#by cooking breakfast i mean thinking “i want eggs” but it counts for something

[autisticbokutoenthusiast]

rugby on my tv, boxing on my laptop, skateboarding highlights on my phone, learning a new song on the guitar, cooking breakfast, memorizing the vball schedule during breaks like olympics season is busyyyyyy

[daydreams-after-dark]

Good things come in small packages Part 2

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Mini Han x fem reader

Synopsis: One year ago you purchased a ‘miniature companion’ named Hannie. He’s the size of a Ken doll but alive and horny. But something unexpected happens on your one year anniversary.

Word count: approx 7.4 k

A/n: SURPRISE!!! I know I said this was being released approx next Monday, but.... I wrote it quicker than I expected. I want to thank you for your patience with this installment. There was a point there where I almost didn't have it in me to write it. But your words of encouragement helped spur me on.

I hope that you enjoy part two of this fic. There's a lot of emotions, sickly sweet moments, and a surprise character features too.

CW below the cut

C/W: unprotected p in v sex, oral sex, rough sex, angst, brief themes of depression, fear of suicide (just a fleeting thought), size kink?

Previously:

"Hannie?" You whisper, lowering the lamp, letting it drop to the floor.

"Why is everything so small? Wait. Why am I naked? Noona, have you been playing with me in my sleep?" He looks up at you confused and worried. "Noona, why are you looking at me like that?"

His eyes land on his pajamas, torn to shreds next to him. He picks up the scrap of fabric that was his pajama top, and his eyes widen. "Why are my clothes so tiny?"

"Hannie," you take in the man before you, naked and taking up most of the bed. "You're big."

------------

Han just stares at you blankly. Then realization hits him, causing him to spring out of bed and look around the room frantically.

"Hannie?" You say again. "Hannie, look at me." You take a step closer to him and he finally looks at you. It's as though your gaze anchors him and he appears to calm down somewhat. His eyes soften and he looks at you like he's looking at you for the very first time, just as you are with him.

You already know he has an incredible physique. Broad shoulders, slim waist, toned muscles. But standing before you right now he’s breathtaking. But you don't love him for his body. You love him for his heart.

Standing fully naked in front of you, he seems less real than when he was small. How can this be happening? It's impossible. Right?

"Noona?" His eyes drop to where your gaze has fallen. Right on his cock, still semi hard from his morning wood. It's the most delicious thing you've ever seen. So much bigger than you expected too. You can't help but imagine all the things you want to do with it. You have imagined it plenty over the past year. How you want him to fill you up, or make you choke on it. How it tastes. How it feels in your mouth.

"Hey!" he covers himself with his hands. "I'm going through a crisis and you're staring at my dick!" He exasperates. He narrows his eyes. "Oh my God, Noona? You know what this means?" His eyes light up with excitement.

"I do, Han. Trust me, I know. But first we need to figure out what is going on. Why this has happened." You take another step towards him, closing the distance, and with shaking hands you reach out and touch his chest. You feel his heart pounding and it makes your heart beat faster too.

He's real.

"Do you think my wish has finally come true?" he whispers. "I wish it every night before I fall asleep. That I'd wake up and be human sized."

You look up to meet his gaze. His gorgeous big brown eyes. "I wish it every night too. It's just... this doesn’t make any sense.” You pause. “Wait. The manual. Maybe it says something in that?”

Without giving him any warning, you snap into action and disappear into your walk-in wardrobe, returning with a pair of sweatpants and an oversized tee.

"Here. Put these on. I can't be getting distracted." You say and hurry out of the bedroom.

----------

"I thought you said you'd studied the manual?" Han says suspiciously whilst chewing on the scrambled eggs and toast you quickly cooked for him. You were quite happy to forgo your breakfast so you could search for answers, but his stomach rumbled so loudly you couldn’t ignore it.

While he scoffs down his breakfast, and you're still in your pajamas, you pore over the instruction manual spread open on the dining table, looking for any information that might help.

"Well... I kind of only read about how to keep you alive. You know, like how often I needed to feed and water you." you reply casually. Inside, you wish you had read the rest of the information. Maybe you would have had a heads up about this and you could have prepared yourself?

"Do you think I'm going to be like this permanently? Like the first year was a test of your commitment or something? Maybe I could learn guitar? Or cook? Or-"

"Okay. I've got something." You interrupt. "It says here: At twelve months of ownership, your companion will transform into typical human size-"

Han's eyes light up excitedly. "Wait! So this means?"

You hold up your hand to hush him. "There's more." You say. "He will remain in this state for 48 hours, before returning to his original size."

“Oh.” Han’s fork clatters on his plate. You look up at him as his expression changes from excited and hopeful, to absolutely crestfallen and deflated.

"I'm so sorry, Hannie." you whisper. You know how badly he wants to be big. You watch as he swallows a lump in his throat, and without a word, he stands and walks into the kitchen to look out of the window above the sink.

————

Forty eight hours? So It's not permanent? What kind of fucking idiot is he to think he'd ever be able to be a human? He tries to fight back the tears as he looks out of the window.

It's a beautiful, sunny morning, and usually on a day like this he'd climb up onto the windowsill and watch the world. There's a little strip of shops across the street that he especially loves to watch. His favorite is the flower shop. Observing the customers going in and out buying flowers and bouquets for loved ones. They’re such pretty colors too, the flowers. He’d love to be able to buy flowers for you.

A lady about your age works there, and sometimes another man is there too. Han doesn’t see him there often, but knows he’s someone special the way the shop owner and him look at and hold each other. Maybe he travels for work? He's often wondered as he sits on the windowsill.

He's broken from his thoughts when he feels your arms wrap around his waist and you lean against his back. His eyes close softly, and his body relaxes as he savors the feeling of being embraced in this way for the first time.

"Hannie, I know we don't have long, but maybe if we see it as a gift?"

He turns in your arms to face you, and wraps his own arms around you. You feel so good like this. In his arms. Holding so much of you in one go. Feeling your entire body pressed against his. It's better than he ever imagined.

"You're right." He says finally. "We can't waste a minute of this precious time. There's so much I have to do to you." His dick twitches when he sees your cheeks flush. He knows you're not shy, but if you feel anything like he does right now, then you’d have to be trembling on the inside.

His hand slides up to hold your jaw tenderly as he brings his lips close to yours. Sure he's kissed you, parts of your lips - both sets even, and other parts of your skin. But your lips in their entirety? He feels so scared, so nervous. What if he's a shit kisser?

"Stop thinking, Han Jisung." You say and connect your lips to his.

His lips fit yours perfectly and he melts into them with a moan. He kisses you slowly and carefully and a warmth spreads throughout his body. He hardens immediately when he feels your tongue slip into his mouth to find his. Your tongue, the one that’s licked his entire torso in one sweep, is currently inside his mouth. 

He allows his hands to wander lower to cup your ass. He loves your ass and often stares at it when you're doing housework in your tight little exercise shorts. Another moan escapes him when he pulls you even closer against his body. Touching so many parts of you all at once has him feeling overwhelmed in the best way possible. What will it be like when he’s inside you as well? He has to know.

He lowers his hands a little more to lift you up and you wrap your legs around his. Then he’s carrying you - actually carrying you - to your bedroom.

Your room is still filled with the warm sunlight, and Han is glad because he’ll be able to see absolutely everything. He lays you gently on the bed and kisses you deeply, then sits up to kneel between your parted legs.

“I think these need to come off.” He announces, flicking the waistband of your pajama shorts.

You smirk. “You do, huh?”

“Yes. We need to be naked.” He starts tugging off your clothes, then his own.

You look stunning beneath him, and you feel the same way about him. The sunlight hits his honey skin perfectly and you feel a surge of love for the man above you.

This is actually happening, is the thought going through both your heads.

Han gulps as he drinks you in with his eyes. Where to begin? He decides to start with your breasts. Holding them in his hands, massaging them. He loves the pretty noises you’re making as he kneads them. He leans over to take a nipple in his mouth, flicking the tiny pebbled nub that he normally has to stretch his mouth around. It goes straight to his dick and he can’t help but grind his cock against your core. This is too much already. He sits back up between your legs to try and regain his composure. He doesn’t want the first time he has intercourse to be over before it begins. To bide some time, he slowly runs his hands down your stomach and massages the tops of your thighs while his eyes lock onto your pussy. Home.

His favorite thing in the world is to eat you out, and he’s excited to taste you. Firstly, though, he is dying to explore you with his fingers. He drags his thumbs through your folds. “Wet for me as usual, Noona.” He states, glancing up to see your flushed cheeks. He chuckles to himself knowing how flustered he’s making you.

“Hannie…always soaked for you.” You say with a breathlessness to your voice. 

He rubs circles on your clit with his thumb whilst using his other hand to spread you wide. 

“I need your fingers inside me, Hannie.” you wiggle your hips to give him the hint.

“Like this?” He asks innocently as he slips two fingers into you. You moan in relief, making him smirk again.You’re so tight just around his fingers that he can’t imagine how you are going to fit his cock. He partially withdraws his fingers then pushes them back into your warm, wet, cunt. He repeats this a few times, your moans and ‘yes’s urging him to go a little harder, a little deeper. He remembers watching you finger fuck yourself and that there’s a spot inside you that when you stimulate it makes you come. He needs to try it. 

He angles his fingers a little differently and fucks you with his hand. The response is immediate. Your pussy begins to make those lewd, but arousing sounds, that he has heard when you’ve made yourself cum on your dildo. Your back arches off the bed and your thighs start to tremble. He knows the signs of you having an orgasm. He’s made you come so many times. But not like this. He leans over you to slide his tongue into your mouth, capturing the moans from your orgasm while his fingers work you through it until you’ve settled back to earth. Stunning. Erotic. Perfect. That’s what you are to him right now.

Now he can eat you out. Lick up all that arousal leaking from your delectable pussy. He nestles between your legs, his agonizingly hard cock squashed between his stomach and the mattress. He knows it’s leaking all over your quilt.

Firmly holding your thighs apart, he licks a long stripe from your vagina to clit. You taste perfect. He is careful not to go too hard or too rough. When he’s tiny he needs to use all his energy and strength to get you off, but right now even the most delicate of licks or suckles has you whimpering for him.

He spits on your clit and then sucks it off. Then moves lower to slip his tongue inside you. He has to hold you still as another orgasm starts to build for you. He loves making you feel this way.

He needs to make you come again, so he slips a finger into your pussy while he laps at your clit. He feels you come on his face, shaking, quivering, covering him in your juices. Yep. Still his favorite thing to do.

He removes himself from between your legs to hover over you to take you in an urgent kiss, smearing your arousal all over your lips. His dick throbs.

“Hannie,” you pull away from the kiss. “I really need you inside me. I need it so much it hurts.” You look up at him with desperate eyes.

“Me too, Noona.” He gulps. He’s so fucking scared and hopes you don’t notice.

“Are you nervous?” You reach up and stroke his cheek. 

Of course you noticed it. You always know how he feels. He nods. “Yeah. I am actually. I am a virgin you know?” He chuckles awkwardly, like you didn’t know he’d never actually fucked before.

You wrap your arms around the back of his neck and pull him close. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Just let it slip in. Dicks usually find a way into a pussy.” You whisper in his ear.

He trusts you and grinds the length of his cock against your slipper pussy. It’s already beyond incredible feeling your soft skin against his obscenely hard cock. You both moan equally in pleasure and the frustration of needing more, so he shifts his hips to allow the tip of his cock to prod at you. 

“Yes!” You cry out against his ear. “Fuck…Hannie…need you. It’s so close…” 

All it takes is a slight adjustment of the angle of his hips and he feels the tip slip inside you. 

“Please…hurry.” You sob. “I love you so much, Hannie.”

“I love you too, Noona.” he says with a shaky breath, and then he’s inside you. All the way to the hilt. You both moan in relief. 

“You’re so tight.” he declares, his eyes rolling back into his head. He’s not going to last even a thrust. It’s already too good. But he begins to move anyway, eventually finding a slow, deep rhythm.

He was wrong. This is his most favorite thing to do. Be buried in your pussy, with your arms and legs wrapped around him as you moan his name over and over. Definitely his favorite.

“Faster…please… harder…oh Hannie…fuck.” You claw at his back trying to pull him even deeper. He obliges, picking up the pace, fucking you harder. He kneels between your legs again so he can see all of you. The sight is erotic. Seeing all of you at once, with your legs folded and pushed up high and wide. Your breasts bouncing with every thrust. And the expression on your face as you look down at where you’re connected almost makes him fill you right then and there.

“I’m coming, Hannie… I’m…don’t stop! Come with me. Come inside me!” You’re already trembling beneath him, and there’s no way in hell he’d be able to stop himself coming inside you even if he wanted to. He’s about to burst. Not just his cock, but his heart too. He loves you too much. He takes his thumb back to your clit and focuses on bringing you over the edge. He feels your walls squeeze tight around him like a vice, and it sends him over as well. With a few last shaky thrusts, he releases himself inside of you with a deep moan.

“Noona… Fuck…” he pants and collapses on top of you. “That was the best feeling in the whole world. I don’t know how anyone gets anything done when they could be doing that!” 

—-----------

The day passes far too quickly as you fill the rest of the day with lovemaking, food, drinks, and even more lovemaking. You both don't want to miss a single moment of each other. Night comes too quickly, and despite trying your best to stay awake, sleep eventually takes you both as you lay in his arms.

-----------

The sun streams through the window waking you from your sleep. You feel Han's arm laying heavy across your waist. It wasn't a dream. Your eyes snap open to find him fast asleep, mouth open, and still very much human size.

You watch him until he finally stirs and opens his eyes. "Am I still big? Are we still naked?" He asks sleepily.

You grin in response. "Yes. You're still big. And we’re still naked. " You lean down and kiss his cheek.

"So we can have more sex today?" he adds, rubbing his eyes.

"Anything you want, my love." You say and let your hand wander down to rest on his erect cock. Flicking the sheet off of him, you begin to kiss your way down his body, savoring every inch of his skin, ensuring you remember this moment forever. You pause when you reach his cock, admiring the way it looks. Fucking perfect. Mouthwatering. You waste no time taking him in your hand and bringing your tongue to the underside of his shaft. 

He releases a sharp breath. “Fuck, Noona. Please…are you gonna suck me off? Please suck my cock, Noona.” he begs, lifting his head and looking down at you. You give him a sly look and swirl your tongue around the tip, and he throws his head back down onto the pillow, surrendering to you and your plans.

You take your time teasing him, alternating between kitten licks to the tip, to long languid strokes of your tongue along the shaft. His breathless pants turn to whimpers, then finally a deep, relieving groan as you sink your mouth over him. You take as much of him into your throat as you possibly can, and even though your eyes start to water, you take him even deeper.

“Baby, Noona…This is…your mouth… How can you even breathe right now?” He can barely get the words out. “So good… ngh…s’good.” he squeezes his eyes closed trying his hardest not to thrust into you. His hands thread through your hair and rest on the back of your head. You hope he pushes you down further so you take absolutely everything, and when he does, you feel your cunt tighten and your arousal leaking between your legs. 

Your lips are pressed to his pelvis and he isn’t letting you go. You are finding it hard to breathe, but you don’t care. You want more. You feel him getting close when his cock hardens even more and he starts thrusting into your throat. Yes. This is what you need. 

Han gets noisier as he approaches his climax, then you feel it. The familiar taste of his hot cum hits the back of your throat. He cries out then stills, releasing his hands from your head and relaxing into the bed.

As usual, you swallow every last drop. There is so much more compared to normal, the fluid coating the back of your mouth, then you make your way up to kiss his lips. 

Han grins at you with hooded eyes. “Fuck, Noona! That was so fucking goog.”

“You don’t know how many times I’ve pictured doing that for you, Hannie.” You smile and curl up to his side.

“Noona?” he says, stroking your arm.

“Mmm. Yes my love?” you hum.

“Do you think…after we fuck again, we can go out? There’s something I want to do.”

You turn your head to gaze at him. “Of course. Anything you want, my love.” you say again, but this time with a curious tone.

-----------

"Are you sure I don’t look weird?" Han isn't convinced that the sweatpants and tee you have given him are gender neutral.

"You're fine, I promise. Just trust me?" You reply, locking your front door.  You take his hand in yours and begin to up your front path. As you reach the sidewalk, he begins to have second thoughts. Sure he's been out of the house with you before. In your handbag, hidden away. Safe. Unseen. Maybe this isn't a good idea after all, he thinks to himself. Maybe he shouldn't have such lofty ideas? But he's not going to have another opportunity to do this. So he has to be brave.

“”What would you like to do, Hannie?” 

“There’s something I’ve thought about doing for a while now. Buy you flowers.” He gestures to the flower shop across from your home. 

Your eyes light up and a smile washes over your features. “I’d absolutely love that!” You squeeze his hand and look up at him. “I love you Hannie.” You say and kiss him on the lips.

“Noona, y-you can’t do that!” He stutters.

“Do what, sweetie?” You tease, and kiss him again. This time a little longer.

He pushes you away gently. “You’re getting me hard.” He whispers sternly and looks around to make sure no one can notice.

“Okay, Han. No public display of affection. Got it.” You pinch his chubby cheek.

The flower shop isn't very big, but it manages to accommodate so many flowers and bouquets that fill every corner and surface. Han takes in the floral scents, and the vibrancy of the colors, and smiles when his eyes land on what he's looking for.

"Can I help you with anything?" the shop owner asks cheerfully.

"Yes, can I please have the bouquet of purple tulips?" he says proudly.

The owner, who's name tag says 'Jules', takes the bouquet back to the counter to ring up the price. "That will be $60."

That's right. He has no money. He closes his eyes for a moment, berating himself. Of course he can't pay. He has no bank account. No identification. He's not a citizen of... anywhere really. He's an alien.

"That's okay, I've got it. He forgot his wallet today." You step in from out of nowhere and take care of paying for the flowers.

Ashamed by his inadequacy, Han steps away from the counter, and busies himself by looking at the corner with some potted houseplants. He quite likes the houseplants you own, often sitting underneath the leaves pretending to be somewhere outdoors. He chuckles to himself at how silly that sounds when movement behind one of the pot plants catches his eye.

Intrigued, he crouches down and ever so slowly nudges one of the plants to the side. His eyes widen and he almost stumbles backward when he sees a little man, the size of a Ken doll, looking up at him.

The same man that he’s seen kissing and holding Jules the shop owner multiple times.

Han blinks, not believing what he is seeing, but when he opens his eyes the little man is gone. Where did he go? Did he imagine it? He starts shifting plant pots around, desperately trying to find him.

"Hannie. I'm done now." you call to him from the shop entrance.

----------

"Hannie, what's wrong?" You ask as you both step outside onto the sidewalk. "Is it about paying for these?" You hold up the tulips.

"No, Noona. It's not that." He turns to look back at the shop.

"Han? You look like you've seen a ghost. Are you okay? Are you feeling okay?" You press your hand to his forehead. Sweaty and warm. Is he getting sick?

"I'm fine. Just... the forty eight hours are coming to an end tonight." He frowns.

You drop your head. You have been trying your best not to think about it. Today was so perfect, spending time with Han like a proper couple. It felt so heartwarming watching him with his big, curious eyes as he interacted with his surroundings.

You take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the flowers. "What made you choose these?" you ask him curiously.

"Well," He starts, as you begin to walk back towards your home. "From what I read on the internet they are a symbol of perfect love." He smiles sheepishly. "It also said that they symbolize rebirth, as well as being known to help us let go of the past and embrace the future with renewed optimism and hope." he adds, proud to have remembered the details he'd read.

"I think that sounds perfect." You smile warmly and kiss him on the cheek.

---------------

Dinner is a quiet affair. The quietest it’s ever been. Usually at dinner time you share your day with each other, listening intently, offering advice or support, or whatever each of you needed that night. Tonight you’re both thinking about the same thing. That your time together like this is coming to an end. Neither of you want to talk about the elephant in the room, so you both stay silent. 

After a while you see Han set his knife and fork on his plate and stand up, walking around to your side of the table. You look up at him and he offers his hand out to you. Wordlessy, you take it and let him lead you to your bedroom.

He’s not gentle as he pushes you down onto the mattress and practically rips your clothes off before climbing on top of you and taking you in a rough, heated kiss. He shoves his tongue past your lips and you thread your fingers through his hair to pull him into an even deeper, even more feral kiss. He pulls away only to remove his own garments, then he forces your legs apart so he can line his cock up to your entrance. 

Without any preparation, or warning, he pushes the entire length of his cock into you in one go. You cry out at the intrusion, but part your legs further. You need him inside you, to consume you.

He’s careless with his thrusts, and his hands grope and squeeze, bruising your flesh. There’s a look of anger and resentment in his eyes. You know it’s not because of you, but at this whole situation. It feels so unfair to have a glimpse of how life could be, and know that it’s never going to be like this again. You love Hannie no matter what. But this feels so good too. Why? Why let you experience this, only to have torn away so quickly?

“Are you gonna remember me like this forever, Noona? How full I make you? How deep inside you I am? How hard I can fuck you?” He growls. “Tell me. Tell me you’ll never forget it. Cos I’m never going to forget how your pussy feels around me. Squeezing me tight. Tell me I’m your favorite. Tell me I feel better than anyone before me.” 

Han’s words are aggressive, and so is the way he’s fucking you. But his voice is full of heartbreak and angst. You want him to give you everything. His sadness, his anger, you want him to take it out on you. 

He thrusts his hips even harder against your body, and his cock slams into your cervix, causing you to cry out his name.

“Hannie!” You choke. He doesn’t slow down or go easy on you. You can barely breathe. 

“Say it… please…Tell me your mine.” he sobs, but he doesn’t slow down.

“I’m yours, Hannie…forever.” you whimper.

He leans down over you, caging you underneath him. “Come for me. Come on my cock.” He growls, his hot breath against your ear. “I wanna feel your pussy choke me one last time.”

It’s too much and you come hard around him, sobbing against his shoulder.

“That’s it…Yes…Fuck! I’m coming too!” He grunts as he thrusts his hips a few more times and empties himself inside you.

You stay like this for a while. Breathless and sweating. Eventually, he lifts his head and looks down on you. “Did I hurt you?” He asks with a concerned expression.

You shake your head. “It was passionate. I needed you to fuck me like that.” You sigh. He closes his eyes softly in relief, then withdraws his softened cock from you. 

Neither of you move to clean up, or even get a drink, or even say another word. You simply lay in the comfort of each other’s arms as though the world was about to end.

---------

You fall asleep first, but Han can't sleep. He doesn't want to sleep. So he watches you sleep instead. He cups your cheek. He needs to burn the image of this into his brain, for tomorrow his hand will barely be able to wrap around your pinky finger. These past forty eight hours were a dream come true, but he’s not sure how he’ll get over it either. 

-------------

You wake to find your bed empty. "Han?" You call out and search the bed, lifting the blankets. Sometimes he ends up tangled in them, but he isn't there.

You hop out of bed, slip on your robe and head out into the kitchen. You find him sitting on the windowsill above the sink. Small as ever. You feel a sadness in your chest and bite your lip as you approach him. "Hannie?" You say softly, leaning your arms on the counter next to the sink so your face is close to him.

"I'm okay Noona." he sighs, but doesn't turn to face you.

"You want me to fix you some breakfast before I go to work?" You ask hopefully, but he shakes his head.

The usual conversation that you have when you get ready for work is replaced with a heavy, awkward silence.

"You know, Hannie, you are perfect to me no matter what. Your personality, your heart - it’s bigger than that of any man in the world.” You say as you turn to leave the kitchen and head out the front door for work.

--------------

Han hasn’t left the windowsill in days. He hasn’t washed, he's barely eaten. The spark you love so much in him has dimmed, and you’re frightened that it won't come back. It's not like you can get him therapy. No one knows about him. No one can know about him.

Every day you leave for work not knowing what you'll find when you return home. What if he’s left? What if he's-" No you won't let yourself even go there.

Those forty eight hours of him being big was not worth it, and if you could take it back and go back to how things were before, you'd do it in a heartbeat. You just want your Hannie back.

--------------

Han knows you love him. But he can't help but feel depressed. He feels worse now than he has ever felt in his entire, albeit short, life. It's like him becoming big was some sick, cruel joke. Like it was to taunt him. To show him how good it could really be, how good it could really feel, to be a human, just to snatch it away from him.

It isn't just depression that's consuming him. It's an obsession with the flower shop and that little man he had seen that day.

For ten days now he’s stared at the shop hoping to catch a glimpse of...something... anything that might give him answers or closure. They know something. He can feel it.

Then finally it happens. Han hurries to a kneeling position, face pressed against the glass to catch a better look.

The man is back. As a human sized man. Han guesses he's seen this man maybe four times over as many months. He stands in the doorway waving to a customer before going back into the shop. It definitely looks like the little guy he saw standing by the pot plant.

You probably imagined it. You were probably over excited from the sex with Noona. Can sex make you hallucinate? Han isn't sure of anything anymore. Except that the miniature man was either imaginary, or, he has the answers Han's looking for.

-------------------

You leave work early and pick up a cheesecake. Han hasn’t eaten in days and you hope his favorite dessert might perk him up a little bit, even if it’s just a sugar rush.

You open your front door kicking your shoes off, and make your way upstairs to your main living area. The house is eerily quiet, even with a depressed Han it's too quiet. Something is off. Something is wrong.

“Hannie?” You call out. No answer. You place the cheesecake box on the counter. He’s not on his windowsill. Maybe he’s asleep somewhere? You check your bedroom next. He isn’t there either. You search every room, calling out his name.

Nothing.

He’s gone. He’s actually gone! Why? Why would he leave? Where would he go? What if he’s hurt? What if he’s - you gulp. You start to panic and begin to check everywhere again. Maybe he fell into a drawer? Maybe he’s stuck somewhere?

Again, nothing.

He really was gone.

—-----------

Han has never ventured out of the house by himself before. Well this month has been full of firsts, he thinks. Why not climb down the stairs and sneak out of a slightly ajar window?

He jumps down from the window sill and tumbles into the garden, surprisingly unscathed. He is on a mission and nothing is going to stop him.

Determination takes over any fear of being eaten by the neighbors cat, or being runover by a car, as he carefully treks across the road to the flower shop.

He hasn't even planned what he’s going to say. What if he's mistaken and the owner faints? What if she kills him? Or kidnaps him? Tortures him? No. He shakes his head. The lady was really nice the other day. People love to go to her shop. It'll be fine.

By the time Han reaches the threshold he is hot, sweaty and very thirsty. He looks up to looming doorway and swallows hard. Here goes nothing.

He slips inside, carefully seeking the cover of a nearby flower pot. The shop looks gigantic compared to last time he was there.

He notices something that he missed the last time. That the entire shop is set up suspiciously accessible for him. Like it was made for someone his size. Strings from buntings and signs dangle in such a way that Han would be able to reach just about any shelf he wished. Some shelves look to have mini rope ladders, and there seems to be plenty of places to hide and watch customers, or your Noona.

He quickly climbs up one of the rope ladders where he can get a better view of the sales counter. Jules is there finishing serving a customer. But where is the man?

Han doesn’t have to wait for long. The man emerges from a back storeroom with a gift bag for the customer.

“Oh Minho! You’re back in town!” The customer exclaims in a high pitch voice. “How was your work trip?” She gives this Minho a kiss on the cheek.

“Adventurous as usual.” He winks at her.

“Well it’s good to see you.” She takes her flowers and gift bag, smiling as she leaves the shop.

“Take care Mrs Maple!” Minho waves after her then turns to Jules. “Finally, I’ve got you alone, kitten.” He smirks and closes the gap between them. “Maybe we could close up for lunch? Head back into the storeroom?” He kisses her neck.

“You’re always so horny, Minho.” She teases. “Don’t think I don’t know you masturbate behind the flower pot while I work.”

Wait! What? Han’s eyes almost pop out of his head and he stumbles knocking an ornamental garden gnome off the shelf.

Jules and Minho’s eyes land on the smashed gnome. Then they lift their gaze, eyes landing straight on Han.

Fuck! He freezes to the spot.

The pair look confused and make their way over to where Han is standing pretending to be gnome himself, and crouch down so they are eye level with him.

“It’s the customer from the other day.” Jules remarks. “He didn’t have any money.” She adds.

Han crosses his arm and pouts.

“He’s the one I told you about. The one that saw me on the shelf.” Minho adds.

“Excuse me?” Han interrupts. “I was hoping you could help me. You see, I live across the street with my Noona. She was the woman I was with when I came in the other day. And…anyway… I sit in the window sill and watch the flower shop. Not in a creepy way.” He is sure to add. “And I’ve seen him…Minho, or whatever your name is,” he points to the man “a few times… Then when I came in, he… he was small.”

“And you were big.” Minhos’s eyes glisten and he rubs his chin deviously. “And now you’re small!”

“Exactly! And I need to know… are you one of those miniature companions like me? And if so, why do you keep getting big? And… and is it the same for all of us? Is it different depending on the batch? Do some of us get big and others don’t?” Han’s out of breath by the time he’s finished.

“What’s your name?” Jules asks kindly.

“Han.” He replies and plops down, crossing his legs.

“Han?” She repeats thoughtfully.

“Do you recognise the name, babe?” Minho enquires.

Jules nods. “Yes. I believe he was also part of the range I purchased you from. The Skz range. I don’t think he was ready yet. How long have you been with your owner?”

“Just on a year.” He replies.

Jules and Minho exchange looks, then turn back to Han.

“Well, Han, buddy,” he says. “I think we might be able to answer your questions.”

—-----------

Eventually, after tearing your house apart in the hopes to find Han and failing, you flop yourself on your couch feeling empty and numb. You don’t even notice that your doorbell is ringing, but then a loud knock on the door makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“Yeah okay, I’m coming!” You call out as you head downstairs. With a sigh, you open the front door to find the woman who owns the flower shop across the street, and a man who you’ve seen a few times around the place, standing there. The woman holds a basket in her hands, and the man holds an amused look on his face.

Great. You’re not in the mood for interaction.

The woman’s eyes widen when she sees your tear streaked face.

“Uh, sorry to bother you. I’m Jules. From the flower shop across the street.” She smiles awkwardly. “And this is my, um, partner, Minho.” She gestures to the man next to her.

You continue to stand there, saying nothing.

Jules coughs, clearing her throat. “We’ve brought your Hannie home.” She declares.

“Noona!” Han’s head pops out of the basket.

Your hand comes up to cover your mouth. “Why do you have my Han?” You choke. Your eyes dart from Jules to Minho, confused and scared. Han is supposed to be a secret. You can’t have outsiders knowing about him.

“I went to them, Noona. They have something to tell you! Can’t you let us inside already?” He whines.

A whining Han is a good sign. You nod and usher them inside.

————-

You’re back on your couch, this time with Jules and Minho on the couch across from you, and your little Hannie on the cushion next to you. You’re relieved he’s back, but also so mad at his reckless behavior. He could’ve gotten himself killed. He and Minho are enjoying a piece of cheesecake, like this is some normal afternoon gathering of friends.

“So you have something to tell me?” You say looking to Jules.

“We do. You see, Han came to us because he saw my miniature companion in the flower shop the day you both came in.” She starts.

Your eyes widen. “You know about them? You’ve got one?”

Jules nods. “Yes. Minho here is my companion.”

“Hi.” He waves.

“He’s your companion?” You arch an eyebrow.

“Yes, he’s got his monthly grown up pants on at the moment, but most of the time he’s small like Han.” She nods her head towards Han.

You shake your head in disbelief. “One minute Han is doll sized, then suddenly out of nowhere he’s big.”

“She really didn’t read the manual, hey Han?” Minho chuckles.

“Then I find out there’s another tiny man running around across the street?” You continue, ignoring Minho’s remark.

“Hey, I’m far from tiny!” Minho turns to you with a deadly glare.

“Calm down sweetie.” Jules pats his thigh. “He’s not really cold and cynical.” She reassures you.

“He’s cocky isn’t he?” You say lightheartedly to Jules but your eyes are firmly on Minho. “You know you were able to read their traits on the website and select accordingly?” You say jokingly.

“That’s why she chose me. For my cock-iness.” Minho leans back into the couch.

“He was the only one who was cat friendly. I have three cats, you see.” Jules playfully punches Minho in the arm.

“Hah! You love my cock-y personality.”

“I do.” Jules admits and leans against him.

The pair are fascinating, but you need to know more. “What did you mean by monthly grown up pants?” You ask.

“Once a month I grow into the size of a human for two days.” Minho shares. “It’s a fault in the Skz manufacturing process.”

“You didn’t receive the recall email from the company?” Jules turns back to you surprised.

You shake your head.

“There was a form in the back of...the manual...that you could send in so you’d receive any important information. Like recalls and such.”

“Noona only read up to the part where it says I can ejaculate.” Han pipes up, his mouth full of food.

“Hannie! Don’t, you’re embarrassing me. Sorry, he hasn’t been socialized.” You say bashfully.

“I think these two will become best friends.” Jules laughs looking at the two men. “Han did say this whole human size situation came as a surprise to you both.”

“I feel so stupid. I didn’t read the whole manual.  I’m such an irresponsible companion owner.” 

“There was a recall on the Skz range because they were only supposed to grow big the once, not once every month. Purchasers were given the option to return the companion if they chose.”

“And she chose to keep me.” Minho adds.

“Would you have sent me back, Noona? If you’d known about the recall?” Han looks up at you with his boba eyes.

“Of course not. I love you. I just wish I’d known all this so we could have been prepared. Looked forward to it, even.”

“It’s okay, Noona. I think it has worked out for the best this way.” He looks at each of you. “I’ve finally got friends!” He says gleefully.

Jules and Minho leave shortly after, to have some alone time before his “grown up pants become too big”.

Han is exhausted from his adventure, and just wants to snuggle up on your chest and watch anime. Neither of you say much. There's no point in being angry at him for venturing out alone, and you're just happy to have him back in one piece.

Neither of you are really watching the anime either. Instead you're both smiling inwardly, imagining what life is going to look like from now on.

—————-

A little update on our y/n and Hannie:

Over the next year, Han and Minho have become inseparable, spending almost as much time with each other as they do with you and Jules.

You’ve introduced Han to your family. He was so nervous at first, but once he realized they approved of him, he was okay.

He learned to play guitar, and even commissioned a guitar maker to make a scaled down working model of an acoustic guitar so he can play whenever he feels like it.

------------

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this little fic. I loved writing it, even though it took me so long to have the energy to put the ideas into words. Thank you so much for reading. Your support encourages me to keep writing.

If you enjoy the more plot driven, lovey dovey fics, I have a few others on my main blog @moonlightndaydreams and I think I will probably cross post this fic as a oneshot over there to keep all my longer Hannie fics together.

Sorsha x.

----------------

@kayleefriedchicken @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @katsukis1wife @jeonginsleftcheek @ihrtlino @ivydoesit23 @gnab-nahc @skzstan12345 @youcanstayyeah @binnieonabike @hanniemylovelyquokka @moasworld @binniesbabe @courtnort455 @yongbokkiesworld @felixleftchickennugget @bangchans-angel @heerinnie @meilix

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @weareapackofstrays @3rachasdomesticbanana @palindrome969 @xxkissesforchanniexx @fun-fanfics @rhonnie23 @jisunglyricist @strayywayy @armystay89 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @justforreaders @melochacco @scenuniverse @oddracha @galaxycatdrawz @jiminssluttyminx @dool-set-net @redstayrosie @mintymintmint251 @katsukis1wife

[greensagephase]

What If...? (Father's Day)

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara x Female!Reader Summary: It’s Father's Day and you celebrate Miguel, the father of your son. You surprise him with an unexpected gift! Word Count: 4.7k Warnings: pre-established relationship; reader is married to Miguel; parents of a three year old; breast fondling; oral sex, male receiving; unprotected sex (pls be safe); p in v; light spanking; soft Miguel Masterlist Link to part 1!

MINORS PLS DO NOT READ

In the kitchen, you put away some dishes you washed earlier from breakfast. You take care of other little tasks around your kitchen, making sure it’s organized and cleaned for dinner time.

In the living room, Miguel is hanging picture frames since you recently took new family photos. You’re both taking the time to do some quick chores since Gabrielito is taking a nap in his room.

Among your tasks, you put away some leftover homemade tortilla chips from this morning.

Today is Father’s Day and of course, you’re spoiling Miguel just like he spoiled you for Mother’s Day. You cooked his favorite breakfast - red chilaquiles, two fried eggs, and fried beans topped with queso fresco - a typical Mexican dish that can be served both for breakfast and dinner, hence the tortilla chips.

With a smile, you recall this morning when you surprised Miguel with his favorite breakfast in bed. You bought him flowers because you wholeheartedly believe men also deserve to receive some, at least your man does, and then cuddled with him and Gabriel for a while.

It’s now around one in the afternoon and you’ve had lunch already. Miguel subtly told you earlier in the week that he wanted to spend the whole day at home with his family and do little tasks around the house, like hanging new picture frames. That’s why you decided to order takeout for lunch from one of Miguel’s favorite places, at least.

However, just because you plan to stay home all day doesn’t mean you didn’t plan something fun and special for the evening. Your plan is to cook another one of his favorite dishes for dinner and then end the day with a movie night.

You’ve bought Miguel’s favorite snacks and drinks for the movie, and you have plans to make the living room even more cozy than it already is with blankets and pillows.

You snap out of your thoughts when you hear Miguel’s drill from the living room, a smile forming on your face.

Your handy husband, gotta love him.

You grab two cold drinks from the fridge, one for Miguel and one for you before heading to the living room. You find Miguel standing in front of one of the walls with a pencil behind his ear as he drills into the wall. He looks so… You have to stop yourself from letting your thoughts wander but wow, he’s so handsome.

“I got you a drink,” you say approaching him.

Miguel turns, smiling at you. “You’re always thinking about me, preciosa. Gracias [precious, thank you],” he says, accepting your offering with appreciation. He opens it and takes a few sips. “Almost done here. ¿Como se mira [how does it look?]?” he asks, pointing his chin towards the wall.

You step closer and take a better look at the pictures of the three of you, smiling.

“It looks fantastic, corazón [heart]. Look at us,” you say softly as your eyes settle on one picture in particular. Miguel is holding Gabrielito, his arm wrapped protectively around his son. The other one? Around your waist in an equally protective manner. The three of you are smiling at the camera, a happy family.

Miguel steps behind you, quickly resting his head on top of yours, his arms finding their rightful place around your waist. “My whole life,” Miguel whispers sweetly. “In one picture alone.”

Your heart swells with love and tenderness. With a sigh, you place your hands on his arms.

“Our little family,” you whisper.

“Si, nuestra familia [yes, our family],” Miguel whispers. He moves his head and pecks your cheek from the side. “El amor de mi vida y mi hijo [the love of my life and my son].” He pecks your cheek again. Again. And again, until he has you giggling like a schoolgirl, his arms tightening around you. “Ven aquí, preciosa [come here, precious],” he murmurs against your lips. “Te amo [I love you].”

“Mm, I love you more,” you murmur back, eyes closed as you bask in Miguel’s attention.

“Impossible,” Miguel murmurs, his lips moving to your neck to continue their mission. “You’re my whole universe - the very air I breathe.”

With a low moan, you move your head aside to grant him more access.

“Good girl,” Miguel says, his mouth on your neck. He peppers your neck with more kisses before he gently bites the soft flesh, eliciting another sweet moan from you. “Dios, te amo mi reyna [God, I love you my queen].”

“I love you,” you reply. “Te amo, mi corazón [I love you, my heart].”

Miguel smiles and plants a few more kisses on your neck, creating an ache between his and your thighs. He pauses his kissing for a moment to look at the photograph, looking at the three of you. His arms tighten around you, even more somehow, protectively.

He can’t help but think about something. It’s been a few weeks since Mother’s Day, since that night when you both decided to start trying for a second baby. Ever since that night, the two of you have been going at it, which is not unusual, really. Your passion for each other has always been ignited, no matter the ups and downs of a normal, healthy marriage. Even when you both thought you’d find it difficult to make time as a couple with the arrival of your firstborn, it turned out that your baby boy only strengthened that passion - that love.

So, Miguel supposes your recent love making moments are not shocking, however he can’t deny that there’s an extra special layer because you’re trying for a second baby. Either way, he knows the two of you have been going at it and he can’t help but wonder if it’s happened yet, if his seed has taken and you’re now carrying another baby in the beautiful, gorgeous, goddess-like, and breathtaking body you have. The thought makes him giddy.

He really wants to be a dad of two, wants your little family to grow.

“Soon, mi amor [my love], there will be four of us there,” he whispers with hope and longing.

You smile at the thought. “Very soon. I have no doubt,” you whisper.

That makes Miguel grin. He kisses your neck again, his tongue darting out to taste your sweet skin. Your breath hitches when you feel his tongue running down your neck, moving to your shoulder. You lean back on him, pressing your ass to his groin area and immediately feeling his semi-hard cock.

“Miggy,” you whisper.

“Mhm?” Miguel runs his tongue upwards now.

“You’re growing hard.”

“I know, preciosa. Can’t help it,” he whispers. “I’ll stop if you want.” He begins to pull back, understanding you may not be in the mood and being respectful as always of your boundaries.

“No, come here,” you say holding him by his arms, attempting to stop him from moving away from you. Once you feel him pressed against you again, you lean back as much as possible, pressing your ass more firmly on his cock.

“Mmm, you want to, hermosa [beautiful]?” he asks pushing forward.

“Yes, I want to. I want - need you,” you reply realizing you’ve grown so wet just with his neck kisses and bites.

“Say that again,” Miguel whispers.

“I need you,” you whisper, making your husband groan softly.

“I need you, too, preciosa,” he whispers back, his mouth attaching to your neck again. His hands slide up from your waist to your breasts, cupping both of them with his large hands. He brings them closer together, squeezing gently and fondling them.

You whimper softly, laying your hands over his. “They’re a bit sensitive,” you whisper.

Miguel loosens up his grip. “’m sorry, princesa [princess]. Did I hurt you?” he asks, concerned. He begins to massage them even more gently, tenderly.

“No, you didn’t. Don’t worry. I’m just letting you know,” you reassure him. “They’ve been sensitive for a few days.”

“I’m sorry, baby, why didn’t you tell me?” Miguel asks, resting his chin on your shoulder, massaging your sensitive breasts. “I could’ve massaged them for you,” he says genuinely as he knows you find his large and warm hands helpful for these kinds of things - and other things, of course - but especially when you need a little massage, his hands are perfect for it.

“It hasn’t been bad, I promise,” you reply.

“Okay, but I still want to help you,” your sweet husband says, still massaging your tender breasts. “We can stop - we can focus on this, preciosa. I don’t want you hurting or feeling discomfort. Plus, you’ve been feeling fatigued, too. Maybe you ought to rest a bit, mi reyna [my queen].”

“N-no,” you say, shaking your head. “Please? I want to.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“M’kay, but I’ll be extra gentle with your breasts.” Miguel gives a gentle squeeze, feeling your hardened nipples through your top and bralette. He lowers his hands and pulls your top up by the hem. You aid him by lifting your arms, knowing it’s only the beginning.

In a matter of seconds, you’re both naked in the living room, pressed against each other kissing. Miguel’s hands fondle your ass while your hands glide up and down his back, your nails digging slightly into his skin, leaving goosebumps behind. You chuckle while kissing him, getting an idea. Miguel pulls back, wondering what you’re chuckling about. He soon finds out the reason when you deliver a gentle but firm spank to his ass.

His eyebrows raise, a smirk on his lips. “Oye, oye,” he says in a feigned offended tone. “Spanking your husband’s ass?”

“What about it?” you ask nonchalantly, grinning up at him.

Miguel hums, smirking. He pulls you closer, leaving no space between you. “I love when you use that tone,” he whispers leaning down and taking your bottom lip between his teeth before he kisses you.

You return the kiss, your hands gliding to his hips. You give them a squeeze before you slide one of your hands between your bodies with a clear intention. Not even a second later, Miguel lets out a soft growl as he feels your fingers wrap around his thick cock.

Smiling, you pump his cock gently, swiping your thumb over the engorged tip. You let out a soft hum of approval when you feel pre-cum. “So hard, baby,” you whisper as your hand wraps around it more firmly.

“Mierda, preciosa [shit, precious],” Miguel groans, leaning down and pressing his forehead against yours, his breath fanning over your lips as he feels your fingers’ ministrations.

“I want to please you,” you whisper.

You push Miguel’s arms off you and get down on your knees, still holding his cock in your hand.

“Fuck, preciosa,” he says, looking down at you, the sight of you on your knees with his cock in your hand doing nothing to help his now throbbing member. “You look so pretty for me.”

His words encourage you - fuel you. You lean forward and lick the tip, wiping clean the new droplet of precum, staining your tongue.

“Ah - fuck,” Miguel lets out. “Your teasing licks. You’re gonna end me, mi reyna.”

You chuckle before licking again. “You like that, baby?” You don’t need to ask that, you know Miguel does but you still love to hear him say it.

“Yes - I do - You know I do.”

“I like to hear that, corazón,” you say before you take his cock into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around it, coating it with your saliva.

“Mi-erdaa- fuck- fuck - preciosa,” Miguel grunts.

You take more of him, struggling to take his size even years later because he’s so big. You slide back, only leaving the tip in to look at the rest of his cock for a second. It’s so damn big sometimes you’re still surprised at the fact that you can take him both in your mouth and pussy.

You lean forward, taking more of Miguel. Your mouth gets stuffed with your husband's cock, stretching your mouth. You hollow your cheeks out, causing Miguel to groan, before you begin to bop your head, settling into a rhythm that you know he loves.

“Fu- ayy - amor [love] - Esa boquita [that little mouth]- you're killing me”

You look up at him, making Miguel moan. “You look so pretty, preciosa. Look at those pretty eyes.” He cups your face with one hand, caressing your cheek tenderly. You notice the way his stomach and legs flex, fighting back the urge to move his hips. Tapping his thigh, you let him know he may do it.

He bites his bottom lip, understanding, before he holds your head still. He always does that, not to keep you still for his own need but to ensure he doesn't hurt you, it's the last thing he ever wants to do.

He groans as he pushes forward, his tip hitting the back of your throat. He stays like that for a few seconds, eyes closed and appreciating the way your mouth feels around him before he slides out, only leaving the tip in for a second before he pushes back in. He repeats his actions for a few moments, grunting as he feels your sweet, small mouth struggle to take him in but still trying nonetheless.

“That’s enough, preciosa, or I'm gonna cum in your mouth,” he says pulling out gently. You both look at his cock, shining with your saliva and his precum.

You lick your lips and lean forward again before taking the tip in your mouth again, sucking it gently.

“Ahhh- ahh- fuckkkk!!”

You moan, hearing Miguel's voice.

“Mmm,” you murmur, closing your eyes as you suck on his tip. You swirl your tongue greedily, trying to get more reactions from him because his grunts and whimpers always turn you on. Unfortunately, Miguel cups your face with both his hands, holding your head still. You whine, opening your mouth and reluctantly releasing him. “Miggyyy.”

“Shh,” he replies. “I’m gonna cum in your mouth if you keep going with that little mouth of yours.” He helps you up to your feet, always the gentleman.

“I want to please you,” you start, pouting. “It’s Father’s Day.”

That makes Miguel’s gaze soften. He pulls you into his arms, embracing you. “You want to give me a blow job for Father’s Day?” he whispers against your cheek before kissing it.

“Mhmmm.”

“How sweet, preciosa.” He kisses your cheek again, moving to your lips to kiss them. “So sweet - so sweet, my little pretty wife. You’re the sweetest.” He kisses your other cheek, your forehead, your nose, and chin. Your entire face is getting peppered with kisses.

“Migs, I’m the one that’s supposed to spoil you today,” you murmur, making him laugh.

“Who says you’re not spoiling me? Getting to kiss you is one of the best gifts I could receive,” he says continuing to kiss you. “But if you’re thinking in terms of this,” he pauses and motions to the state you’re both in - naked, aroused, and with the need to make love. “You know what I would love more than a blow job?” He leans close to your ear.

You nod, whimpering as he squeezes your ass cheeks with both hands. “Yea- yeah - mhmm.”

“Why don’t I show you instead?” he murmurs, tugging on your earlobe gently with his teeth.

“That sounds - good to me,” you whisper, your pussy soaked and needy for your husband’s cock.

So he does.

Miguel grabs a blanket from one of the couches and spreads it on the living room floor. He wastes no time to bring you to your knees, positioning himself behind you and pushing your torso down, leaving your ass high in the air.

He smacks your ass cheek firmly, eliciting a whimper from you and leaving a sting on your skin.

“Gonna take this pussy from the back, mi amor [my love],” Miguel mumbles, his cock hard and needy, ready to be buried deep, deep inside you. He pushes your legs apart with his knee, pressing behind you and rubbing his cock against your heat. He groans loudly, feeling how wet you are. “Mierda [shit] - you’re drenched, princesita [little princess]. You’re so eager for my cock?” he asks, moving his hips to rub his length up and down your slit, making you whine with need. “So eager to get fucked from behind - to get this pretty pussy filled with my cum?

“Yes - yes - I want it, Miggy,” you reply eagerly, moving your body to get more friction. You rub yourself against his body, pressing your ass to his hips. The movement earns you another spank.

“So needy, princesita - rubbing yourself on me like that,” Miguel murmurs, squeezing your ass cheek with his large hand. He lands another spank on your ass as he rubs against you, coating his cock with your sleek. “Good girl,” he praises, loving how soaked and needy you are. “Gonna fill this pretty pussy, baby, gonna make you feel good, okay?”

You hum in response, biting your bottom lip and feeling more than ready to take your husband’s big cock as he continues to rub the tip along your slit. He makes you gasp in pleasure when he suddenly slips in, pushing the tip with no trouble thanks to how wet you are. Your legs tremble as he slips in, burying himself into your heat while groaning and praising you.

“Good girl - so fucking wet for me - so ready - you’re so ready for me,” he says, his words coming in pauses to groan as he feels your walls stretch around his cock, accommodating to his size. “Mierda, princesa - so fucking tight, squeezing my cock so good.” He spanks you again, watching the way your ass recoils from it. “Look at this pretty ass - all mine, yeah, baby?”

“Fuck - yes -ahh!” you start but moan when you feel him push all the way in, his tip reaching that sweet spot of yours. “Miguel-”

“I know princesa, I’m all the way in - buried deep inside you. You feel so good, so good for me,” he says groaning, your walls clenching around him. “Gonna fill you with my cum, princesa - we’re gonna have another baby, yes?”

“Mhmm, another baby, yes,” you coo.

“Good girl, you’re gonna look so pretty pregnant with my baby again,” he says pulling back and leaving only the tip in. “So pretty carrying my baby, princesa, so fucking beautiful.” He’s barely done talking when he slams right in, pushing his heavy cock deep inside you. He relishes on the way your legs tense, the way you moan beneath him as he begins to thrust into you, quickly finding his rhythm.

“Fu-ckkk - Mig- ye-ah - don’t stop,” you beg, whining as he thrusts into you, over and over again, stretching your walls deliciously with his fat cock.

“Don't stop, baby?” Miguel asks as he grabs your ass with both hands to support himself, thrusting into you without faltering.

“Don't - pleas-e -ahh- ahh - please- fuc- me-!” you manage to get out, moaning and whimpering, feeling your husband's fingers dig into your soft flesh just the right way. He keeps hitting that sweet spot, making you a moaning mess beneath him. You curse in pleasure as his thrusts grow heavier and stronger, his heavy balls slapping against your clit, adding stimulation.

And God, Miguel's grunts as he slides in and out of your pussy is making you hazy - he sounds so pretty, so needy for you.

“Fuck,” Miguel groans as he leans on you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he keeps thrusting. He pulls your upper body up so your back is pressed to his chest before he presses kisses and little bites to your shoulder. He then slowly moves his hand down, reaching between your thighs to play with your clit, making you arch against him. He flicks your clit and rubs his thumb over it, making it his mission to make you orgasm before he does.

Thrust after thrust, your sweet moans and whimpers reach Miguel's ears, motivating him. He knows you're close when your walls start squeezing his cock, trying to milk him dry before he's even climaxed.

“Cum for me, preciosa,” he grunts out as his hips snap into your ass over and over again until he has you shaking beneath him and screaming his name.

Panting and whimpering from your climax, Miguel pulls out of you and quickly, but gently, turns you on your back. You whine as soon as he slips out, feeling empty, but Miguel takes care of it. He spreads your legs and immediately settles between them, slipping back into you, needing you.

You both moan as soon as he bottoms out and you waste no time in wrapping your legs around his waist, knowing, even in your hazy state, why he switched positions.

“Fuc- ‘m gonna - gonna - mierda - gonna cum inside you, preciosa,” he says in between groans as he thrusts into you fast and hard, chasing his own climax to fill you with hot seed.

His thrusts become sloppier and sloppier until he eventually goes still, moaning. A second later, you feel his cock twitch a few times before he fills you with his hot, thick cum, painting your walls white. You moan, your legs tightening around him as you get filled deliciously.

Watching your blissful face, Miguel lowers himself on top of you, wrapping his arms around protectively. You both pant, riding out your highs together. You kiss his head gently, whimpering as he thrusts a few more times, letting your hungry pussy milk him until he’s spent and you’re full of him. He stays buried inside you as you both recover from your highs, both of you wanting to let his seed take since you’re trying for a second baby.

A few minutes later, your sweet husband takes care of you during after care. When you feel like you can walk again, you both shower quickly to get properly cleaned up before Gabriel wakes up from his nap.

Once he does, the three of you chill until it’s time to make dinner. You keep Miguel out of the kitchen even though he keeps popping up with your son, offering to help but you stand your ground and keep him out in order to really surprise him.

You succeed, despite his attempts to help, and your sweet husband, not surprisingly, thanks you with lots of kisses and words of love, which you one hundred percent reciprocate.

Before you know it, it’s movie time. You give Miguel’s last surprise of the day by revealing your plans for the evening, including the basket full of Miguel’s favorite snacks and drinks. You also give him a proper gift, something you saw him eyeing a few weeks ago at the store but didn’t buy because he said he had an old one - a set of tools. You’re happy with your purchase when you see the way Miguel’s eyes lit up with excitement while he opens it. You have no doubt he’s already thinking about all the ways he’s going to use it before he’s even done opening it.

Once that’s done, you get Miguel on the couch and pamper him by throwing a blanket over him and Gabriel, who insists on cuddling with his “daddy.” You place the basket with snacks near him and finally start the movie.

The three of you are having a great time, or at least you think so, Gabrielito doesn’t seem too interested in the movie but more on playing with his dad’s hands before he asks to play with his toys on the ground.

Halfway through the movie, you begin to feel sick all of a sudden. You try to push past it, thinking maybe you’ve eaten too many snacks since Miguel has been sharing everything with you. It grows worse by the minute, nausea hitting you suddenly. That’s when you decide it’s better to head to the bathroom, just in case.

“I'll be right back,” you tell Miguel standing up and hurrying, looking off.

“Preciosa, what's wrong? Do you feel sick?” Miguel asks, quickly checking in on Gabrielito and making sure he's safe before following after you.

He reaches the bathroom in seconds where he finds you already vomiting, his concern going through the roof. He immediately reaches you, helping you as much as he can. He rubs your back gently, sticking by you all the way until you wash your mouth and face, trying to catch your breath.

You sigh softly as he helps dry your face, gentle as always.

“I’m so sorry, baby. Do you feel better? Is the nausea gone?” he asks, brows knitted with concern.

You nod, swallowing saliva and wincing a bit. “Yeah, much better now. I just started feeling sick out of nowhere.”

Miguel’s head tilts to the side, your words sinking in.

You stare at each other for a few seconds before you connect the dots. Miguel comes to the same conclusion because he suddenly smiles warmly and happily at you before he places a hand on your tummy.

“Mi reyna [my queen],” he coos.

You smile at him, knowing.

“No wonder,” you say as Miguel pulls you into an embrace. “Sore breasts, nausea, and I’ve been feeling a bit tired the last few days.”

Miguel kisses your forehead. “We’re expecting, mi preciosa [my precious],” he whispers. “We’re having a second baby.”

Hearing his words makes it suddenly feel real and you can’t help but let out a happy noise of content, throwing your arms around him. “I’m pregnant!” you say hugging your husband, who hugs you tight to him.

“You’re pregnant, mi amor [my love]. You're pregnant - I can't believe it. I mean, I do, we've been working on it,” Miguel says with a playful smile, making you laugh. “But it happened so fast. I'm so happy right now!” Miguel picks you up, hugging you. “I want to go outside and yell it to the whole world that we're having a second baby. Dios [God],” Miguel says, kissing your face. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he repeats in between kisses. “Te amo [I love you].”

“I love you,” you whisper, caressing the curls at the back of his head. “I love you so much.”

“Yo a ti más, mi preciosa [I love you more, my precious],” Miguel whispers pulling back to kiss your lips, lovingly and tenderly. He breaks the kiss a few seconds later and holds you in his arms, the two of you standing in the bathroom. “Gracias, hermosa, gracias [thank you, beautiful, thank you]. You've given me the best gift for Father's Day.”

You chuckle softly, hugging him. “It was an unexpected gift.”

“Perfect way to end the day, hermosa.” Miguel smiles and kisses your forehead again. “God, I'm already thinking of all the things I'm gonna hang up in the new nursery using my new tool set.”

You laugh and pull back. “One step at a time, corazón. It's still early, but if all goes well, in a few months you'll be doing all of that.”

“Happily,” he replies. “You know I'll be there every step. I'll rub your feet and carry you to the bed. I'll do your nails, I'll do anything and everything,” Miguel promises, peppering your face with kisses, caressing your back.

You smile, knowing they're not empty promises.

You spend a few more moments in the bathroom before you return to the living room where you cuddle with your son, happy and excited that in a few months, your family will gain one new member.

A/N: Meant to post this earlier and then life happened, but it's still Father's Day for me so, happy Father's Day to my husband Miguel!! Thank you for reading!!

-Alondra ❤️

[lovebugism]

Hiiieeeeee may I maybe recommend a fic with Stevie and maybe his ditsy/clumsy gf?

And maybe she tries a new recipe and cooks/bakes something different and gives herself a nasty burn and maybe it’s the first time Steve hears her swear and he’s so concerned over her because she’s clearly hurt and crying but she’s more upset about messing up the dish instead of how badly the burn actually is?

hope u like it angel xoxo — steve patches you up after you burn yourself making breakfast for him (hurt/comfort, established relationship, cw for mentions of minor injuries, 1k)

French toast sizzles on a hot pan. You stand in front of the stove, in nothing but a stolen t-shirt and a modest pair of underwear, and watch it cook with your features pinched in a distant concentration. Your Stevie wanted breakfast — “’s the only thing I want in the whole world,” the boy whined dramatically into his pillow — so you were gonna make him breakfast or die trying.

Steve sits quiet at the kitchen table, sipping steaming coffee from a Count Chocula mug, and hissing every time it burns his tongue. He decides to flip through the Sunday newspaper, mostly ‘cause he feels the honeyed domesticity calls for it. He only finds real interest in the cartoon page.

“Alright. Put ‘em up,” Charlie Brown threatens in the first panel, dressed head to toe in cowboy gear. Snoopy’s in the second one, with both of his black ears sitting straight in the air.

Steve chuckles to himself, a sharp exhale through his nose, and opens his mouth to call you over. “Fuck!” he hears you squeak before he can. It makes him laugh for real this time. “Hey. Watch the language, babe,” the boy teases.

“Sorry…” he hears you murmur in response. With your back still facing him, obscuring any view of the hot stove, he figures you must’ve burnt the first batch of toast. 

It wouldn’t be the most surprising thing, anyway. You’re the clumsiest person he’s ever met (more than Robin, which he didn’t think was even possible). You’re not much of a chef either, bustling around the kitchen with a floundering air of confidence.

“Such a naughty word from such a pretty girl,” Steve jokes in an attempt to make you laugh. He hears his sensitive girl sniffle to herself instead, like you’re crying — or about to. His crooked smile ebbs. “Hey… I was just kidding, babe. You can say whatever the hell you want— I don’t care.”

His chair scrapes the tile when he stands. His socked feet pad against the floor on his way to you. “I swear all the time,” Steve says and embraces you from behind. His scruffy chin bobs on your shoulder. “I mean, you’ve heard me— I basically make up new words.”

He scoffs a faint laugh before pressing a kiss to your temple.

You sniffle again. “I messed up,” you murmur, voice wet with unshed tears.

“What do you mean?”

“The french toast. I put too much egg in the mixture, and now everything’s all sticky— It’s gonna be so gross now.”

You ramble mindlessly and gesture with your hands. Steve catches a glimpse of a red and raging welt on the outside of your thumb. The sight of the fresh burn makes his chest twist.

“Holy shit, babe.”

You meet his concerned gape with a doe-eyed look. “What?”

“Your hand— Let me see.”

He takes your fingers in his gentle, softly calloused ones. You shrug off his palpable worry but let him examine your stinging skin nonetheless. “It’s fine. Doesn’t even hurt,” you lie through your teeth. “I barely even felt it.”

Steve’s peers at you beneath his lashes, bushy brows raised until his forehead wrinkles. “It’s gotta hurt, babe,” he insists in a monotone.

“My bruised pride hurts more.”

He grins before he means to. “Come on, weirdo— let’s get a bandaid on you,” the boy chuckles and turns off the burning stove-eye. You gasp when he tugs you out of the kitchen with a gentle hand around your wrist.

“But breakfast!” you whine in protest.

“I’ll drive us to the diner after, alright? I promise,” Steve assures as he leads you down the hallway. “That way neither of us has to die to put some food on the table.”

“Well, that’s just dramatic.”

He shrugs and flips on the bathroom light. “Maybe a little.”

You sit on the edge of the bathroom counter, per Stevie’s instructions, while he fishes for the first aid kit in the cabinets. He fits just perfectly between your thighs, you notice, as he rubs ointment onto your finger with an impossibly gentle touch. You quickly forget about the raised welt on your thumb — too focused on the pretty boy who holds all his love in his hands.

“There you go. Good as new,” Steve smiles once he’s stuck a plaster flush to your skin. He doesn’t notice the small pout scrunching your pretty face until he’s closed the first aid kit. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’…” you murmur, gaze averted as you pick at the fraying hem of your oversized tee. “I just… I wanted to do something nice for you, but I messed it all up, and you ended up having to do something nice for me…”

Steve scoffs. “You do nice stuff for me all the time.”

Your frown deepens.

“You tidied up the house when I was working late yesterday,” he tells you. “And you did the dishes even though you hate doing the dishes—”

“Everyone hates doing the dishes,” you insist.

“Exactly!”

“Well, you said death would be easier than doing them, so I thought it’d make it easier on you by doing it while I was off…”

“Exactly,” Steve repeats, settling between your legs once more. He smooths a pair of wide palms over the outsides of your thighs and flashes you another pretty smile. “You make everything easier on me. Even when you don’t mean to.”

You peek at him beneath your lashes, gaze glimmering with something short of hope. “Really?” you wonder in a mousy voice.

“Yeah! All the time!” the boy scoffs without thinking. 

He wraps a pair of golden arms around your shoulders and pulls you in for a smothering hug. Your hands curl into his sweatshirt as you bury your face in his neck — inhaling the sweet scent of sleep and leftover cologne lingering there. 

Steve noses at your hair, still a bit wild from your slumber. “Except for when you accidentally burn yourself and act like it’s not a big deal,” he teases with a smile curling at your temple.

Muffled against his neck, you grumble, “It wasn’t.”

[swordsandholly]

Fancy

Ch 3: The Wheels of Fate Started to Turn

Previous | Next | Ao3

MDNI

Vampire!Poly 141 x Fem!Plus Size!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life.

Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate for the better.

You feel sick when you wake. Muscles weak and body shaky. It takes more effort than you would like to peel your eyes open. You haven’t sat under a UV lamp in a while and it’s starting to show. The cocoon of sheets feels so good you don’t want to get up, to peel yourself away from them.

You realize Johnny and Kyle are gone as you sit up, all alone in the center of the massive bed. The room feels darker without them, somehow. Emptier. You roll over to climb off the bed, interrupted by the sound of paper crinkling under you. You feel around the mattress only to find a thick envelope with ‘Fancy’ neatly written across the front. As you open it, your breath catches in your throat at the contents. It’s nearly double what they said they’d pay. More than you could have ever hoped for. It makes your hands shake to hold that much money all at once. Once the shock wears off, a folded up piece of paper catches your eye.

Hey lovie,

Sorry to take off without saying goodbye. Had some business to attend to. Figured we should let you sleep. Hope you won’t be too mad ;)

We left a little extra for spending the night. Nothing like cuddling up next to a soft, warm lady.

Let’s do it again soon.

Kyle + Johnny

The handwriting changes to a messy scrawl that you have to squint to make out.

P.S. You look bonnie in my shirt. Gonnae be thinking about that all day. Feel free to take it with you.

P.S.S. I want it back unwashed.

You can’t help but snicker to yourself. Damn dirty dog.

You have no reason to deny him, though. So you slip the t-shirt on over your dress as you get ready to leave. The dress feels far too constrictive for the early morning. This is why you don’t do nights - walking out looking like a mess in the itchy day old clothes. You give up looking for your panties which seem to have evaporated, not too keen on putting them back on anyway.

Before you can tip-toe your way out to the front door, you find yourself pausing. The kitchen light is on, illuminating a figure working over the stove. Curiosity gets the better of you and you circle around the counter to see John sorting ingredients in nothing but a loose pair of sweatpants. Strong, nicely hairy chest on full display.

And they call you and slut.

“Good morning.” He flashes you a bright smile. Of course he noticed you. He probably smelled you before he even heard you leave the bedroom.

“Sorry… I, uh, didn’t mean to intrude.” You mumble awkwardly.

“No, no. I was hoping you’d stop f’me. My boys treat you alright?” He eyes your shirt.

Being asked that a second time throws you off. Why the hell do they care so much? “They did.”

“Good. Good.” He smiles warmly. “I’ll make you some breakfast.”

You scoff. “You? No offense but I’d rather take my chances with the nearest dumpster.”

“Contrary to popular belief, some of us remember how to cook.”

You glance at the half-dozen cart of eggs and perfectly fresh vegetables neatly arranged across the counter. “And you just happened to have human food on hand?”

He pauses. “…I may have had some delivered.”

John turns back to the stove, muttering something under his breath about ‘too smart for her own damn good.’

You pad over beside him to look down at the food, staring at the spread. You point at some red thing you don’t recognize. “What is that?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “The tomato?”

“Tomatoes are purple.” You poke it. “And more squishy.”

You meet his eye and for a brief moment, you think you see pity. Something sad swirling in the blue of his irises. He schools his face back to neutral before you can be sure you saw anything at all.

“Well, hopefully you trust an old codger like me to make you a half-decent omelette.”

You snort, leaning back on the kitchen island. “I’ve got nothing to lose.”

You both lapse into silence. He does seem to know what he’s doing - carefully chopping the vegetables and carefully folding the omelette in the pan. Maybe he had a human wife at some point or something. Most likely. That’s not uncommon, especially back in the 21st century. Practically a trend. You tilt your head as you watch him move, brow furrowed. He’s so weird.

What could you have said to them to make them treat you like this? You’re almost afraid to know - that block of time so buried in the recesses of your mind there’s no hope of ever recovering it. That doesn’t mean you haven’t tried since that day, but you know we’ll enough that it never works. You don’t have a single guess as to what it could have been.

Maybe you didn’t say anything. Maybe they’re just weirdly tunnel visioned. Vamps do that often enough - hone in on a target of affection. For any reason from looking like a dead loved one or they just have an enticing scent. Except they’re not usually this… nice. Normally they’d just drain the object of their affection and be done with it. Not ask them to sleep over for the night and cook them breakfast in the morning.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when a plate is set in front of you. It looks… perfect. At least you assume that’s what a good omelette looks like. Nicely golden. It looks alien. Food from another world - another time. You glance up at John as he watches you expectantly. It won’t hurt to entertain him, you suppose. Even if it does end up being shit. You cut a small bite, tentatively bringing it to you your lips. You brace for something awful.

Except it’s incredible. Perfectly cooked and seasoned. You can’t help but let out a content little hum before practically scarfing it down. You haven’t had food like this in… ever, actually. Neither this fresh or well made.

“So you like it?” John smiles.

You nod happily with a mouth full of food before remembering where you are. Steeling yourself and slowing down, returning to the more reserved persona. “It’s good.”

John huffs out a laugh, turning his back to you to clean up. “I’ll drive you home when you’re finished.”

You pause mid bite. “Oh, no, I can take the train-“

“Do you really want t’walk all the way to the depot in those heels?” John cocks an brow, blue eyes dragging from your face, over your body and down your legs. There’s a slow burning intensity in the movement that sends a shiver down your spine.

You stare at him for a moment, uncertain of what to do. The last thing you need is to owe a vampire for anything. They’ll take your debts to the grave. It happened with your neighbor once - you learned early on to be wary of any offer made by one of them. Never make a deal with one of the devils.

“You won’t be indebted for it.” John chuckles as if he can read your damn mind. Maybe he can.

You chew your lip. It’s at least an hour walk to the metro station from here. You don’t want him to see where you live, though. It will ruin the illusion. Images flash through your mind of the craggily walls of your apartment building. The syringes that line the sidewalk. There’s that massive blood stain on the front steps they still haven’t cleaned up after five years.

But then you meet his eyes. They’re so sincere. So bright. Whatever that tug is in your chest that keeps giving into them pulls again. It’s unraveling you, making you insane. Surely that’s it, you’re finally going insane.

“Okay.” It comes out weaker than you’d like.

John grins a though you gave him the greatest gift in history. It makes your face hot - leaves you shifting awkwardly. You’re not used to that much emotion carved into their marble features. This coven is too expressive. It’s putting you on edge, leaving you with your guard up. Against what, though? What’s the point? Shouldn’t you be happy and play into their more excitable nature?

It’s too unfamiliar. Too otherworldly to see human emotion on their god like features.

A cool finger hooks under your chin, lifting your face to meet John’s gaze. “You think too much.”

You scoff and tear your face away from his hand. Thinking keeps you alive. The girls that don’t think don’t survive past their teens. You have to be smart to stay alive here. To even have a hope of keeping up with creatures who contain centuries of knowledge and experience. Who are so far ahead in the race the best you can do is limp along in the dust.

A valet pulls the car around. John changed into jeans and half zip sweater. You would die before admitting to the small bit of disappointment at him donning a shirt. You expect the black SUV from the night before to pull up. Instead, you’re met with a basic sedan. It’s still nice - obviously new. The seats are a soft, well cared for leather.

“So is this what you do? Invite prostitutes over for omlettes and tea and then drive them home?” You blurt as John starts the car. That itch to dissect their thought processes continues to plague the back of your mind.

“Tea?” He repeats, a brow raised.

“Simon made me tea last night.”

John laughs. “Kyle really did fuck your throat raw, then?”

You whirl on him, eyes wide.

“Don’t act so surprised. Johnny can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life. Said you took it beautifully.” John sighs. “Bit jealous I didn’t get to watch the show. A good cigar and whiskey in hand? The perfect night, I think. Might have to recreate it…”

That last bit sounds more for him than for you.

You shouldn’t blush. You’ve been doing this long enough that there’s no reason to blush anymore. You have no right to be flustered over something as simple as sex. It’s the way he says it, you think. The way desire drips from every syllable as though he’s never said anything more true in his immortal life.

You just hide behind a huff and look out the window. “You’re all very weird, you know that?”

“Are we, now?” John rests his elbow on the door and his head on his hand. He weaves through the chaotic city roads expertly.

“You’re too…” You wrinkle your nose, pausing. The word gets lost on your tongue.

“Human?”

“If you say so.”

John chuckles. “You’re just as weird, you know that?”

“I am not weird!” You snap indignantly.

“If you say so.”

You have to do a double take when he pulls up to your apartment. Is it really that fast by car? What was that, ten minutes? The train is a nearly twenty minute ride with two fifteen minute walks. The walk is nearly three hours - two if you take the back way.

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks, voice dropping to a low drawl. You shake your head to clear it, pulling your respirator out of your coat.

“Don’t you need a-“ You stop when you meet John’s deadpan expression. “Oh, right.”

“Appreciate the concern, love.” He chuckles. It’s a surprisingly warm sound.

You reach for the door, respirator in hand and at the ready. You pause when John lays a hand lightly on your shoulder. Turning back, your eyes meeting his. There’s that storm again. The one he looked at you with before. Something roiling underneath the surface.

“Fancy?”

“Yes?”

“Before you go.” John leans forward. “C’mere.”

You assume he wants a kiss. It wouldn’t surprise you - a little thank you for the ride. Frankly, you should have thought of it first. Instead, he ducks his head to the side at the last moment. His hand tangles gently but firmly in your hair to pull your head to the side, leaving your neck craned and exposed. You freeze. Fear takes over - your heart rate immediately spiking. Your hands fist his coat, pushing as hard as you can against the unmoving mountain that is his body.

“John-“ Your voice cracks. “Please don’t-“

“Need t’ make sure you’re safe…” He mumbles.

A fang catches your skin. You freeze.

It drags across your neck, down the arch of your artery. You suck in a hear breath, the skin not quite breaking under the touch. Before you can speak or begin pushing again or even try to get out of the car, he bites down. A yelp escapes you as his teeth slowly sink in - only through the top most layer of skin. Not enough to puncture the artery or even for his other teeth to bite into your skin.

Your whole body shakes. “What’re you-“

John shushes you as he pulls away, eyes locked on the cut he made on your neck. You can feel the wet blood beginning to drip down your neck. His hand stays in your hair, holding you in place. The blue of his irises seems somehow brighter, pupils so narrowed they don’t look to be more than pinpricks. After a few beats he seems satisfied, letting your hair go and sitting back in his seat.

“Just a precaution, love.”The vampire looks you over, eyes suddenly painfully soft again. “Take care of yourself.”

Your eyes flick between his. A cold, rushing fear pumps through your veins. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish before you finally come to your senses, taking the chance to dash out of the car and toward your apartment. Fight or flight pushing away any ability to ask what the fuck that was. By the time you turn around to check behind you, John is far down the street.

You rush to your bathroom mirror, tossing your respirator to the ground as soon as you’re in your front door. It’s not deep. He didn’t even lick up after himself - a thin trail of blood pooling around your clavicle before continuing down. It wasn’t about drinking. You hiss as your fingers lightly test the tender skin.

What the fuck?

He’s a vampire. At the end of the day that’s all he is. No facial expressions or ability to cook will undo that he’s a different creature entirely. Was that what this is about? Reminding you what they are? The power they have? You wouldn’t put it past one of them, the sick fucks. What kind of fool were you to think they’re at all different.

After a shower and finally changing into some pajamas (minus a certain vampire’s tshirt that he will not be getting back) you go to grab your lamp. It doesn’t take long to set up the UV light, just dragging it out of storage and setting up the shade above it so that the rays concentrate downward onto your skin. You slowly sink to the ground. Exhaustion clings to your bones. They feel brittle and heavy simultaneously.

You sigh, curling up under the warm light like a cat. You have to be smart about how long you stay under it - the damn thing runs up the electricity bill like nothing else. Plus, too long under it can cause serious skin damage. As much as you’d rather go without, you’ve seen what happens to those that do.

You half heartedly re-count out the envelope of money, still feeling overwhelmed at the sheer amount of it. At the whole situation at hand. You realize quickly enough that despite having the money to do almost anything you don’t actually… know what to do. Despite the plan being to save up and get out of the slums you never really planned for what to do once you were out of the slums.

The realization that you never truly believed you could do it, even unconsciously, is a little heartbreaking.

Do you keep working at the club? Hope that these clients like you enough to keep up with your new lifestyle? Pray that they enjoy fucking you for long enough to save up? Do you even want to see them after what John just did? Do you look for another job? There isn’t much you can get when the whole of your resume is stamped with WHORE in bright red letters.

With a low groan you slump back on the floor and throw your arm over your eyes. Everything is so fucked. You’re lost in it and it’s all fucked.

Normally, you would avoid information about the people that come in and out of your club. They’re looking for discretion, after all. A place to hide away from the dealings of life. A fantasy. If you were smart, you’d stick with that habit. Especially when it comes to the ones that literally compel you to forget their business.

John just lost the right to any discretion after that stunt in the car.

You open up your shitty laptop that requires five hail mary’s to start. It greets you with the top headlines of the day, all just as enjoyable as you’d expect.

UNKNOWN SUBSTANCE FOUND IN FOUR MORE JANE DOES

NEW DRUG CYTH TAKING THE UNDERGROUND MARKETS BY STORM

CORPSE FOUND WITH BLOOD LEAKING FROM PORES

You close them out, for your own sanity, and type John’s name into the search bar. A few things come up - some company called One-Four-One with the most nothing description about what kind of company they are. They “develop products and services” - aka they’re a shell for shady bullshit. They’re listed as the benefactor for some lower city charities and given responsibility for several mergers and buy-outs in the upper city. All the things you’d expect from a corporation.

It’s too clean, though. You’ve been living in the underbelly long enough to know what a front looks like. Not that you’re surprised. Every vampire corporation is a cover for a million other little inner workings you will never be privy to.

The only pictures of John are a few from press reports. His imposing figure standing behind some ugly podium with a logo hastily plastered across the front. He has a commanding air about him behind all those microphones - like a preacher or a politician. Fitting.

Johnny and Kyle have a far more risqué library. Images with models and other beautiful women. The kinds of things you’d expect from young, playboy vampires stretching over the past century at least, according to the archive dates. The boys aren’t the focus of the images - it’s all paparazzi for the women - but they’re in them nonetheless. How the hell did Johnny manage to squeeze into a pair of leather pants like that?

Simon doesn’t even seem to exist. A total ghost. No matter how deep you go you can’t find a trace of him. You manage to get all the way back to the 1990s in the archive and still come up with jack shit.

You’re left with more questions than answers and a distinct understanding that you shouldn’t ask any of them. You knew that already, though, and you have no plans to let John Price close enough to speak to you anytime soon.

You didn’t realize you fell asleep up until you wake, alarm blaring in your ear that it’s time to get up and go to work. It never ends. You still feel so fucking tired, body heavy and eyes stinging. A haze settles over your mind as you fall into your constant routine. Makeup, hair, dress, respirator on, walk, train, respirator off, walk.

Your locker in the back room fights you, forcing you to practically break it open. Just another thing to leave you feeling angry and useless.

“I heard they got Red.” The girl beside you whispers. She’s mousy, new. A gossiper. She even tried to talk to you, at least before she found out that you apparently steal clients.

The girl she’s speaking to side eyes her. “What do you mean got ‘er?”

“With that new drug - Cyth or whatever.”

“Cyth isn’t real. It’s just people making up shit to cover up what the vamps are doing. As if we don’t already know.”

“But what about-“ You don’t hear the rest of what she says, her voice drowning out as you leave the back room.

Time seems to crawl by at the club without the men. You hate it. Not just the slowness of the day but the fact that they’ve had that effect on you. That these creatures you barley know have invaded your thoughts. Wormed themselves into the nooks and crannies of your psyche. Marked you - however temporarily that may be.

The patrons avoid your eyes. You serve their drinks, and where they would normally make a salacious remark or grab onto you they just offer a huffy thanks and ignore you. The tips are garbage, even the other serving girls notice and begin to basically steal your tables. It has to be the bite.

Why, though? Plenty of serving girls have fresh bite marks and they aren’t getting reactions like that. You can count four on the main floor right now.

At least once the day is over, it’s over. You can go home and hide away. Be angry in peace. Maybe make a plan for what to do. Maybe you can leave the city you and your friends talked about as teens. Except they’re all dead now and you’re pretty sure there isn’t anything outside of the dome anymore. At least not anything you could get to.

The other girls don’t walk with you to the metro anymore. The streets are never truly empty in the main city. There’s no real day or night. It’s only the places humans inhabit that become abandoned during the “night.” As you exit the lower city station, the streets empty out. It’s just you, footsteps echoing off buildings. The smog in the air only makes it darker - even harder to navigate.

Until a second pair of footsteps appears, fast and growing louder by the second. Before you can even begin to run or check behind you a force slams into you, sending you tumbling down onto harsh concrete and into an alley.

You’re cornered. There’s nowhere to go. Before you can grapple for your garlic spray the vampire has your wrists in his hand, pulling you up to dangle in front of him. The backs of your hands and arms scrape against the rough brick of the building he’s pinned you too. It hurts, cutting deep into your skin under the pressure of his strength.

The thing hisses, ripping off the neck guard attached to your respirator. The whole thing goes clattering to the ground. You choke on the poison air, lungs immediately rejecting it.

You tip your eyes to the obstructed sky. Of course it would end this way. It’s the end for you all, isn’t it? Just another body in an alley. Another free apartment for people to fight over. Another headline for people to frown at on the train. You wonder if they would use your name or just leave you as another Jane Doe.

What do the real stars look like, anyway?

He takes a long inhale and freezes in place. You can barely make out wide, frenzied eyes. A hood blocks any of his other features. His breath hastens, chest heaving against yours. What the hell is he waiting for?

Suddenly he reels backward, hissing and spitting. Muttering words you don’t understand. It drops you so suddenly that you collapse to the ground. Unable to gain any footing, still coughing and choking.

“What-“ You’re not even sure why you want to ask it a question. Before you can at all the thing runs away down the alley. Your hand travels up to your neck.

The bite.

A coughing fit sends you doubling over and you blearing grope around the ground for your respirator. At least it didn’t get smashed, you sigh in relief - clipping it back around your face and neck.

Your hands shake and you turn, staring up at that massive skyscraper hanging above the city. It’s taunting you. You feel like you can almost see John staring down at you, toying with you. An anger flares in your body so hot you almost feel as thought you’ve caught fire. He wants to fuck with you? To make you feel weak? To try to lay some sort of claim?

Fine. You can play ball.

A/N: John “you don’t need to know what’s going on, love, just do what I say” Price and Miss “don’t fuck with my independence” Fancy

I don’t love this chapter but I gotta get plot moving and grooving.

[echobx]

Private Chef Maybank - JJ Maybank × fem!reader

summary: JJ makes you breakfast in bed, but your pancakes have a special ingredient

word count: 556

warnings: cumplay, cooking with cum

author's note: idk alright, I just- genuinely, I have no clue

kinktober masterlist

When JJ wakes up early, it's like a blessing in disguise. Either he ends up waking you up by eating you out, or he’s occupied in the kitchen preparing you breakfast in bed. And this time isn't unlike any other that this has happened. JJ groans while waking, his head pressed into the pillow next to yours, the only difference being that you are still fast asleep after what he put you through the night before. He hates waking up first, but he doesn't let it get to him when it means being allowed to gaze at your naked body for as long as he wants- as long as you stay asleep, basically. He observes how your stomach and chest rise and fall with every shallow breath; how your eyes move behind closed lids in whatever dream you are experiencing at that moment; how sweet and innocent and adorable you look, while you really aren't like that all too much. JJ could watch you for hours, but his ears perk at the low grumble that comes from your belly, telling him you'll wake up soon, and he really doesn't want you to have to get up and do basically anything while you're trying to recover from last night. 

You wake with a kiss to your cheek and the sweet smell of pancakes in your nose. “Morning,” you hum, batting your lashes to adjust to the bright sunlight that fills the room. “Good morning, baby.” JJ gives you a chaste smile. “I made breakfast.” He steps back and lets you observe the tray he has set down next to your legs. “Looks delicious,” you smile and sit up, taking the tray onto your lap. The pancakes are sweet and fluffy, just how you like them, but after you take your first bite you notice that JJ is eyeing you curiously. “Something wrong?” you ask him and he smiles. “All good. How's it taste?” “Better than usual,” you nod, taking another bite. “Did you change something?” “Didn't have any eggs,” he says, watching you swallow another bite, but your eyebrows furrow on their own. “You can't make pancakes without eggs,” you mumble, slowly looking up at him. “What did you put in there, J?” “Something special,” he shrugs, but the cocky grin on his face won't be wiped off for some time. You sigh, closing your eyes for a second to collect your thoughts before you look at him again. “Please tell me you didn't use what I'm right now thinking you did.” “Okay, I won't.” “JJ!” you gasp, pushing the tray off to the side and get up. “Why would you even think of that?” “I heard you could substitute eggs with a lot of different things,” he says and pulls you into him. Your hands are perched on his chest, scrunching up his shirt between your fingers as you peer up at him. “That means bananas or other normal things, not cum!” “You said they were better than usual,” he reminds you, and your head falls to his shoulder. “That was before I knew what you did,” you whine, and he rubs over your back trying to comfort you. “It's not that different from how you usually take it,” JJ says, and you push him off you, taking a step back and pouting. “You're the worst.” 

please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho

taglist: @redhead1180 @spideysimpossiblegirl @drwstarkeyy @princessmaybank @ijustwantttoread @kys4-20 @immyowndefender @julczimozart @m2m2m2 @mochimms @dorkyfangirl24 @itsme-again @maybankslover @th3eternalersi

[theslushiestnoob]

——————————————————————————

American Boy (pt.6)

Word count: 3.9k

Sorry for the long hiatus!! Hopefully this longer chapter is worth the wait 😘

——————————————————————————

I wake up to warm morning light streaming in through the window, casting a pool of golden sunshine onto the bed. I open my eyes, immediately noticing Hamzah’s absence. I reach out to the dent in the pillow where his head had lain, and recount the tenderness of last night. Our bodies curled up together, forming a shield against the autumnal chill and comfort from the thunderstorm. It was the kind of embrace where you felt your inhibitions slip away, allowing nothing but the comforting touch to occupy your mind. No matter what you felt, or what you had to say, it could all be communicated through the warmth of the moment.

I pick up my phone from the nightstand, and see several messages from Mandy. They were apologetic, regretting what she said and wanting to forget it all - she had never wanted to hurt me. I type out a quick reply, apologising for everything and telling her I love her. I waited for a reply, my phone clutched to my chest, a weight lifted off of my shoulders. Soon enough she responded, telling me that she loved me too. I beamed to myself, pressing my eyes closed in relief.

The smell of cooking wafts into the bedroom from the open door. I stand up and stretch, padding my way across the room into the kitchen, where Hamzah stands, facing away from me and towards the hob. Music plays quietly from his phone, and he is singing along gently - nodding his head to the beat. I smile as I step toward him. Hearing my footsteps, he spins to face me, spatula in hand.

‘Oh! Hi, I was trying not to wake you,’ he says with a meek smile. ‘I… uh, I made breakfast.’ he adds, gesturing to the countertops. Two plates laden with toast and tomatoes sat beside one another, and Hamzah began scooping the eggs from the saucepan onto them.

‘Oh, wow, this looks amazing! Thank you, Hamzah,’ I say, flashing him a warm smile. He gestures for me to sit on the small dining table, where a pot of coffee is waiting. Settling into the seat, Hamzah places a plate down in front of me. He puts his on the table opposite me, sitting casually on the chair. We begin eating in silence, stealing glances at one another. There is an air of awkwardness, of unanswered questions.

‘I-’ we both start at the same time. He smiles and gestures for me to continue.

‘You first,’ He says.

‘I just wanted to tell you that Mandy apologised, and we’re friends again. Thank God.’

‘See? I told you everything would work out,’ He says with a reassuring smile.

‘Now you go, what were you going to say?’

Hamzah takes a deep breath, then looks directly at me. The eye contact is dizzying, his dark brown eyes enrapturing.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ he begins, setting down his fork on his plate. ‘I, uh… may have been too quick to dismiss, y’know, this.’

I scrunch my eyebrows in question, not understanding what he means.

‘I think that, umm, if you want to, of course, we could… uh,’ I smile at him gently, cocking my head in amusement.

‘No, stop looking at me,’ he says humorously, hiding his head in his hands.

‘We can, y’know, be… something, if you want. And when you go, we can just… we can figure that out.’

My heart begins to thump so hard I wonder if he could hear it. I bite my lip to conceal my smile, stammering as I find the right words to say.

‘Hamzah…’ I begin, and he raises his gaze to look at me once more. His expression is pained, his eyes brimming with dread. Clearly, that took a lot for him to say.

‘I… I would love that,’ I say with a wide smile, shielding my face with my hand.

‘Hey, don’t hide from me now,’ Hamzah says, grabbing my hand and pulling it away from my face. Our hands rest on the table, fingers interlaced. His face was plastered with a smile so wide his eyes were almost fully closed. There is a beat of silence as we look at one another, basking in the moment.

‘I’ll clear the table,’ I say awkwardly, standing up and gathering our plates. Hamzah watches me with a soft smile.

I place them in the sink, running the tap to rinse them off. As I reach for the dish soap, I feel Hamzah's big arms envelop me from behind. I melt into the hug, resting my head against his chest. Being in the circle of his arms fills me with a sense of security and unconditional belonging. I turn to face him, cocking my head as I look into his eyes.

His gaze drops to my mouth, and he swipes a thumb over the apple of my cheek.

My eyelids flutter closed as he leans in toward me, his movements tentative. Hovering centimetres above me, I move forward to close the distance between our lips. He kisses me softly at first, but it soon devolves into hungry, rushed movements. His hands slip under the hem of my borrowed hoodie, grabbing me at the bare skin of my waist. I respond by tugging his shirt up, breaking the kiss for just long enough for him to pull it over his head and toss it aside. I run my hands over his bare chest as he kisses me ravenously. I drop my eyes to the smattering of dark hair at the base of his stomach, my stomach flipping in response. I make a soft sound into his mouth, causing him to freeze. He breaks away from the kiss, grabbing my hand. He leads me away from the kitchen, walking me into the bedroom. There, his lips crash back onto mine with a dizzying pressure. He backs me up against the edge of the bed, and I lay against it, not breaking the kiss. He crawls above me, groaning loudly as I throw my hands around his neck. His hands slide the fabric of the hoodie up slowly, exposing my torso inch by inch.

Then, his phone begins to ring.

Previously discarded on the nightstand, it vibrated in a steady rhythmn.

‘Hamzah…’ I breathe, my mind woolly.

‘It can wait,’ He responds, his mouth nipping at the delicate skin of my neck. I look at the phone screen, and see the name illuminated across it.

‘It’s Martin,’ I say breathlessly, unable to focus with his mouth on me like this.

Hamzah groans loudly, dropping his head to my chest as we both attempt to catch our breath. I lace my fingers through his curls as he reaches for the phone.

‘What?’ He says, raising it to his ear.

‘No, I’m not mad. What do you want?’

There is a pause.

‘Now?’

He pauses, removing the phone from his ear and muting it.

‘Mandy is making us go to the art gallery,’ he says.

‘Oh,’ I reply, still playing with his hair.

‘Can it wait?’ He says into the phone. He pauses to hear the response, groaning in frustration.

‘Yeah, she’s here. I mean no, no, she’s not, uh… I'll go and pick her up now. Yep, bye,’ He hangs up the phone.

‘Shit.’

I hum gently as he places the phone back on the nightstand and burrows his head back into my chest.

‘We have to go now. She booked it in advance, apparently.’

I cradle Hamzah’s jaw in my hand, my expression apologetic. He lifts himself off of me, and helps me stand up from the bed.

‘Can we stop at my place so I can get dressed?’

Hamzah’s gaze drops to my bare legs and he looks me up and down, wearing just my underwear and his grey hoodie.

‘I quite like you in this, but sure.’

*

The art gallery was an interesting trip, perforated with stolen longing glances between me and Hamzah. If Mandy or Martin noticed anything, they didn’t mention it. After having lunch in the city, we all returned to their place to hang out. Hamzah and Martin bickered over which film we should watch, eventually landing on an action-comedy of Martin’s recommendation. We piled on to the sofa, Hamzah and I sat on opposite ends. Throughout the beginning of the film, I would catch him looking at me wistfully. I returned the stares, itching to be near to him.

An hour passes, the film going unwatched by Hamzah as his gaze stays perpetually fixed on my profile.

‘I can go grab us some more snacks, if you guys want,’ Mandy suggests, shuffling from her position on the sofa as if to stand up.

‘No, it’s alright! I’ll grab them,’ I say, taking the bowl from Mandy’s hands and turning toward the kitchen.

‘I’ll help,’ Hamzah adds, jumping to his feet. ‘I’ll, uh… grab more drinks.’

Mandy and Martin exchange a bemused look, but don’t question Hamzah’s enthusiasm as he follows me into the kitchen.

I set the bowl down on the side before spinning to face him, an amused smile tugging at my mouth.

‘More drinks, huh?’ I tease, looking at Hamzah as he plants his hands into his pockets.

‘Um, yes? I’m thirsty, so…’ He replies, opening the fridge and pulling out a can.

‘Sure, sure,’ I nod, turning to the cabinets to locate more snacks. I pull open a drawer and begin to rifle through, before trying another cabinet.

‘They’re not in there,’ Hamzah says quietly. He sidles up behind me, pressing his chest against my back as he reaches for the cabinet above my head. The firm pressure of his body against mine fills me with a flurried warmth, a spark of excitement. He pulls open the door and takes down a packet of popcorn, but remains still as he places it on the counter. Flush against me like this, I can feel the rapid beat of his heart against my back, his breaths on the crook of my neck. I spin in place to face him, giving him a look of challenge.

‘Thanks,’ I say, a smile overwhelming his face as he looks away from mine. I place a hand on his chest, looking up at him with wide eyes. His gaze snaps back to me, and he takes a shaky breath. This moment, like so many others before it, held an intensity, an air of possibility and importance, like it had the opportunity to change everything.

Hamzah looks down at me, pressing his forehead against mine. He smirks mischievously, his gaze flitting to my parted lips.

‘We really shouldn’t be doing this,’ he whispers, and I shiver - feeling his hot breath against my skin. His smile widens as he tilts his head opposite mine, dipping his face closer to me and catching my lips in a passionate kiss.

He inhales sharply as his hands rise to meet my face, cradling my jaw and angling me in a position to deepen the kiss. I cling to his shoulders as I steady myself, stepping back toward the counter and pulling him closer toward me. He breaks the kiss for a moment to chuckle, looking intensely into my eyes.

He removes his hands from my face and plants them firmly on the counter either side of me. His eyes rove over my face, making me squirm under his unrelenting lustful gaze. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing shallow and hurried. I grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him closer to me, running my other hand through his hair as I plant a kiss on his soft lips. He lets out a soft groan, moving his hands to my waist to pull me into him further.

‘Shhh,’ I urge, breaking away from the kiss to glance paranoidly at the doorway.

‘They can’t hear us,’ Hamzah whispers breathlessly against my turned cheek, moving his hands to my back to cradle me against him as he dips his head to meet mine again.

‘But-’ I start, but am interrupted by Hamzah crashing his lips back onto mine.

He kisses me with the ferocity of built-up longing finally unleashed, making my head swim from the effect it has on me. He places his hands on hy hips and lifts me up onto the counter, placing me softly down without breaking the kiss. He parts my thighs and steps into the space between them, hooking a hand around my neck to draw my mouth to his. His free hand lingers on my thigh, tracing patterns onto my skin with his fingers. I let out a soft gasp as he slides his hand further up my leg, feeling his teasing smile against my mouth as his touch leaves a blazing trail on my skin.

The sound of footsteps jolt us to attention, and I stiffen under his touch.

‘Shit,’ he mutters underneath his breath, his expression panicked. He helps me slip off the counter, making sure I was steady on my feet before letting go of my waist and turning away from me. Just then, Martin turns the corner and walks into the kitchen.

Hamzah clears his throat and lets his head hang between his shoulders, gripping the counter either side of the sink. I turn away from him and face the cabinet, in a display of faux-nonchalance.

‘Uh… you guys good?’ Martin asks, his eyes flitting between us.

‘Yeah, man, we’re fine,’ Hamzah affirms, facing completely away from us and shaking his head.

‘Okay…,’ Martin continues, looking at me inquisitively, ‘well you were taking freaking ages and I’m thirsty, so…’ He opens the fridge and pulls out a fizzy drink can.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ He asks again, one eyebrow cocked.

‘Yes! We were just… making sure we got the best snacks, right, Hamzah?’ I reply, avoiding Martin’s gaze.

‘Mhm,’ Hamzah confirms, staring at a spot on the ceiling, bouncing his leg in agitation.

Martin smiles toward Hamzah amusedly.

‘Dude, why are you being so weird?’ He asks with a chuckle

‘Shut up, please,’ Hamzah says through gritted teeth.

‘What’s happening? Why did you leave me all alone?’ Mandy adds, turning the corner into the now very crowded kitchen, her eyebrows furrowed.

‘We were just getting the snacks!’ I say, grabbing the popcorn pack and holding it up in front of me.

‘And that’s a two man job?’ She asks sceptically, a small smile tugging at her mouth as she glances toward Hamzah’s flustered state.

I brush off her comment, and turn toward the door to leave.

‘Let’s go back to the film, shall we?’ I say, grabbing Mandy’s hand and leading her back into the living room.

We sit down beside each other on the sofa as Martin walks back into the room, Hamzah trailing behind him. I follow him with my gaze, watching as he approaches the spot next to me on the sofa. He settles slowly onto the cushion, his eyes fixed on my face and a light smile playing on his lips.

Looking back to the screen, I return my attention to the film Martin had suggested we watch. Mandy and Martin were cuddled up together, eyes fixed intently on the TV. Hamzah casually throws an arm across the back of the sofa, in a position where my head rests in front of his inner elbow. Picking up a lock of my hair, he lets it fall between his fingers, twirling it in a soothingly rhythmic motion. I stiffen, my heart thumping in my chest. The easy intimacy, so public, brought a flush to my cheeks. His dark eyes bore into the side of my face, watching me blush with an amused smile.

He dropped the lock of hair and dropped his hand to my collarbone, gently caressing the delicate skin. His searing touch on the exact spot where his lips were pressed just nights before made my stomach flip. He moved his fingers in slow circles, gentle and deliberate.

I glanced at Mandy beside me, bemused to discover that neither she nor Martin had taken any notice of Hamzah’s movements. I turned to face him, seeing his eyes ablaze with an indiscernible emotion.

His smirk grew as I looked at him, and his hand froze on my collar. He slid it down my arm until it rested just above my elbow, and he pulled me into him. His arm enveloped me in an embrace, holding me firmly against his side. My head rested on his chest, my knees folded against his thighs.

‘Is this okay?’ He whispered into my hair, his voice so low only I could have heard it. My stomach flipped from the intimate tone of his voice, so hushed and so personal, designed for only me to hear.

‘Yeah,’ I whispered against his broad chest, my hand snaking up to rest at the base of his neck.

He pressed a lingering kiss to the top of my head and I sigh in comfort.

I feel myself drifting asleep, the warmth radiating from Hamzah’s body like a blanket, his chin pressed to the top of my head in a comforting embrace. My eyes flutter closed, and I feel Hamzah’s arms tighten around me as I am lulled to sleep.

*

‘Hamzah?’ Mandy whisper-shouts, shaking his shoulder in an attempt to wake him up. The motion rocks me back and forth, still cradled in his arms. I wake up, but my eyes stay closed.

‘Dude, wake up,’ Martin prompts, kicking Hamzah’s foot.

He stirs, straightening his back from his slumped position on the sofa.

‘Mhm?’ He responds, his eyes closed and his voice heavy with fatigue. Mandy scoffs, and he opens his eyes to look at her.

She stood in front of us, her arms firmly crossed against her chest and a shocked expression overwhelming her face. Martin lingered next to her, making a feeble attempt to conceal his amused smile.

Hamzah looked down, seeing me wrapped up in his arms, my head strewn against his chest and my arms encircling his neck.

‘Oh, shit,’ he murmurs, shuffling his position on the sofa.

I make a soft sound as I am shaken awake, rubbing my eyes.

‘Mhm, what time is it?’ I ask, nestling further into Hamzah’s chest.

‘y/n, wake up,’ He whispers, stroking my hair briefly before retracting his hand, as if he forgot people were watching.

I open my eyes and register the scene before me, bolting upright and shuffling away from Hamzah.

I stammer, unable to find words to explain the situation. There is silence for a moment, as Hamzah and Martin exchange a knowing look.

‘Who wants breakfast?’ Martin asks, turning toward the kitchen.

‘Me, I do,’ Hamzah responds, jumping up from the sofa and following Martin through the corridor.

Mandy sat gingerly next to me, her expression full of questions.

‘I, uh… I guess we all fell asleep here last night,’ She says with a small smile. I glance at the clock behind her head. Eight AM.

‘I’m sorry, Mandy, I-’ I start, but am interrupted by her placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

‘Hey, sorry for what? I just want to know what happened last night,’ She said with an amused smirk, shaking her head gently.

‘I thought you’d be mad,’ I say, avoiding her gaze. She sighs softly, and rubs a comforting hand on my arm.

‘y/n, I was only upset when you two were being… weird. I just don’t want things to be awkward when we hang out. I want you two to be comfortable with each other…’

I smile, breathing a sigh of relief.

‘...which you clearly are,’ she finishes with a smirk. I playfully turn my head from her, smiling as I hold up a defensive hand. We both laugh, and I feel the tension dispel.

‘But seriously, what is going on there? Are you two…’

‘No! I… I don’t know, to be honest. But we’re friendly, I promise,’

‘Well that much is obvious,’ she mutters with a smirk.

I laugh, before changing the subject. ‘C’mon, I’m hungry,’ I say, leading her into the kitchen.

*

We walk through into the kitchen, and I immediately search around for Hamzah. His eyes find mine, and they crinkle in a smile.

‘What are you making?’ Mandy asks, sidling up next to Martin, and he drapes an arm over her shoulders.

Seizing the opportunity of them facing away from us, Hamzah strides toward me and wraps me in a bear hug. He sighs as he tightens his arms around my waist.

‘You okay?’ He whispered into my hair, his tone concerned.

‘Yeah, you?’ I whisper back, smiling into his shoulder.

‘Of course.’

He presses a quick kiss to my temple before turning back to the fruit he was slicing on the counter.

*

‘That was lovely, thank you Hamzah and Martin,’ I say, smiling at them from across the table. Hamzah squeezes my thigh underneath the table, shooting me a warm smile.

‘Yeah, thank you, guys,’ Mandy affirms.

‘We should probably go, y/n,’ Hamzah says. ‘Well, I want to go so I can change. I’ll drive you home, of course,’

‘Yeah, that sounds good. See you guys later, though?’ I direct the question to Mandy and Martin.

‘Sure, we should go out for dinner or something!’ Martin suggests, glancing at Mandy with an adoring smile.

‘Perfect, we’ll be there’ Hamzah says, standing up and helping me out of my seat. There was something about his assertiveness that was so intensely attractive to me, his referral to us as a ‘we’ making my heart flutter.

*

We descended the apartment building, stopping on the pavement just outside. Hamzah placed his hands on my waist, swivelling to face me. Wordlessly, he captured my lips in a tender kiss.

‘I’ve wanted to do that all morning,’ He says as he pulls away.

‘I’ve wanted you to do that all morning, too’

Hamzah chuckles, leading me to the car by my hand. He opens the passenger side door for me before crossing the bonnet to get into the driver’s seat. The car was warm, in stark contrast to the chilly morning air.

I reach across and cup Hamzah’s jaw as he settles into the seat, admiring him. His gaze snaps to mine, his eyes dark and full of longing.

He puts his hand on the back of my head, using it as leverage to push me into him. His lips find mine, kissing me passionately. His movements are hurried, impatient, hungry. He slides his hands down my body until they reach my hips, which he grips tightly. He pulls me toward him, sliding me to the edge of my seat. He leans further into me, breathless from the frenzied movements of the kiss. My hand grabs his leg for stability, eliciting a soft groan. He tries to pull me closer to him, but the gear stick is blocking his path. He moves his hands back up to my waist, attempting to hoist me up, but the awkward angle doesn’t allow it.

‘I need-’ he says breathlessly, his eyes heavy and lidded as his mouth drops to my neck. He attempts to turn in his seat, but is restrained by the steering wheel. He pulls away, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

‘Fucking car,’ he mumbles, making me giggle. He turns toward me again, an amused smile pulling at his mouth. His eyes twinkle with humour as he starts the car and pulls onto the road, shaking his head gently.

The drive ensues in heavy silence, the tension from the interrupted moment hanging in the air. I watch him, the heavy set of his jaw and his shallow breaths.

‘Are you really taking me back to my place?’ I ask.

Hamzah turns to me, shooting me a devilish grin as his gaze drops to my lips.

‘Of course not.’

——————————————————————————

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Furina, Ei and few more characters of your choice with a S/o who is comically bad at cooking. As in they make a bowl or cereal and it catches on fire

(Genshin Impact/H:SR) Furina, Ei, Clorinde, Arlecchino, Chiori, Firefly, Stelle, March 7th, Himeko, Seele, and Natasha's S/O being terrible at cooking

(Furina) "BLECH! This is repulsive, S/O! How on earth did you mess up a simple sandwich!?"

Furina thought it was fine to let S/O cook for the both of them, but clearly she was mistaken!

They couldn't even toast a grilled cheese without something going awry!

...Granted she didn't really know how to cook either, but that was beside the point!

(Furina) "Worry not, we have prepared for this contingency. Let us eat the macaroni we have in the fridge!"

In which she promptly burned them.

(Ei) "Hm...I see you too cannot cook."

This was a problem, for both her and S/O.

This meant that S/O was unable to cook sweets.

...Oh well, that's what the help is for.

(Ei) "I will simply ask the servants to bring us dinner, it is of no concern to us."

Ei will unsubtly hint that S/O should get better at cooking and train, solely for the purpose of her not having to buy her dango.

(Clorinde) "...I admit, this is my first time seeing a cereal bowl on fire."

Clorinde doesn't know, and quite frankly she doesn't want to know how this happened.

She knew S/O wasn't great at cooking, and just let them pour a bowl of milk.

Clearly, that was the heavens punishing her for such a thought.

(Clorinde) "I know some quiet restaurants we can have breakfast in, S/O."

(Arlecchino) "I am impressed, S/O. I did not know it was physically possible to mess up this badly on scrambled eggs."

She knew one thing, and one thing clear.

For the love of the Archons, do not let S/O near the stove during the barbecues.

Arlecchino knew this was beyond help or training at this point.

(Arlecchino) "Make sure to clean the pan well. And do throw away the bag once the eggs are disposed of."

(Chiori) "I think this steak is still mooing at me."

By the Shogun's left tit, the steak S/O """"cooked"""" was raw.

She knew she had to be blunt, lest someone get killed trying to be polite and eat S/O's impersonation of food.

(Chiori) sigh "Here, let me do it. If you need me to cook next time, just ask."

(Firefly) ACK! "A-Ahem, sorry...I can order us something if you'd like, S/O!"

Firefly has a sympathetic look that she gives S/O.

Cooking was hard, and she could tell S/O tried their best to make something for her, and the thought at least counts!

However, she's pretty sure her systems would register whatever S/O tried to whip up as a life-threatening object.

(Firefly) "Here, let me know what you want and I'll go grab it! My thrusters will make grabbing the pizza no problem!"

(Stelle) "...I think I'll pass on dinner."

It broke her heart to reject something S/O made with love.

But if she ate the fruits of S/O's love, she was pretty sure she'd jut die on the spot.

Yeah, no thanks, she prefers to LIVE.

(Stelle) ...At least it's not Himeko's coffee.

(March 7th) "PUWAH! EYUCK!...U-Uh, I mean...-"

March struggles to find a way to describe S/O's cooking without resorting to spitting on the ground.

She has had some bad food throughout her travels, but holy cow did S/O's food take the cake, then throw it into a garbage disposal.

(March 7th) "...How about we try some local cuisine outside the Astral Express! Yeah, let's do that!"

(Himeko) "Hm...I think you could have a bit more seasoning."

Honestly, it could have a lot more than that, but it wasn't the worst thing she's tasted.

With a little bit of help, Himeko would get S/O to cook like a pro in no time!

Besides, S/O enjoyed her coffee, so she should have the same courtesy, even if the rest of the Express crew wanted neither of their courtesy cooking.

(Himeko) "How about we do a few taste tests? I bet that can help!"

(Seele) hurk! "Holy hell, what did you put in this?!"

Seele isn't exactly picky about her food, but this wasn't food.

This was poison, one that she almost ingested.

(Seele) "We gotta do something about that cooking of yours, S/O. We could use it as a lethal weapon the way it is..."

(Natasha) "E-Er...I don't think this is my preferred palette, S/O. No offense, of course."

Natasha's usual food of choice was edible.

She had no idea where S/O learned to cook, but wherever it was, they clearly had never tasted anything remotely like actual food.

But, it also made sense, considering they were underground for a very long time.

(Natasha) "Would you like to join me the next time I cook something, S/O? It'd just be something more akin to my taste, is all." Like something a stomach can actually digest...

[mariposa-writes]

Tears of Joy

Pairing: Captain John Price x wife!reader

Word count: 1.4k

Overview: John thinks you're pregnant, you don't agree.

CW: infertility, self blame, angst to fluff, john being an amazing husband

Author's Note: Please repost, comment, and like. It means the world to me! Let me know what you think and if there are any corrections i need to make. It's like 3am so I'm sure I messed up somewhere lol

Part 2

Price held your hair back, hand rubbing your back as you threw up in the toilet.  This was the third morning in a row that you’d woken up and ran straight to the bathroom. After you’d brushed your teeth and took a shower you meet your husband John in the kitchen.

You scrunched your nose, “What’s that smell?” You asked, trying to figure out what John was cooking.

“Eggs and bacon.” He said as he placed a plate in front of you. You looked at it with uncertainty, before pushing it away from you. “Not hungry, sorry.” You mumbled, not wanting to hurt John’s feelings after he made you breakfast.

Truthfully the thought of eating right now made you nauseous. Which was weird considering you loved eggs and bacon. Actually you loved all things breakfast, you could eat breakfast for every meal.

It was one of the things John loved about you. “Do you want me to make you something else?” John asked, worry apparent in his eyes.

You could always figure out how John was feeling just by looking at his eyes. He showed more than he realized, and after being married for three years it was easy to read him.

You sighed, shacking your head no. “I think I’m just gonna go lay down, I’m still not feeling well.” You got up from the table, placing a kiss on John’s cheek before heading for your shared bedroom.

John watched you retreat to your room. He was starting to get more worried by the day. He found it odd that you were sick, considering that you never got sick. He’d known you for 5 years and only once had you come down with the flu and even then you pushed through, not letting it stop you. Until he basically forced you to rest and give your body time to recover.

He ran a hand down his face, not wanting to think about what could be wrong. After he cleaned up the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher he went to lay down with you. 

You were curled up in bed, as he climbed in next to you. Molding his body to yours, and pulling you close. His arm around your stomach. You nestled into him even more, just wanting to be close to your husband.

He traced patterns into your arm as you worked on falling asleep. “Babe?” He questioned unsure if you were asleep.

You hummed, letting him know that you were listening. “Do you think you could be pregnant?” He was hesitant to bring up the question, but it was eating away at him as he laid there with you.

“No.” You answered, already wanting the conversation to be over. You should’ve pretended to be asleep.

“When was the last time you had your period.”

You shrugged your shoulders, ever since you were a teen your period had been irregular. Your gyno had warned you that it might mess with your fertility, making it harder to have kids in the future. You’d warned John when you’d gotten together and again when things got more serious.

He told you that it didn’t matter as long as he had you. 

Despite all that it didn’t make it any easier, every time you had to look at a negative pregnancy test. You knew John wanted and family and so did you and no matter how much John reassured you that it wasn’t your fault and he was fine with it just being the two of you it didn’t help lessen the sting. 

After a while John started to notice the toll it was taking on you. After every negative you seemed to lose more and more of the light that shined in your eyes. He hated seeing how you seemed to be deteriorating no matter how hard he tried to stop it.

Eventually the two of you stopped buying pregnancy tests and dropped the subject all together. It’d been almost a year since you last took a test and John noticed how you seemed lighter without the subject hanging over you head.

“What if you just take one test?” John suggested. You heaved out a breath throwing the covers off of you.

“No, nothings going to change. It’s going to be negative.” He could tell you were growing irritated. He could tell you just wanted to drop the subject, but something about this time felt different. He had hope which was something he hadn’t had in a quite some time.

“Where are you going?” He asked, getting up to follow.

“A walk.” You said as you slipped on your shoes and a hoodie. “Don’t follow me.” You said before slamming the front door shut. 

You knew it wasn’t fair to John, but you hadn’t thought about having a child in a long time. You’d given up on the idea. You knew it was just as hard for John, but he wasn’t the one that had to feel like a failure every time a test came back negative. 

He never blamed you, but it didn’t matter. You blamed yourself and that was enough. Even the doctors said everything was fine, when John insisted on getting his sperm count checked. 

You were the problem, you were the reason you would never have a family.

John should’ve married someone that could’ve given him children, not you. You were standing in the way of his dreams.

These were the thoughts that made it difficult to get through the day. You felt bad for being rude to John, but sometimes it was easier to avoid the problem than confront it head on. 

You finally returned to the house once it started to drizzle. John was waiting on the porch swing, making sure you got back okay. 

He didn’t say anything as you entered the house, deciding to stay put and give you your space. He wanted to comfort you, but he knew that sometimes you liked to deal with stuff on your own and when you were ready you would come to him.

A few minutes later the door was opening. You handed him a container with yellow liquid in it. “Here.” You handed him the container.

“Are you sure?”

“No, but if it’s negative don’t tell me and don’t bring the test in the house and after this I don’t want you to bring it up again. I’m sorry for being rude earlier, but it just hurts to much.” He wrapped his arms around you, bringing you into his chest.

“Thank you baby, I love you no matter what.” He kissed you, “You know that right?”

“I know, I love you too. Now go.” You said ushering him off the porch. As much as you tried not to get your hopes up, you secretly hoped he’d tell you the results. You hoped he’d bring the test into the house and you hoped he’d get to bring up the subject again.

You were in the living room, tidying up while trying to keep your mind busy when John returned. You didn’t even have time to process that he was home before he was picking you up and spinning you in a circle.

He had the biggest smile on his face as he kissed you. Butterflies appeared in your stomach, you didn’t even have to ask if the test was positive. You could tell by his reaction, the whole world would be able to tell if they were watching the two of you. After what felt like hours he set you down, his arms still holding you close to him.

“It was positive.” He beamed, as he stared down at you. The smile he had on his face might’ve beat the one he had on your wedding day. You didn’t even have time to respond, before his lips were on yours again.

You hadn’t felt this happy in such a long time and it was like this weight was instantly lifted off your chest. He kissed you over and over again, before breaking away. “Oh my god, I have to tell the team!” He was so giddy that it made you want to cry.

The pure joy radiating off of him, brought tears to your eyes. “Wait, why are you crying?” He asked, instantly becoming worried. He wiped a tear away with the pad of his thumb.

“I don’t know, I’m not sad. I’m happy, so happy.” This time you kissed him, bring him down to your level. You pulled back, “They’re tears of joy.” You laughed.

This right here was everything you ever wanted.

[suzdin]

Belly of the Beast: Part I

Dark!Dave York x F!reader

Warnings: it’s Dave, so…buckle up! No use of y/n. Homicide with a gun, reader is shot and grievously wounded and dying, graphic descriptions of murder and gore, use of medical equipment/terminology, amateur triage and medical care, Dave is a voyeuristic creep, Stockholm syndrome?, physical restraints, partial nudity, divergence from EQ2 plot and major character deaths mentioned. No mention of wife or kids. No smut this time! (Shocking, I know.) Dark themes obviously, I mean, Dave DOES kill for money, after all.

Summary: You’ve been Dave’s housekeeper for two years. When you arrive for your morning shift, the last thing you expect to see is Dave standing over a body.

This was going to be a one shot but I decided it worked better as a two parter. Enjoy!

Word Count: 4,700

Taglist: tagging the people I know for sure want to be tagged. If you want to be tagged for part II, lmk!

@ohheypedrito @kateispunk @survivingandenduring @kellybelly1978 @awilderi @oberynslady @natdeandar @daddy-dins-girl @heavennumber2 @guelyury

—

The sky is still dark, a faint slice of jagged light cast across a slate colored horizon, when you arrive for the day at Dave York’s home.

You notice his car parked in the driveway as you pull in, checking your messages to make sure you hadn’t missed anything from him, finding nothing. You frown.

Normally, he would tell you when he would be home if he knew you were also going to be there that day. He simply must have forgotten to mention it this time. It wasn’t a big deal; you could just work around him like you always did.

He was gone for work more often than not. What that entails, you aren’t entirely sure of; all you knew was that he worked in D.C. Something bureaucratic, most likely.

What was even more curious than his unannounced presence, however, was a second vehicle parked behind his.

You pull up next to aforementioned vehicle and get out, gathering your bucket of cleaning supplies from the backseat. Dave provided most of what was used, but there were a few items you preferred for various reasons, with his approval, of course. You had been his housekeeper for the last two years, servicing his home bi-weekly, and he paid you well, plus tips. You had few complaints.

Although the home was large and stately, he lived alone as far as you knew. You couldn’t recall seeing anyone there before now.

As you walk along the edge of the driveway to the side door, you note the pale illumination filtering out through the kitchen window onto the concrete, which makes sense considering the time of day. He’s most likely just sitting down to have his coffee and breakfast. You hope you don’t startle him too much.

The sun is ascending rapidly, already burning brighter in the short walk from your car to the door, providing you with enough light to get your key out.

You unlock the side door, which steps directly into a small utility and mud room. The interior door to the kitchen is drawn shut, which wasn’t unusual, but an unfamiliar noise registers as you enter, immediately followed by what sounds like chair legs scraping along the tiled floor, and Dave’s voice saying what sounds like a name. Mac? Is that what you heard?

Your mind fumbles over the original sound, knowing it’s familiar, but that you can’t quite place it, trying to trace its source. You can best describe it as a muted pop, loud enough to notice but not so loud as to sound any alarm bells. Or so you think.

You smell the strong waft of coffee and eggs cooking as you enter. And something else.

The scene that is laid out before you as you push open the kitchen door is the last thing you would ever expect or want to find, and the realization of what the unidentified sound was hits you like a freight train.

What you discover is Dave standing above a body, pistol clutched tightly in his right hand, knuckles turning alabaster, with what you’re certain is a silencer screwed to the end of the barrel.

The body sprawled across the floor belongs to a man you don’t recognize, a pool of fresh blood spreading rapidly from a single gunshot wound to the front of the skull, bone and brain matter studding the kitchen island and wall, the stink of crimson iron filling the air.

Dave’s head snaps up when he hears you enter, his face gone pale, but otherwise completely blank and devoid of emotion.

Your eyes lock.

You think you say his name. You aren’t sure, and the only reason you know you’ve said anything at all is because you feel the muscles in your esophagus stretching and vibrating, your heart thundering inside your rib cage.

You’re smart enough to deduce that this isn’t some home invasion gone awry. The unknown car in the driveway and the trained, emotionless nature at which Dave currently presents himself is testament to that.

The only option left is that Dave killed a man. And now he has his sights trained on none other than you.

You drop the bucket of supplies, the hollow sound of plastic hitting ceramic reverberating in your skull as you turn, your brain screaming at you to run, run.

In hindsight, running was a bad idea. But panic doesn’t always create rationale.

You feel your legs pumping, your lungs sucking in air. You want to scream for help but when you attempt it, the only sound that comes out is a small, strangled croak of terror. You feel like a damsel in distress in every horror movie you’ve ever seen, almost as if you aren’t actually moving at all, like you’re just running in place while the villain slowly catches up to you.

If you could just reach the neighbor’s house. If you could just… reach…

You manage to make it to the driveway, but you’re barely a few steps onto the concrete when that same muted pop registers again, and you instantly feel a sharp, burning, agonizing sting that rips right through you like a hot knife through butter, knocking you ass over teakettle just paces from Dave’s car, your face slamming hard against the ground.

You look down to see the spreading circle of blood on your shirt against your lower abdomen, a geyser of red bubbling up from the wound. And Dave is on you in an instant, hovering above you, gun trained right at your head.

You know you’re a goner. Abdominal gunshots are frequently fatal, at least according to the kind of shows you like to watch. And at the rate you’re seeing your blood spill out, you know it’s anything but good.

Before you fully comprehend what is happening, your vision already waning, you’re pleading for Dave to end your life as quickly as possible, ‘please, please Mr. York, I’ve been good to you. Please do it fast’, you choke out.

But Dave doesn’t kill you. His dark eyes bore into you, through you, and he hesitates. He’s watching you die and beg for him to put you down and yet he can’t bring himself to actually do it, regardless of how many names he’s scratched out of his ledger without remorse. Maybe because you’re just an innocent, wrong place wrong time, but he can’t seem to do it.

“Please, don’t let me suffer,” you sob as you lift a single, quaking hand that is slicked deep burgundy, and still he doesn’t put you down, only lowering the gun to his side, and you can’t help but wonder what you did to deserve to suffer slowly like this.

Finally, some sense of self preservation washes over you, and even as you’re dying, in your final throes of desperation, you start ripping and clawing at your shirt, managing to somehow tear a sizable chunk out of it, in order to make some kind of makeshift tourniquet that could potentially save your life.

Your hands shake and slip, blood pressure dropping rapidly, and your vision wanes more, the edges of the lightening sky fading and blotting away. You suddenly feel very cold and you can feel your heartbeat gradually ebbing to a slow, dull throb.

The last thing you see before your vision goes completely dark is Dave crouching over you, his face screwed up in regret.

——

God damn it.

When Dave had found out only days before that McCall was still alive, and that his old compatriot had sniffed out the details shrouding Susan’s death, Dave had lost all sight of anything else, completely forgetting you were scheduled to clean his house that day.

Had he realized, he would have canceled. It would have made things far less complicated.

But God fucking damn it. He didn’t want to kill you, his militaristic training and instincts piloting his actions when you fled instead of surrendering, intending to put a round in your skull but changing his mind at the last possible fraction of a second so that he totally FUBAR’d the shot and hit your abdomen instead. A gut shot wasn’t much better. In fact, it was worse. Way worse.

You’re still breathing when he finishes applying the crude tourniquet that you had started, which didn’t completely stop the bleeding but slowed it enough to make a difference. That way, he could get you down into the basement where he could apply proper triage.

His medical training was rudimentary and archaic at best, but it was better than nothing. And it was his best chance at keeping you alive.

Your blood soaks through the light blue dress shirt Dave is wearing as he carries you through the house draped in his arms, the one you once told him looked nice on him. He takes you into the basement and places you on his work table — which isn’t sterile — noting no exit wound as he sets you down, which can be good or bad, all things depending.

Thankfully, he locates the bullet readily enough, fishing it out with a narrow pair of forceps, discarding it into a medical pan as he lets out a sigh of relief when he sees the bullet didn’t strike anything crucial, an incredibly lucky feat.

He grabs a skin stapler to close up the wound; a messy and rushed method of closure that would leave behind a pretty significant scar, but he didn’t have the luxury of time to close the wound properly with a needle, especially considering the rate at which his hands were already shaking.

He takes in a deep breath when he finishes stapling you back together and leans over you, examining your face and body visually, his mind racing as to what he should do now. You still had a pulse. You were breathing. But you had lost a lot of blood, and your prognosis wasn’t good.

Frowning, the crease deepening between his brows, he cleans and sterilizes the wound, wrapping you up in proper dressing, which he hopes is enough to stave off any infection. He can’t risk taking you to a hospital. Especially when there’s still a dead man to deal with only a floor above.

The good news is that he knew no one would come looking for McCall, the majority believing him to already be dead, so disposal would thankfully be swift and painless. You, on the other hand, he was unsure of. He knew your parents had passed and you didn’t have siblings, but he didn’t know if there was a boyfriend or girlfriend in your life, or friends who would notice your absence.

His mind reels with every possibility. Dave isn’t a man who enjoys loose ends. Loose ends make his ass itch.

Your shirt is shredded and bloody, so he removes the remainder of it, leaving you in a soft black cotton bra. He doesn’t let his eyes wander, although, at the back of his mind, he realizes he has always found you attractive. Just as quickly as it dawns on him, he shakes the thought from his mind; it is neither the time nor place for such endeavors.

He removes your shoes but not your socks, knowing you would be cold from having lost so much blood. He might actually put one of his pairs over your own, for good measure.

After a long beat of silent contemplation, Dave scoops you up into his arms once more.

——

You wake up from a fitful sleep some hours later, in a bed you’ve never slept in before. The room around you is dark, shades drawn, a faint light flooding in from beneath a closed door.

When you attempt to sit up, pain lances through your torso and you cry out, your back hitting the mattress. You immediately realize, much to your horror, that you’re also handcuffed to a bedpost. Even if you could move without effort, you aren’t exactly going anywhere.

Your memory suddenly comes flooding back in a tidal wave of images, recalling all of the events that lead up to this point; the body on the kitchen floor, the gunshot, Dave staring down at you with a pistol in his hand.

But you aren’t in a hospital and this isn’t a hospital bed. You’re in Dave’s bedroom. In Dave’s bed.

The door clicks open and a familiar silhouette steps into the room, regarding you in steely silence. You recognize the broad shoulders right away, the thick arms, the short cropped hair.

Your pulse quickens, your body and mind telling you to flee again, even though you know you can’t, causing you to flinch with a choked whimper when he takes a step toward you.

“I wouldn’t move, sweetheart. You lost a lot of blood,” Dave explains, his voice low and soft to your ears as he approaches the bed.

Your body is trembling hard. So hard that it makes the entire bed vibrate.

He’s no longer wearing the blue shirt or black slacks from before, now dressed in a slate gray t-shirt and Adidas sweats. His dark eyes study you as he sits next to you on the edge of the bed. If you weren’t so weak, you think you would strike him.

He lifts the back of his hand to your cheek and you flinch again.

“Shh,” he tuts, “I’m not going to harm you.”

His hand presses to the soft round of your cheek, your forehead, checking for fever.

“Y-you— you s-shot me—?“ you croak.

“I reacted poorly,” Dave agrees with a small nod, his lips parted softly, “but you also shouldn’t have run.”

“You k-killed… that man…”

“I did, indeed.” His eyes grow a shade darker, his brow knitting together, lending him a sinister appearance. “But that man was threatening me. That man was going to kill me…” Dave explains, an edge of malice and contempt to his voice. “I was left with few options.”

You stare back, unblinkingly, trying to decide what to say next, if anything.

“My family will come looking for me,” is what you settle on, a wash of bravery suddenly welling up within you.

To that, Dave smirks, eyes remaining dark, hand lowering to the bed by your hip.

“What family?” Dave asks, smirk slanting even more, his tone semi-mocking. “Do you really think I would hire someone to come into my home without doing a full investigation on them?”

Your jaw drops open, hanging slack in the air, as it dawns on you that a trained killer has been right under your nose this entire time. You would scream if you had the lung capacity to do so.

You should have seen the patterns. Noticed the signs. The constant travel, the lack of personal touches to his home, the pinpricks of blood you occasionally found on his clothes that you excused for other things. That one room in the basement he forbade you from entering.

But you hadn’t, causing you to nearly pay with your life.

Truth is, Dave had picked you for good reason, and it wasn’t just because of the exemplary reviews. You were naive and trusting, you had no family, no criminal record, you didn’t work for an agency; you worked solo. Your work ethic and reliability were just cherries on top.

You look down to notice the IV needle in your hand, and you lift it in examination, your hand shaking and sputtering weakly. No… no, you really had no clue who this guy was at all.

Dave watches you for a beat before he gently grasps your hand and places it back down on the bed, regarding you with uncharacteristic softness and empathy.

You feel your consciousness starting to drift then as Dave pulls the covers back to check the dressings, finding they’re still intact and that the wound hasn’t reopened from what he can tell. He’ll clean and redress everything in the morning. For now, you need rest.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells you, stepping out of the room for what feels like only a meager blip of time to you, but when you open your eyes again, he’s hovering above you once more with a thermometer and an ice pack.

“Open up,” he instructs, and you do so obediently.

“Good girl,” Dave praises as he checks your temperature, and you close your eyes.

When the thermometer beeps, which feels like an eternity later, he frowns, exhaling a long sigh. “101.5. Here,” he says, leaning to the side where he opens a drawer on the night stand, a bottle of aspirin rattling somewhere next to your head. The sound is grating, making your head throb, and suddenly the lamp seems too bright.

He feeds you some pills and gives you a drink of water from a nearby tumbler, which you guess was also on the nightstand, but aren’t too sure.

He pulls the blanket back up all the way to your chin and places the ice pack on your forehead, staring down at you. Although Dave was the reason you were even here at all, he is treating you with a surprising amount of tenderness.

“You need to eat,” he says after a moment. “Dinner is almost ready.”

——

You must pass out again, because when your eyes reopen, Dave stands next to you with a small tray table filled with food.

“Chicken and dumplings,” he explains. “It will keep the cold away.”

You nod your head weakly as he places the tray over you. When you reach for the spoon, he stops you, blocking your hand with his own.

“Let me,” he says, picking up the spoon. “I don’t want you moving anymore than necessary.”

You have to keep reminding yourself that he’s the one who shot you. He’s why you’re in this mess in the first place. Why you’re here, injured, with a hole in your abdomen, chained to his bed.

The way he’s acting shouldn’t be trusted.

You try to resist, but he grabs your jaw with the other hand and forces it to pop open, pressing the spoon past your lips as he ladles the soup into your mouth, much to your displeasure.

“Eat,” he says softly, but sternly, his features darkening in regard.

The food is warm, as promised, and delicious. You aren’t sure of the last time you ate, not knowing what time or even what day it is, but you soon realize you’re starving. Because of this, the second spoonful is not met with as much resistance as the first, your mouth hinging open in resignation and acquiescence.

Dave’s eyes zero in on your soft lips. The way they twitch ever so slightly as they divide. The way your tongue looks so velvet and inviting…

He feeds you slowly, thoughtfully, watching your every move, his own lips parted in concentration as you take in the much needed sustenance.

By the end of it, you’ve managed to polish off about half the bowl. Seemingly satisfied with that, he makes you drink some Gatorade.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask weakly as soon as you swallow down a couple gulps of the blue liquid, your consciousness ebbing and flowing by the second. Dave looks at your face, but he doesn’t give you an answer. He doesn’t have one to give.

Part of him wishes he did.

“I have to pee,” you tell him suddenly when you notice the familiar stab of discomfort in your lower region. A realization that sends a jolt of anxiety rushing through you, your pulse racing when you watch his face fall. He hadn’t even thought of that…

His skills and equipment were limited to wound care, so of course he hadn’t put a catheter in. He wouldn’t know how even if he did happen to have one.

He deliberates on what to do. He didn’t have a bed pan. But, he was sure he could find something comparable to use.

Or he could help you to the bathroom. He has an en suite, it was literally only steps around the bed. But the space was tight. It would take some maneuvering. And he would have to be close to you the entire time. Not to mention uncuffing you from the bed.

In the end, that’s what he settles on.

“Let me help you to the bathroom, sweetheart,” he says to you, pulling the blankets back, and you are cold. So cold. Your flesh pebbling with the lick of cool air against your skin.

He unlocks the handcuffs and you massage your sore wrist and shoulder the moment you have full motion of your arm again.

“Slowly,” he instructs, his voice low and even. “Grab the IV stand.”

You do as you’re told, gripping the cool steel in your hand as you grasp his forearm with the other while he gingerly manipulates you into a sitting position. You cry out at the sudden dagger of pain that slices through your lower gut, and he does his best to steady you against him.

He did this to you, you keep reminding yourself. He did this to you.

He lifts you carefully, slowly, and you groan at the swell of pain when he places you on your feet.

“Easy, easy…” he murmurs, one arm circling your waist to keep you upright. You flinch at the contact.

You make it to the bathroom easily enough, light flooding the small room as Dave flips the switch. A bathroom you’ve cleaned countless times. There was rarely much to clean in here, save for the occasional whisker in the sink, or some light trash in the bin.

Dave was neat and fastidious, and not frequently home. You often wondered why he needed someone to clean his house in the first place.

The space looks no different than usual, but right now it feels… different. You shouldn’t be here.

He guides you to the toilet, and when you get there, you stare down at it, pondering to yourself how this is going to work.

He seems hesitant to leave your side.

“Go ahead,” he tells you softly, “I won’t look.”

You freeze. The last thing you want is to expose your body to him when he already has several advantages on you. But your bladder is screaming at you to go, especially now given your proximity to the porcelain bowl, and you can barely stand on your own, your arms and legs wobbling.

You watch as he turns his back, placing himself between you and the exit. You bend just slightly to tug your bottoms down, but it’s too much, more pain coursing through your body. You yelp, unable to even budge the fabric.

“Hey,” Dave says, turning back to face you, “Let me help you.”

“No, I—I got it,” you protest, your arms shaking, attempting it again, only to end up with the same result. “Fuck—“

“Hey,” Dave says a second time, more sternly than before, as he moves in to your space. “Let me help. I promise I won’t touch you.”

You tremble. You’re cold, you’re frightened, you’re weak. So weak. You’re in your bra, partially exposed to him already. Yet, you concede with a nod anyway. You’ll piss yourself if you don’t.

He mirrors your nod in silent confirmation and moves closer, crowding into your intimate space, his fingers finding the waistband of your leggings and underwear. He slides them down your hips and legs in unison, all the way to your knees. As promised, he doesn’t touch you more than he needs to.

But he has to look. He needs to see where his hands are in relation to your body in order to keep himself from accidentally breaking his promise of touching you in a way you didn’t consent to, and another part of him just can’t help it, either. He is a man, after all, and he wasn’t currently seeing anyone. Romance wasn’t exactly optimal for someone in his position, his attention honed in on his work above all else.

When the nights were long and lonely enough, he would, on occasion, share his bed with a sex worker, but aforementioned nights were few and far between. He enjoyed his job. He got off on it. Romance was often placed on the back burner.

But there’s just something about you. Especially now, with how vulnerable you are, that he finds irresistible.

His gaze only lingers on your bared skin for a moment, big brown puppy dog eyes roving over your soft curves, holding on to you as he lowers you down to the commode. And, god, you’re just as beautiful as he imagined, his skin heating at the sight of your soft folds.

“Call for me when you’re done,” he grates quietly as he takes a step out of the bathroom, blood rushing to certain parts of his body, shutting the door to give you a modicum of privacy, which you’re more than grateful for.

His eyes on you had not gone unnoticed. You weren’t stupid and you weren’t seeing anyone either, currently; his attention, regardless of how brief, had made your skin heat and your core pulse with need. You clear your throat and try to discard the thought.

Dave is why you are here. Dave is dangerous. So dangerous he can’t even take you to a hospital to get proper medical attention. Stop it.

It feels like you pee for ages. You aren’t totally convinced you’re awake for most of it. Eventually, you finish, even managing to wipe yourself, in spite of things, which you’re relieved for. You wouldn’t want him to do it for you; that would be humiliating and degrading.

You call for Dave when you’re done and he returns in an instant, hoisting you to your feet as he pulls your pants and underwear back up and over your hips, trying not to think about your soft cunt. You can see how hard he’s trying not to look at you.

“Good?” he asks. You nod.

Bracing yourself against him, he helps you back to the comfort of the bed. It smells like him, despite how little he’s actually in it. You hiss through your teeth as he manipulates you into position, adjusting the pillows and covers until you’re as comfortable as possible.

You’re cold. Freezing, in fact, despite it being the swell of summer.

“I’m c-cold,” you lament to Dave, crossing your arms over your chest beneath the blanket.

Dave’s lips pinch to the side in thought. “Hold on.”

He returns a moment later with an extra blanket, tossing it over you, tucking the edges neatly around your form, taking extra care to be gentle, noteably around your abdomen.

As you watch him, his face and eyes soft, his hair mussed and unkempt, you ask yourself once again why he’s doing all of this for you.

Guilt? Shame? Something else?

You don’t have much time to ruminate on it for too long before your consciousness peters away once more.

——

Dave sighs as he watches you slip back into listlessness. You’re doing better than he anticipated, but you aren’t out of the woods yet. He knows how much blood you had lost; he’d spent hours cleaning it. Not to mention McCall, the remains of which he had delivered to an acquaintance who works at the industrial incinerator on the outskirts of town, after tending to you.

He loops your hand back through the cuff on the bedpost and peers down at you. You’re so beautiful; he hopes you make it. He wishes you hadn’t run from him. God, why did you run? He doesn’t want you to meet the same fate as McCall. He doesn’t want to know what your incinerated body smells like.

Every body has a different smell, in his experience.

He gives you another dose of morphine to reduce any pain you may be feeling and to keep you knocked out for a few more hours, checking for fever again, which is currently holding steady. It was good that it wasn’t going up. Any higher and you could potentially be in trouble. He’ll keep checking throughout the night to be on the safe side.

He sighs, knowing he’ll have to stay in town for weeks, which he detested doing. He hated staying in one place for longer than required. But he didn’t have much of a choice at this point.

He turns off the light and shuts the door behind him as he leaves you to rest.

Part II coming soon!

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 2 - Trust Issues

Warnings: food hoarding

Word Count: 1.5k (gif not mine)

Summary: Maria and Clint talk about Natasha. Clint realizes that bringing in a black widow may not be as easy as he thinks.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

Clint yawns.

Maria throws a book at him and groans.

“I’m so bored,” he complains. “How do you do this?”

“That’s what you get, for bringing a stray home,” she rolls her eyes and throws her pen at him.

“They can’t keep me grounded forever right?”

Maria shrugs, “Ask Coulson.”

Clint throws them back at her and glances at the clock.

“I should probably go,” he sighs.

“Pick up time?”

He bows, “I am the chauffeur, am I not?”

“She’s not eating,” Maria tells him as Clint starts to walk away.

“What?”

He turns and eyes her closely.

“She doesn’t eat the food, haven’t you noticed? Not unless it’s packaged or clear liquid.”

She pauses.

“I don’t know what she does eat, have you been giving her food?”

Clint shakes his head.

“Only the occasional granola bar when I’ve eaten one?”

He pauses. “How do you know?”

Maria pauses.

“She’s been here two weeks, what has she been eating?”

“How do you know?”

Looking around, Maria opens the surveillance program on her computer, and rewinds to breakfast.

“Don’t tell Coulson I’m showing you this,” she growls.

Clint looks forward with interest, feeling voyeuristic at watching her.

He knew they’d be surveilling her, but had underestimated just how closely.

It seems stupid in hindsight.

The breakfast is delivered.

The blue tray pushed through a small opening on the floor, and Clint feels angry at how just like prison this must feel for her.

Natasha approaches it, and squats to look at the food.

She inspects the apple, and places it on the bed away from the other food. The scrambled eggs, she touches as though she’s looking for something; pressing them down; then looks at the juice box and places it next to the apple.

The tray gets pushed back, the rest of the cooked food untouched, and, after a moment, taken away.

“Breakfast she eats the most, or takes the most from, I guess.”

Clint keeps watching, but she doesn’t eat. The juice box gets drunk slowly, but the apple is placed inside the small side table drawer.

He glimpses one of the granola bars he’d given her, and he feels like an idiot for not noticing.

“Talk to her about it?”

He nods.

“Why’d you tell me? You don’t even like her?”

Maria looks at him, annoyed at the look.

“Just because I like her, doesn’t mean I want her dead.”

He looks away from the computer, Maria turning the program off.

“Clint, she’s not okay, traumatized black widows; don’t you think you’re out of your depth?”

He takes the criticism and thinks about Natasha’s face as he’d offered her a lifeline. The way she looked so sad and resigned to her fate, and the run and hide through Berlin.

“I’m all she’s got,” he shrugs.

Maria shakes her head, but says nothing.

“I’ve gotta go. I’ll chat to you later?”

He leaves without the response, mulling on her words, wondering just how hard this was going to be.

.

Clint waits, just as he promised as the door opens as Natasha steps out.

“I’ll see you in two days,” Olivia tells both the receptionist and Natasha at the door.

The receptionist nods, and gives Clint a smile, ignoring Natasha as she steps out and forward.

“Sorry,” Clint says ruefully, taking the handcuffs from Olivia.

Natasha holds her hands up, face blank, eyes glazed.

They step in line with each other, the walk back to the glass prison punctuated with Clint’s quiet words.

“I feel like you look when I walk out of therapy. Did it go okay?”

He pauses, “you don’t have to answer that.”

When there’s no words, he decides to continue talking.

He knows she doesn’t trust them; any of them. He really wants to know what she talks about in therapy. If she says anything at all or if Olivia just talks to her.

He wonders idly if he needs to talk to someone too.

Probably.

The last couple of months have been… intense, for lack of a better word and he wonders if, like Maria had said, he was out of his depth.

It was not the first time he thought it.

Natasha’s despondency was affecting him.

What did he know about defectors and a traumatised super spy?

He just didn’t want her to die.

Not by his hand, or her own.

“I like her though,” he continues.

“Give her a chance, if you can. She’s… not unlike you, in her background and maybe can help? She’s there to help.”

He mulls on his own words as he leads her a different way back. He’s right.

If anyone can help her; Olivia can.

Determined to show her a different part of the complex, they go through the kitchens, and Clint picks up two apples, throwing her one and then crunching onto the other.

It gives him time to think.

He’s going to need to touch base with Olivia, make sure that she is interacting, doing what was promised.

He could ask her what he should be doing too; for her, for himself.

Clint leads the way back with practiced ease, the silence allowing him to think.

As they enter the first round of checks, he smiles easily to the straight faced guards; then as they get deeper to the third and forth stations, it’s just Clint’s badge letting them in.

It seems to bolster Natasha, the less people around, she matches his steps and bites the apple. At the noise, Clint turns and smiles.

“You don’t eat much,” he observes.

Natasha shrugs and takes another bite.

He laughs at her sass.

“Do you not like the food?”

Natasha looks down.

He feels a little mean, talking about this after she’s just had 90 minutes of therapy.

He’s sure the sessions are not the easiest, and he can see the slight tremor in her hands, despite her trying to mask it by holding onto the apple.

They reach her cell and she steps inside the glass, holding her wrists out for him to release them.

He does.

Taking the cuffs away and pushing them into his pocket.

“Just think about it, okay? If there’s food you want or prefer, just tell me? I can help.”

Natasha looks at her feet and takes two steps back, the door closing and the glass sealing shut.

.

Despite her better judgement, Natasha continues to eat the apple. The constant hunger makes her feel on edge sometimes.

She’s so used to it, that until Clint had said something, she hadn’t given it much thought.

Sitting on the bed, legs crossed, she chews on it and thinks.

Therapy had been tough.

Though not for the first time, Olivia had called her out on things that she shouldn’t know.

Details about the Red Room that only the guards, the officers or widows knew, inner workings of the KGB and Red Room procedures like the trial of the silent knife and graduation.

And whilst Natasha hadn’t had another panic attack, it had been close.

The push to talk and baiting was tempting.

How did she know?

She knew she’d eventually have to talk, but for now, whilst she could hold onto her silence, she wanted to keep it.

It was the only control she had.

Her mind feels like a minefield.

Sometimes, she feels like once she starts talking, she’ll never stop; but the years of self preservation wouldn’t let her.

She sorts the known information, finishing the apple and swallowing slowly, closing her eyes on the onslaught of images and thoughts.

It takes her a moment to let the memory of the silent knife trial pass. The blood on her hands feeling so visceral and real she opens and closes her eyes just to check.

She breathes.

In.

Holds it.

And out.

It has become the easiest thing to do after therapy. To think and sort through all the things that were said, disclosed and asked of her.

After a day like today where she had had to do both debriefing and therapy, she knew that nightmares would be inevitable.

She just hoped that whoever was watching the cameras tonight was sleeping on the job.

Natasha breathes slowly again.

Starting with the image that comes first, she focuses as best she can on sorting real from not real. What they had said, what she had disclosed, information that still was secret and that which had become known.

They were still only on major players of the organisation; those that she knew had ties into the western world. People she had been sent after, political agendas. It was far easier to talk about than herself, though she had a feeling that was coming.

Her mind flashes to Dreykov and she bites the inside of her cheek, drawing blood.

Real or not real.

She tries to ground herself in this moment.

She didn’t trust them.

They knew too much.

She’d told them too much.

There was no going back now.

Natasha thinks of Maria again.

Always an ending thought.

The divulgence of knowing her birthdate.

Information known by a select few but, perhaps also could be found from intel files. It means that somewhere here there’s more intel on her; prior to her coming here.

What she wouldn’t give for that file.

Therapy conversations had given her pause.

It was difficult to think about without her mind flashing back; and she didn’t want to.

Not here.

Not now.

There’s a file on her.

And she wants it.

.

<3

[jungkooksrealgirlfriend]

Eggs Breakfast 🍳🫦

🥚pairing: jungkook x fem reader

🥚word count: 3.5k

🥚genre: really filthy smut 😭

🥚summary: while cooking breakfast for jungkook one morning, his mind cracks an idea. what if he were the one making the scrambled eggs today?

🥚warnings: dom!jungkook, sub!reader, unprotected sex, anal sex, food play, fingering, explicit language, oral sex, dirty talk, creampie, crack (🤣🍳) fic, idfk what else but this shit is dirty  

🥚disclaimer (with the notion that only a small group of my friends will read this): i am not a writer by any means and i just wrote this for fun because my friend requested a fic based on an inside joke our friend group has and i wanted to take a crack (pun intended) at it. for that reason, i apologize if certain things don’t make sense. it’s also got other random inside jokes sprinkled in so if something seems weirdly mentioned, random, or goofy then that’s probably why. also, i did write this the best i could but it’s also a joke fic so don’t take it seriously. and no, i don’t have a kink of jungkook fucking eggs into my booty hole 😭💀 but if any of u do i don’t kink shame and i hope u enjoy fr 🤝 and to my friends DON’T FUCKING ROAST ME LMFAOAOAOO i wrote this out of the kindness in my heart for a friend who was in (really) desperate need. also!! i am a tumblr noob and don’t know much about formatting, but i’ve found this is easier to read when it’s not on my xxx.tumblr.com page but instead on the normal tumblr.com/xxx page (at the time of posting this in dec 2022) because the spacing doesn’t carry over for some reason? bro idk if it’s the theme i chose or it’s something fixable on tumblr but like i said i’m not a writer nor tumblr savvy 💀 so bear with me

Jungkook leans on the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest as he watches you standing across from him, back turned his way. He hated the way his cock stirred in his sweats at the sight of you cooking breakfast in those sleeping shorts you liked to wear. If it wasn’t your exposed legs that got him going, it was definitely the way half your ass was peeking out from under the cloth.

Yet you simply continued your activities, being none the wiser to the man standing behind you. You reached for the carton of fresh eggs sitting on the counter, grabbing one before cracking it into the pan. You didn't need to ask Jungkook how he liked his eggs in the morning, because after being in a three year long relationship, you knew all too well that he preferred them over easy, just as he knew you preferred yours scrambled and with ketchup.

He also knew that you preferred iced coffee over hot coffee, and that you liked warmer weather over colder weather. But one of his favorite things he knew about you was how you were ever so willing to try new things, whether that be hesitantly tasting a new food at his favorite restaurant or agreeing to try something crazy in the bedroom.

You two were no strangers to spicing it up during naughty time, and you both have always been open and communicated about the things you’ve wanted to try. That thought alone caused Jungkook’s mind to wander, truly wondering if you really were willing to try anything at all. Because the sight of you in those shorts, cracking eggs into a pan set his imagination on fire.

He gingerly pushes himself off the counter and walks towards you, arms swaying briefly at his sides before he pushes himself against your back and snakes his hands around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. You giggle, flipping the egg in the pan. 

“Getting impatient? It’s almost done, baby.”

“I think I’m hungry for something else now,” he rasps out, morning voice still present as he pushes his clothed dick against your ass. “Don’t know how you expect me to behave when you're leaving little to the imagination.”

At that you smirk, and Jungkook thinks maybe you did it on purpose to get a rise out of him. His suspicion turns out to be true when you turn off the stove, slide his egg onto a plate, and turn around with a look in your eyes that he knows all too well. 

“But baby,” you say, feigning innocence as you travel your hand up his exposed chest, “don’t you want to eat your breakfast? It’s over easy, just how you like it. And eggs are good for stamina.” you tease.

“You’re a little motherfucking stinker,” he snickers. “I want you to know that.”

“Hmmm, am I?” you muse, “You’re the one talking nonsense at 9 in the morning. Maybe you’re the motherfucking stinker.”

There is no serious weight to either of your words at the obvious joke, yet he still clenches his jaw and moves his face only inches from yours, eyes meeting eyes. 

He lets out a small breath, “You’re going to regret saying that. You have no idea what I wanna do to you right now.”

You can’t help but laugh, not missing the lustful glint in his eyes. You love the back and forth that often happens between you two. It causes your stomach to bubble with anticipation because it doesn’t take long for him to get you wet and in the mood. 

“I never regret anything.”

“Oh baby,” he rests his forehead against yours, “you will this time.”

Suddenly you’re pulled from your spot of being pinned against the stove and are shoved front-forward against the breakfast bar, hands sprawled out on the granite countertop. You can’t help but smile like an idiot because pushing his buttons is your favorite thing to do, and what tends to follow soon after leaves you breathless.

You feel him slide his hands up and down your sides, this action alone sending shivers through your spine. But when he begins to push you down onto the counter with his naked chest against your back, hands following down your arms and intertwining with your own, you find yourself holding your breath before your cheek meets the cold surface with hands on either side of your head.

He’s almost laying on top of you, squishing your body between his own and the breakfast bar. You can only imagine how erotic the scene must look and you wish you had a mirror nearby so you could look into it and see how his body fit against yours like a puzzle piece. You feel his now fully hard dick poking your ass, his chest against your back, and his hands on top of yours. You feel him everywhere, yet not in the places you’re craving him the most right now. 

He leans down to your ear and nibbles on it. “I’m not going to be nice this time. I know you did all this to intentionally provoke me. Is this fun for you?” he chuckles, “Pushing my buttons to get me riled up?”

His voice comes out raspier than you expect and it sends a shiver throughout your whole body causing you to rub your thighs together. He cocks his head to the side a bit, eyes meeting yours and you know he’s waiting for an answer, so you nod your head and smirk up at him. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty fucking hot.”

This causes him to smirk back at you as he licks his bottom lip. You slightly lift your head and allow your eyes to follow the movement before looking back up into his own in an unspoken request. He understands what you want and grants your wish by connecting your lips together.

This kiss is rough and needy, but his lips feel so good against yours that you moan in satisfaction. Bodies on fire, tongues dancing together, and with the need to feel more you push your ass harder against his length in an attempt to gain some friction earning a grunt from the man who, of course, isn’t wearing any underwear. 

Jungkook, knowing you better than you know yourself, grants you your silent plea as he begins to grind your covered heat with his knee. He grinds, and grinds. You feel your adrenaline pick up and you can’t take it anymore. 

“Jungkook,” you gasp out, “need to feel you.”

He chuckles before pulling away, pushing himself off your back and leaving you flat against the counter. His breathing is heavy as he lifts his tattooed arm to brush his hair back, his other arm grabbing firm hold of your waist. Your eyes drop to his abs as they flex at the action, and you swear you could hear purring at this point because of how much your pussy gushed with anticipation. 

He shakes his head, “Look at you, begging for my cock. Is this what you wanted all along? For me to bend you over the counter and fuck you so well like you know I can?”

His voice was low and sultry and fuck, he sounded so hot it made you automatically clench around nothing. He always knew what to say to make your knees weak. 

“Yes” you say, voice coming out whinier than you expected. “Need you so bad right now, baby.”

He knew you went crazy over his dirty words, and you knew he went crazy when you begged for him. 

“Then spread your legs for me, love.”

He tucks his fingers under your waistband slowly tugging them down your legs along with your panties that were now soaked with your arousal. You felt the cold air hit your core and you let out a shaky breath, stepping out of the two articles of clothing once they were by your ankles. 

Without waiting for instruction, you momentarily lift yourself off of the counter to pull your shirt over your head, being left completely nude and vulnerable to Jungkook’s eyes. However, you didn’t feel embarrassed or insecure. You felt the opposite actually, since Jungkook always made you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world who had the sexiest body, and he often showed you how much he loved it.

Laying back down on the counter, Jungkook places his hands back on your now naked waist, kicking your legs open with his own, wide enough for him to stand in between. He slides his long fingers through your slick folds causing you to quickly shut your eyes and moan at the contact. The combination of his fingers and the cold counter underneath your bare chest makes you shiver and you spread your legs even wider.

Jungkook snickers and retrieves his fingers, earning a protesting whine from you. Sneaking a glance back, you see him pulling his gray sweats down his hips, letting them fall to his ankles before he steps out of them and kicks them somewhere to the side along with your clothes too. 

Seeing his bare dick practically makes your mouth water and you wish you could drop to your knees and pleasure him, however his hold on you is tight and you know whatever he has planned will please both of you. 

Momentarily locking eyes with him, you both smirk at each other before you lay your cheek back on the surface, eagerly awaiting him to part your folds. However, the intrusion doesn’t come and you instead feel him lean to reach for something. Once again, you lift your head to look over your shoulder, seeing him grab an egg from the open carton you left by the stove.

“Jungkook… what are you doing?” you question.

He returns to his previous position, egg in hand and knowing smirk on his face. Your eyes move between the egg and his eyes, until he leans down, nose almost touching yours. You can feel his warm breath on your face and the close proximity makes you clench again. He’s staring deep into your eyes and you feel like he’s staring straight into your soul.

“I’m going to crack this egg into your ass and fuck you so hard that I scramble it. Then, I’m gonna enjoy my breakfast.”

You tense at his words. He wants to what? The idea sounds crazy but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t considering it, imagining him fucking you, using the slippery egg as your lube until you’re screaming his name. However, you’re hesitant because this is new territory for the both of you.

“You’re joking right? You can’t be serious about that. About fucking it in my ass. About… scrambling it.” you question.

Was he joking? Jungkook didn’t know. He was sure that the heat radiating off your bodies was enough to fry an egg, so why not scramble it?

“You should know more than anyone when I am and am not fucking around.” he rasps out.

You gulp, getting more turned on by his words. Were you really about to let him crack an egg in your booty hole? In other circumstances you’d probably laugh in his face and tell him he’s being ridiculous, but in this moment the raw sex appeal he’s radiating has you considering it. Really considering it.

Staring back into his eyes you slowly nod your head, your lips slightly turning upwards. 

“Okay big boy. Show me exactly what you mean. Show me how well you can fuck me with that egg.”

At this he backs away and stands tall, smirking to himself before he takes a deep breath. 

“Spread yourself for me.” he commands.

You lay your cheek on the counter and reach behind you, grabbing your ass and spreading it open.

Jungkook knew in order for the egg to make it into your hole he was going to have to stretch you out, so he took his his index and middle fingers and began rubbing them through your folds to gather some of your arousal. 

The touch came as a shock to you and you jerked forward, mewling at the feeling. His fingers felt so good and you thought if he kept on you would’ve came before he even entered you. 

He continues to gather your slick and moves it to your ass, rubbing it over your puckered hole to allow for easier penetration. 

He begins to push one finger in, a deep moan ripping out of your throat. He used his other hand to caress the small of your back as he kept slowly pushing in until he was a knuckle deep. He then slowly pulled out, repeating the process until he was pumping you. The pace wasn’t anything drastic, and the feel of his single finger was definitely not enough for you to reach your high, but that didn’t stop the quiet whimpers that escaped your lips.

After deciding you needed more, you pushed your ass back and he took that as a sign to add a second finger, fingering you faster and deeper than before. 

With each pump, you moaned out at the feeling, cursing under your breath when he adds a third finger. Jungkook wanted to make sure you were stretched enough, so he took his time, gradually quickening his pace. 

All that could be heard in the tiny kitchen was your whimpers and the soft wet sounds of your arousal coating his fingers. 

Suddenly his fingers were gone from your hole and you felt like crying, missing his touch already. A moment passes before you hear the sound of him cracking the egg onto the counter with enough force for the shell to break but not enough for anything to leak out. 

Your body felt like it was on fire, your hair sticking to your forehead and you were sure Jungkook’s was doing the same. You could hardly think at this moment, barely registering the words that came from his mouth.

“You ready?” he asks, licking his lips.

You immediately nodded, eager to feel anything. 

But you knew Jungkook needed to hear you voice it, so you whispered out a small “Please.”

“So needy.” he mumbles as he slightly lowers down and uses both hands to begin opening the egg, watching as the clear mucus begins to seep into your hole as you still hold your ass open.

The feeling was strange, but not unwelcome. The egg was cold, but not cold enough to feel uncomfortable. Instead, the feeling made you tense and shiver with anticipation, and the thought of Jungkook fucking it into you was the only thing on your mind right now.

He opened it wider, watching as the remainder of egg was sucked into your hole. “I’m glad this went over easy.” he amusingly remarks. 

“Fuck you,” you curse, irritation hinting because of how impatient you were. Was he really making puns right now?

“You’re about to,” he smirks, pushing two fingers into your hole to spread the egg. It’s slick and if even possible, it turns him on more, especially from the way you jerk forward and loudly moan. 

However, he’s brief and removes his egg-slicked fingers to take his dick into his hand, groaning at the feeling of giving himself a few pumps, coating it with a thin layer of egg white. He grabs your waist before he situates himself at your back entrance, pausing for a second before he begins to push himself in.

He was easily able to bottom out, the slimy texture of the egg being the clear reason for that. He barely gives you any time to adjust before he pulls out and slams his hips forward all over again.

You moan uncontrollably, mouth agape in pleasure and eyes tightly shut. He was pumping in and out of you with ease, further coating his dick with your arousal and the egg that was now surely beginning to froth inside your body the quicker his pace became. 

The slick sounds and the way his balls slapped against your pussy made your head spin, and Jungkook was surely enjoying this just as much as you were from the way his head was tilted back and he was groaning, hands holding your hips so tight that you were sure there would be bruises later.

“Fuck!” you screamed out, tears beginning to prick your eyes as your moans began to mix with sobs at how fucking good it felt. The temperature of the egg in your body was now matching your own, a contrast to the cold plated eggs you had cooked earlier that were long forgotten on the counter.

“Jungkook,” you stuttered out, “so…so good” you sobbed. 

Hearing you sound so vulnerable, saying his name while he was balls deep inside of you made his cock twitch and a moan escape his lips. He loved you so much and would do anything for you. He would get on his hands and knees and wash your feet as Jesus did for Judas, simply doing it out of his love and obsession for you.

You felt your stomach begin to tighten, a sign that you were close to your high. Jungkook was close too, but he wanted you to cum first so he let go of your hip with one of his hands and began to circle your sensitive bud as you shuddered underneath him. He then moved his fingers from your clit to your entrance, pushing in and pumping his fingers fast.

“I am go-go-go-gonna cum.” you stutter, seemingly not able to even say that simple sentence as you screw your eyes shut tighter.

The combination of his dick pumping in your ass and his fingers in your cunt brings a whole new wave of pleasure. You feel so full of him and without warning, you tense and feel the knot snap in your stomach as you cum on his fingers and uncontrollably clench around them. Your ass convulses as you’re clenching hard around his dick, seeming to involuntarily suck it in deeper with ease pulse. 

Your entire body tingles as you let out a guttoral moan and say his name over and over like a chant. Tears are rolling down your cheeks as you begin to feel the start of overstimulation.

Jungkook pauses for a moment, removing his fingers from your cunt before he shoves them into your mouth and uses his other hand to hold you down by your neck, the pressure making your eyes roll back into your head as you suck his fingers and taste yourself, moaning as you do.

He then starts pumping at an even more animalistic pace than before, trying to reach his own high as you start whimpering from the overstimulation. 

“I know baby, I know.” he soothes, keeping the same pace before his hips begin stuttering and he cums inside your ass, a loud moan ripping from his throat as well.

He doesn’t move, you both breathing heavily as he curses and lays his head on your back, intertwining his hands with your own. You feel content at having just been properly fucked and could really go for a shower right now.

However, he’s not done as he gives you a final pump, further mixing his semen with the raw egg before he removes his softening cock, crouches down, and lifts you up higher by your thighs. 

You’re too fucked out to immediately react, but you widen your eyes when you realize what he’s about to do.

He licks a stripe through your pussy, tasting your arousal on his tongue. “You taste so fucking good.” he moans.

“What are you doing?” you question, using the little strength you have left to look behind you, meeting his eyes. 

He can see the look in your eyes, see you’re surprised because you know what he’s about to do. So he smirks. That fucker smirks. 

“I’m about to enjoy my breakfast.”

He takes his two fingers and gathers up the cum and egg dripping out of your hole, shoving it back in and pumping a few times before removing his fingers and replacing them with his tongue. 

You gasp out, not believing he was actually eating your ass hole right after fucking an egg into you.

“Mmmm,” he hums into your backside. 

Uncontrollable moans leave your mouth as he licks you clean, standing up shortly after and lightly slapping your ass.

You stand up, legs wobbly, and you have to grib the edge of the breakfast bar to stop your knees from giving out. 

Jungkook felt good seeing you like this, knowing he was the cause and reason. It boosted his ego and he felt like the luckiest guy in the world.

“You’re nasty as shit,” you spit, turning around to face him while your hands still gripped the counter. However, you had a smirk on your lips showing Jungkook that you didn’t really mean it.

He chuckles, giving you a raise of his eyebrow.

“Well you didn’t seem to think so when you were begging for me to touch you.”

You roll your eyes, “You know that I love the way you fuck me.”

He walks up to you, hands sliding over your arms leaving goosebumps on your skin. He looks down at you and you look up, staring into each other’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t mind having my breakfast like that again in the future,” he smirks, “because I think scrambled eggs just became my new favorite.”

[qveerthe0ry]

If You're Crazy Too

Summary: It isn’t the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you, helping your friend with benefits confess his love for his longtime friend and roommate. But it’s definitely in the top ten. Word Count: 8,600 Pairing: Santi x m!amab!reader x Frankie Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, mutual masturbation, watching porn together, threesome, handjobs, ass eating, oral sex (m receiving), anal fingering, anal sex, unprotected sex (pls wrap it up), dirty talk, dom/sub undertones, polyamory Betas: @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar thank you both so much, you're angels for helping me through this <3 A/N: Special thanks to the author of this post for making an excellent resource for writing Spanish in fics, it came SO in handy. Also thanks to @triplefrontier-anniversary for inspiring me to finish getting this brainworm all written down before the deadline!

Santi is an incredible fuck. Also, he’s a fairly sweet guy. 

You met him at your favorite club. He’d been dancing with men and women all night long, graceful and respectful, and you itched to get your turn with him. 

When you finally got the chance, his body was solid and sweaty and sure against your own. 

You could barely hear him over the music when he told you, lips brushing over your ear, that he was hoping you’d seek him out. 

He kissed you, after a few songs, and you met it with an eagerness you didn’t even know you had in you. It wasn’t long before he asked you to come back to his place, and he made you fall apart underneath him. 

The morning after wouldn’t have been awkward, either, if his roommate hadn’t been cooking breakfast for the both of you. 

Santi introduced him as “Frankie, or Catfish, or Fish.” He was gorgeous, too, in a softer way than Santi. His brown eyes were wider and less menacing than Santi’s, and his curls peeked out under a well-worn trucker’s cap.

He said it was nice to meet you, and asked how you liked your eggs, and if you were way too loud the night before with Santi, he didn’t mention it. You did, however, catch him sneaking glances at Santi while the three of you ate, and wondered what they meant. 

It didn’t matter much at the time when you thought you’d never see Santi again. But he walked you to your Uber after breakfast, and asked if you maybe wanted to do this again, no pressure, no strings attached. And you did. So you exchanged numbers and he kissed you on the cheek before sending you off. 

You’ve met up with him a few times now. Each time Frankie makes himself scarce. You either hear the TV in his room, or you pass him on your way in, telling you he’s got errands to run. What errands he’s running at 10pm, you’re not sure you want to know, but you don’t think much of it. 

Until now. You knock on the front door of their apartment and hear voices, too muffled to make anything out clearly. 

Santi answers before too long with a smile, and you follow, intent to trail him to his bedroom like you usually do. 

This time, though, Frankie’s sat on the couch in the living room, a beer in his hand, and he looks like someone just kicked his puppy.

“Am I, uh, interrupting something? We can rain check.” 

Frankie looks to you, and then to Santi, and you feel like you have your answer before either of them speak. 

“No, no, you haven’t interrupted anything,” Santi starts, “it’s just our favorite OnlyFans guy released a new video a few days ago and we haven’t had the chance to watch it yet. Fish is a little eager.”

“Fuck you, I’m not. Just thought we were watching it today is all. No big deal.” 

It’s a lot of information to process, that these two not only share a favorite OnlyFans creator, but watch his videos together. And— not to assume, but you’re sure they probably do other things together too. 

“Oh… I mean, I don’t want to ruin your plans.”

“It’s fine—“

Frankie’s reassurance is cut off by Santi though, something that seems like a common occurrence by the way he settles back into his seat and closes his lips when Santi begins to speak. 

“You wanna watch with us? First orgasm of the night, but I promise I’ll make it up to you after.” 

And fuck it, you think. It isn’t quite what you imagined when you left your place, but it doesn’t sound like a terrible way to spend your Friday night. 

“I’m down,” you shrug, and Santi’s eyes crinkle when he smiles and winks at you. 

He turns the lights off while Frankie casts the video to the TV. You settle in the armchair, as Fish looks a little uncomfortable, but he assures you he isn’t when you check in with him. 

Santi takes the opposite side of the couch as Frankie, and then he’s ordering him to start the video. 

The bar on the bottom reads 45:06. Longer than you expected. The video is well-edited with soft royalty-free music over a logo that fades when the man appears on screen. 

You chance a small glance at the couch. You aren’t really sure what the etiquette is here, but neither of them seem to be making any moves yet, hands resting on their own thighs. You mirror them, subtly shifting to do so, and avert your eyes to the television once more. 

The man on the screen is a wicked dirty talker. He spends a good five minutes telling the viewer what he wants done to him. He’s also quite submissive by the sounds of it, which shouldn’t come as a surprise to you. Santi loves the way you submit to him, tells you so every time you hook up. 

You find yourself wondering what Frankie likes in the bedroom, if he’s also just as dominant as Santi, if he’s more sweet or hardened, if he would be vocal like Santi or more reserved like he seems to be in his daily life. 

Before you realize it, the man on the screen is stripping down into a skimpy, lacy set of underthings. His cock is on the smaller side but rock hard and leaking, tenting his little lacy briefs in a deliciously obscene display. Your cock stirs at the sight, and you peek over at the couch again. 

Frankie’s palming the bulge in his sweatpants, eyes glued to the screen so diligently that you think it’s calculated. Santi, in contrast, has his hand under the waistband of his gym shorts already. 

But you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker from the screen, and not to you, but to Frankie, flitting up and down quickly from his face to his lap. 

You try not to sigh too loudly as you cradle your own package, half-hard in your own skimpy briefs you wore just for Santi. You watch as the man on the screen turns his back to the camera and bends over, allows the camera to get a full view of the outline of the plug nestled between his juicy ass cheeks. 

The air in the room feels humid, almost too hot as the video goes on. You definitely get why this guy is their favorite OnlyFans creator. He’s gorgeous, first of all, all lithe muscle, soft in the perfect places. And he’s an incredible performer. He talks to the camera like he’s talking to you, desperate and breathy. It doesn’t take long for your prick to fully fill out in your briefs. 

The camera angle changes on screen. It cuts to him on all fours on the bed, his hole gaping from removing the plug, his pretty pink cock leaking between his legs. A rough grunt from your left has your eyes wandering to the couch again. 

Santi’s cock is out, and the sight alone makes your mouth water. Thick and glistening in his big hand, his balls sat atop the waistband of his shorts. Your own throbs under the pressure of your palm, and you let yourself sneak a look at Frankie, too. 

He’s finally got his hand down his pants, and you almost feel bad for wondering what his cock is like, too. If it would mirror the differences between he and Santi’s bodies, longer but thinner. You wonder if he’s uncut like Santi is, and you wonder what he’d taste like. 

A loud whimper makes you peel your eyes away from the couch and look back at the TV. The guy is three fingers deep in himself, fucking them in along with the messy amount of lube he’s used. It’s fucking hot, and you throw all caution to the wind to unzip your jeans and pull your cock free from its confines. 

“He’s fucking hot right?” 

You turn your head to Santi at the sound of his voice. Your heart picks up at the sight of him, one hand stroking his balls while the other works slowly up and down his shaft. 

You squeeze your own in response. 

“Yeah, not exactly my type but he’s still doing it for me.” 

Santi chuckles, nods his head back to the screen. But before you turn back yourself, you see Fish glance at Santi out of the corner of his eye. He starts to shuffle his waistband down his hips, but you turn away before you see anything you think you shouldn’t. 

The guy on the screen is limber. On his back now, knees pressed to his chest, he’s whining and whimpering while he fucks himself with a big, realistic dildo. 

It’s massive, much bigger than any real cock you’ve taken, but you guess that’s some of the appeal. You try to quietly spit in your hand, then spread it up and down as you lazily stroke yourself off to the video. 

It’s loud. The obscene squelching and consequential moans fill the living room, but not enough that you can’t hear the strokes from both Santi and Frankie on the couch next to you. Occasionally you hear a muffled curse, or a stilted gasp, and you can’t be sure which man they’re coming from but you want to hear more. 

You glance over again. Your eyes land on Santi first, of course, who’s almost shamelessly staring at Frankie’s crotch, the way he lifts his hips to fuck into his fist every few thrusts. 

Frankie’s cock is longer, and thinner, and you’re delighted to find that he isn’t circumcised either, the fat head of his cock disappearing and reappearing from under his foreskin. 

He turns his head, and you stop stroking your cock all together, afraid of Fish’s reaction to you sneaking a peek. Only, when you meet his eyes to shoot him an apologetic look, he’s not looking at you. 

He’s looking at Santi, staring, eyes roaming up and down his body, lingering where he fists his prick, then back up again. You’re stunned still at how intimate it feels, the heat in Frankie’s gaze as he licks his plush lips. 

You turn your eyes back to the video with a pounding heartbeat. Your erection begins to wane as you stare through the TV. You can’t get it out of your mind, the way they look at each other. You’re surprised they haven’t caught each other looking yet. The heat from both of their gazes looked tangible, hungry and yearning. It’s as plain as day to you, on the outside looking in. 

“Ah fuck—” 

The curse is not from Santi. Your eyes trail over just in time to see Frankie pull his shirt up and spill across his stomach. His eyes are closed, head thrown back against the wall behind the couch, and you see Santi’s fist speed up, a blur of tan skin. 

You watch him watch Frankie, unabashed now as Fish’s eyes are shut in bliss, and Santi comes too with a deep hum, closing his own eyes just in time for Frankie to open his and look at the both of you. 

He quickly averts his gaze when he sees you staring, reaches for the tissue box on the coffee table in front of him. In a move that looks so familiar, he pulls out two for himself, and then two for Santi, handing them over with practiced ease. 

Santi pants out a gruff gracias and uses one to clean up with, then holds out his hand to offer you the other. 

“Oh— no thanks, I’m good. Didn’t quite get there.” 

Santi hums, uses the extra tissue to finish wiping himself up. 

“What’s wrong, hermoso? Have I ruined you for all other men?”

His grin is cocky when he asks, tucking himself back into his shorts. 

“Yeah Santi, that’s it.”

You roll your eyes and look over to Fish as if to say this fuckin’ guy, but he’s busy boring a hole into the paused TV screen like his life depends on it. 

Your dick is hanging fairly limp out of your underwear, so you stow it away, pull your jeans back up. 

“Don’t bother,” Santi tells you, nodding his head toward his bedroom, “let me make it up to you now.” 

So with your fly undone, you stand on weary legs and follow Santi to his room. When you make it, you turn back to Frankie, to say thank you or sorry, you can’t be sure, because he’s already closing his own bedroom door behind him. 

Santi makes good on his promise, though. He eats your ass for what feels like hours, until you’re shaking and begging for him to fuck you. And then he does, somehow riding the perfect line between rough and tender, holding your back against his front with one big hand on your chest as you both kneel on the bed. His other hand works your cock so perfectly that you come unglued in a grand way, like you always do with him. 

He cleans you up after, gentle. He’s a huge cuddler, so it doesn’t phase you anymore when he spoons you close and presses his mouth along the little love bites he’s left. 

“You really aren’t into subs, are you? Not even a little bit?” 

You know he’s referencing your lack of interest in the video. You could agree with him, or you could tell him the truth. You’re not sure what to do, and so you sit in silence for some time before you decide to bite the bullet. 

“It isn’t that. I mean, I am more into doms but— that wasn’t it.” 

You feel him go stiff behind you. 

“Shit, was that too weird for you? I didn’t mean to force you into—“

“No! No, Santi, it was fine. I just— you’re into Frankie, right?” 

Air escapes his lungs in something akin to a sob. 

“What!? Why would you say that?”

He’s not denying it, which is a good step. 

“C’mon man, you were watching him more than you were watching the TV.”

“Pendejo, no I wasn’t.” 

“Pendejo” you mock him, “don’t gaslight me. I don’t care. This isn’t, we’re no strings, right? I’m just saying, I don’t wanna come between this thing.”

“There’s no thing to come between. Even if you were right, which you’re not, Fish isn’t into me like that.”

You laugh. 

“O-kay.”

“Don’t ‘okay’ me. How would you know? You’ve known him for a grand total of an hour and a half.” 

“He was looking at you, too. You know that, right? You’re just in denial?”

“I would’ve seen if he was looking at me.”

“Because you were looking at him.”

“Fine! Okay, I was looking at him. He wasn’t looking at me so what’s it even matter?” 

“He was, Santi. He was looking at your cock and licking his lips like he was starved. I saw it.”

Santi huffs behind you, and it tickles your neck. 

“I’m not lying to you. I’m not in love with you or anything but I care about you a little bit.”

His arm around you tightens for a beat.

“Awww, so sweet, querido.”

“Shut up,” you huff, “you’re changing the subject. He was looking at you, like he’s always looking at you. I’ve watched him moon over you every single breakfast I’ve eaten here. You know how bad that makes me feel, eating the breakfast he made me while your cum drips out of me?”

“Fuck, why’d you say it like that? That’s so hot.”

“Because it’s true. If you guys have feelings for each other you need to figure that out before I die of a guilty conscience.”

You can practically feel Santi’s eyes roll behind you. 

“Dramático,” he groans. 

“You do have feelings for him. It seems like he does too. Get your poop in a group about it, man.”

“Will you still stay over? I’ll need a morning fuck if this is the way my weekend’s gonna go.” 

——

I can’t do it. Frankie’s visiting his kid this weekend

The text comes a few hours after you shared your now routine, dysfunctional family breakfast, where Fish was indeed making googly eyes at Santi, and Santi’s cum was indeed leaking out into your underwear.

Likely story

No really. I don’t want to mess with his vibes, his kid is super important to him. It’s cute.

Oh my god just fuck him already

I’m TRYING okay? Can you help? I need moral support.

And look, it isn’t the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you, helping your friend with benefits confess his love for his longtime friend and roommate. But it’s definitely in the top ten. 

So the two of you devise a plan. It’s convoluted as all hell, but also fairly simple. The next time their OnlyFans guy posts a video, Santi invites you over to watch again. Conveniently, just before you arrive, he spills a glass of red wine all over the seat of the armchair, and soaks the cushion trying to get the stain out of the beige fabric. 

You show up, ‘none the wiser.’ Still, the vibes are absolutely weird in their two bedroom apartment. Frankie’s fidgeting on the couch, and Santi misses your cheek and plants a kiss to your eyelid. You have to get these boys together. 

The plan goes off without a hitch from there. Santi flicks off the lights, and Frankie casts the video to the TV, just like they did last time, just like they’ve probably done dozens of times before. But now, the armchair is out of commission, so you all squeeze together on the couch. Santi’s in the middle, of course, his thick thigh pressing against your own as you all point your attention to the flatscreen. 

You’re kind of excited. It’s a weird thing for you to be excited about, but you weren’t lying all those days ago. You do care for Santi. And Fish too, really, if only for the delicious breakfasts he makes, and for making Santi happy. 

This time, you don’t wait for any of their cues. You pull your cock out as soon as the OnlyFans guy starts stripping his clothes. Santi grabs your hand, and for a second you think you’ve ruined the plan. But then spits into it, and Frankie groans from Santi’s other side as he watches the display. You moan a little too, partly for show, partly for the way Santi never fails to make your dick rock hard in record time. 

You stroke yourself, and it goads the boys into pulling their pants down, too. The guy on the screen is doing things a little differently this time, fingering a see-through fleshlight as he lubes it up. This is hotter to you, anyway. It doesn’t take long at all for pre-cum to gather at your slit and slick your strokes even more. 

By the time the guy is fucking into it with timid strokes, whimpering through the speakers, Santi still hasn’t made a move. You elbow him in the side, and he flinches, then elbows you right back. 

You turn your head toward him, make like you’re kissing his neck, because Frankie’s eyes are about to pop out of his skull with the way he’s got them trained on Santi. 

“Go on. You already have an audience,” you whisper. 

Santi shudders, and Frankie looks away. Just in time, too. Santi eyes the way Fish is stroking himself, and then you hold your breath as Santi lifts his hand and wraps it around the base of Frankie’s cock. 

“Ohmyfuckinggod.”

Frankie’s head thunks against the wall behind him, and his hips jolt up into the touch. You’re watching without any hesitation now, and Fish’s eyes are closed anyway. Santi squeezes and Frankie whimpers and scrambles to find Santi’s cock without looking. 

“Fuck, Fish. Yeah?”

Santi’s voice is dripping with arousal, low and gruff, his cock twitching in Frankie’s grasp. 

“Please, please.”

Frankie finally opens his eyes, lets his head loll to the side to look at Santi. But his eyes quickly flutter to you, his expression twisting up in confusion. 

“Santi, what—“

“Shhh, hermano, s’okay.”

You lean forward, and for a moment you’re having an out-of-body experience, watching yourself cradle into Santi’s side, not knowing if you’re helping or hurting their cause, but wanting to reassure them both that this is a good thing.

Frankie takes the encouragement for what it is, allowing himself to fuck up into Santi’s fist and look at him with hooded eyes, mouth gaping open. 

Like a fish, you think, and chuckle against Santi’s neck. 

“What’s happening? Why?”

Frankie looks between the two of you for an answer, and you bite down on Santi’s earlobe to goad him to answer. 

“He caught you looking, last time. Caught me looking at you, too. Put two and two together for me. This okay?”

Frankie shudders and closes his eyes, but nods his head. 

You watch both of them, their hands on each other’s pricks, their hips meeting the thrust of foreign fists. 

“Waited so long,” Frankie whispers. 

“Lo sé, me too.”

Their faces inch toward each other, and you nuzzle the curls at the nape of Santi’s neck. To encourage him, or maybe to shield your eyes from the intimate moment, or probably both. 

You feel the kiss, the way Santi’s neck cranes and flexes, and you hear the ragged moans from their lungs, and you are rock hard.

But your work here is done. You may need to jerk off in Santi’s bathroom before you leave, lest you tumble down the apartment stairs since there’s hardly any blood flow to anywhere other than your dick. 

But as you make to get up, Santi’s free hand plants firmly on your thigh. You still behind him, a rush of awkwardness flushes through your system. 

His head leans back when he pulls away from the kiss, and you watch the way Frankie physically recovers from it, takes a big lungful of air and slowly opens his eyes, licks the taste of Santi from his lips. 

“What do you think, Fish? Should we thank him?” 

Your cock throbs where it’s pressed against Santi, and you feel him chuckle, but Frankie’s nodding his head fast and looking straight at you. 

“Yeah, yes,” he answers, breathless. 

“My bedroom or yours, hermano?”

“I couldn’t give any less of a shit.”

They both laugh, and you find it in you to huff, but it’s anything but authentic when all you can think about is having these two men in bed with you, thanking you. 

“Go get comfy, yeah? We’ll be there in a minute,” Santi tells you. 

You’ve never moved more swiftly in your life, and you’re sure it looks so graceful, walking to Santi’s room with your hard prick swaying in the wind. But you, like Frankie, couldn’t give any less of a shit. 

You undress in the now familiar bedroom, lie back on freshly washed sheets as you hear Santi and Frankie mumble, incoherent all the way out in the living room. Your heart rate picks up when you hear footsteps, but only one pair, and Santi struts in. You can hear rustling from beyond the door, a kitchen cabinet opening and closing. 

“He‘a grabbing us some waters. I wanted to check in, make sure this is all okay? I know it wasn’t the plan.”

Now you laugh. 

“Is it okay? Do I want two gorgeous men thanking me for squishing their heads together like Barbie dolls? It’s more than okay.”

Santi clicks his tongue at you. 

“No need for the sass.”

Your blood runs cold at his tone shift, even as his lips quirk up just the tiniest bit at each corner. 

Frankie walks in, then, and almost looks startled by the staring match happening. Still, he wades further into the room, sets a few glasses of water down on the nightstand. 

You’re suddenly feeling self-conscious, naked and spread out on the bed in front of these two men, fully clothed and practically leering at you. Frankie’s not so shy now; you can feel his eyes on you as they roam across every inch of exposed skin. It’s a heated, tense moment that only breaks when Santi tugs Frankie to him by the hem of his shirt. 

Christ, is it hot to watch, the way Fish’s body goes lax as Santi’s tenses, grabbing the back of his neck. His strong arm flexes as his hand gets lost in Frankie’s curls. They share a kiss that looks like less lips and more teeth. Then Santi’s sliding his hands under Frankie’s shirt, along his flanks, exposing smooth, tan skin. 

They part to fling their shirts off, and you can’t help it, you reach down to touch yourself. You’re watching something beautiful. Their dance is stilted with novelty but still looks so easy, familiar in an unfamiliar way. 

Their noses bump together awkwardly at times, but their hands map out patterns across each other’s bodies that look practiced, like they’ve done this thousands of times before, if only in their dreams. 

And they look incredible together. Santi’s thick and bulky, skin so taught over his frame. And Frankie is leaner, corded muscle covered in softer flesh. It looks so squeezable. It is, you find out, second-hand, by the way Santi grabs him by the hips and pulls him closer, just to push him away to get his pants down. 

They don’t part for long, and you’re stuck in this haze, a participant only by the way you’re sliding your hand lazily up and down your shaft while you watch them. Santi hasn’t waxed since you first met him, and now all that chest hair is growing in, a stark contrast to Fish’s hairless one. And you know it feels incredible, to be in Frankie’s position, getting scratched by all that wiry hair. You know his own hairless chest will be red and splotchy by the time the night ends, like yours has been countless nights before. 

Finally, they come up for air, naked and heaving breaths across each other’s faces as they share a look. Santi raises his strong brow, tilts his head in your direction, and you’re snapped out of your voyeuristic state. 

“Let’s show some gratitude, yeah?” 

His voice is all low and hoarse, and you watch it affect Frankie in the same way it affects you, cocks jumping. And fuck, Fish does exactly as he’s told once Santi coaxes him with a playful slap to his ass. He crawls up between your legs, and his full lips are even more so now, bitten and slick and deep red. Glancing up at you with those long, pretty, fluttery lashes, his sweet brown eyes are all heavy-lidded and hesitant. 

“This is okay?” 

His voice is small, and he’s so goddamn perfect. 

“Yes, Frankie. Please.”

You both exhale at the same time, and then he gets to it, immediately. His tongue hangs out of his mouth when he opens it wide, and he wastes no time sinking down on your prick. 

“Jesus Christ, Fish.” 

You damn near give yourself whiplash to look over to Santi, frozen in place next to the bed, eyes glued to where you and Frankie connect. The latter moans around your cock, encouraged to bob his head faster already, take you deeper. 

“Knew you’d be such a good little cocksucker with those pretty lips. Fuck.” 

It’s so hot, it’s too hot. You’re going to blow in record time with the warmth of Frankie’s mouth and the filth Santi is reciting. 

He must see it in your face, the panic of this all being over way quicker than you want it to be. He kneels on the bed beside you both, gets a hand in Fish’s silky curls and you see the shudder that cascades down his body. 

“Not a race, hermano,” Santi says, tugging at his hair to get him to lift off of your leaking prick. 

Fish stares, wide-eyes and ragged breathing, as Santi arranges himself to lie beside him, both of their faces now inches from your throbbing cock. 

“Control freak,” Frankie mumbles, but the smile on his face makes any heat from his words dissipate.

Santi punishes him with a bruising kiss anyway. Your hips jolt as Frankie’s hair brushes across your dick, so on-edge that even that whisper of a touch sends you reeling. 

Santi chuckles around Fish’s bottom lip that he’s got between his teeth. 

“He so sensitive, Fish. Gotta take it slow, alright?” 

It makes your entire body burn, the way he’s talking about you like you’re not even there. The way he’s been guiding Frankie through everything so far, and the way Frankie follows so obediently. 

Santi shuffles a bit, and Fish does too, so in-sync that you almost laugh. Their unplanned choreography has them both straddling one of your legs respectively, arms in between, their hands finding each other just close enough to your heavy sac that you can feel the heat coming off of them. 

They both look up at you, and for a moment everything is so eerily perfect that it feels like you’re in some sick, twisted Truman Show remake, and this was all a ploy to get you into bed with them. 

But then Santi looks at Frankie, a soft bueno? uttered toward him, and Frankie nods. Santi leans in, for what you assume is to kiss him more, but his nose brushes the base of your shaft. And then Fish leans in too, his own strong nose nuzzling just under your head. 

Your hands find purchase on the backs of their necks, a light touch to ground yourself as you watch. It’s so fucking intimate, and you’re the catalyst for their exploration, and it’s driving you up the goddamn wall. Your curse and watch twin grins break out on their faces. 

Shitheads, both of them. 

They continue on with this dance, breathing in your scent as they nose up and down your cock. Their eyes open and close, but their gazes always seem to land on each other at the same time. 

And then Santi leads, licking a long stripe up the side of you. Frankie follows eagerly once he catches on, meeting him for a sloppy dance of tongues all over the head of your dick, your frenulum, lapping up the pre-cum that’s been steadily leaking from your slit. 

It jerks wildly under their loose attention, and Frankie chuckles deep and low as he chases your cock and Santi’s mouth at the same time. Your nails start to bite into their napes, the burning in your gut becoming far too intense. 

“Guys,” you gasp, “I— fuck. I can’t.” 

Santi hums, leaves a playful nip at the base of your prick that nearly sends you over the edge. Fish lets up, intent to lick up every last drop of your taste from Santi’s mouth, and groans when he succeeds.

You’re all left panting for a minute. You can’t decide who to look at. Santi’s head has fallen onto your thigh, and Frankie’s propped up on an elbow, staring down at him, all along the dips and curves of his tan skin. Santi gets a hand around Fish’s cock, thumbing under the head in slow circles, soothing and relaxed. 

“Everyone still having a good time?” 

Santi’s tone implies he already knows the answer. A weak Jesus, yes huffs out of your vocal chords, just as Frankie nods his head eagerly where it rests in his palm. 

Santi cranes his neck to look up at you, and already you know you’re in for it, a wicked glint in his eyes. 

“You want Fish to fuck you?” 

Your cock throbs near their heads, and Frankie snorts. 

“Think that’s a yes, huh?”

You answer Fish with a nod. It’s been a while since you’ve taken anyone but Santi. The thought shorts out all the wires in your system as you realize you get to learn him this way, what he’s into, what he’ll want to do to you, and how different it is from his counterpart. 

“All fours, both of you. He’ll let you eat his ass for hours, Fish,” Santi instructs. 

“Jesus.”

If it weren’t for the way Frankie scrambles to get into position, you’d ask if he was alright with it. But once he’s hovering on his hands and knees between your legs, he’s manhandling you to do the same, and you love it.

Your cock sways and leaks between your thighs, and Fish pulls and tugs to get you exactly how he wants you. You feel even more exposed than usual like this, with these two men behind you. He spreads you open for him, and you feel your hole clench and relax as it’s exposed to the humid air of the bedroom. 

Then he spits, perfectly aimed, and you feel his saliva trickle all the way down your taint, tickling your balls as it drips onto the sheets. 

A puff of hot air is all the warning you get before his tongue is following that same trail in reverse, all the way up to where your crack meets your back, and then back down, and your elbows buckle and so does your resolve. 

You moan a mix of curses and Frankie’s name, and it only eggs him on, gets him to zero in on your rim with his tongue, circling then flicking, over and over. 

You try to crane your neck enough to see Santi when you hear him swear. 

“You really fuckin’ like this. Don’t you, Fish?” 

All you can see is his tight curls behind Frankie’s own arched back, and his big hands wrapped around Frankie’s slender hips. 

You feel Frankie answer him, an incoherent groan into your asshole as the tip of his tongue breaches you. 

You’re on fire. Your cock is leaking a really pathetic stream onto Santi’s bedding, neglected, and you know you won’t come without any friction, but you also don’t want to. Not for a while, not until you get to feel Frankie’s cock inside you, get to see Santi watch him fuck you. 

You’re anything but impatient, though. Santi was right, the smug asshole. You could keep Fish here for eternity, especially with how fucking diligent his tongue is, lapping you up and pressing inside of you, over and over. It’s dizzying, especially when he begins making desperate noises against you. 

You know he’s in for the time of his life. Santi, as smug as he is, loves eating your ass ‘for hours.’ He’s fucking sloppy with it, and he does this thing with his thumbs that drives you—

“Fuck! Ay dios, Pope, what the fuck?”

Frankie falls lax into you, his nose against your hole and his lips brushing your taint as he curses. 

“Yeah, you like that? Want me inside this cute little ass?” 

Fish whines, shifts his face so he can bite the tender flesh where your thigh and ass meet, and all you can do is groan and push back into him as he gives Santi his answer. 

“Damelo, need you, please.”

Santi hums, and you can tell by how it’s muffled that his mouth is once again occupied. Frankie recovers, though his tongue is much less coordinated now, a messy flurry of licks as he prods at your entrance. 

Then you hear it, the click of a bottle opening, bouncing off the bedroom walls in a familiar way. You clench around Frankie’s tongue, a Pavlovian response, and he groans and fits his lips around your hole and sucks. 

You’re babbling now, strings of nonsense, begging, and praise in the otherwise silent bedroom. You know the exact moment Santi sinks his thick finger inside of Frankie, because you feel him stiffen and shake against you, feel his nails dig into the meat of your cheeks where he’s spreading you open. 

His mouth retreats, and you whine, but he’s tugging on you again to get you to lie on your back. 

It’s a fucking sight when you’re finally able to watch. Fish has his back arched like a goddamn cat, presenting his ass to Santi, mouth gaping open at his skilled fingers.

Santi’s looking over him, one large hand splayed out on his back to keep him still as he fucks into him with what you assume is at least three fingers, the way Frankie’s drool is dripping from the corner of his mouth. Santi’s eyes are glued to his ministrations, where he’s slowly thrusting in and out, his big bicep flexing as he goes. 

He manages to tear his eyes away, though, to look at you and wink. 

“How’d he do? Think he deserves to fuck you, papi?”

You whimper at the mere thought of it, finally feeling him inside you. 

You shake your head, but Santi tuts. 

“Yeah— Yes, Santi. He did so good.” 

Santi’s lips tilt up into a wicked smirk.

“There he is, that’s it, tell Francisco how good he is for us, huh?”

You see Frankie’s cock throb between his legs, hear a pathetic little noise fall from his lips. You and Santi both get a curious but delighted look on your faces at his reaction. 

“Did so good, Francisco.” 

He shivers, hides his face in the bedding between your thighs for a hot minute. A lungful of air escapes him, slow and methodical, before he tilts his head back to Santi. 

“Lube?” 

Santi huffs, tosses the bottle next to Fish’s head. 

“Doesn’t take long for him. He likes the stretch, don’t you bebito?”

You huff, and your face feels hot and prickly as both men look at you. You squirm, and you don’t want to answer, you want at least a tiny bit of pride going into this, because you know you’re bound to come out the other side with absolutely none. 

“He asked you a question,” Frankie says. 

His gruff voice makes your breath catch. 

Santi hums his approval behind him. 

“Yeah, yeah, just— just two, give me two and I’ll be good.”

“What do you say, papi?” 

And Jesus, this is the most Frankie’s said all night and it has your toes curling. 

“Please, Frankie.”

He makes a patronizing, satisfied noise that makes you want to hide but also expose yourself even more. You want to give him everything, him and Santi, let them use you to get their pleasure however they want. 

But then Fish groans, and you see Santi’s arm twisting behind him, reaching for that perfect spot. He makes a mess squirting lube out onto his fingers, and you at least have enough control of your faculties to lift your sac out of the way so Frankie can spread it across your hole. 

It twitches under his fingers, begging, and so are you, just incoherent babbles as he teases you, toys with you. You think you maybe could wait him out, knowing he doesn’t get his until his cock is pressed inside you, but you don’t want to. 

“Fuck,” you whimper, “please fuck me.” 

“Yeah, good boy, there you are.” 

You open your eyes at Santi’s voice. 

“Give him what he wants, Fish. Give it to him so I can fuck you.” 

Two fingers, right off the bat, pressed in slowly but surely in one swoop to the knuckle. You cry out, reaching for purchase and finding the bedsheets to twist into your clenched fists. 

“You’re okay, you can take it, right?” 

And it’s so goddamn mind-blowing, Santi talking you through it with Frankie’s fingers deep inside you.

You nod, opening your eyes again to look up at him. His eyes are so dark, and he’s stroking his thick cock as he continues stretching Fish out, and he looks hungry. He licks his lips and watches where Frankie’s fucking into you, boring holes where you’re connected. You have to reach down with your free hand and squeeze the base of your prick to get yourself together. 

It doesn’t take long for you to adjust, to relax around his digits with a few deep breaths. He praises you, that’s it, take ‘em so well, wanna be fucked so bad don’t you? Your head spins with it as he works you open. Little by little your legs spread wider for him, hips canting up to direct him to the spot inside you that you want him to reach so desperately. 

But he doesn’t. Once it’s obvious you’re ready to take him, he slips his fingers out and wipes the residue on the inside of your thigh. 

“Gonna take me now?” 

It’s a rhetorical question, obviously, as he grips behind your knees and pushes them to your chest. You answer anyway, your own voice so foreign to your ears as you plead for him. 

Santi shushes you, and that familiar noise is calming enough to bring you back down to Earth, where he’s resting behind Frankie, one hand caressing his chest while the other grips his waist. 

“Wanna be inside you, Fish,” he mumbles, nose pressed behind his ear, lips teasing his earlobe. 

Fish’s eyes close, but he guides the head of his dick to your entrance and sinks in, blinding pressure as the head of him stretches you wide. When it slips past, you both gasp, and Santi groans into Frankie’s neck as he watches. 

It feels like years, waiting for him to seat himself all the way inside you. It burns in the best way, friction that has goosebumps dotting every square inch of skin. 

But then his thighs reach the backs of yours. He curses, moves your legs out of the way so he can cover your body with his own. Santi’s gaze is heavy where it falls, the place you and Frankie are fused together, as he spreads a healthy dollop of lube over his prick. 

“Ready for me, baby?” 

It’s palpable, the way the energy of the room shifts when Santi presses closer behind Frankie. Like he’s about to step off a ledge, Fish’s eyes widen and he looks at you with his brows drawn up tight. You reach for his curls, run your fingers through them, scrape your nails across his scalp in hopes that it evens out his breathing a bit. 

Past Frankie’s shaking form, Santi’s expression is nearly identical. His bottom lip is caged between his teeth, brow furrowed, shoulders squared. His eyes flicker to you, and his features soften just a fraction before his hips begin to press forward. 

Frankie sobs at first contact. His sweaty forehead falls to your chest. His cock is jerking inside you, rhythmic pulses as you watch Santi’s hips slowly inch forward. 

“Relax for me, Fish. Deep breaths, baby. I’ve got you, take it for me.”

Santi sounds so wrecked. His voice is wispy, and so deep you can hardly hear from the bass in it. He’s never really sounded this way before, and the reality of this entire situation makes you clench around Frankie’s throbbing cock. 

Santi curses in whispers, and you watch the sweat from his forehead drip down, between his eyes, down his nose, and drip onto Frankie’s heated skin. And then Frankie shifts, pulling out of you. And then, you realize, pressing Santi’s cock deeper inside himself. 

You groan at the revelation, chase Fish’s hips with your own, a domino effect that sets both of them off as well. It doesn’t take much at all for them to find the right pace, like this is just as natural as everything else they do together. For a while you just take it in, let Frankie get his pleasure from you, let them discover the feeling of being so close to each other after a long while of only imagining. 

Santi’s signature filthy mouth doesn’t make an appearance. Instead, he looks stunned silent above the both of you. His mouth hangs open like he wants to say something, but all that leaves his lips are grunts and groans that Frankie echoes into your sternum. His eyes don’t know where to look, so they float between where he’s fucking Frankie, and your own roaming eyes, and finally land where your hand grips Frankie’s hair. 

He lets go of one of Fish’s hips to tangle his fingers with your own, tugging on those chestnut curls. Frankie slams his hips into you at the sensation, bites down on the meat of your pec and keens before he lets Santi’s grip pull his head back. 

His eyes are completely fucking black, no iris to be found when his heavy eyelids open to look at you. And it’s a very strange thing, when you watch him look right through you and call out Santi’s name. 

Strange, but fucking hot. 

“Let it happen, Fish.”

“No. I– I can’t.”

“You can, fuck, don’t hold it. Come inside so I can fuck it out of him.”

Frankie crumbles. You watch it happen, his eyes snapping shut as he chokes on a high-pitched sound. His face twists up, and you feel his hips stutter against you as he starts chanting Santi’s name, over and over. His cock jerks with every wave of his release, and he’s shaking, collapsing dead-weight on top of you. 

“That’s it, did so good. Feel so fucking good squeezing me Fish.” 

You’re momentarily squished by the weight of two grown men when Santi rests against Frankie’s back. He kisses where he can reach, soothing the place on his scalp where he was tugging at the hairs. 

“Mierda, Santi, get off you fucking oaf.” 

And it’s cute, the way Frankie gets so grumpy even after he’s just come his brains out. You ruffle his hair, when he’s finally not sandwiched between you two, let him collapse beside you instead with a sweaty arm draped across your middle. 

You only have a few moments to appreciate the tenderness before Santi’s lifting your leg onto his shoulder pressing his thick fingers inside you. The noise is obscene, and Santi swears as Frankie’s cum trickles out of you. 

You know you’re in for it now. Santi sets his jaw and arranges your hips so he can slide right into you. You moan at the feeling, and the knowledge of where his cock has just been, noises tumbling out of you as he picks up the pace where Frankie left off. 

And you almost forget about Fish, caught up in the pleasure of Santi railing you just how he knows you like. But then a warm, trembling hand wraps around your cock, even though Santi’s own are gripping onto you tight, and it’s heaven. 

“Let me see you come,” Frankie says, voice all hoarse and worn out. 

You whine, loll your head to the side to look at him. 

But this time Santi’s hand is grabbing you, just shy of too rough when he takes your chin in his hand. 

“You look at me. Look at me when I make you come, papi.” 

And you take it as an order, because Frankie’s hand speeds up and squeezes tighter, and Santi’s fucking into you deep and fast like he does when he’s about to come. 

You shake with it when it finally happens. Your spend splashes down Fish’s knuckles, up your stomach, your chest, christ some of it even lands on your chin. And you know you’re babbling but you don’t know what words you’re using, only know that they come from high in your throat as you gasp for air. 

Santi follows you so closely, burying himself impossibly deep as he releases. You hear Frankie encouraging him, but the sound is miles away as your head swims in that familiar, blissful place. 

When the ringing in your ears settles, and your vision unblurs, and all your nerve endings don’t feel like they’re on fire anymore, Santi’s cock has been replaced by his tongue. You give a weak protest at the overstimulation as his greedy mouth licks the mess out of you. It doesn’t matter, he comes up for air just as soon as you realize where he’s at. 

Your bleary eyes watch as Santi leans over you, grabs Fish’s face in his hands and tugs at his bottom lip with one of his thumbs. Frankie opens his mouth, obedient as ever, and then a mix of Santi’s cum and his own is tumbling from Santi’s lips into Fish’s mouth. 

Once the damage has been done, an image that will forever be burned into your mind, Santi lets his lips press against Frankie’s. He kisses him deep but slow, savoring the concoction of tastes, until Frankie has to lean back for air. 

And then it’s silent, and still, and a pit of dread makes itself known in your gut in record time. 

“I’ll grab us some towels. Don’t either of you move a muscle.” 

Frankie huffs but stays put. You shake out some of the tensed-up muscles in your legs, grasping for something to say to break the tension. 

Turns out you don’t have to. 

“Bossy little prick,” Frankie mumbles. 

It makes a giggle bubble up out of you, even though it’s not even that funny. You suppose the nervous energy needed out somehow. 

“Don’t know what you see in him,” you agree. 

Frankie hums, tilts his head like he’s contemplating it. 

“I’m kidding. He’s sweet. You’re a lucky guy, so is he.” 

You’re interrupted when Santi reenters, two fluffy towels in hand. You tidy up as best you can, then sigh when you no longer have anything to occupy your hands with. 

“Stay the night?”

And this time, those familiar words are uttered by Frankie. It surprises you. For a moment you think he’s just being nice, appeasing you. But his brown eyes do that same thing that Santi’s do, where they get all wide and watery and it’s impossible to say no. 

So you snuggle under the covers, and it’s a bit awkward at first with an extra set of limbs. Santi takes his coveted position as big spoon, but this time behind Fish. Then Frankie coaxes you closer, a hand at your back to urge you to rest your head on his outstretched arm. 

The three of you talk about how hard you’re all going to sleep, and you close your eyes and listen to two other sets of breaths. You let it lull you to the edge of consciousness. Just before you slip under, Santi’s voice is deep and smooth. 

“Te amo.”

And Frankie’s whisper is just as silky. 

“Te amo.”

—

In the morning, you all wake up slow, and take care of business, and mosey out into the kitchen. It’s natural to watch Frankie make eyes at Santi over his eggs, but you know that Santi’s routine walk to your Uber will be anything but. 

Their apartment door slams heavy behind you two as you head to the normal pick-up spot. 

“So this is probably it, huh?”

You have to force yourself to look at Santi’s face, squinting in the mid-morning sun. 

His brows draw up, and you really hope he doesn’t make this anymore awkward than it needs to be. 

“It doesn’t have to be, no.”

His head shakes back and forth with his declaration, and you almost flinch when he reaches for your hand. 

“Listen. Give us some time, you know? Let us… figure… this out. Once we settle, I wanna see you again. Fish does too.” 

You’re sure your face is doing something funny, because Santi laughs and pushes you. 

“Not gonna get rid of us that easy, cabrón.”

[yetanotherhiddlestoner]

(MDNI 18+, smut will be eventually happening in this story line but still please respect the MDNI)

(Plus size reader x Negan. In the world of the dead rising, you just happen to fall for the one fucked up person who has no interest in you. And I am aware the timeline doesn't add up but for the story I had to make the timeline longer than a couple months.)

Word Count -1993

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CHAPTER FOUR - I FELL HARD, YOU'LL FALL HARDER.

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The sun rises and the rays hit your face waking you up slowly. You open your eyes and just stare at the ceiling. Negan had taken the guest room across from you, it felt odd having him in your house, thinking back to when you met you were under his watchful eyes and orders and now the tables have turned.

You sit up and throw your legs over the side of the bed and stretch as you walk around to the door to head downstairs to make breakfast. A simple pancakes and eggs and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice will do for you both today. You hear his footsteps above you as you cook and hear him leave the room to the bathroom, you then hear the shower go start.

10 minutes pass and finally Negan makes it downstairs to the dining room.

"Morning" He says gruffly, his hair messy and wet from the shower, once again in his pants from yesterday. "Morning Negan" You reply as you slide the pancakes onto the plate, slowly making your way to the table with them. "How was your sleep?" You ask placing the plate in front of him with his juice. You quickly go to retrieve yours and sit across from him. "It's been a long time since I actually slept on a bed and fucking hell it was the deepest sleep I have had." He says as he cuts his eggs and shoves the fork into his mouth. "Remind me to take you out to see if they have any spare clothing for you, you can't keep wearing the same dirty ones." 

"Would be nice to wash them soon, don't think you want a stinky roommate" He chuckles. "Listen I want to clear the air on somethings, I know we agreed to move past the past, but I just need to know somethings if you will" You say as you take a bite of your pancakes.

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Negan looks over the table as his fork stops midway to his mouth. "Go on" he says.

"I want to know if you regret the name calling that day?" You ask looking back at him as he sets his utensils down.  "You have to know I honestly do regret it. I shouldn't have said those things to anyone especially you. But my damn ego got the better of me, I needed to be in control at all times." Negan says his eyes softening. "And your wives? Sherry was the kindest of them all, she gave me a chance to have a life" You stop and think of your next words. "Did they ever truly mean anything to you? Did you even have feelings for them or were they are pawn in your sick game?" 

Negan shakes his head "The wives, they never meant anything to me, they were just another way to control people, trophy's, I didn't see them as people, I saw them as objects and a way to escape for my own selfish need." He sighs running a hand through his hair, "They were pawns yes, I married Sherry to control Dwight, used his loyalty to her to make him do my bidding, it was pathetic, there are no words to describe how dirty I feel now looking back at what I did to those poor people."

Negan takes a deep breathe before continuing.

"What I feel for you is something I haven't felt in years, since my wife died." Negan says looking at you, you knew he was married before life went awol, but he never spoke about her, never shared that part of him with anyone. "When I lost Lucille, part of me died with her, I became a monster, the wives, their husbands, everything was game to me that I didn't want to lose at, I needed them to be afraid of me but at the same time worship me. Then I found a woman who needed a different version of me, not the cold nasty Negan, she would come to know me as. I felt my heart open to a feeling I thought was long dead." Negan and you lock eyes once more and you notice the way his eyes glisten with moisture, a hint of tears that he has been holding back.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Over time the feelings grew, with each smile, each hello and goodbye, every time you laughed at my pathetic jokes, I watched as you stood in the crowd when I had the iron to someone's face, you never flinched or looked away, I admired the bravery but also wondered how you could stand there watch without showing emotion. Once the wives noticed how I changed every time I was around you they tried to get me to add you to the collection of them, they knew that if you were the favorite girl that I wouldn't use them as much and they would be able to have some sort of freedom, but I didn't want to do that, I wanted you and only you, no other wives or women." "But Sherry said that night after you and I spoke, that you had been boasting about it all week? What did she mean?" You bite your lips trying to forget that conversation, but you needed answers. "I was hoping that one of them would warn you about what I was going to do, I was stupid to believe they might actually care about you like I did. That night when I called you to my chambers, I had hoped that you had gotten wind of the conversation, but when you looked away and didn't answer me, I was pissed off, but I was foolish to keep up the Big Bad Wolf that I hurt you." Negan sits there quietly after that.  "They were afraid of you, that is why they never said a word, just in case you found out the truth. Sherry was in the bathroom when I left your room that night, God I was afraid of her, so I looked at her and told her all you said was right, I was fat, and I gotta stop eating. We stocked up on food and water over the course of two months until I took off. I wanted to take her with me, she was so miserable." You twiddle your fingers and look at the table. "I never punished her for letting you go, I suspected she helped but she never admitted to anything." Negan says giving you a sense of relief.  You both sit in silence for a little just letting everything he told you absorb into the depths of your mind. He finishes eating and gets up taking his plate to the sink.

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"Never in my life has someone words hurt as much as yours did" Your voice breaks the silence. "I was always a fat girl, started in high school, grew a thick skin around the bullies, around the men that would pretend to like me to make fun of me, I never fell for it, once they got bored of me giving them no reaction they gave up. As an adult I was ugly friend, men never looked at me when I was with my friends, but you, god, I threw caution to the wind, opened my heart to feelings, each time you would parade your wives around, it broke, but then you would talk to me that I would forget how cruel you could be. I was happy with it just being a one-sided thing." He stops as you turn in your seat to face him, your eyes filling with tears. "No-one ever truly loves a fat chick, we are just the steppingstone to something better or so I've been told over and over and slowly you start believing it, and you start settling for less than your worth. When you found me I was happy to not be the type of girl you had an eye for, you know the pretty, flawless types." Negan walks over to you and gently pushes your legs apart and kneels between them, wiping the tears that threaten to fall. "That is where you are wrong, like I said I saw you and I felt something, it wasn't lust or anything like that, it was affection, that affection turned into a like and slowly it turned into more." He said looking up at you. Negan sits up a little giving you a gentle yet firm kiss. You break apart after a few seconds. "Come on we better not be late for my first day" Negan whispers as he stares at you. You nod and smile as he gets up to go and get dressed.

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The first stop of the day is gardening, you show Negan how to tend to each plant and where everything goes, the community watches as you and him walk around Alexandria talking. You ignore the whispers and glares of Rick's group. After lunch you take him to see Olivia once more to see if they have any clothes for Negan.  Olivia looks at Negan with fear in her eyes, the last time they saw each other he had just insulted her weight. Negan clears his throat "I am sorry for what I said when I first saw you. I hope that one day you can forgive me for my rudeness." You look at him and Olivia quietly, you were not expecting him to apologize. Olivia only nods and turns her attention to you. "We need some clothing for Negan, would you have any his size?" You ask and Olivia nods. "Sure do, we have recently moved our wardrobe upstairs, first door on the left. Feel free to try them on and make sure to write down what you take" she says handing you a pen and paper. "Thanks Olivia." You say as you lead Negan up to the wardrobe. Once inside you close the door and turn to him. "You apologized?" You ask. Negan stops and turns to you, "Why shouldn't I?" He raises an eyebrow. "Just not used to you saying sorry to strangers, that is." You go over to the men's shirt and grab a black short sleeve off, laying it over your arm. "Well, I have to start somewhere making amends for some of the things I did, start small," He grabs a pair of black pants. You hand him the shirt. "It's good to see you trying, but remember, they won't believe you truly changed." "As long as I can show you, I have, I don't care what they think of me." He says looking at the shirt and smiling.

"All black, eh?" Negan questions you. "Black is your color, it suits you." He comes closer to you, blocking you between his body and the clothing. "Really? Is that what you think?" He leans in whispering. "It is what I know." You smirk at him. "You know what color suits you?" Negan says as he leans in more, his lips skimming over your neck. "What?" You whisper back. "The pretty pink skin color you're hiding under all these clothes" Negan nibbles at your neck, earning him a moan. "So naked them?" You ask, his hand cupping your bottom. You moan as he starts kneading your flesh, "Probably not the time or place for this Negan" you say trying to move away from him to grab some more clothing from the rack, feeling a little regret for stopping. He sighs, and lets you move aside.  At the end you take two of everything, and jolt it down, handing it back to Olivia as Negan walks ahead of you.  "Thank you Olivia" You say, "Next time I go on a run I'll keep my eyes out to replace what we took" "Would love to find some more kids clothing, they grow so fast" she says, you smile and nod, leaving to catch up to Negan.

[leilani-lily]

~Oh Deer~ (Chapter 4)

Should I have divided this chapter up into two parts? Yes. Am I going to? no~ ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ I promise not all chapters are going to be this long. I just... kept typing ◉‿◉ Anyways hope you enjoy! ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) SYNOPSIS: AroAce! Alastor x Chef!Singer! Reader. Finally admitting you're a fan of his show, Alastor invites you up to his radio tower. Shenanigans ensue as your bond grows. Word Count: 4.1 K Chapter under the cut! ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You honestly hadn’t expected your morning coffee with Alastor to become routine, yet the Radio Demon always seemed to pop in right on time; mug in hand and grin on his face. You weren’t complaining though, it was nice to have company while the rest of the hotel was fast asleep. Plus you felt a little flattered that a demon apparently so powerful and well known seemingly wanted to spend time with you. Sometimes Alastor would even stay as you would begin cooking breakfast, either continuing to chat happily or just sit in peaceful silence. He would watch you cook, sipping his coffee as the radio played softly in the background. As much as you hated the early mornings, you were slowly finding they were becoming your favourite part of the day. 

You’d chat about various things; music, food, likes and dislikes. Sometimes you’d even gossip about the shenanigans that happened at the hotel. You couldn’t help but giggle at the way his eyes would light up and grin widened when you brought up another guest at the hotel. The amount of sass and zero fucks this lanky demon posessed had entertained you more than you wanted to admit. Alastor was quite the gossiper, which you never would have guessed. But given his radio broadcasts were him ‘spilling the tea’ on the going’s on in Hell, it honestly made sense.

“Oh Alastor, I forgot to mention,” you began, your back turned to him as you busily whisked some eggs for today’s omelet, “I really enjoyed your program the other day in particular; your views on the Vee’s ‘love potion’ was really interesting.” 

Unbeknownst to you, Alastor perked up from his cup, his eye’s blinking in surprise. “Y/n dearest,” he paused, tilting his head, “do you mean to tell me that you listen to my show?” 

You felt your cheeks go red with embarrassment, not daring to turn around to look at him. You had meant to tell him when you first realized who he was, but it was honestly humiliating to admit. Before you had even begun to work for the hotel, you had been a fan of Alastor’s radio show. You often listened to it in the background on your trusty CD machine back when you lived alone. It was a nice way to fill the silence, plus you found his views and stories compelling. You could feel the tall demon’s eyes burning into the back of your head, the silence deafening. 

“Y-yeah actually, I do.” You stammered, still not facing him, “I’ve tuned in for a couple years now, and-!”

“Why y/n my dear~!”

His voice sounded chillingly closer, making you turn around in confusion. Sure enough Alastor was towering over you, only a mere inches away from you as he smiled brightly. You nearly dropped your bowl of eggs in shock, Alastor paying you no mind as he leaned in closer.

“Now why wouldn’t you tell me this sooner? Something this important should have been mentioned earlier!”

Clutching your poor racing heart, you put your bowl and whisk down and take a moment to look up at the demon before you. His smile was ear to ear and eye’s dancing as he looked at you. He actually looked almost giddy at the news. It helped to ease your nerves in admitting the truth.

“Well, I wanted to!” you chuckled, eyes looking away from him, now nervous due to the proximity of the demon, “But I didn’t want you to think I was some stalker or creep when I first got here, so I kept it to myself!” 

Alastor’s grin shifted into a closed smile, leaning away from you and looking off to the distance. “Hmm yes I can see your point. As much as I love meeting a fan, sometimes they can be rather… assertive, given the realm in which we live in.” His eye twitched in annoyance for a moment before his gaze flitted back to you.

“Nevertheless~!” He declared, his previous excitement coming back, “This is still information I wished I had known sooner! No one else at this establishment has expressed such interest, so it’s rather refreshing to have a confidante intrigued in such matters.” His eyes suddenly widened, and his grin slowly began to creep up further on his face. Without warning, he quickly began to walk away, heading towards the door. You watch him start to leave, confused but his sudden desire to depart. 

“As you know, my next broadcast will be at 9 am sharp. When you are finished with your duties, you simply must come up to my radio tower.” 

You felt yourself straighten up in surprise, eyes widening in disbelief. No way. Was he serious?? Your fingers twitched in excitement, not wanting to get your hopes up but secretly dying to go. 

“Are… Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want to intrude or anything-!”

Alastor flicked a hand up, silencing you immediately. As he approached the door frame, he turned his body to look back at you, half lidded and smiling mischievously. “I expect to see you outside my room at 8:30. Don’t.” his eyes flashed, smile tightening for a moment, “Be late.” And before you could say another word, his body sinked into the shadows and scurried off, leaving you alone and stunned. 

You had whisked through breakfast quickly that morning, your excitement barely containable. You felt a little starstruck; Alastor had invited you to his studio. And he was going to let you listen to his broadcast in person! Your brain raced with questions about how it all worked, what it looked like, how he chose his topics. Before you knew it, time had flown by and you were standing in front of Alastor’s door, heart pumping and practically bouncing from foot to foot. With a quick breath, you give a knock.

It wasn’t long before Alastor opened up, his eyes looking at a pocket-watch in his hand before they slid to look at you. His eyebrows raised up slightly in amusement. 

“8:29. I’m impressed~” He grinned, his fingers snapping the watch closed before tucking it away in his jacket. You gave a small nod of acknowledgement, pleased with his approval. Without another word, he turned and walked back into his room, the door swinging open further as a silent invitation. After some hesitation, you followed suit, letting your eyes wander as you inspected his livingspace. 

The furnishings looked just how you expected. Deep mahogany wood with golden accents, a bookshelf filled with multiple tomes, and a desk scattered with paperwork. There was a beautiful marble fireplace glowing an eerie green hue with two velvet chairs in front, and various candles helpt to light the room. There was a beautiful vintage canopy bed with dark red curtains and very soft looking blankets. You were intrigued by the various skeletal decorations of various animals; antlers, skulls, and even the full anatomy of an alligator. 

But honestly, what had caught your attention the most was the magical glow of the bayou that seemed to just expand from nowhere. His room opened up to this expanse of wetlands that seemed to just go on forever. The soft chirping of crickets could be heard in the distance, as well as the bellow of the occasional toad. You stepped from the hardwood into soft dewy grass, your breath hitching in wonder as fireflies flickered by. You reached out a hand as one softly fluttered to your fingers, a soft laugh escaping your lips as it landed and tickled your skin.

“Mesmerizing, isn’t it~?” Alastor stepped up from behind to stand beside you. Your head turned to him as he looked out at the marsh, a fond expression on his face. “Certainly a peaceful sanctuary to escape to when one grows tired of the chaos that is the city.”

“It’s incredible,” you breathed, watching the firefly on your hand eventually takeoff and soar out of sight. You had never felt so at ease in all your years in Hell. It almost made you a little weepy, the gentle reminder of what nature was like before you dropped down to Hell. You didn’t even realize you were walking further into the wetlands until you felt a hand on your shoulder, stopping you from continuing forward.

“Now now y/n,” Alastor’s voice pulled you back to reality as you turned back to him. He cocked an eyebrow in amusement. “Another time, my dear. I’ve got a radio show to run; we mustn't be late.” You felt your heart sink in disappointment, but you knew he was right. Besides, you still really want to see where he worked, despite being enchanted by this mysterious wetland. Looking out at the magical bayou one last time, you walk back with Alastor into his actual room.

The Radio Demon walked up to a closed door to the right and prepared to open it for you like the gentleman that he is. As you stood before the entrance, you could feel yourself getting excited over what was on the other side. What did it look like? What sort of equipment did he use? How many other demons have seen his workspace? The excitement was almost unbearable as he swung the door open, your bright hopeful eyes suddenly widening in fear as a gust of wind hit your face.

You looked out to the expanse of Hell, a thin rusty bridge leading from the outside of the building to his tower. As the wind bellowed, you could hear the creaking of metal as the tower gripped rather precariously to the side of the hotel. Your eyes dared to peek down, feeling your knees begin to quake at the height of which the drop was if you were to fall. You remained frozen in place as Alastor stepped in front of you, walking along the narrow path without a care in the world. As he approached the ladder at the end, he turned back to you and tilted his head to the side, as if confused by your hesitation.

“Alastor,” you stammer, your hands gripping the edge of the doorway, “I would rather sell my soul for a corn chip than walk out on this sad excuse of a bridge.” The tall demon raised an eyebrow at you mischievously.

“Don’t tempt me y/n dearest.” he smirked, his neck almost snapping as his eyes flashed red for a moment. You ignored his threat, too distracted by the fear gripping your heart as you looked down. Alastor watched you amusingly for a moment before finally rolling his eyes and walking back towards you. He shook his head and tutted to himself, as if dealing with a child.

“Come now, we mustn't dawdle,” he chirped, reaching a hand out for you and finally making you lock eyes with him. Though you knew he sounded condescending, there was a certain gentleness in his smile as he bent down lower, his hooded eyes not at all holding any malice. It was odd; you knew what atrocities this demon was capable of doing, yet in this moment, you felt like you could really trust him to keep you safe. After what felt like hours, your own shaky hand finally reached out and gently fell in his outstretched palm.

His hand tight around your own, he began to walk backwards and guided you forward. Your legs took small trembly steps as your other hand gripped the rails like a vice. You felt like you wanted to puke when you approached the halfway point, but Alastors grip on you was strong and secure, and helped to ease your fears. You were grateful that he never turned his back to you, continuing to step backwards as his eyes remained locked on yours; it helped you to focus on him and not look down. You knew he could’ve done many things to upset you; teased you, tricked you, edged you on. But he was surprisingly tender the whole way, and your heart warmed for a moment. His mother did an excellent job raising such a refined man. 

Finally reaching the other side, you let go of his hand and practically threw yourself at the ladder Alastor chuckled at your dramatics as you took deep calming breaths. Finally settling your racing heart, you look up at the lookout above and begin to climb. You managed to hoist yourself up through the hatch, standing up straight and finally getting a good look at the workspace.

The tower had windows all around, giving you a magnificent view of Hell. There was a huge heavy desk in front of you filled with various equipment; turntables, microphones, wires, and a giant control panel at the center of it all. It was filled with various switches and dials and flashing lights, all seemingly able to control different things. There was a single large chair in front of the desk, as well as a round side table with a simple lamp and a tray of whiskey and cups. Vines hung from the top of the ceiling while cattails seemed to grow from the floorboards. 

“Welcome to where the magic happens!” Alastor cheered behind you, stepping forward and gesturing to the space. “I made it very clear to Miss Morningstar that if I were to help at the hotel, I would require a private space to conduct my work.” 

“The foundation is… unsettling.” you remark, knocking on the glass panel beside you as the tower groaned in the wind. Alastor quirked an eyebrow in amusement. 

“But I’ll admit, the view is fantastic.” You sighed approvingly, staring out and watching the city bustle below, red skies dusted with soft clouds. You never thought you’d admit this, but Hell had a certain beauty to it. You admire the landscape for a while longer before turning back, realizing Alastor had been watching you the whole time. He spoke up before you could think anything of it.

“Well my dear, I do believe it’s almost time for the broadcast to start,” he immediately turned to go sit in his chair, waving a hand in the air as his microphone appeared. “I suggest you get comfortable.” With a snap of his fingers, a velvety red armchair poofed beside you near the small side table. You smiled at his thoughtfulness, realizing there weren’t many places to sit otherwise. You settled down into the soft chair, your heart beginning to race in excitement. 

“And in case it isn’t obvious,” he continued, “I would advise you to remain quiet while I’m on the air. Can’t have any outside noises interfering with the audio now can we~?” He turned back to you for confirmation, a serious and almost threatening look crossing his face. You give an excited nod, pursing your lips tightly together and not realizing your body was swaying side to side eagerly. Alastor’s expression softened ever so slightly.

“Good girl~” he praised, turning back to the desk and flicking some switches, preparing the transmission. Alastor paused for a moment, quickly clearing his throat before pressing a final button. A bright red light on the console flickered on, and before you knew it, Alastor began to speak.

“Salutations my wayward souls, and welcome back to the show!” He smiled, speaking so eloquently into the microphone. “Today’s broadcast is an extra special one as one of my good friends is here with me. And in honor of that, I’ve decided to dedicate this particular topic just for her~!”

You felt your heart melt with warmth at his words. He considered you a good friend? AND he was dedicating this show to you?? You almost wanted to weep, you were so touched. You were practically on the edge of your seat, ready to hear what today’s focus would be.

“So, without further ado~” Alastor teased, turning his body so you could see his profile. He looked at you and you waited with baited breath. 

“This segment is called ‘Cooking with Cannibals! How to Properly Mince a Man to Avoid Choking~!”

…………….

This.

Fucking.

Asshole.

Alastor watched you giddily as your smile slowly fell into an angry pout, his own mouth rising into a shit-eating grin. You had never seen him so gleeful until this very moment. You were about to yell at him when his free hand rose, pressing his index finger against his teeth in a shushing motion. Your eyes flickered from the red beacon flashing, then back to him, his grin growing even wider, if possible. 

Oh mother-fucker.

You slouched into your chair, sulking and shooting him daggers as you flipped him off. Alastor’s face wrinkled in pure delight as he turned back in his chair, continuing the show as if nothing had happened.

The shithead continued to talk for half an hour about different chopping techniques, which parts of the body had the most bones and what to avoid, and even went over how to perform the ‘Heimlich maneuver’ in case choking was inevitable. As furious as you were, you had to admit, it was a little funny. Plus, you couldn’t sulk for long as you watched him work. His voice was so soothing; the rhythm in which he spoke had a certain pattern that captured you. He also spoke with such ease and confidence, it was hard not to marvel at how he could speak to millions of listeners and not even break a sweat. You had to hold back a laugh at the way he gestured while talking, subconsciously acting to the audience even though they couldn’t see him.

You could tell the Radio Demon was wrapping up, giving his final thoughts and farewells before he finally reached over and pressed the button again. The red light stopped flickering, and the room fell silent as Alastor sat for a moment, back facing you. Finally, he swiveled the chair around and focused on you, smiling proudly and crossing his legs.

“So my dear!” he beamed, his eyes calculating as he looked at you, “What did you think~?” Your eyes squinted into thin lines.

“You’re a real prick, you know that right?”

Alastor immediately bent over in laughter, shoulders shaking with joy as his laughter track played in the background. You continued to glare at him, arms crossed as he reveled in the fun. He rotated from trying to recover, to looking up at your pissy face, to snorting again and laughing even harder. The more he laughed, the more you had to bite back your own smile. Finally, the tall demon managed to catch his breath and straightened his back.

“Ohhh my dear,” he chuckled, wiping a stray tear from his eye, “You honestly cannot blame me; you make it too easy to tease you.” He leaned in closer to you, eyes practically dancing in delight. You stare at him a moment longer before finally cracking a smile and shaking your head. 

And this is why you didn’t tell people how you died.

“Ok, well, despite being completely roasted for about half an hour,” you sneered; Alastor cast you a wicked grin, “it honestly was a good show. Your segment’s flowed really well together, the jokes you threw in were witty, and it was obvious you had done your research.” You looked up to him and smiled warmly. “I really enjoyed watching you work, Alastor.” 

Alastors face didn’t waver as he looked at you, his eyes scanning you in thought. For a moment you couldn’t tell what was running through the demon's brain. But then, one of his ears flicked ever so slightly, and in a moment you knew. You had come to realize that was something he did when he was secretly happy, but didn’t want anyone to know. You had to physically stop your grin from widening at his reaction, you would never dare reveal the little quirk to him. He leaned back in his chair and hummed, playing off his secret pride. 

“Well, I’m glad to hear it was to your liking,” he mused, his eyes soft as he looked at you. There was a gentle pause as you both watched each other before his eyes widened in delight, an idea popping into his head. Immediately, the lanky demon stood up and extended a hand to you. 

“Come! Let me show you how everything works.”

For the next couple minutes, Alastor presented all his equipment to you, explaining what each thing did and how it worked. You ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ as if it was show-and-tell, asking many questions and showing genuine interest. He was quite pleased to answer, clearly happy to boast and prove how smart he was. As time ticked on, you realized that you had to get back to the kitchen to start making lunch, and Alastor gave a nod of acknowledgement. With a snap of his fingers, you had both transported back into the kitchen.

“WAIT!” you gasped, looking to him in horror as you realized where you were. “Are you telling me you could have ‘poofed’ us into the tower and I DIDN’T have to risk my life on that sketchy-ass bridge?!”

Alastor looked at you a moment before his lips curled up into a mischievous grin.

“ALASTOR!!” you roared, a laugh escaping your throat as you looked up at him in disbelief. The Radio Demon couldn’t help it as he snickered. He had got you. Again. All you could do was stare at him dumbly, not sure whether to be angry or ashamed or even impressed. 

“Ohohooo~ I suppose that’s enough teasing for one day.” Alastor sighed, straightening out his jacket and tie. “Don’t you worry my dear, the next time you come up I’ll be sure to teleport you straight into the tower. No more high wire acts~”

Wait… did you hear him correctly?

“ ‘Next time’… ?” you echoed, not wanting to sound too hopeful. Alastor finally looked at you and blinked, giving you an obvious look.

“For my next broadcast! I figure if you’re listening anyways, you might as well hear it right from the source~!” he proclaimed, saying it matter-of-factly. Your eyes widened at the offer.

“Do… do you really mean that?” You couldn’t help it, it was too good of an offer. And for free at that. You knew it was rare for the Radio Demon to offer something without anything in return. Now it was Alastors turn to give you a confused look, tilting his head at you as if there was any doubt. 

“My dear,” he began, his arms crossed behind his back and turning to face you fully, “I insist~! I’ll admit, I would be lying to myself if I said I didn’t enjoy your company today; having you around was thoroughly entertaining.” the demon wore his shit eating grin as he reminisced all the funny moments. But the way he looked at you, you could tell there was a hint of sincerity in his words, even if he expressed it in an insouciant way.

“Besides,” Alastor continued, “Since you’ve been a fan for so long, it might be nice to get a listener's perspective on how to make my segments even better. A fresh perspective from someone I can trust.” his eyes held your gaze, making you feel as if he was looking straight into your soul. 

You knew he was trying to sound logical and strategic, but his true intentions were peeking through. He really did seem to actually like you, despite all his razzing. And you had to admit, this morning had been so much fun; even with the teasing that came with it. If being friends with Alastor meant a little prodding along the way, then it was well worth it for the excitement and joy he brought into your previously boring life. You took a breath and smiled at him, eyes crinkling in delight.

“Thank you Alastor, I’d love to sit in again with you, work permitting that is,” You smile sheepishly and gesture to the kitchen, realizing you still had a job to do and couldn’t spend all your time with him. But that was enough to satisfy the Radio Demon. With a content grin, Alastor suddenly took one of your hands and bowed at his waist, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I look forward to it dearest~”

Your heart lurched as he closed his eyes and lifted your hand up, pressing the back of it to his forehead. You could almost feel a soft burning against your skin from the spot in which the X marked his temple. Knowing that was a very sensitive spot for him, this somehow felt very intimate. You knew he was just being a gentleman, but still, you couldn’t help the flush growing on your cheeks. His grip on you tightened a moment before he finally pulled away, letting your fingers slip away from his before stepping back. Giving you one last look, the Radio Demon turned around and glided out of the kitchen.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Imma take a couple day's break cause hoo wee that was a lot. ε-(´・｀) But thank you for reading thus-far! Please feel free to reblog and comment below; your words help to fuel me ( ≖‿ ≖ )

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[lionlena]

Headcanon: How do they cook for you? (Pedro Pascal characters) 🥕🧑‍🍳🍓

🍳 Joel Miller

Joel is not the best cook. Of course, he had to learn how to cook for Sarah, but he always kept things simple.

He is a supporter of one-pot meals. What he cooks for you is really delicious, but simple. There is no culinary madness about it. That's why Joel prefers it when you make dinner.

But it doesn't bother you anyway. Especially since Joel loves making breakfast for you. Whenever he can, he will get up earlier and make you a delicious breakfast: scrambled eggs, pancakes, waffles... Everything you like.

And if he finishes making breakfast and you're still asleep, he'll bring you breakfast in bed. He will kiss your forehead and whisper, "Get up, baby girl. I made you coffee and breakfast."

From time to time, Joel will also take you to your favorite little restaurant. This way neither of you has to cook and you can enjoy your time together.

🍽️ Oberyn Martell

Cooking is the last skill he needs, which is why he can't cook. As a prince, he never had to worry about this. Food was always served to him on silver trays. Even when he was a warrior, he didn't have to worry about it.

Of course, if he and you find yourself in a wild desert, he can easily hunt something and roast it over a fire. He would never let his Queen starve to death.

However, you can't count on Oberyn to stand in the kitchen and prepare something for you.

On the other hand, you don't have to do this either. Just tell the servants what you want and your dish will be brought to you after a few minutes.

Oberyn loves to surprise you and organize picnics for you. By the river, in an oasis in the desert, in the gardens... Once he even organized an evening picnic for you on the roof of the palace.

🌮 Javier Peña

Cooking isn't something he's great at. But he is a specialist in making drinks.

For most of his adult life, Javier learned to eat out or buy home-cooked meals.

However, it's not like Javier can't cook anything. There are a few special dishes that his mom taught him to make. And although Javier may feel insecure about his culinary skills at the beginning of your relationship, the longer you are together, the more willing he will be to prepare these dishes for you.

If you cook, you can always count on Javier to wash the dishes and clean the kitchen. After all, he doesn't want your beautiful nails to get damaged.

You just have to sit on the couch and enjoy the drink he prepares for you.

🥞 Jack Daniels

This may come as a surprise, but Jack is very good at cooking. All because he was a mama's boy when he was a kid. He loved helping his mom in the kitchen and cooking with her.

Now he loves cooking for you and you can't help but admire how Jack transforms in the kitchen.

It's so cute to see him without a stetson and jacket, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and wearing an apron with the "Kiss the Cook" written on it.

Sometimes you just can't help yourself and hug him from behind and then steal a piece of carrot or sausage. You then hear his scolding voice: "Sugar, don't steal... Remember your manners."

But you know he's actually smiling and it doesn't bother him at all.

But what Jack does even better than dinner is... Cakes and desserts! You've never eaten such delicious muffins, desserts, croissants... Jack always watches with a wide smile as you eat these sweets, knowing full well that you will reward him later...

🍴 Dave York

Dave doesn't cook, he doesn't even try to learn. He thinks you're better suited for it because you're a woman.

Don't get me wrong, Dave is not some fucking misogynist. He will support you in your career and support your passion and women's rights. He doesn't think that women are only good for cooking and bearing children, but... Dave grew up in a traditional home with a traditional division of roles. And he just never felt like cooking.

You don't even know if he's bad at it because he's just never tried it.

But that doesn't mean he doesn't help you with other household chores. Dave doesn't mind cleaning. In fact, he's actually really good at it, because it's part of his job (cleaning up the crime scene). He can also do laundry or iron his shirts without any problems, but... He stays away from the kitchen.

But that doesn't mean you have to cook all the time. If you don't feel like it, no problem. Dave will make sure to take you out to a restaurant or order takeout at least three times a week. You are his princess and he will never let you think otherwise.

Besides, the kitchen is sometimes not meant for cooking (if you know what I mean.)

🍔 Frankie Morales

To say that Frankie is a disaster in the kitchen is an understatement. Frankie tries really hard, but he can burn anything... You never thought that somebody could burn scrambled eggs.

But he is a great helper in the kitchen. Nobody cuts vegetables as quickly and precisely as Frankie. To top it off, he never has a problem doing shopping for groceries. He doesn't even need a list. Just tell him what dish you want to make and he will know what to buy.

Frankie also knows all the best places to eat cheap and delicious food.

But surprisingly. Frankie is excellent at making barbecue. You don't understand how this is possible, but it is. And no one makes burgers as delicious as Frankie.

🍲 Din Djarin

Din hardly cooks. Most often, he makes broth and always adds too few spices. Sometimes he will also roast what he hunt over the fire, but he doesn't care what he eats.

Years spent as a bounty hunter and many planets visited had taught him to eat anything. Literally everything. Sometimes you think Din's stomach is made of beskar too.

Unfortunately for you, Grogu also has some strange food preferences (like father like son). You've seen him eat a frog more than once! But he, like you, thinks that soup with live 'octopus' is not normal!

That's why you forced Din to add a kitchen to your little house on Nevarro.

"Yes, Din, we need a kitchen!"

And you like cooking, especially for Grogu, who always accompanies you in the kitchen, because this little one is always hungry. But Din appreciates your cooking too, and you know it when he sneaks up behind you while you're cooking and gives you a sweet kiss on the cheek.

🥗 Marcus Pike

Marcus loves cooking for you! And he's great at it, he just needs to have time for it. He used to order takeaway food very often, but not because he didn't like cooking, because he didn't have time.

But since you became his wife, he slowed down, wanting to focus more on family life. Cooking is his form of love language.

Sometimes you even have to force him out of the kitchen and tell him that this time you will make dinner. But even then, Marcus will offer to help you with cleaning and washing the dishes.

Marcus loves experimenting in the kitchen. He doesn't always get everything right, but you always praise him because you love seeing his happy smile and his eyes shining with joy.

If you get pregnant, Marcus will fulfill your strangest kitchen whims.

🧇 Javi G

Javi (like Oberyn) never had to learn to cook, he always had cooks or could afford expensive catering. However, Javi is not against cooking, especially if it makes you happy.

Just tell him what kind of dishes you like. Italian? Mexican? Chinese? No problem. Javi will hire a top chef to give him a cooking lesso.

Then he will proudly cook you your favorite dish. He will watch with impatience and nervousness as you take your first bite. When you tell him that something is delicious, Javi will go crazy with joy.

Of course, he won't finish with just one dish. After all this is Javi! Your hyperactive, passionate husband. So you can count on lots of interesting dishes cooked with love.

But of course Javi will also take you to expensive restaurants. Sometimes he just wants to spend more time with you and hold your hand while you wait for someone else to cook for you.

For the first time, I am ready to cheat on my husband Oberyn with my husband Jack or with Marcus… Oberyn, don't look at me like that, if it weren't for the servants, we would eat fried scorpions every day…

Pernament tag list: @harriedandharassed