. Maybe he’s not as “easy-going” as you think he is. Maybe you’re just coincidentally so attuned to his desires that he’s never had cause to deny you. Maybe you are aligned with his desires. One and the same. “What if I asked you to do something you didn’t like, then?”

You slurp up the dregs of melted ice through your straw and Cecil blinks again as though it’s taking all of his processing power. Damn, though. You’re surprised that the fanning of those endlessly long cow lashes didn’t cause the curtains behind you to billow in the breeze they threw up. “Like what?”

You shake your head. Touch his arm to placate him. “Never mind, Cecil.” Christ. If he can’t even think of a single Thing He Wouldn’t Like, maybe you can safely stick to your dead fish hypothesis. It’s all the same to him. Just happening to him. He’s not choosing you.

That particular thought, when it arrives, niggles you more than expected, but you quash the growing agitation which rides in alongside it.

Meanwhile, Cecil looks around, quite visibly thinking. “I wouldn’t get up outta this seat,” he states adamantly, his voice croaked from all the blunts he’s worked through today. “I wouldn’t like that.”

You believe him. He’s practically sliding down to become a puddle on the floor. Dissolving into the bar furniture; becoming one with the upholstery.

Your lips curl up into a tender smile, remembering one particularly ridiculous night at Cecil’s. The night involving a 3am bong sesh, culminating in him genuinely believing he had merged with the couch, becoming a half-human half-upholstery monstrosity. He had waved the two huge, puffy couch cushions around as though they were his arms, and he’d grabbed you up in the middle of them like a grilled cheese, sandwiching you and taking you down to the floor where the two of you had rolled and laughed until you’d cried.

When the laughter had subsided to only the odd titter here and there, and you had lain on his disgusting rug almost nose to nose? That’s the first time you’d wanted to kiss him, and it turned out not to have been the last.

Fuck. You are rather fond of this idiot, aren’t you? How the fuck did that happen?

Engaged fully now though - slightly more lucid than your fond memory- Cecil sits up. Still slouched but this time over the table, his forearms bracing him against the surface. As he moves, you get a waft of his layered, stale cigarette smell. It’s… confusing, in its appeal. Should be off-putting, but you find, in fact, that it’s a comfort.

“No? You don’t wanna?”

With a rush of affection you link your arm through Cecil’s, and he slumps his head on to your shoulder as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You weren’t ready for the way his knotted curls brush your cheek, and it inspires a similarly dense and tangled knot to form in your middle.

“No.” It’s the most sure you’ve ever heard him sound. “I don’t wanna get up.”

“A minute ago we were going for Mexican food, Cecil.” There’s a beat. “That kinda involves movement, you realise?

He swivels his head towards you then, gaze all doe-eyed and pathetic, and the proximity of him parroting on your shoulder knocks you for six. “You mad at me or something, Hottie from Walmart?”

You snort. He doesn’t always pull out that nickname for you - how you’d been known to him before you had been known to him - but it always makes you sentimental when he does.

He shifts from you then, tilting his body towards you. Scrutinising you with apprehension in his sweet face.

Fuck him actually, and fuck his pouty beautiful kissable lips most of all.

You sigh, and you deliberately soften your face. He’s easy-going, sure, but he’s sensitive. Trouble slides off of his back, but other things… other things don’t slip off quite so well, and he often gets like this. Like he’s done something wrong, when he hasn’t.

You actively resist the urge to coddle him. To tenderly rake his somewhat grimy but beautiful curls off of his forehead.

You hardly want to examine the fact he brings out your… motherly instincts; but it doesn’t escape your attention that he always seems like he’s craving just a little nurturing. You want to take your thumb and smooth out the creases in his troubled brow.

“No, Cecil. I’m not mad at you. I’d tell you if I was and we’d talk about it.”

He nods.

You’re not mad at him. Really. And so, you take pause to wonder why this happy-go-lucky trait of his is particularly irking you today. “It’s mostly a good thing, I promise.”

“It is?”

“Yeah.”

He looks pleased for a minute and then: “Wait. What’s a good thing?”

You want to kiss his stupid mouth until he can’t think. Which you don’t think would take long at all, actually.

“That…” You think about how to phrase it, and it quickly occurs to you. “That. You’re my ‘yes man’.” He is expressionless for a moment, and you wait for comprehension to slowly crawl over him. “I mean, Cecil,” you take his clammy hand in yours. “That it’s always fun with you. I mean that you never shoot down my ideas. Even when you probably should.”

His face splits with a brief - goofy, but wholly endearing - smile. “You have fun with me?”

His big cow eyes go all soft and wet.

Oh boy. This idiot. If you didn’t have fun with him, even just sitting on his grotty couch, what other reason could you possibly have to hang out with him, huh?

You open your mouth to say as much before thinking better of it, but for once Cecil beats you to it.

“I have fun with you too, Hottie.”

It’s another one of those moments of levity that you’ve experienced surprisingly often with Cecil. One of those moments where everything feels a just little more profound. A little more magical. Sometimes, Cecil gets you in the gut just a little harder than expected.

Great. And now you’re thinking of Cecil all up in your guts.

“I should think so - I’m awesome. But, right now? All I’m saying is…” You tap your noggin. “Tank empty. No ideas. It’s your turn to decide what we do tonight? Okay?”

You search his eyes. His big, beautiful, sincere and secretless eyes. You silently ask the true question you want to ask him. I want to know what you want.

You’re not yet ready to admit the questions buried right beneath that one: do you want me back? Could you? Would you, Cecil?

“Yeah?” Cecil responds, unsure, and you immediately worry that you have, in fact, given him too much responsibility. His expression compresses in a frown of deep, deep concentration. Like he’s really wrestling with this.

You watch with bated breath, dying to see what he comes up with - if anything at all.

And then - aha - he finally has it.

“I could jerk off.”

“Wha-?” You playfully bat him in the arm, aghast. “Cecil!!”

“What?” A surprised, contrite laugh bobs in his throat.

“I mean.” You swallow. “How is that an idea for both of us?”

Oh that’s your problem with his idea?

That it’s not participatory enough?

“You could help.”

Your jaw drops open. “Cecil! I’m not gonna-” you switch to a loud whisper “-jerk you off!”

He blinks again, his eyes glinting with a gentle - ever so gentle - flicker of amusement. “You’re not a yes man,” he complains softly, his curly lips sneaking up into a curly smile. “Always shooting down my ideas.”

He bats his lashes at you and oh boy - even Cecil must be starting to figure out that you’re a sucker for those big, pretty brown eyes. Your one true weakness.

“That’s really what you want?” you ask, trying to keep things light. To keep your tone jokey and jovial, like always, despite the rising tremor in your voice. “It would involve getting up, you realise?”

He winks at you - a gesture which seems entirely unlike him and yet somehow works - and smirks down at his crotch. “Already am.”

“If you’re really so uncontrollably horny, why don’t you get someone else around here to help you, huh?” Your heart skips a beat. “Why me?”

He’s looking at you like he wants you but… he’s an opportunistic guy. Goes with the flow. That’s how things come to him; he’ll take his cigarettes and beers and fucks wherever and whenever he can get them.

He unceremoniously pulls out a rolled blunt and lights it up, the filter end pressed between his plush pink lips.

“No.” It bobs as he talks and he takes little, peppered drags to get the burn going.

“No?”

You blink at him dumbly now.

“No. I only want you.”

Correction. That’s the most sure of anything you’ve ever heard him.

He slips forward, exhaling his smoke into your mouth as his lips caress yours. “Come on,” he encourages. “Get going. Before my penis turns into a couch cushion.”

He kisses your laugh, and as his tongue slides hungrily against yours suddenly it isn’t quite so funny. Suddenly, you feel like maybe Cecil has the best ideas.

“Right here?” You reach down, and you smooth your palm over the clothed bulge at his crotch. “In the booth?”

“I’m already barred. Heh. What are they gonna do?”

You smile at him, licking your lips as Cecil bucks up into your hand, his head lolling back against the lip of his seat, and his pretty eyes fluttering closed.

He groans, as your fingers snake to tease open the button at his fly.

“Oops,” Cecil whispers contritely, almost immediately, his cheeks and his ears darkening with a deep crimson flush as he looks over to you. “I just… I…”

Oh God. He just came in his pants, didn’t he? Oh Lord that makes you inexplicably hot.

His big, pretty eyes are wet with apology. “Are you mad?”

“No, Cecil.” Poor baby. “I just think I should take you home and get you cleaned up, hmm?” You next words all run into one, as you struggle to get your new genius plan out of your mouth. “Mayberimyoualittlewhatdoyousay?”

Did you actually just suggest that you take him home to rim him? Good Lord.

He blinks rapidly, the colour in his cheeks flowering more, like a beautiful rose unfurling. “Y-Yes. I say yes.”

It’s a hare-brained plan, for sure, but you decide that for once,

you might as well just…

go with the flow.

It certainly works for Cecil.

#I bet I cave and watch it again #cecil dennis x reader #cecil dennis #Oscar Isaac

170 notes · View notes

st-danger · 1 year

Note

SAINT I have an idea that I need someone to hear.

Aether asking cumulus or rain to braid dews hair so he can pull on it while fucking him with cumulus or rain watching.

Thank you for your time :) keep doing the devils work <3

Rain runs his fingers through Dew's hair, and waits for Dew to take him fully into his mouth again before grabbing and tugging on it, a sharp shock of pain to force him to moan around his cock. He gets his fingers nicely tangled, blunt nails scratching over his scalp before making a fist and clutching the fine strands.

It draws more noise from Aether than it does from either one of them.

From his right, Aether scrambles to rub himself a little quicker, and Rain goes a little crosseyed at the feel of Dew's forked tongue.

"Would you?" Aether asks.

Rain has no idea what he's talking about. Apologetically, he tells him so. He's too lost in the relentless way Dew is sucking him, cheeks hollowing and orange eyes searing beneath long lashes. Obscene wet noises. Drooling. Dew's being messy enough the spit is dripping down and gathering at the base and slowly making its way to his balls. Leave it to Dew to find a way to make even this, while kneeling on low pile hotel room carpet, look elegant. His stomach is all tight, his brows knit together.

"Braid his hair? For me?" Aether says, cradling his balls in one hand and pulling on his length in short, quick strokes that betray just how needy he is, even if he's good at keeping his voice low and even. Ah, yes, Rain remembers now.

"Whaddya say?" Rain breathes with another firm tug at his scalp. Dews eyes flicker shut, and when he opens them again, they're fixed on Aether. "Wanna look pretty for us?"

"I always look pretty for you," Dew huffs, pulling off for air, jacking Rain lazily while he indulges in a few deep lungfuls of oxygen. He's staring at Aether, and Rain sees the way he drops his gaze to focus on his lap, appraising.

It's a slow and intentional thing, and Aether visibly curls in on himself under the focus with a small, bitten off noise. The corner of Dew’s mouth pulls upward.

"Let me braid it," Rain says, and, gently, pulls his face back to his cock. "Give Aether something to hold while he fucks you, huh?"

Dew gives him a slow downstroke and holds the base, drooling directly onto the purpling head. Rain clenches his teeth when he rubs his palm over, polishing the head and spreading the spit around. For the second time tonight, the gesture makes Aether noisier than Rain.

"Fine," Dew says, and ever the opportunist, "what do I get out of it?"

"I'll lick you out," Aether offers immediately, a little edge of desperation peeking through.

Dew makes a show of considering, tilting his head, and inwardly Rain smiles. It's not an act Dew finds easy to ask for, and the play that accepting it is anything that requires a modicum of thought is simply dramatic, but...of course, Dew will feel better about it if he pretends he has to consider it first. Can't be too eager with it. Rimming already makes him feel weird and ashamed in the best way; surely he can't seem like he's eager for that kind of humiliation.

"I'll make you cum on my tongue," Aether promises, "and you won't be able to stop yourself."

Something dark clouds Dew's face, then, the offer of control being taken from him, being forced to enjoy the act that makes him whine and turn utterly pathetic the answer he was looking for.

"I'll kiss you while he does," Rain says, hitching his hips up so the head of his cock nudges against his lips, impatient. A little rude, really, but he could hardly be accused of being in polite company.

He will pull Dew off just before he cums so he can paint Dew's face. Aether will kiss it off of him while he plaits those soft locks into a fishtail for Aether to hold.

Now, though, Dew's patting his cock against his tongue and he hasn't the brain cells to think too much on any of that.

"First things first," Rain says with a smile, and forces Dew's head back down onto his length.

Again, the answering moan comes from Aether.

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itzsana-kiddingmenow · 7 months

Text

𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜 - 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 4:

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨: 2.3k

𝙖/𝙣: VERY SELF-INDULGENT -_-

𝙩/𝙬: *bondage* mentions of anxiety and high stress, fighting, crying, rough tickling, raspberries, nibbles

𝒍𝒆𝒆: jisung

𝙡𝙚𝙧: minho

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @someone-who-loves-kpop-saranghae @jeongins-diary @leeknowstan33 @v--143 @wereallgonnadieonedaybutnottoday @inkedloveandlostpromises @lajanaa @a-wild-seungberry

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞? 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐛s🖤

“Hyung-” Jisung stopped to watch what was taking place on the older’s bed.

Minho cooed fondly at a cackling Seungmin, scratching around the boy’s belly button and teasing him.

Earlier, Hannie and Minho had argued about who knows what, the quokka couldn’t even remember what they fought about.

But they had both said some hurtful things. Soon enough, the silent treatment between the two became too much for the ace to handle. He was so ready to apologize.

He hadn’t been tickled touched in over a week, and seeing Seungmin getting it so badly had an unfamiliar surge of jealousy flood his senses.

Hannie guiltily shoved the feelings away, about to turn and walk out of the room before hearing something that made him freeze in his spot.

“Aweee~! You’re so cute, aren’t you? Guess who’s my favorite lee? You are, that’s right.” Lino cooed in the background.

A fresh wave of tears suddenly surfaced to Jisung’s eyes, and he ran to his room as fast as he possibly could, locking himself in and hiding in the closet.

Being alone, new thoughts, thoughts and emotions that he had never felt before, suddenly exploded and became very much known in his brain, ‘Favorite lee? Seungmin? But…I’M his lee. Right?’

Hanji certainly didn’t mind seeing Minho tickling Seungmin; After all, it was a common occurrence. If he hadn’t been in such a lee mood, he would’ve wanted to join in.

But hearing Lino say that after about a week of not speaking to him, Jisung connecting things in his brain without seeing the full picture, and managed to come to a conclusion.

‘Oh, my god. He hates me…doesn’t he?’

New tears suddenly started pouring down his cheeks, unhappiness settling in as Jisung suddenly sobbed, slamming a hand over his mouth to make sure the others didn’t hear.

Through his sudden inability to breathe, combined with his fear of losing his best friend, Hannie started crying even harder, an overwhelming sadness suddenly rising.

“Oh, h-hyung…I’m so s-sorry! Please don’t hate me…please please..” Hannie cried, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

He gasped out, breathing was becoming harder and harder, and Jisung swore he was gonna die.

“Please…I need you so b-bad…can’t lose you…”

Heartbroken, Hannie cried his heart out, wishing everything was normal and okay. He felt so guilty for arguing with Lino and in his mind, ruining everything.

Meanwhile, Minho himself had wrapped things up with Seungmin, but for some reason, he felt as though he had forgotten something somehow.

Lino walked by Jisung’s closed door. He stopped for a few seconds and sighed quietly.

He had to apologize. Minho decided to suck it up and raised his fist to knock the door.

He heard broken sobs inside the room. Minho pressed his ear to the door, not wanting to invade the younger’s privacy while still making sure he was okay.

Lino could hear Jisung babbling sadly through his tears, and he felt as though he had been punched in the chest, guilt over flooding his body and heat rising to his head in pain.

‘Oh, poor Hannie. Does he really think I hate him?’ Minho almost burst into tears himself.

He suddenly remembered what he said earlier as he listened to what the ace said next.

“I thought I was your f-favorite…but i’ve ruined e-everything…” Minho could hear more sad crying through the door, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

He opened the door quietly, looking around before his eyes set onto the closet. He slowly inched it open, hearing the younger’s breath hitch.

Minho knew the quokka was trying to muffle his crying to make it seem like he wasn’t there.

He pulled the closet open, and their eyes met.

Jisung only stared in surprise, his eyes pufffy and cheeks red. “H-Hyung…” He trailed off.

Minho sank to his knees and engulfed the younger boy in a tight hug, guilt only worsening when Jisung buried his head into the other’s neck, and he felt the ace’s wet face.

The two didn’t say anything for a while, only enjoying the other’s embrace.

Minho fidgeted with the strings on Jisung’s hoodie while the younger’s arms tightened.

“Hyung…” Jisung sniffled, “I’m so so sorry hyung…” He broke off into more small sobs while his tears soaked the collar of the older’s shirt.

Lino’s heart shattered as he grabbed Hannie’s face, wiping his tears away and gently kissing his forehead.

“No…no, baby you did nothing wrong. It’s hyung’s fault, yeah? I should be sorry, you hear that? I’m so sorry. Please don’t cry…” Lino found himself mumbling sad words now.

Jiusng sank into Minho’s hold yet again.

“Let’s not fight ever again!” Hannie wailed suddenly, gripping the older with renewed clinginess.

The dancer chuckled quietly at the quokka’s cuteness, squishing his face as the two made up for a week of lost hugs.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“So…you two made up?” Jeongin grinned as he watched a cooing Minho happily spoon cheesecake into Hannie’s mouth.

“Mhm.” Jisung mumbled, cheeks puffed up like a squirrel.

“I don’t know how I lasted this long without seeing this face~” Minho squished Hannie’s cheek, and Innie visibly gagged.

“CHAN HYUNG! JISUNG AND MINHO HYUNG MADE UP AND NOW THEY’RE BEING GUSHYYYY!” Jeongin whined, walking off to irritate the elder more.

Minho chuckled under his breath at the maknae’s antics, but stopped seeing Hannie’s eyes sadden. “What’s wrong, bun?”

“Is Seungmin hyung still your favorite lee-?” Jisung blurted out before he could stop himself, face reddening and guilt welling up.

Lino’s eyes softened, and he suddenly started giggling, causing Jisung to frown. “Why are you laughing?! I’m asking you a question.” He crossed his arms in offence.

“You know how Hyunjin’s gone on a trip, right?” The older didn’t stop giggling, causing Hannie to pout. “Yeah…?”

“Seungmin was telling me to act like Hyunjin because he missed him.” Minho burst into loud laughter and started clapping when Jisung flushed a bright red.

“Ohhhh…” Hannie‘s face burned in embarrassment, and a sheepish but happy smile made its way onto his face.

“So…I’m still your favorite lee?” Jisung asked hopefully, watching the dancer’s eyes soften fondly.

“Of course.”

Jisung’s eyes glinted with mischievous intent. “Prove it.”

Minho immediately grabbed Hannie around the waist and carried him to his room, slamming the door behind him with his foot.

He pulled out his phone to text the chat.

~ SuRprIsE! ~ 5 members active

————————————————————

porang porang bitch: you might wanna wear something noise cancelling…

yk what else is big? 👣: ooof, good luck hannie

4 members are now active

i am tReE: i miss you all 💔 can't wait to come home

ming mong: i don't miss you 🙄

porang porang bitch: u sure? 🤨

cheesecake addict: 🤣

i am tReE: what-?

ming mong: ANYWAY good luck jisung hyung, hope you don’t die BYE!

0 members are now active

———————————————————————

Both boys giggled at their puppy’s playful antics.

Jisung put his hands in Minho’s and glanced upwards with a soft grin.

Lino happily smiled back before unceremoniously yanking the younger’s arms up.

“Can I…tie them there?” He asked gently, pressing a little on Hannie’s wrists against the headboard.

Jisung shrugged. “Why not?” He replied. Excitement flashed on Minho’s face. “Stay here.” He ran to grab some things to tie the younger up with.

He ran back with a soft scarf and some hand cream.

Minho gently stretched Hannie out, wanting to make sure he didn’t hurt him in any way.

While he was looping the scarf around the boy’s wrists, he continued to rant happily. “You’ll make sure to tell me if you’re uncomfortable, right? Here, how about you just say red when you’re tired-”

“Hyung! It’s okay, I trust you.” Hannie reassured the older, seeing the nervous look in his eyes.

Lino smiled back, sitting on Jisung’s thighs and placing his hands on his waist.

He stared, smirking playfully at the squirming lee underneath him.

“Hyuuung! Don’t tease me!” Jisung whined, the unbearable anticipation after so long without his tickles becoming torturous.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” Lino replied before digging into the area with his fingertips.

Giddy with the familiar feeling of fingers, Hannie burst into giggles immediately.

“Ahahaha! Haharder, please!” Hannie pleaded. He was never able to handle the soft tickles for long.

“I’ll go really hard this time, is that okay?” Lino made sure to ask.

“Plehehease!” Jisung squeezed his eyes shut, scrunching his face up as Minho’s fingers started moving upwards.

Hands were suddenly attacking every crevice, sweet spot, and sensitive area of his ribs, and the now shaking ace squealed in surprise, loud laughter bubbling out of his throat.

“AHHH—! IHITS SOHO BAHAD!” The quokka resonated through his consistent laughter, small tears already resting on his lash line.

The incredibly stretched out position did nothing to help the sensation; In reality, being so immobile just made it tickle more.

Minho suddenly shifted upwards, digging into Jisung’s armpits with a fervor.

“OHOHO MYHY GAHAHAHAD!!!” Jisung screamed as he tried to yank his arms down and protect his incredibly vulnerable underarms.

Minho cooed, leaning in closer to blow air playfully into Jisung’s ear.

Hannie threw his head in every direction, higher pitched, hysterical squeals clawing im their way out of his throat.

Minho drilled into the boy’s upper ribs, and Jisung finally understood why Changbin went ballistic every time they attacked that area.

It tickled so badly.

Jisung was practically screaming out incoherent pleas, his ribs stretched out and on full display to the delighted ler above him.

He was barely able to move, only his head thrashed from side to side, a huge, giddy smile on his face.

Minho’s heart fluttered happily at the adorable yet familiar sight beneath him, and he was lost in his own world until he heard a loud, out of breath scream.

He looked down and saw his own fingers wiggling into Jisung’s back. The poor boy beneath him wheezed, completely silent laughter overtaking him.

Minho decided to give the boy a break, un-attaching his fingers from the dying ace’s body.

“Ahah…” Jisung slumped in exhaustion, forgetting that his arms were pinned before tugging once.

“You okay?” Lino asked, sneaking a hand underneath Hannie’s shirt and rubbing gentle, soothing circles on his warm skin.

“yeheah…” Jisung panted, smiling softly up at Minho.

“Are you done…?” Lino asked. “Are you?” Jisung shot back, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.

“Oh really, Han Jisung?~ We’re being bratty now-?” Lino teased, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“Not like you aren’t, Lee Minho.” Jisung bit back snarkily, rolling his eyes.

“No honorifics? You’re just asking for it, aren’t you?” Minho tugged on the younger’s body, only stretching him out to the point of which his ribs stuck out.

He didn’t miss the glint of excitement in Hannie’s eyes. Lino lifted Hannie’s shirt, exposing his pale tummy and sides.

Jisung arched his back slightly out of anticipation, and when a few fingers pushed into his ribs, he crashed right back down with a squeal.

“a-HAH! Oh gosh…” Jisung whimpered, tugging on his arms yet again. He only realized how screwed he was after trying to move and finding his body completely immobile and stretched out.

Minho lowered his head riiight above Hanji’s upper side, near his lowest rib, and he panicked, trying his hardest to buck away from the older’s lips.

Lino gave Hannie one smile and a wink before taking a deep breath and blowing a buzzing raspberry right onto the sensitive skin.

Jisung went ballistic, high pitched laughter ripping out of his throat involuntarily as tears began to well up in his eyes.

“HYUUUHUHUHUNG! PLEHE-PLEHEHAHAHAHA—!!” Hannie wasn’t even able to form coherent words, loud laughter being the only thing he was able to produce.

“So cuteee~” Minho mumbled into the spot, and Jisung let out another cute squeal.

“PLEHEHEHEHEASE! GEHEHET—FUHUHUCK!!” Jisung screamed out when Minho decided to attach his lips to his belly button next, blowing out and nibbling playfully on the spot.

“Swearing?! Oh, you’re gonna get it now…” The dancer blew torturously long rasperries all over the quokka’s midriff, alternating in spots just to tease him.

Jisung was never able to anticipate where the next one was gonna land, and he just couldn’t stop laughing.

“NO-NO PLEASE NOT ANOTH-NAHAHAHAHA!” He sounded insane, head thrown back.

What made it worse was that once the older managed to secure his waist, Jisung was completely unable to move at all, so there was nowhere to escape.

His entire torso blushed pink as his sensitivity only increased. Minho only let up once the younger’s whole body began to tremble in exhaustion, and his tears managed to soak the pillow case.

Hannie panted and gasped for breath, his chest heaving painfully. Minho decided that the poor boy probably had had enough, and reached up to untie his wrists.

Jisung slumped underneath him, curling up a little and still giggling cutely under his breath.

He winced in pain as he rubbed his arms; The friction from the cloth has caused red, angry welts to appear on his wrists.

Minho grabbed the hand cream from earlier, and uncapped the lid. Kissing the sore area, the dancer gently applied the cream to the ace’s wrists, taking extra care to spread his love through every little mark.

Jisung only flushed happily, watching his hyung take care of him. “Nap?” He yawned.

The older watched fondly as Hannie yanked him down to sleep on the bed.

The two happily cuddled, a sad puppy in the other room waiting for his flour boy.

i'm definitely writing a drabble for the little seungmin-hyunjin side plot lol <3

#kpop tickle #midzywannabeitzy #stray kids #skz tickle #skz #lee han #ler minho

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everythingdenied · 2 years

Text

stubble-matty healy

a/n: hey loves <3 idk why i'm suddenly deciding it's a good idea for me to post my writing on tumblr again (or why the first thing is i'm deciding to post is just pure filth) but here we are. i've had this in my notes for aggeess and since everyone's in their matty era rn i thought i'd feed you all. pls be nice i am actually shitting it posting this. (also apologies to all my old moots who now have matty healy in their feed when they do not want him! love u all x)

warnings: just pure self indulgent smut tbh (but it's cute, I promise!) smoking, fem!reader

wc: 1,691

I’d never really been an early bird. The morning air was always a little too cold on my skin for my liking and I didn’t much enjoy the taste of coffee, nor the sound of my alarm, which I set each night despite knowing I’d sleep through it every time without fail. My pillow never felt quite as fluffy as it did in the evening and the noises of the bustling city I’d grown somewhat fond of only existed to annoy me as I prised open my tired eyes. And yet, with him…I was every bit a morning person.

There was just something different about waking up to him. Even at 7am, with my alarm blaring from my phone and the barely conscious thought that I had to be up for a meeting soon flitting around my brain, I couldn’t help but smile to myself whenever I opened my eyes to see him beside me. Especially on those rare occasions like today that I woke up before him, languidly turning onto my side to see the man I loved still dozing peacefully.

He was such a pretty sleeper, his face nuzzled into the crook of my neck, lips parted and warm breath tickling my bare skin with each soft snore. His curls, which he’d recently developed a penchant for flattening down with obscene amounts of hair gel, were splayed out haphazardly on the pillow and I smiled sleepily at the sight, moving to brush a few stray locks from his eyes. I pressed a a featherweight kiss to his forehead and he stirred, a contented hum slipping from his lips, but didn’t wake, much to my delight. I so wanted to bask in this moment just a little longer, scarcely having the pleasure of seeing my boyfriend in a state so unadulteratedly vulnerable.

Minutes passed and, still draped in my sheets and his limbs that he’d aimlessly tossed over me in the middle of the night, I watched Matty with a sleepy smile painting my mouth. My eyes traced his every freckle which, after nearly four years together, I thought I’d become familiar with, only stopping when I noticed his eyelids slowly flutter open.

He yawned and sluggishly rubbed a fist against his eyes, dazed with sleep as he blinked up at me.

“Morning” I smiled, finding him wonderfully endearing when he was barely over the threshold of slumber.

“Mph, g’mornin…” He croaked out lowly, eyes falling shut again as he buried his head further into my neck, placing a sloppy kiss to my jawline. “How long have y’been awake?”

“Not long. Couple of minutes, maybe.” Matty hummed, lips never once leaving my skin as he peppered a listless trail of saccharine kisses from my jaw to my neck. His two day old stubble brushed against me and I giggled at the sensation, squirming under his touch. “That tickles…”

“Sorry.” He smirked, looking up at me with a familiar cheeky glint in his eye, still managing to tease me in his drowsy state. “Need to shave."

I shook my head, scratching the light shadow of facial hair that peppered his jaw.

"I dunno...I kinda like it. You look quite fit."

"Yeah?" Matty snickered at my words, his laugh a little rough with sleep, and nuzzled his cheek against mine, intentionally grazing my skin with his stubble. I pushed him away, biting back my playful smile.

"Stop it. You're gonna give me beard burn."

"You've never complained about that before, love..." He chuckled but pulled away from me, sitting up to lazily reach for the packet of cigarettes resting on his side-table, pulling a smoke out with his teeth.

I rolled my eyes, knowing exactly what he was implying and wanting no part of it. I had work in an hour or so; choosing to engage with him and his incessant virility was a dangerous game that I wasn't too sure I had the time to play.

"It's barely seven o'clock, Matthew. Get your head out of the gutter" I chided, eyes fixed on him as he lit his cigarette, the sheets pooling at his waist and his unruly curls flopping forward.

He grinned sleepily, blowing out a thin trail of smoke from the corner of his mouth before turning to look at me, propping himself up on one elbow. "S'always deep in the gutter with you, darlin."

Jesus.

I pursed my lips, suddenly feeling restless under his half-lidded gaze. He knew it, too; more than aware of the effect he had on me, especially at times like this where the border between love and lust blurred in the hazy morning light.

"Even when you've just woke up?" I cocked a brow, stealing the cigarette from between his fingers and taking a long pull.

Inching closer, Matty smirked and slipped a hand beneath my pyjama shirt, his thumb kneading soft circles against my waist.

"Oh, that's when it's at its deepest." Claiming the cig back, he took one last drag before stubbing it out in a nearby ashtray, wasting no time in pulling me flush against his warm body. His lips met mine in a matter of seconds and I practically purred; the first proper kiss of the day far better than the buzz any amount of espresso or nicotine could give.

For a minute or so, the two of us remained locked in a kiss, a barely-awake display of affection that only turned to desire when Matty's hands fell from my waist, fingers hooking under the cotton waistband of my underwear.

"Matty..."I mumbled against his mouth, brushing away his hand only for it to fall right back into position. "Mph...I've gotta get up for work."

He pouted, pulling away somewhat breathlessly.

"Please" His voice radiated with a fervent desperation. "I'll be quick. Jus' wanna taste you before you go."

"I-I dunno. I really can't be late again."

The heat between my legs said differently.

"Please, love..." He reiterated, almost whimpering now. "Promise you won't be."

He was already practically between my legs at this point, fingers splayed out against my hips as he planted sloppy kisses to my stomach, my shirt now somehow hiked up just below my breasts.

This man was going to be the death of me (and probably my career, by the looks of things.)

"Shit, Matt" I shook my head lightly at my the love of my life as he lay at the foot of the bed we'd shared for years, gazing up from between my thighs with sleepy adoration and the morning sun on his face. I could do nothing more than sigh in defeat. "Fine. But you're looking after me if I lose my job over you."

"Always" he breathed out softly.

It took him no time at all to pull down my underwear, letting them bunch up at my ankles as he turned his full attention to my thighs, which already glistened with my own slick.

"Fuck, love" He drew a sharp breath, languidly nibbling at the skin just below my pussy, leaving lazy, haphazard marks on my inner thighs. His grip on my hips grew tighter. "So beautiful."

"Thought you said you were going to be quick." I whined, bucking my hips slightly. Matty chuckled, his warm breath brushing my bare cunt.

"God, so needy" He quipped jokingly and I lifted my head from the pillow to shoot him a look. Brave words for a man who'd just practically grovelled at my feet for a taste of me. "Alright, alright. You don't need to tell me twice."

And with that his mouth finally got to work, lapping up my dripping arousal with a fervency that let me know just how much he desired me. Matty didn't always want to admit it; sincerity was difficult for him at the best of times, but he'd crawl into my skin if he could. Moments like this, when his mouth and attention was on me and me alone were his special way of letting me know that I was all his.

The speed at which his tongue worked at grew with each passing moment, no longer idly circling my clit. I gasped, hands grasping at his curls as I felt the familiar burn of his stubble against my inner thighs, an added sensation I was rarely lucky enough to experience. Thank fuck he hadn't bothered to shave.

"Feel good, gorgeous?" I let out a strangled moan in response and Matty hummed in satisfaction against my core, the soft vibration only bringing me closer to orgasm. "Good. S'my pretty girl."

He said nothing more, the room only filling with the sound of pleasure; my desperate whimpers and the sloppy sound of his tongue as it drew shapes against my bud intermingling in one sweet sonance. With each lick, I grew nearer to release. Matty knew my body well enough to know I wasn't far from cumming, feeling me writhe beneath him, mumbled expletives slipping from my mouth as he told me just how good I tasted.

"Nearly there, darlin'. Doin' so well." He quickened his pace, breathing heavily as he coated my pussy in his saliva. "Wanna cum for me, yeah?"

I nodded, although I wasn't sure he could see me, the coil in my lower stomach tightening.

"Y-yeah."

"Thought so" he breathed. "Go on then, love."

And I did, coming apart beneath him, loosing myself momentarily in a feeling of burning pleasure only he could ever elicit from me. I sung his praises, his name falling from my lips as he slowed, his featherweight kisses to my clit allowing me to ride out my high. Matty let out a throaty groan himself, getting off on knowing he'd done this to me.

Hazily flopping my head back against the pillow, I felt Matty clamber up the bed, watching me with loving ardor as my chest heaved.

He hovered above me, his hands positioned firmly on either side of my shoulders as he leant down to kiss me, his (not quite) beard glistening with my juices and his lips slick and wet.

"How's that for beard burn, aye?" He smirked against my mouth and, despite my exhaustion, I found just enough energy to smack his shoulder playfully.

"Dickhead."

#matty healy fanfic #matty healy x reader #the 1975 #matty healy

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honest-moth-of-silver-grove · 9 months

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Can i ask for the Bg3 main companions (and maybe halsin and minthara as well??) comforting a really depressed reader? like they're not eating or sleeping well? could use some comfort. thank u 💕💕

BG3 Characters Comforting A Severely Depressed Reader

Please consider buying me a coffee, or tipping me via my Kofi, if you like my work! ♡♡♡

A/N: Here ya go! Have some extremely self-indulgent writing here. I’ve been having a really hard time health-wise lately and it’s been making my depression worse, so I feel ya. Depression sucks y’all.

TW: Depression, Thoughts of Suicide, Mentions of Self-Harm

Astarion:

Listen up honey, baby boy could've written the book on depression, okay?

He’s extremely understanding, especially if your depression manifests as anger or irritability. The gods know how angry he can get thinking about how he was abused and subjected to Cazador’s torture for so long.

Astarion knows depression is more than a feeling of sadness- it’s a raging storm of emotions and behaviors that comes from a brain working in overdrive to survive.

He’ll do little things for you, like leaving you a bouquet of freshly picked flowers or a vial of a new perfume for you to try; just a lot of simple things to remind you how he cares about you, even if you don’t always feel like caring for yourself.

He will help you bathe and/or dress on days those tasks feel overwhelming. He especially loves it when you agree to dress in something a little more fancy. He enjoys getting to shower you with extra compliments as well as seeing the cute half-smiles you give when one of said compliments finally reaches you.

If you’re self-harming, he will take it upon himself to steal any and all pointy things from your tent. Nope, you don’t need them, so hand them over, please. He gets why you feel an urge to do such things, but he asks you to please not to. He suggests letting him feed on you if you absolutely must scratch that itch, so to speak. That way, he can sort of supervise it, and ensure you’re properly cared for after. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that it’s a benefit for him. He thanks you profusely, hoping that one day you’ll stop seeing the act as a punishment and instead see it as an intimate gift, because to him, that’s what you are: a gift.

You are the most important person in his life. Your blood, your joy, your life, your everything is worth more than anyone in the world has to offer. Astarion doesn’t want you to think for a second that it’s something you should throw away, or feel the world would be better off without.

He knows it’s hard. Gods, does he know. And if you had asked him months ago if life were worth living, he might have said ‘no’. But now, he’s met you. And since he’s met you, he’s started seeing the wonder in things again. The beauty.

You are Astarion’s sunshine, his reason to keep going. Please, he asks, let him be your reason. Let him carry your weight when you are unable. Darling, he would steal the moon for you if you let him… don't you ever doubt that.

✧

Gale:

Gale has also experienced depression. After being discarded by Mystra, and then cursed with the orb, he thought life wasn’t worth living anymore. He locked himself away in his tower in Water Deep, refusing to speak to anyone but his tressym, Tara.

He’s understanding when you confess how you feel but ultimately hurt as if your pain were also his own. He cares for you so much. And he thinks it’s such a shame someone so wonderful and bright feels as awful as you do. It’s unfair. And he wishes so much to change it, even though he knows he alone cannot.

He will do his best to look after you though. He’ll encourage you to reach into The Weave with him, to feel the force of magic flow through your veins. It invigorates him and grounds him at the same time. He hopes it does similarly for you.

Gale knows depression makes it feel like caring for yourself is a losing battle, one you simply cannot win, so why bother trying? Which is why he takes it upon himself to do the more basic ‘battles’ for you. He’ll cook and clean, and make sure you’re getting plenty of fluids and rest. It’s not up for debate. He’ll even sic Tara on you if he has to. You will do what’s necessary to heal. He can’t stand seeing you in pain. He just wants you to feel better, and as soon as possible.

If you’re self-harming, he’s saddened and confused. He doesn’t quite understand that it’s not reflective of a deficit on his part. He wonders why his love isn’t enough for you to understand how precious you are. You’ll have to explain to him, how even though you know he loves you, your brain doesn’t let the feeling of being loved in. You explain how you hurt so much on the inside… sometimes it’s just easier to hurt on the outside too.

Once he understands though, he does his best to not take your feelings or self-harming personally. He wants you to be stable on your terms, not only stable with him at your side. Gale knows firsthand that overreliance on a partner often leads to heartbreak further down the road. He’ll just have to become confident enough in your relationship to give you the space you need.

He’ll use healing magic to cover and fix any self-harm cuts or scars. As well as spells to help you sleep at night if you suffer from insomnia. Just say the word, and he’ll find the spell that eases your particular discomforts. Or ask for a simple night of cuddles under the stars. He’s more than happy to provide that too.

Gale loves you, quite possibly more than words could ever hope to convey. Your happiness, in some ways, is an additional extension of his own. He will do everything in his power to make you smile. Just seeing you happy is more than enough for him.

✧

Wyll:

Wyll is a tragic hero in every sense of the word. He knows the lows of depression well.

He sacrificed his freedom to save Baldur’s Gate, and in return, he was disowned by his father, and forced into exile, all while having to serve a demon. He’s spent years mentally beating himself up for that sacrifice, and mentally chiding himself for ever having agreed to Mizora’s deal in the first place. On more than one occasion, he’s found himself wishing he could go back in time and choose differently. It’s an awful feeling to get stuck in, and he wants more than anything, for you to be free of such imprisoning feelings.

He’ll constantly remind you of all of your accomplishments: even the littlest ones- like if you’ve made your bed roll, or if you ate that day, or if you went for a walk, or made a successful conversation with a stranger.

He keeps track of your milestones but also keeps an eye out for any warning signs. He knows you are your own person and that he cannot stop you from doing something, not forever anyway. But he asks that you come to him instead of doing things that put yourself at risk. Please. The two of you can talk it out, or maybe he can show you a few moves with a sword to get that frustration and manic energy out. Whatever you wish, even if it’s just spending quiet time together, he’ll do it, if it means you don’t end up harming yourself.

He’s extra protective of you, especially whenever devils like Mizora or Raphael show up. He knows such creatures prey on vulnerability, and he’ll be damned before they ever take advantage of you. If any devil so much as even brings up the whispers of horrible things you think about yourself, he will dispatch them, immediately. He won’t hesitate for a second. How dare such vile creatures speak to you, an incredible and kind person, in such a way? He won’t stand for it.

He also tries to cheer you up and remind you how much you’re loved using the occasional grand romantic gesture. What can he say? He’s an old-fashioned romantic at heart. A candlelight dinner, a nice night by the fire in a private room at an inn… or even an evening of dancing under the stars; no gesture is too grand or too extravagant for the love of his life.

You are beyond special to him. You are his future. In a way, he sees you as a gift from the Gods, proof that in the end, good deeds do pay out. Can’t you see? You’re his cherished partner. Wyll would do it all over again, exactly the same, even his deal with Mizora, so long as he ends up with you at his side.

You brought a sense of family, pride, security, and love back into Wyll’s life. Let him do what he can to bring that back into yours.

✧

Karlach:

Karlach may be a golden retriever in tiefling form, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t know what it means to be sad. She was betrayed by Gortash, her mentor, and sold to Zariel who quite literally ripped Karlach’s heart out of her chest. There was a time when she didn’t think her heart would ever beat again, now that her physical one was taken. But she did what she had to, and she found a purpose amidst her betrayal using the skills she had to bide her time until she could escape.

For Karlach, she’s no longer in a depressive state. She’s overjoyed at the amount of freedom she’s gained- at the feel of fresh air and actual sunshine on her face. She’s so in love with life. She forgot what it was to live joyfully, and now that she’s remembered, she doesn’t ever want it to stop.

She knows you don’t feel up for it, she gets it. But she won’t stop dragging you to events and new places. She knows it takes time for someone to go through an episode, or episodes, of feeling like shit. She’ll gladly wait them out with you. But she won’t let you take those episodes lying down. She’s going to do what she can to put some joy into your life, whether you want it or not.

Karlach will constantly remind you of how lucky she is to have you. She tells you rather bluntly that she adores you, no characteristic or quirk is safe from her myriad of compliments and gushing. She also makes a point to talk you up to the others, especially after you’ve been self-deprecating lately. She makes it clear just how incredible you are. Everyone should know, especially you.

She will physically restrain you before she lets you self-harm. Although she has to be careful not to burn you accidentally herself, she much prefers holding you through a bout as opposed to asking you to stop and simply hoping for the best. She cares so much for you, she couldn’t chance it. The thought of you hurting yourself when she’s right next door is too much, she couldn't bear it. She’d feel awful like she failed you in some way.

She reminds you how much you do for everyone else, even when you don’t realize it. How you play with Scratch and the Owlbear Cub. How you help Gale find magical objects. Or how you always point out any flowers or plant life within Baldur’s Gate to Halsin to remind him of home. Karlach knows you think of everyone- you’re always putting them first. She wants you to know it’s okay if you have to pull back to put yourself first, to take care of your mental and physical health. It’s not selfish, it’s not rude. You’re doing what you need to do in order to survive. Who amongst you can’t say the same?

She ropes everyone in when it comes to looking after you. They all better be nice or they can answer to her and her big smoldering muscles. And speaking of big flaming muscles…

She knows she can’t beat the depression for you, but Karlach’ll be damned if you think you gotta go it alone. Even when you don’t feel up for it, Karlach will be right there, fighting by your side.

✧

La’zel:

La’zel is not familiar with the idea of depression. Githyanki come from a society where any weakness, physical or mental, is frowned upon. It is considered a personal failure to let yourself fall victim to your emotions. As a result, La’zel is often unaware of how she feels about things.

La’zel may not be the affectionate partner, but she knows enough about herself to understand she likes you and admires you greatly. This makes your illness all the more confusing to her. She doesn’t understand how someone like you, someone she views as strong and capable could be all that sad on the inside. Perhaps you are mistaken? La’zel reminds you of how impressive she finds you, assuming that will be enough to snap you out of it. (It isn’t, of course.)

You’ll have to sit her down and explain what depression is; how it doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with how capable someone is. It’s something that happens when the brain doesn’t work quite right, you can’t get the perspective everyone else has. La’zel asks if this is related to the parasite. In which case, it’s just another reason to defeat the Absolute. Once you make it clear, it has nothing to do with the parasite, she seems to accept the idea with less hostility.

La’zel recognizes this ‘depression’ as an opponent of yours. And of course, as your partner, she insists on working to defeat it with you. She’ll ask you to join her in her workouts, insisting that you spar with her only to secretly go easy on you, and let you win. She wants that boost to your ego to remind you just how proficient you are. To her, a victory is one of the highest compliments, and she wants you to feel complimented.

You are her partner, her zhak vo'n'fynh duj, her source of joy. She thinks the world of you. Even though she is not familiar with your culture or customs, she makes more of an effort to understand them, in hopes they will reveal secret knowledge about this ‘depression’ to her. She wants to know everything there is to know about this enemy. The more knowledge she has, the better she feels equipped to aid you in the fight.

If you’re self-harming, she may not notice right away. However, her suspicions arise when you are ashamed of what she assumed were battle scars. La’zel will not hesitate to pin you down if she catches you hurting yourself and holding you close until the urges have passed. She won’t take away any of your weaponry- she knows how important it is. But she will keep a close watch, and invite you away from your tent and your tools when she senses the urge to self-harm within you is great.

Githyanki do not beg. They are a strong, proud species. So it’s of the utmost shock when La’zel gets on her knees before you, taking one of your hands in between hers. She confesses how much she cares for you. And begs you, to please, please, continue to fight the good fight for her. You are her anchor to this world, to a life beyond orders and discipline, you’ve opened up her world to joy and acceptance. Please don’t leave her alone in it. She may be a proficient fighter, but her heart just couldn’t bear that.

✧

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart may not remember much of her past before Shar, but she does know one thing for certain, and that’s how she feels for you. In the past, she’s found herself overcome by feelings of sadness and anger, so she’s no stranger to having to live with such unpleasant emotions. She’s also no stranger to living with chronic pain, her hand always existing as a constant reminder of what Shar took from her. And despite happy reminders and the sun always shining the next day, Shadowheart knows there is nothing that can change that. Until Shar grows bored, living with pain is something she will be forced to endure.

Having to live with that pain has made Shadowheart incredibly understanding when it comes to the ups and downs of your mood swings caused by depression. She knows the feeling of ‘it's not fair!’ all too well, and will never chastise you or shush you for bringing it up. It isn’t fair how some people go through like okay and other people have suffering planted inside them. It’s life, but it’s not fair, and you don’t have to pretend it is.

Shadowheart will always offer to help you with changing out of your clothes/armor into more suitable night attire. She has a routine every night that helps her decompress, and she’d love to share it with you.

On the days you feel nothing matters, like you can’t even get out of bed, don’t worry, she’ll be right there, outside of your tent, asking if there’s anything she can fetch you if there’s anything you need. And if you have no use for any physical items or healing spells, she’s more than happy to just sit with you, silently reading a book as you lay on your bedroll. It’s comforting, and reassuring, that you don’t have to say or do anything to be able to enjoy each other’s presence. It takes some pressure off of having a relationship.

If she ever finds you’ve been self-harming, Shadowheart will feel angry. Then hurt. Then disappointed. Then hurt again. She wishes you wouldn’t but at the same time, she understands why you would do something like that. A part of her might feel angry that here she is, forced to live with the pain she didn’t ask for, while you go around giving yourself pain necessarily, but given time, she’ll learn to compartmentalize that train of thought. Your self-harming isn’t about her, she knows that.

She will of course, always heal your wounds, unless you persistently ask her not to. In which case, she might relent, but she still insists on checking them to see how they’re healing naturally and at the first sign of infection or spreading, she will use her healing spells as a cleric to deal with them- no ifs ands or butts.

Shadowheart just wants to be able to make up for lost time with you. She wants a life with you beyond the horrors and the trials of the Absolute, beyond the misery of Shar. She wants the two of you happily living in a modest home, maybe somewhere with animals nearby. She wants you and her parents to get along. She wants your friends to visit often. But most of all, she wants you to be at peace, to be content with the life in front of you. It may take some time, but she swears one day, the two of you will get there. You may never be overly happy, but you will have found tenderness in each other.

✧

Halsin:

Halsin is such a sweetheart, but despite his calm demeanor, he has more than his fair share of demons lurking just beneath the surface. Halsin’s lived a long life. He knows what it feels like to get stuck in a rut, and he knows the hopelessness that often comes with fighting an uphill battle. The Shadow Curse was once just a whispered threat before it grew concrete enough to take up much of Halsin’s life. Forced to always take care of others, and forced to put the greater good before himself, Halsin is no stranger to the slow silent depressive undercurrent that often wades into the stream of your life. Unfortunately, as an archdruid and leader of Emerald Grove, Halsin has had to endure such melancholy alone. As such, he wishes you never feel you have to shoulder your burdens alone.

There is a chance, thanks to the degree of his focus and admiration, that you won’t need to tell him of your feelings, that he will sense them before you do. Halsin won’t pry incessantly, but he does make it known that feeling low is nothing to be ashamed of and that he is always willing to lend an ear.

On the days you can not take care of yourself, Halsin won’t complain in the slightest. He’ll simply aid you in doing whatever needs to be done. He’ll carry you to the river to bathe just as he carries you to the table to eat. He’s so gentle with you, his large hands treat you as if you were made of glass as if he’s almost afraid to touch you.

And don’t worry about any emotional outbursts you might have, be it crying or yelling, or a quick succession of both, Halsin does his best not to take it personally. There is very little you could do or say, aside from causing great harm to another living thing, that he would not understand and forgive.

If you self-harm, he doesn’t react with anger. He does his best to look neutral although he is heartbroken on the inside. He sees you as his salvation, and to see his salvation do such a thing pains him so.

If you’re having trouble sleeping, or get frequent aches, he’ll use healing spells or old-fashioned massages to alleviate some of your pain. He’s quite fond of anything that lets him touch you as he cares for you, be it massages, bathing, braiding your hair, or simply holding you close as you sleep atop his broad chest.

If it’s too much, Halsin will understand your desire for space, and grant you it, he won’t force it on you. But for Halsin, that touch is a reminder you’re still here, that he hasn’t lost you yet, just as he has lost everyone he has ever loved previously.

He always encourages you in your self-care, be it eating or sleeping. He will offer gentle reminders throughout the day, and bring you food should he notice you haven't eaten in a while. If he could physically take on your burdens for you, he would. If it meant your happiness, Halsin would gladly suffer.

You showed him what it meant to live again. You rescued him from his depressive enemy- from the loneliness of the Shadow Curse. He sees it as his duty to do all he can to rescue you from yours.

Halsin knows he cannot ‘save you’ from your feelings. But that doesn’t mean he’ll ever stop trying. He cares so deeply for you. Trust that even though his heart may wander, he will always find his way back to you. No one else, not even your depression is enough to keep him away.

✧

Minthara:

Minthara lives in a state of suspended fear, hidden deep down inside. The Underdark is a cutthroat place, full of betrayal and uprising. There is no such thing as ‘love’ or ‘friendship’- only strength and temporary alliances. But then again, that was before she was infected with the parasite, that was before she met you.

Now that’s grown close to you, now that she realizes the strengths of sharing vulnerability with the one you love, she refuses to live without it. You are her first true love. She will not settle for less. And she refuses to go through the rest of her life without you, readily at her side.

She may not be the kindest when it comes to questioning why you haven't been as eager as usual. But once you explain your situation, Minthara comes to regard your condition with respectful contemplation. She tries to put herself in your shoes, so to speak, before making any future remarks. It is not easy for her, but she does her best. You will have to remind her often and explain each symptom of your depression separately.

Minthara discovers through your openness, that she has had such symptoms as well. The only difference between her and you is that she was taught to swallow such feelings, to never let them surface. It makes her all the more tender in the way she interacts with you. And she asks for your continued tenderness in return.

The two of you can express your darkest thoughts, and ruminations much more freely because of that. You know Minthara will not hold those thoughts against you, just as you will not hold hers against her.

If she finds you’ve been self-harming, she asks to watch the next time. It might strike you as an odd request, but it helps twofold: 1) It reminds you you’re not alone at such a time of deep pain, and 2) It makes you feel self-conscious, bringing you out of that self-harm spiral. It’s much harder to keep your blinders on when the person you love most is sitting right next to you. It empowers you to push such urges away, and instead spend time in the presence of the one you love, knowing she doesn’t think any less of you, and that you don’t have to hide any component of your suffering.

Minthara may be cold to others, and she is not one to languish in her depressed feelings, but she will tolerate sitting with you in yours. If having instances of momentary vulnerability will help you heal and make you stronger in the long run, Minthara is more than willing to ride those instances out with you.

✧

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