#gin rates | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hier--soir · 9 months

Text

ripe

pre-outbreak joel miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: a night out with old friends helps you and joel realise what’s been missing in your relationship. warnings/tags: pre-outbreak, set in the early 2000s, early thirties joel my lover boyy, bisexual reader, established relationship, that one shit stirring friend, brief alcohol consumption and piv sex at the onset, brief masturbation [m] in the bath, a little ass eating and fingering, a little spitting, pegging, dirty talk, praise, dildo is described as "your cock" multiple times, reach around hand job you will always be famous, they talk each other through it, the word hole is used 11 times but it feels like 100, also they're in love okay bye. word count: 5.3k masterlist a/n: this is being posted as a part of the PMAMC organised by @wannab-urs ! if you wanna read more glorious pegging fics for pp characters, a masterlist of everything being posted this week will be shared by gin soon! <3 x much thanks to @bageldaddy for holding my dick while i wrote this, for the edit, and for reminding me that where there is gape, there must also be affection x

Oil Can Harry’s is dark and loud; packed enough that condensation drips off the walls around you and makes the hair at the base of your neck frizz.

Packed into a sweaty booth, Joel’s flannel amidst all the glitter and hairspray and fruity cocktails of the drag night makes you grin. Your oldest friends fawn over him, endeared by the way he talks, the way he stands, the way he looks at you.

He smiles, warm and sheepish as they regale him with stories from years ago. Blushes when they remind him that he’s the first cock in a long line of cunts. Squeezes your knee beneath the table when they assert that he must be doing something right to have been kept around this long.

He settles in fast, lips slick and eyes glazed. Stops flustering while ordering Wet Pussys and Cock Sucking Cowboys, but still raises an eyebrow when a friend asks you, isn’t there anything you miss about it?

About what?

Dating women.

You roll your eyes, the sharp tang of vodka beneath your tongue as you shake your head. No.

S’not all that different, Joel offers up, smiling easily. Right?

So you tell him, No, and then, I mean, it is. But good different.

But your cheeks have gone hot, eyes downcast as you sip a pink drink and try not to think about what exactly you miss. But Joel, fingers firm on your thigh, knows. He always knows.

So later when you’re in his bed, thighs pressed flush to your chest and he’s sinking inside your wet heat, it’s clear he isn’t letting up that easily.

“You jealous?” he hums, elated and almost taunting, revelling in the way you sound as he fucks you. “Miss being the one fuckin’ someone this good?”

“Oh fuck off,” you whine, breathlessly embarrassed, gripping his shoulder and rutting your hips up against his, chasing the high that’s already tingling in your stomach.

“Naw, I want you to tell me.” He leans in, all ears for the dirty confession waiting to spill from your lips, loving it. “You miss your cock, baby?”

His hips press deeper, and the confession leaves your lips in a gasp. “Yes, fuck, okay yes I miss it.”

“Mm, you gonna show me it sometime?”

You feel your face go slack, stomach tightening at the thought, and Joel pushes further, harder.

“Yeah baby, that’s what you want,” he goads, reaching between your bodies to press his fingers to your clit. “Want to fuck me, yeah? Bend me over and show me how much you miss it?”

You come with blood rushing in your ears and your hand gripping his ass, mind a blur of images of you being the one fucking him.

The next morning, sorely hungover and still tangled in his bedsheets, he asks if you were serious.

“Serious about what?” you ask, throat hoarse, eyes still closed.

His hand slips down your back to grip the flesh of your ass, the tip of his middle finger pressing dangerously close to your asshole until your eyelids crack open and you look at him. Brain ticking over, catching up slowly, eyes widening when you understand his train of thought.

When you don’t respond, head pounding and heart racing, he says, “If that’s what you want I’d—”

But caught up in the moment, in your own bashfulness, you interrupt him. Face warm at the idea of him having to placate you the morning after a drunken confession, you kiss him and say, “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

Joel goes a little quiet, but kisses you back with fervour. Sucks your lower lip into his mouth and rolls on top of you, not letting you get out of bed until well into the afternoon.

It’s not until a month later that it all finally becomes clear.

The house is oddly quiet when you get home.

Your living room is lit up by lamps across the space, but the television is off, and the couch cushions look undisturbed.

“Joel?” you call softly, stepping into the kitchen, pausing in confusion when you don’t find him there either.

You drop your purse on the counter and rifle through it for your phone, pulling up your text thread with him to reread his messages from a few hours ago.

You staying out late?

Not tonight, AJ has work early tomorrow. I should be home by 9. Meet me there? x

Perfect. See you at 9 x

The clock on your microwave reads 9:24 but you can’t hear a peep from anywhere in the house. Not a creaking floorboard or a shower running or even a snoring boyfriend.

“Babe, are you here?”

Nothing seems amiss at all until you reach the bathroom and find the door slightly ajar, light spilling out into the hallway as soft little sounds float out to your ears. Quiet murmurs punctuated by water lapping against porcelain.

“Joel?” You crack a knuckle against the door, careful not to nudge it open without his permission. “You okay?”

A rough inhale sounds behind the door and you pause, heartrate spiking a little. But then his voice calls through the wood, a little stilted as he says, “You can come in.”

Joel Miller hardly fits in your bathtub. All the times he’d joked about trying to squeeze in there with you, or when he’d come over with a sore back but insisted on a shower instead. But seeing him now, torso submerged in the water, muscled legs propped up against the wall with his hand resting between his thighs… you certainly aren’t complaining to see your broad boyfriend cramped up in your bath, touching himself.

“Hello there,” you murmur, bending to press a kiss to his sweaty temple. The tips of his curls are damp, frizzing around his ears as he smiles up at you. “Indulging yourself tonight I see.”

“You got no idea,” he replies, chin tilting upward as he stares you square in the face.

You smile at his flushed cheeks, at the muscle in his bicep flexing as he touches himself. Your gaze follows the veins in his arm, the flick of his wrist, but when you look into the water you pause. His cock is a rich red colour, hard and throbbing where it rests, neglected against his stomach. His thick fingers disappear past his balls, curling slowly out of your sight.

“Joel,” you exhale, face warming as you watch, slowly understanding. “Are you…?”

A harsh stream of air bursts from his nostrils as he meets your eyes, cheeks burning hotter by the second.

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about it,” he admits gruffly. “Not since that night at the bar.”

“Fuck,” you shake your head, frowning a little. “I thought you were just… Joel, I’m sorry I brushed you off that night—”

“Naw,” he tuts quickly, brushing the apology away with a jerk of his chin. “I should’ve said.”

There’s a brief silence, your brain racing to catch up, a slow smile slipping across your face.

“Read that a bath helps,” he says then, gaze heavy. “Soft and loose the website said.”

And whatever you’d been about to say, whatever thought was bubbling in your mind, slips away in an instant.

In its place, just a bone deep, aching love for this man. It’s clear in his eyes; tenderness, and care swirling in his stare. Endless brown, struck with adoration, clearly saying, I want to do this for you, with you.

Throat tight, you lower onto your knees beside the tub. “S’it feel good?”

A breath rattles through his chest, and he nods again.

You lean closer, craning your neck to try and see better. Find yourself wanting to catch the exact way he presses his fingers inside himself. How he curls them, massaging inside himself. But he notices and pulls his hand away, gripping his cock instead and grunting.

“Looked through your stuff.”

“Hmm?” You meet his eye again, mouth dry.

“The drawer in your closet,” he exhales, eyelids fluttering as he strokes himself. “Found your… I don’t know.”

“My what?”

“The harness,” he grunts out, fist tightening around his cock. The tip rests out of the water, flushed an angry mauve colour, little beads of pearly come oozing from his slit. “All the… I don’t know what the fuck you call ‘em. You know what I mean, alright?”

“Joel.” You laugh a little, endeared by how bashful he can be, even as he touches himself in front of you. “Don’t get shy on me now, baby.”

“M’not.”

“No?” You smile, voice low and breathy now, liquid heat sparking in your veins the longer the idea percolates through your mind. “So you want me to fuck you?”

“You know I do.”

“You’re gonna let me put my cock in you, stretch you out just right for me, the way I let you do to me every night?”

“Fuck.” Joel’s eyes pinch shut, fist tightening around his cock.

You reach in and yank out the plug, watching as water begins to spin and gurgle, and Joel grips the edges to pull himself up. The water drips off him in thick beads, pouring from his fingertips, down the centre of his chest, keeping the curls at the base of his cock tight and dark.

He’s over the lip of the tub in a second, crowding you against the sink with a thick arm on either side of you, wet chest darkening the fabric of your blouse, mouth slotting against mouth. Steam warmed lips smother yours, tongue snaking out to press inside your mouth, and he swallows down every little moan and gasp of excitement you feed into his kiss. His cock is warm against your stomach and his hips stutter back every time you grind the buckle of your belt against him, grinning into his mouth.

“Gonna make it good for me?” He grips your face in both hands. Tilts your chin up and smears nasty kisses over your jaw, down your neck to the collar of your shirt, skin smarting where his teeth snap at it. “Take care of me the way I do for you?”

“You know I will,” you pant, eyelids fluttering as he sucks at hollow of your throat. “Fuck, I bet you’re so tight.”

Joel releases a wrecked, gravelly moan against your skin and then he’s gripping your arm, nudging you forward, past the threshold and into your dimly lit bedroom. The closet is open, third drawer down hanging limply out from the chest. Inside you can see that things have been shifted around, looked at. And on your bed, there’s a dildo. Heat rises in your chest as you stare at it. Thick and long and red, with a curved tip and raised silicone decorating shaft to give the illusion of veins.

Joel drapes an arm around your waist, holding you back against his bare chest. The thick weight of his cock presses against the base of your spine and you sigh, grinding back into him.

“Remembered you sayin’ it was your favourite.” He nips at your neck, inhaling as his nose presses into your hair. Your chest swells at that, and you turn your head, let your lips find his in a soft kiss.

That hand on your waist drifts down until his palm is cupping your sex through your pants, fingers pressing firmly over the inseam there. You sigh into his mouth, hand falling overtop his to keep it in place.

“It is my favourite,” you murmur into the kiss. “But we’re gonna start much smaller tonight, hmm?”

Joel makes a vague noise in the back of his throat, dark eyes searching yours.

“Don’t think I can handle it?”

“You’d be cruisin’ for a bruisin’, baby.”

Somehow, he blushes deeper than before, and clears his throat.

“Alright.”

He watches on as you dip a hand into the drawer. You gravitate to glass. Thick rose quartz with a gorgeous, rounded base. But you push it away, knowing it won’t work with your harness. You trace the length of a pretty mauve cock, ribbed for your pleasure—or his—with preternaturally large balls. Still too long. Everything too long, too thick, too much. But then you see it. Pale blue silicone, nestled beneath silk rope ties and a set of handcuffs you guys hadn’t used in in a while. You shift things away and pick it up.

Soft and smooth; it’s maybe 6 inches long with a little curve towards the end, and it’s oh so pretty in your hand. You grab a bottle of lube and turn to put them on the bed, smiling at the way his dark eyes focus on the items. So curious, so filled with desire, with eagerness to please, to let you do this to him, for him, with him. The trust on his face warms your chest and sets your heart racing.

Joel lands softly on the mattress as you reach back in. Fingers meet leather and soon enough he’s watching as you peel your pants down your legs, your underwear. Undoing the buttons on your blouse as he strokes his cock, pupils dilated, mouth hanging open. Only when you’re bare do you slip your legs into the harness, sighing as black leather tickles against your skin on the way up, and situate it around your hips. Only a little shy under the intensity of his gaze, watching him see you like this for the first time.

Pulling and twisting straps until it’s perfectly snug, you crawl up the bed to straddle his hips. His skin is warm and wet against yours, and his hands fall to your hips in seconds, wide eyes admiring the contraption fixed to your waist. He toys with the straps, eyeing the little silver fasteners, and then glides a finger around the inside circumference of the o-ring, breathing a little deeper now.

“S’nice,” he compliments, looking back up at your face. “You’re… you…”

“What?”

He shakes his head, as if in disbelief. “You’re gorgeous.”

You stare down at him for a moment; the hard set of his jaw, the strong line of his nose. Lean in and kiss him, softly this time. Whisper, so are you, against his lips and smile when he laughs.

Tapping his side, you get off and urge him to turn over. “Let me show you.”

His broad body twists, falling to land on his front with his legs bent, weight balanced on his knees and forearms. You trail featherlight fingers over his thick shoulder blades, down the strong line of his spine. Touch the little dimples at the small of his back, and then lean down to kiss them. Slowly, one and then the other. You feel his breath hitch a little and smile against his skin, landing on your knees between his calves and letting your hands fall over the muscled cheeks of his ass. Squeezing, kneading the flesh there with tender hands, and then pushing them apart, baring him to you.

“Oh,” you breathe quietly, eyes trained on the dark hair on his skin, the tight little hole between his cheeks. “So pretty, Joel.”

You sigh into the crease of his ass, fingers digging into the firm flesh of his cheeks as your tongue flicks out to glide over his hole. Still wet from the bath, he tastes like soap and warmth and Joel. His body goes tense for a second, back muscles flexing as he adjusts to the new sensation.

“Y’ain’t gotta do that—”

“I want to.”

You kiss the base of his spine again. Give him a moment to tell you he doesn’t want it, or he doesn’t like it. But seconds pass, and he stays silent, so you grin and lean down. Eyes closed now, you lick him again; soft little strokes of your tongue from his balls to his tight hole until his body goes soft and lax and he’s exhaling little sighs into the pillows.

“Fuck,” he says. “So this is what I’ve been missin’, hmm?”

You hum against him, the corner of your mouth ticking up into a little smile as you prod your tongue against his rim, urging him to relax more so you can press deeper. As he opens up for you, you squeeze his hips gratefully, fingers soft and kind against his skin.

“So good for me,” he continues breathlessly, almost babbling now, stream of consciousness pouring from his lips in between sharp gasps and low grunts. “Got the prettiest little mouth, I wish I could see it baby—fuuuck—that’s it, good girl.”

Your fingers flutter a steady rhythm over the skin of his thighs. Caressing the dark hairs there, the twitching muscles, humming when he shivers beneath your touch. The harness digs into the flesh at the inside of your thighs, at your hips, and you almost moan at the familiar bite of it. Relish in the way it pinches at your skin when you bend and raise your ass in the air, working him open around your tongue.

With your nose pressed against his skin, you lathe messy kisses against his hole. Feel the way it clenches beneath your tongue and whine, inhaling the natural musk of him as you go. Your mind a blur with soft skin and rough hair and tight tight tight around your tongue.

Drunk on the taste of him, you let your hand drift from his thigh around his waist. Float across his stomach, forefinger dragging over his belly button, his happy trail, down down until your fingers glide over the slick head of his cock. Joel jumps a little, hypersensitive, and exhales a rough moan as your fingers wrap around his length and slowly begin to stroke. With the steady movement of your hand his asshole begins to pulse beneath your tongue and so you pull back to watch it. Admire the way it flutters and clenches. Quick, so fast your mind can hardly process it, you’re collecting saliva in your mouth and letting it drool past your lips, wet and messy as it pools over his asshole. Joel’s cock throbs in your hand and he groans. You think he even arches his back a little, his entire body pleading for you to just put your mouth back on him. But you take a second; watch your slick spit turn his skin shiny and grin, raising hand to suck your fingers into your mouth and then press your middle finger against him.

The tip of your finger presses forward, working to relax that tight ring of muscle, and he exhales heavily.

“I wanna fuck you so bad,” you tell him, voice thick with want as you pull your eyes off his ass to meet his stare.

“Then quit playin’ around and fuck me.” He presses back against you and groans when your finger slips inside his ass.

“Hey,” you warn, curling it slowly inside him. So warm and tight, unforgiving at first as you try to stroke at his insides. “Slow, okay?”

“Just want to feel you.” It’s clear on his face too. Pupils dilated, vulnerability splashed across his features with nowhere to hide.

“You will,” you soothe, pulling your hand back only to work a second finger inside. Kiss his skin again. “Let me take care of you.”

He doesn’t voice any complaints after that. Too busy with his face pressed against the pillows, drooling and grunting as you stretch him out around your fingers, his tight hole clamped down around the digits. You don’t touch his cock again, too worried he’ll come before you can really give him your all, but he gives pitiful little ruts toward the mattress. Soon enough his movements become so needy, so often, that, with a pang in your chest, you figure it must be painful. You almost ask how long he was touching himself before you came home, but then he’s interrupting the thought, reaching back to grip your wrist, wide eyes pleading with you from over his shoulder.

“Alright, love,” you murmur, pulling your fingers back and nodding. “I think you’re ready.”

Resting back on your heels, you grab the dildo and work it into the ring on your harness. Checking once, twice, to make sure it’s stable, before opening the bottle of lube. You squirt some onto your fingers, some directly onto the tip of the cock, and begin working it over the length, admiring the way it turns shiny beneath your touch.

“S’a pretty cock baby,” Joel admires, cheeks flushed. He watches you over his shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded as you stroke silicone, lube warming between your palm and the shaft.

“You like it?” He nods and your chest warms with pride at the way his eyes darken, gaze darting continuously from your face to the piece between your legs. “Well, you’re gonna love how it feels.”

A fresh pump of lube onto your fingers and you’re shifting forward, on your knees again, lathering it onto his hole, smiling at the squelch as you pump your fingers inside him and push it in.

And then, soon enough, pale blue meets dark pink. Prods and presses, soft at first, and then firmer as he relaxes for you. Lube rolls down the shaft in rivulets, pooling against puckered skin, drooling lower to coat his balls, and a low sound rumbles from Joel’s chest. When you pause, his chin ticks to the side and he peers past his shoulder to look at you.

“You good?” he asks.

“Mhm. You ready?”

“Yeah.”

Joel shivers when your hand lands at the base of his spine, thumb resting in the cleft of his ass, right above where you’ve started to press the tip inside him. The skin beside his eyes tightens, and he nudges his hips back into you, almost imperceptibly. You shiver at the sight, a sharp flush of arousal sparking between your thighs as you admire the plump shape of his ass. Like a ripe piece of fruit, begging to be split open.

Joel chuckles knowingly; can see it in your eyes, the way your mouth hangs open. “Come on now. I know you’re dying for it, baby.”

You grip his hip to keep him steady, cock notched against his opening, and continue pressing forward. Just gentle rolls of your hips at first, making sure everything is wet enough, checking in every now and then. But once the rounded tip pushes inside, Joel starts to squirm. His skin is flushed a deep red, beads of sweat rolling down his back, and you stroke his skin to soothe him.

“Joel?”

“Need you inside me.” His voice cracks a little on the last word,

“Shit, okay,” you exhale, fingers tightening on his waist. Your eyes leave the side of his face, locked on where your cock is steadily disappearing into him, and you press forward, bottoming out in one fell swoop. Leather meets his skin and the sounds he makes are none you’ve ever heard before. Deep, rumbling groans that come from the base of his stomach and force their way out of his throat. Tanned fingers grapple with your bedsheets, searching for an anchor as you drag your hips back and little and then feed your cock into him again.

You curse under your breath, unable to look away from how his hole gapes around the silicone, opening up for your every thrust.

“So fucking tight,” you whisper, awed as he ruts his ass back against you. Your fingers dig into his flesh, holding him open so you don’t miss a thing. “You look so good this, baby.”

Words are lost to him though, only able to form incoherent grunts and mumbles of your name as you deliver steady, deep strokes into his ass. It’s a slick glide now, almost no resistance left as you pump your cock into him.

“Talk to me,” you urge, sweat dribbling down your temples and smearing across your neck. “Wanna know how it feels.”

“Feels—” Joel chokes out, voice a thin, broken rasp. “A lot.”

“Yeah?”

“So fuckin full,” he says. “God, you’re so good, feels—fuck, feels so good.”

You moan a little, eyes glazing over as you pick up the pace, fucking him harder, hand between his shoulder blades as you press him flat against the mattress. And those rough noises he makes only urge you on, encouraging you to press a foot into the mattress at his side and push a little deeper until he’s gasping, thighs spasming below you.

“Shit,” you whimper, face screwing up as you watch his hand drift beneath his stomach. “I knew it, knew you’d love this.”

You tug on his hips, pulling him back onto his knees so you can force his hand away and replace it with your own. Slick fingers wrap around his cock, the two of you cursing in unison at the way he pulses against your warm palm.

“Turn over for me.” Your fingers prod at the soft flesh around his hip as you pull out. You stare at the way his hole gapes open for a second, fluttering around the empty space where your cock has just been, and feel your cunt clench in response. “Please, I want to see your face.”

He lets you guide him, careful hands on his arms, his waist, until he lands on his back. A little unsure, his thighs fall apart so you can rest between them, and you give him a reassuring nod.

“That’s perfect,” you say, rubbing his thighs as you tilt them open wider, caressing his balls as you line yourself up with him again. “Doing so good for me, you’re perfect.”

And when you make contact, slipping in easily now, his stiff cock jolts and he lets out a ragged moan, reaching out for you.

Joel’s heavy hand lands on the base of your stomach, fingers twitching against the harness there.

“Wanna touch you,” he says, eyebrows pinched with need.

“I know, I know,” you murmur under your breath, smiling down at him. “Just let me take care of you, I wanna make you come like this, okay? Need to see it.”

In response he just tucks his fingers around the top of the harness, holding on as you fuck into him, hot and heavy. Long, strong strokes that have his cock twitching against his stomach, pre-come dribbling from his tip as he just fucking takes and takes and takes.

“Keep talkin’ to me,” he pleads.

“You’re taking it so well,” you say, watching him keen under your praise. The skin on his chest glows with sweat and you lean forward to kiss his sternum. In response his fingers card through your hair, holding you to him as you mould your hips against his over and over.

“I love you.” You kiss the words into his skin, mouth falling open when he groans and starts raising his hips to meet yours, thrust for thrust. “So good for me, I love you, baby.”

“I love you,” he repeats, dazed and out of it when you pull back to look at his face again. You can tell he’s close; can see it in the twitch of his fingers, the shake of his thighs. “Shit.”

And so you grip his knee with one hand and his cock with the other, pressing him open wider and stroking his length in time with your thrust. His eyes sharpen and he cries out. A harsh, high noise that makes your stomach tighten and your hair stand on end. And then he’s panting, telling you, fuck, right there, right fucking there, keep goin’.

His chest heaves below you, soft stomach moving fast and hard as you hold his knee to the side, griding your cock against that perfect little spot. Joel’s jaw pulls taut, veins thrumming in his neck as he holds his breath, seemingly fighting against the intensity of the feeling.

Your back aches, muscles on fire, but you push through, desperate to see the look on his face when he comes like this for the first time. And Joel must sense your determination, that burning need inside of you, because he locks eyes with you and nods.

“That’s it, baby,” he tells you. “Fuck me like I fuck you, that’s—shit, that’s perfect.”

Spurred on, your fingers tighten around the base of his cock and you slow your pace to a steady grind, rubbing the tip against where you know it feels best. He tells you as much, with the way his breathing starts to stutter and his nods become slow, lazy drags of his head.

“Fuck yeah,” he groans, eyelids fluttering half closed. “Gonna…. fuck, I’m gonna come, baby.”

You watch the muscles in his abdomen pull tight, feel his hand land on your waist, propelling you forward to keep fucking him as his high creeps up and up inside of him, until you say let go, I’ve got you, come for me, and it all falls apart.

Thick white spurts from his ruddy tip, slicking your knuckles and painting your tits in pearly streaks that drip down your stomach. Joel’s groaning, teeth bared as his eyes loll back. The veins in his neck deep blue and pulsing, face a dark crimson as he shakes beneath you. Some of his come even lands on his own chest, and you moan at the sight, still fucking into him, trying to prolong it for as long as possible. He bats your hand away, fingers tangling tight and desperate around yours, and you watch in awe as come continues to dribble from his untouched cock. Streams of white that roll down his shaft, past his taut balls to where you’ve still got him stuffed to the brim.

“Ohh,” you murmur in delight, admiring the way his come looks on your cock, streaks of white on blue as you fuck him. “Yeah, that’s it, baby. God, you look so good right now.”

It all gets a bit too much for him after that. Fingers squeezing at your thighs, mouth twisted up as he murmurs, that’s it, baby, that’s all I got, and you ease yourself out of him, despite knowing you could probably keep milking him for all he’s worth and he’d just moan and take it because he loves you.

Instead, you watch as Joel’s legs go limp against the mattress, hovering over him, trailing your fingers softly against his hairy calves, catching your breath.

“Holy shit,” he rasps, reaching up to rub a hand over his face. You laugh quietly and press a little kiss against his knee.

A sticky mix of come and lube dribbles from the tip of the cock, dotting against his skin, and you apologise softly, fingers coming up to start removing the harness. He just smiles, body spent but eyes soft and loving as he watches you fret. Rapt beneath the weight of his gaze, you pause, cheeks aching as you smile down at him.

“Good?” you ask hopefully.

“Great.”

Pride sweeps through you and your smile only grows as you finally remove the harness, peeling it from your legs and nudging it away. You reach for his hand and he grips it between both of his, bringing it up to his mouth to lay soft kisses against your palm, the tips of your fingers.

“I love you,” you tell him again, and the feeling swims in your guts and burns the inside of your chest. It’s all you can think as he presses your hand to his cheek and nuzzles against it – that this is all you could ever hope to have and to keep. This beautiful, loving man who you want to make feel this good for the rest of your lives. He repeats the words against your skin, drowsy and earnest, and you know he must be feeling the exact same way.

“Don’t move. Let me get you some water,” you whisper, shifting to get off the bed, but he catches your wrist as you pull back, shaking his head lazily.

“Don’t go far,” Joel murmurs. “Just gotta catch my breath, alright? And then I’m gonna make you come so hard you’ll be seein’ stars.”

thank you for reading! x

#my writing #fic: ripe #PMAMC2024 #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

lupines-slash-recs · 7 months

Text

Rec: Burn a Fever That I Caught from You by demonprodigy

Title: Burn a Fever That I Caught from You Author: demonprodigy Canon: Bungo Stray Dogs Pairing: Ichiyou Higuchi/Gin Akutagawa Rating: Mature [🍊] Word Count: 2,533 Summary: Ever since hearing her speak for the first time, a certain Port Mafia

View On WordPress

3 notes · View notes

twinksrepository · 3 months

Text

Getting used to the heat

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: Diavolo X F!Reader

CW: Sweating, talk of sex, fingering, creampies, P in V, smut, breeding kink, big dick, bad jokes, teasing

Word count: Roughly 2.3K

A/N: You're hot. And Diavolo doesn't see a reason to let you sweat for no reason in his bed.

Also known as it's really hot where I am and I've got it bad for this demon.

Images belong to Solmare.

You let out a soft hum as you roll over more onto your stomach and slightly away from the other figure next to you that seems to be producing a massive amount of heat. You might enjoy being warm but after what you had done earlier you didn't need to feel as though you were cooking in your own skin.

A content sigh passes from your lips as the smooth and cool sheets make you slump more into them as they briefly serve to chill your damp skin. You relish in the cooling sensation that slowly has you feeling more like yourself. At least until a large palm lands on the small of your back and starts to trail upwards reheating your skin.

A soft groan as you try to bury your head into the fabric of your pillow that earns you a chuckle that seems to almost vibrate the mattress the pair of you are resting on. “Too hot!” Your attempt to ward off the wandering fingers muffled by the fluffy pillow encasing your face.

“That isn’t what you were saying earlier.” His deep voice carries that hint of jovialness that it always seems to carry no matter what he's doing.

“Earlier is different, it's hard to not have sex and get hot, especially with how much heat you produce. Now I just wanna be cool.” Muttering still but you lift your head as those large fingers sweep over one of your shoulders. Laughing as the fabric dips and you find some of his bulk pressing against your back and his arm dropping along your upper back across your shoulder blades. Finally lifting your head and turning to see those golden eyes that remind you of fall locked onto your face and ginning like a mad man through his reddish brown hair.

“So what I'm hearing is I am too much for you to handle.” Diavolo's delivery is spot on in being both playful and serious and you can't help but laugh more as his eyes seem to shine in the dim lighting of his bedroom.

“Just the heat you produce, the rest of you while rather daunting.” Wiggling your eyebrows at him as you glance downwards knowing he'll understand what you mean. “I've learned to handle everything else you can throw at me.” Smirking at him and giving a playful wink even if your body is starting to sweat once more. “Serious Dia, I'm sweating and we aren't even doing anything.”

“Then perhaps.” Letting his voice drop into a deeper husk as he moves his face closer and places his lips on the corner of your mouth, whispering the next part in a way that makes your core clench with the sensualness of it. “We should go for another round, so you can adapt to how warm my body is the way you've adapted to the rest of me?” Pulling you onto your side and closer to him so he could slide his lips against yours in a kiss that quickly escalated as your hands found themselves tangled in his red locks and trailing along the muscles of his shoulders.

Another short tug while your lips were still connected and your body was flush against his, the tip of his cock trapped between you and rubbing against your stomach smearing fluid along your skin as you moaned into the kiss that Diavolo was dominating. Plunging the wet muscle into your mouth similar to the way he had been sinking into your core earlier. A small whimper from your throat as he bucked his hips while you felt him spasm just below your belly button as a flood of liquid pooled and poured down between you in streams.

It doesn't matter that he had pumped several loads deep into your slick heat as he growled your name in a way that made you pant maybe an hour ago, the prince of demons always seemed prepared to shoot another load. Breaking away from your lips as your lungs started to burn and you felt lightheaded from the ferocity of his actions, your chest heaving as Diavolo moved you onto your back and under his body. Those golden eyes of his glimmered with lust and a hint of adoration.

Sometimes you questioned how many other lovers he had taken in the past, how many had warmed the sheets of his lonely bed the way you did now. You kept telling yourself it didn't matter because you were there now and he seemed keen on keeping you with him as long as he could. Laced with exhaustion you lifted a hand to trail your fingers along his sharp jawline, humming as he nuzzled into your palm at the same time as he sunk two fingers into your cunt.

“So wet my love. You're going to make me doubt my ability to leave you satisfied.” What reminds you of a purr leaves his chest and you clench around his fingers as they work you open, not that it takes much with the way your body is reacting to him.

“It’s more me doubting if I'll survive how much stamina you have.” Gasping as he added a third finger and spread them as far apart as he could in your slick walls, your neck arching backward as the sweat lining your brow was no longer due to the heat radiating from him.

“My body is just responding to yours, and speaking of it seems I won't be able to hold myself back from sinking into your supple form for much longer.” The purr gone, replaced by a growl that makes your whole body thrum wanting to feeling him split you open.

“Please Dia.” A low whine as you jerk your hips chasing his fingers that he pulls from your cunt with a wet pop. “Please fill me up again.” Watching him through a haze as he slips his digits into his mouth and groans in pleasure. Almost as if savoring your essence on his tongue with his eyes closed, opening just one and sending you a look that makes a line of fire race up along your spine.

“Fill you with what love?” A dark look in his eye as he licks the rest of your juices from his fingers with a curl of his tongue. It's like a string is pulled as your core tightens all the way up your abdomen and you feel your tongue peek out to wet your lips as more fluid drips from your sex.

You know what he wants. “Please Diavolo!” Calling his full name as you arch your back to lift your chest more into the air. “I need you to put that big cock of yours in my pussy and stuff me full, please my handsome prince.” Batting your eyelashes at him as you give one of your breasts a squeeze, well aware of the feral look in his eyes now.

“If that's what my little human wants, who am I to deny you?” Wording it as a question before sweeping his hand down your neck and letting it land between the swell of your chest. Locking your eyes with his you smile at how tender he's being, until you gasp feeling his hips surge forward. You missed him lining the tip of his dick up with your slick entrance while trying to tease him and now you were well and truly stuffed to the point of pain with his length balls deep in your tight heat. A short gasp from him as you spasm around him, adjusting to his size. “So lovely and tight as always.” Sliding his hands down to your hips, ensuring the tips of his dominant hand brush over the slightest of swells above your sex. “Knowing I'm so deep inside you that like this your body has physical signs certainly does something to my head. It makes me want to rut into you all night long and watch the bump form again and again.”

“Dia!” All you can do is whine his name, knowing any movements you tried would be halted by him. As much as you might want to fuck yourself senseless Diavolo won't let you, far too concerned with you injuring yourself in some way. Letting his dirty talk rile you up while he waits for the passing of micro spasms and clenching around his cock before he starts to move. Waiting for when he knows every motion will be a glide as he plunges from tip to base inside you.

“Patients Love. After all I've filled you up now haven't I?” A brief squeeze of your hips before he makes another adjustment, throwing your legs up over his forearms so you’re stretched tighter around his dick. The action makes both of you growl and pant respectively from the change.

“Dia!” With tears pricking the sides of your eyes, part frustration part arousal as you just want him to start moving! “Please Baby!” Screaming as loudly as you can and hoping he'll start to move.

“Baby? Hmmm.” A hint of amusement in his voice and you finally feel the drag of his cock as he pulls his hips back. “Is that what you want me to fill you with?”

“Yes Dia Please!” Both of your hands land to grip his and squeezing, you don't even fully know what you're saying lost in the haze of pleasure that's flooding your system as he moves.

“Alright Love, I'll fill you with what you want.” His tempo is relatively slow as he starts but it doesn't matter, with his girth you're moaning the entire time as he hits the nerves along your walls. It isn't long until the sound of skin slapping against skin is the prevalent sound in the room. Your lips parted with low whines and moans, while Diavolo mutters low words of praise as he increases his speed. “So good for me, Love.” His fingers leave your hips once in a while to brush along your body. “Such a beautiful face as you let me use your body, you deserve everything I can give you.” Groaning lowly as he starts to rut into you now, squeezing his ass cheeks together when your core clenches so tightly around him. “My beautiful human, you take me better than anyone else ever has and you ask for nothing in return.”

Drool is starting to drip down the side of your lips as you hover just at the edge of an orgasm, the count from tonight long lost. All you know is Diavolo in the time he's known you has learned your body well enough to know when you're close and how to drag out denying your release as long as possible. Feeling him adjust your hips once more so his length is dragging along the top of your inner walls and his base brushing your clit when his tip is pressing against your cervix making you see white spots behind your eyes as you try to keep them open to keep watching him. To see the ripple of his tanned skin as he sinks his dick deeper inside you than anyone else before, or after him, will. Diavolo is the only one that will ever reach so deep inside your body that you know nothing else will ever compare. Blinking as his skin seems to darken and black lines appear across his chest, his cock feeling fuller inside your walls.

A trick of the light?

No. Glancing up from the heaving muscles dancing as if putting on a show for you, you realize he's taken on his demon form. His golden eyes almost impossibly bright now as if lit from within, his hair that familiar shade of crimson that makes you think of maple trees during autumn. A brush of leather wings tipped in metal as they trail your sides and from the way his lips are parted you know he's near his own end.

“Dia!” A strangled cry as one of his wing tips brushes against your clit and you tumble over that edge, lost in a mess of pleasure as you clench around him and your mind is flooded with chemicals from the release.

Diavolo knows he can't last, not with how tight you've gone as if trying to suck him into your core. His hips stutter as he tries to drag out your orgasm only to hiss your name as he slams himself deep inside of your walls and hits that spongy spot that makes you let out a wordless noise of pleasure as his balls empty. Taking note of the change in his appearance, the first time he's unconsciously taken his demon form while the two of you have sex. Keeping himself buried deep inside of you while he waits for you to stir, willing his cock to soften instead of remaining hard. He knows you'd let him take you again. And again. Until dawn came if you asked him. Yet you both still have responsibilities to attend to in the morning.

“Dia?”

“My love?” Watching you as one of your hands reaches up to brush your sweat soaked locks from your forehead before reaching for him with a tired smile.

“I think I figured out a way to help me adapt to how hot you are.”

“Oh?” Curious as he takes your hand in his and kisses the back of it like a gentleman, not like he's still connected to you by your joined cores.

“You're even hotter in that form, so you just need to fuck me more like that.” Diavolo blinks for a few moments as your words sink in before throwing his head back and laughing loudly enough that you think the entire castle shook.

“If that's what my Love wishes, so be it.” Wiping a tear from his eye from his mirth before leaning down to kiss you, well aware of the twitching of his cock in your walls. Maybe, just one more round is in order.

Back to masterlist

#obey me fanfic #obey me x reader #obey me nightbringer #obey me diavolo #diavolo x reader #diavolo obey me #diavolo x mc #obey me shall we date #obey me diavolo x reader #obey me diavolo x mc #obey me diavolo smut #Obey me Diavolo X reader Smut #twink writes #om! diavolo #diavolo smut

551 notes · View notes

matchadobo · 3 months

Text

KIDD; aphrodisiac

wc: 2592

summary: kidd took an aphrodisiac but he suddenly becomes overwhelmingly sweet.

warning/s: 🔞, nsfw, fem reader, married reader and kidd, fluff seggs?

kidd rarely becomes sweet. he's so shy about it he mostly goes tsundere on you when you tease him about it. even during intimate times, kidd always go rough, far from sweet. but not enough to hurt you though. you'll always have bruises and hand and bite marks across the surface of your skin each time you two finish. he's always proud of it, not that you mind it anyways. as a matter of fact, you love it.

so it baffled you, froze up your nerves from head to toe as kidd latched onto you with the sole need of warmth and cuddles in the middle of the day.

it happened one sunny afternoon, the heat was slowly becoming unbearable as the clock approached three. you were in the middle of a conversation with one of the girls since kidd and the boys went out for a drink. yes, they do this often in the middle of the day.

it didn't occur to you that they had already returned, not before kidd crashed by the couch and grumbled on your skin as he pulled you closer in an abruptly it elicited a squeal from you, cutting you off midsentence.

"missed you." he mumbled on your skin, almost sounding unintelligible as he slurred from the liquor that wafted from his mouth. "you smell nice, really nice." he gave your shoulder a peck, nuzzling his nose deep at the your collarbones where your perfume was most concentrated.

you guys were left alone by the crewmates you were initially talking to, sensing the possible escalation of events. heat rose up to your cheeks and you tried fighting the sudden spiking of your heart rate, but his firm grip on you only made your situation worse.

"what's up, kidd? are you... did you have too much to drink?" you tried looking down to search and meet his eyes. he looked at you with a half-lidded gaze, pools of amber saturating his irises yet not a speck of soberness evident.

"somethin' wrong with snugglin'?" he cocked a brow, a pout following after. "thoughtcha like the part where i cuddle and shit. well, you're in luck, bonnie. i'm cravin' one and i don't plan on lettin' go."

where's your lover and who possessed his body at this moment? kidd would NEVER say this even at gunpoint. he always says those soft lovey dovey shit you bring up is not his thing, but he never deprives you of it of course. he just doesn't initiate it on his own. which led you to believe that he was indeed not the romantic type.

"drank this thing- 's new and the barista recommended it. 's the kind you always order so i figured tryin' it. a gin and tonic, strawberry flavoured. too tame for me at first, walked here fine. but as soon as i saw you, think it kicked in." he narrated languidly, sometimes slurring.

you snorted, from the flow of his speech and the absurdity of his claimed cause for his behavior.

"so a strawberry gin and tonic made you act all cuddly?" you asked, stifling a smile and laugh.

"not only that, dove." his flesh hand stroked the bare skin of your thigh, riding up under your skirt until it teased the thin fabric of your panties. "'s not only the cuddles i want."

spit got stuck on your throat and you coughed a bit. feeling his fingers poke at the top of your cunt made you sweat a little bit.

"w-we shouldn't-" you tried standing up, but he held you securely on your place.

"why?" his voice was gentle, sincerely curious with a genuine glint of begging in his eyes. "'s my ship. i'm the captain. you're my wife. my sweet, angel wife. anythin' wrong messin' around in 'ere?" his hands dug deeper to palm your cunt, one of his fingers poking in with the cloth rubbing inside you mildly. "you look extra nice today so wipe that frown of your face, aye? or else i will." his kisses peppered your arm down to your shoulder.

"what's gotten into you? you're suddenly so... clingy and sweet." you squirmed under his touch, furiously stifling the moan that pleads to come out of you. the pace of your heart was also parallel with the rapid thoughts in your brain. puzzling questions that were prompted by kidd's sloppy kisses down to your forearm and onto your hand, especially close to your ring finger.

kidd reached over to your ear and whispered, "somethin' in me is screamin', it's beggin' to just come out to bend you over and fuck you here in front of the crew. but at the same time, i also can't let you go because i'm dyin' for you. you're drivin' me crazy, bonnie. when your hair is tied up like that, with your damn perfume's extra pungent, and your clothes fittin' a little too tight. it is all too much for me. and maybe you're right, i had too damn much of that gin and tonic i'm starting to get real dizzy." he pinched his temples, the gruffness of his voice mediated the beat of your heart into a much faster pace as the red in your cheeks into a darker hue of red. "but i know that as a matter of fuckin' fact, i am mad for you and your body. i want to keep touchin' and playin' the hell out of it. i feel different and you have somethin' to do with it. i'm most definitely not lettin' you go."

you took a deep breath as the symptoms somehow correlate with the town's special you saw on one of the banners by the docks. "this is quite possibly the craziest thing to ever happen, but did you drink an aphrodisiac?"

"why does it matter?"

"an aphrodisiac heightens sexual desires, kidd. fucking hell, did you not even ask the bartender?" you latched off away from him, trying to sober him up. but you know damn well that's not gonna cut it. you need to fuck it out of him.

"that must be why i'm rock hard right now, or is it the way you're beratin' me?" he reached for your hand once more, stroking your knuckles down to your nails before placing a kiss on it.

you sighed heavily, running fingers through your hair. now you have to deal with his state of heat. not that you hate it.

"aaah don't go angry on me now, aye? why don't we bond a little? lately, we've got our own shit going on. 'bout time we catch up, whatcha say?" he snakes his hand around your waist, gripping firmly as he rested his head on your mounds. "maybe this aphrobullshit finally brings us together so help me out here, hm?" he dragged your hand atop the tent of his pants, his boner painfully growing big and suffocating at the restriction of his clothing.

"since when do you fucking speak like that? you're acting...kind. i'm anxious." it's a joke, but it really does unsettle you. and intrigues you.

"am i?" a smile gradually curved up his lips, studying your face as he inched closer. grinning as he found you adorable at your dubious expression. "what are you thinkin'?"

"i gotta deal with your bullshit again, huh?"

kidd chuckled as a response, scooping you up in a bridal carry towards your shared quarters. not minding the lingering and following glances that comes your way. moreso the scandalous remarks on his menacing boner he didn't give a fuck how obscene it looked as he marched across the deck. all he wanted was to gaze at your shy and laughing state.

he sat down at the edge of the bed before settling you on his lap, something different and foreignly gentle for him. he trailed kisses by the curve of your jaw, sucked softly on your pulse, and warmed his cold hands on your body under your shirt.

you recoiled a little from feeling ticklish at his light touches, if it weren't for his support on your back, you would've fell.

in hopes of servicing him too, you started grinding atop his length. but he stopped mid kiss to stop you.

"mm-mm, no need for that, bonnie. you can stay put." he started. "i want you to keep it nice and steady. keep it between your folds, aye? ain't it more intimate?"

"intimacy, huh? i didn't think you'd have any romance in you. usually, i gotta force it into you."

"hm? think you can handle it now?" he tucked your hair at the back of your ear before having a steady hold on your jaw and cheek as he connected lips with you, smiling as he did so.

sex with kidd will always be fast paced and eager. clothes don't even act as a barrier, he WILL fuck you even in it. but right now, he did everything slowly as he took his time unbuttoning your shirt. he felt your skin up, detaching his lips away from you just to plant kisses on your chest and arms.

tossing the garment away, he worked his hands up to the hooks of your bra. he clicked them off skillfully, with months or even years of practice from your past intercourses. as your breasts came unrestrained, he held each one and sucked on the bundle of nerves one after the other.

you swallowed hardly, pressing his head further in your chest. the sound and feel of his kisses messed with your mind. he was carnal yet calm, he had you under a firm grip yet his touch and movements were soft. he didn't bite you as hard as he usually does and instead focused on making you feel good.

he stood up and turned around while still carrying you in a stable manner, his lips still glued on peppering your chest. he then placed you down the mattress; yes, placed you down gently at that. as oppose to what he usually does, which is throw you down the bed. not that you mind that bit, adds a bit of spiciness in your bedroom adventures. but his tenderness has somehow tinged at the way your heart beats.

"you're a little too gentle now, it's scaring me." you remarked, giggling a little at the way he smiled back. "part of me thought all you knew was to slam me down the bed."

"seems like you miscalculated. enjoy it while it lasts, aye?" he carried on giving service to you as he lets his kisses cascade down your abdomen, pinching your skin a little at the squishy parts.

kidd slid your skirt off along with your soaked panties. kissing your ankles up to your shin, and your thighs in such a soft, baby touch. his fingertips gliding smoothly down your lower extremities as he grazes his lacquered nails gingerly down your sides. as if he's exploring your body the first time.

"i-it tickles!" you squealed a little, knees folding as his touch scratched a laugh out of you.

he smiled against your skin while he neared your cunt. he placed his hands on your groin and started kissing your sopping core vertically. he closed his eyes, soaking in the flavor of you. you threw your head back and shut your eyes, tugging on his hair as he retained his relaxed pace in drinking you up.

but his hands kept grazing tenderly across your body. he can't get enough of touching you it seems. until he finally lost his patience, not even letting you cum. he stood up and gave his length a few pumps, spitting on it to lube it up.

"really? missionary?" you asked, panting as you try to recover from your high and brace yourself from what's about to come. "you never do this, baby. it's fine. i don't know what craziness that gin and tonic filled you up with but i know you won't want this position to satisfy that painful boner."

"somethin' wrong with doing your favorite position? and hey, we did this plenty of times! on our honeymoon and...on your birthday..." he looked away, embarrassed at his conclusion. kidd really is an ass man after all, why else would he want to not see his favorite part of you during sexy times? much more when he's craving it tenfold?

"look, the aphrodisiac won't go away if you don't cum. or even relieved of that sexual fever you have. we can do reverse or doggy, it's oka-"

"enough yappin'. i may not see that blessed ass of yours, i can cum very well enough if i just see you whorin' over my cock, aye?" he grinned, it's like the old kidd was back all over again. except his voice was somewhat kinder, devoid of that gruff and coarse tone he always holds during sex coated with commands.

and so he began. as the first stretch came, both of you took a deep breath. no matter how much you two do it, it still drives you to the ends of the earth at how incredible he stretches you out. he settled until the head of his cock touches your cervix, making you squirm a little; a habit of his. grinning at you as he did so, proud of what he did to you.

he propped himself up with his arms so he could be close to you and you wrap your legs around his waist, pressing him deeper in you. he even choked at the feeling with his cock getting squeezed inside.

"ready?"

"since when does eustass kidd ever ask?"

then it felt like your honeymoon again. or the night you two first fucked. when he first slides it in and you two share an exhale at the impact, same as now. he made sure to press foreheads with you, looking you deep in the eye as your agape lips barely touch and brush against each other periodically.

"y-you are so fuckin' tight, we oughta do missionary often, aye?" he fisted the sheets beside your head.

"that's on you, you'd rather see my ass." you choked out, rolling your eyes as he tried adjusting himself and your walls started tightening around him. "so s-shut up and start moving."

he laughed a little, linking fingers with you before finally pacing back and forth. he took his time sliding in and out of you, not enough to cause friction at his pace nor overstimulate you. he wanted it to be slow, to look deep in your eyes as he watched you drift into that state where you go completely stupid over how good he fills you up.

"all it took was a damn drug to make you go sweet, is that it?" you smiled, fingers latching off of his grip to reach over and hold his face between your hands.

he blushed more than usual, his eyes are a little glassy, his ears are redder, and his movements stuttered. after all, his length was throbbing a little too hard in you.

"hey, i'm sweet." he got defensive. furrowing his brows as he inched back a little, seeming to be offended at your remark. "i-i'll take you out tomorrow, dinner. maybe watch somethin'. buy you those shoes you want, or a nice dress. then we'll take a bath by the tub, buy some wine and tulips or somethin'." he looked away, hiding his face and the way he's beet red right now.

"oh my god. i'm about to get a whole barrel of that gin and tonic, kidd!"

this is totally canon i know so 😤

511 notes · View notes

luxurychristmaspudding · 1 month

Text

Mi Amigo | On Call

part iii

summary: summer arrives at last - and along with it, care, confessions, and a bbq.

pairing: neighbour!frankie x f!babysitter!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. idiots in love, reader is good with kids. reader and frankie are both bi and have same sex exes. fluff, more smutty thoughts, drinking and smoking. grinding and kissing. kind of dubcon (they're very drunk) but we know they're obsessed with each other. frankie comes in his pants cos that's all i ever want him to do. bug jumping to conclusions. one good boy. a little praise kink.

reader is a teacher and has hair, but is otherwise a blank slate.

wc: 9.4k

an: to probably absolutely no one's surprise, what was supposed to be the last chapter of these fools is now split in two. i am a yapper at heart, and a yapper i will always be. i really hope y'all enjoy the last bits of this story <3

huge love to @schnarfer, @jolapeno and @toomanytookas, who held my hands through all my wobbles and questions. you guys are three in billions.

before we begin - if you haven't already, catching up here and here will be useful before these chapters <3

dividers from the glorious @saradika-graphics

I've got a friend Helps me to get up again Showers me in boozes Tells me I got a big old dick And she wants my ass home

- mi amigo, kings of leon

series masterlist | main masterlist

It’s six o’clock when Frankie knocks on your door, tool box in hand.

He squints at you from your porch, all chocolate curls and sunkissed skin and a big, silly gin. You give him a once over, a similar smile stretching across your face.

‘Well. Isn’t this like the start of a bad porno?’

He laughs as you step back to let him in, leaning to give you a swift peck on the cheek.

‘Evenin’ to you too, teach. Heard you needed your pipes checked.’

You snort, cackling as you close the door behind him, and he’s laughing too, body bowed towards your amusement as you lead him through to the kitchen.

Your kitchen table is tidier than normal, plants blooming in the summer sun.

‘You want a drink of anything?’ You ask. He shakes his head, placing the tool box by his feet.

‘You can ply me with alcohol later, Bug. I need good eyes and steady hands for this.’

You tut at him.

‘Wasn’t going to be alcohol, Morales. You want water? Juice? Pepsi?’

He’s grinning again as he kneels by the sink, opening the cupboard beneath it.

‘Sure. Pepsi would be good.’

You head to the fridge to grab him a can as he eases himself into the cabinet, the cool aluminium sweating in your hands as he tinkers for a moment.

‘How bad is it, doc?’

His face reappears from the gloom, wincing, and you hand him the drink. He cracks it open with a fizz and takes an audible sip.

‘Awful. You’re gonna need a whole new kitchen,’ he pouts. You raise an eyebrow. He shrugs, winking. ‘So easy you could have done it yourself.’

You roll your eyes at him, popping yourself up to sit on the counter, hand idly drifting through his toolbox.

‘How was today?’ He asks, heaving himself up to gather a handful of tools. You lift your shoulders.

‘Aw, all good. Happy it’s Friday. Happy summer’s almost here.’

He smiles.

‘How was yours?’

‘Quiet. Well, apart from Luc. I don’t think she’s ever been this excited for something before.’

You scrunch your face up, ahhing as he disappears back into the cupboard, starting his work on the pipes below the sink.

‘Do you think she’ll be alright?’

‘Yeah,’ he grunts, ‘She’ll be fine. Got Herman - y’know, her little dog - so she’s well prepared.’

You swing your feet a little, pulling your lip between your teeth.

‘Still gonna keep your phone on you at all times?’

His stomach jumps with a laugh.

‘You got it, Bug. I won’t sleep.’

You tip your head at his torso, watching him work. The concealed movement of his arms, the slither of skin revealed to you as he stretches to reach something. Perfect to run your fingertip along, your tongue -

Frankie groans. You wet your lips.

‘Everything alright, boss?’

‘Yeah,’ he sighs, ‘Picked up the wrong one. Hand me that 36.9mm wrench.’

You freeze, staring down at the toolbox beside you, the jumble of metal. Sure, you know what you’re looking at, and he’s joked about it before, but -

‘Quickly.’ He says, making blind grabby hands in the direction of the box. You scrabble around, picking up three different types of wrench, scouring them for clues. He says your name, exasperated.

‘I am going quickly,’ you protest, ‘I just have to read everything. There are so many sizes -’

‘See, I knew you didn’t know what a wrench looked like.’

You drop one of the tools, flipping him off even though he can’t see it, before fishing out another.

‘Keep being smart, Morales, and I won't help at all.’

A disgruntled ha! sounds from beneath the sink.

‘This is your sink I’m fixing -’

‘And it’s not my fault I don’t have an engineering degree, or a maths degree, or whatever the fuck -’

Frankie makes to sit up, grumbling, but promptly smacks his head on the inside of the cabinet with a loud thump. His Jesus fucking Christ is almost drowned out by your laughter as he edges himself out, rubbing at his forehead.

‘Don’t laugh at me, pendeja.’

‘That’s karma, Fish.’

‘How is that karma when I’m trying to help you?’

You shrug, finally holding out the right wrench.

‘The dildo of consequences rarely arrives lubed, my friend.’ You snicker.

He takes the wrench from you and ducks back under the sink, barely repressing a grin.

‘That doesn’t even make sense,’ he grumbles, voice tight with the effort of holding back his laughter.

You watch the flash of his elbows as they work beneath the counter, loosening, tightening, before he finishes with a huff.

‘Done.’

You check your watch as he wiggles out, and he makes to throw the wrench at you.

‘Record time.’ You grin, and he rolls his eyes, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. The front of his shirt is stained a darker grey than it was before, and he grimaces at it as he rises from the floor, knees popping. You hop down from the counter, grabbing the dishcloth from the oven handle, moving closer to pat at the damp fabric. He catches your wrists in his hands.

‘It’s no use, teach,’ he says, ‘I’m done for.’

‘You’ve got a real taste for the theatrics tonight, Morales,’ you scoff at him, ‘I’m starting to see where Luc gets it from.’

He releases one of your wrists to give a swift pinch to your cheek, and you gasp dramatically, holding your hand to the small sting.

‘How very dare you!’ You cry, and he laughs, shoulders jumping, mumbling something about your theatrics. You take the chance to step back and whirl the towel around itself between your fists, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

‘Hey now,’ he says lowly, ‘There’s no need for that.’ Raising his hands in surrender, a slow smile stretching across his lips. You watch each other with bated breath until you lurch forward and he spins giddily, running away as you chase him around the kitchen table.

He clamours against the chairs, bumps against plant pots, giggling all the way. A high-pitched, careless little laugh that you like to think only you can elicit from him.

You’re calculating, breathless; tilting your head, his legs in sight, towel held taught in your hands. Close enough. You release one end of the cloth in the direction of his calves - weak, barely even a flick of your wrist - and lightning fast, Frankie turns and grips the free end, yanking you towards him through choked huffs of mirth.

‘Do not whip me, Bug.’

Your only response is a barely muffled hehehe against his chest, and he levers his spare palm against the forearm still holding the towel. He takes it from you easily, efficiently winding it into an actual dangerous looking weapon, before chasing you back around the furniture in the opposite direction, you shrieking out your protests as he bounds behind you. You make three rounds of the table before he screeches to a halt directly opposite you, and you still, both clutching chairs, chests heaving.

‘You have to let me get one. You owe me one.’ He says, eyes narrowed, levelling a finger at you.

You bark a laugh.

‘I owe you nothin’, Morales. You were too slow.’

‘Fair’s fair -’

‘Grown man, talkin’ ‘bout fair’s fair -’

‘Bug -’

‘Frankie -’

‘Bug -’

‘I will bite you.’

He gives you a baffled look, one that quickly melts into amusement. A lop-sided grin, one eye dropping closed in a wink.

‘Do you promise?’

For a second, he swears you falter. Like something short circuits, the same way it did on his sofa, the same way it did on his porch. And then you smile, wide and lascivious, striding round the table to stop in front of him.

He almost drops the towel when you lift a hand to his chest, tracing one finger over the water stain, up to the round collar at his neck.

‘I promise, Frankie,’ you coo, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

His mouth is parted, panting slightly. Eyes wide with surprise, darkening with a kind of hunger he’s not sure how to hide.

You rip the towel from his hand, bouncing backwards with a cry of aha!

Frankie rocks on the balls of his feet, swallowing before echoing a pale shadow of your laughter, heart thumping painfully behind his ribs.

‘Alright,’ he rasps, ‘You win.’

You grin at him again, and his chest squeezes tight as you loop an arm around his waist, pinching his side.

‘Bastarda.’ He hisses, and your lips stretch even wider.

‘Alright, Morales,’ you crow, patting his chest. ‘Go get changed. I’ll get us dinner.’

When he opens the door, freshly changed into sweatpants and a new t-shirt, you’re stood outside. One fist raised, the other holding the neck of a half-full bottle of whisky.

‘Y’alright?’ He asks, looking you over - fresh-faced, in your own sweats, hair a little wet.

‘Yup. Was just gonna check you hadn’t fallen in.’

‘Fallen in,’ he repeats, closing the door behind him before picking you up in his arms. It’s a death grip, the air in your body squeezed out like bubble wrap as your spine pops. He swings you about a little, until you thump on his back with your spare fist, wheezing.

‘Put - me - down - asshole -’

He drops you unceremoniously on his porch, and you bend, hands on your knees, as you catch your breath. He chuckles down at you, and you flip him off.

‘You know,’ you pant, ‘I never liked you.’

‘Whatever, Bug.’ He smirks, hopping down his porch steps. You straighten, bounding after him.

Cool grass at your feet, warm air in your lungs, you catch up to him easily, watching his broad back in the moonlight. He says nothing as you glance at him, strong nose, scruff, plush lips. But his growing smirk tells you he’s noticed.

A heat rises in your cheeks, and you take the moment to jog ahead of him, hopping the fence.

When you turn back, he's watching you with his hands on his hips.

‘I thought we were walking together.’ He pouts.

‘Thought we could hop the fence together instead.’

He stares at you for a moment, considering. Glares at the fence, then shakes his head. You snort.

Feigning defeat, Frankie begins to walk towards the front of his lawn, but you take a step back towards your house.

‘Ah-ah. Hop the fence,’ you say, waving the bottle. Frankie sighs.

‘I’m not hopping the fence.’

‘Hop the fence,’ you giggle, ‘And I’ll give you a cigar.’

‘A cigar?’

You waggle your eyebrows at him.

‘Yes, sir. A cigar.’

He chews his cheek, still thinking. Decides to call your bluff, takes one more step -

‘Nuh-uh. Hop it.’

‘I’m old. I’m not hopping shit.’

‘You are not old,’ you say, scowling at him, ‘You’re too serious. Hop the damn fence.’

He sighs again, jaw working around a clever comeback that never materialises. He looks up to the heavens, and then closes the distance between you.

You watch with delighted amusement as Frankie settles himself at the white pickets, hands in the position to launch himself over. He waits for muscle memory to kick in.

Nothing happens.

‘You good, buddy?’ You goad. He grimaces.

‘Yep. Just… gearing myself up.’

You scoff.

‘Hop it, Fish. Or I’ll have them both smoked by the time you’re here.’

You watch as he mumbles a fuck it before jumping up and flinging both legs over the top slat - and just when it seems he’s about to land gracefully, the tip of his foot catches the wood. He sprawls to the ground, all flailing limbs, with a muffled mmph.

The cackle you let out is long and loud, and you clap a hand over your mouth to try and stifle it. He stays motionless, huffing on the grass as you gasp, trying to regain your composure, and when you’re sure you won’t wet yourself, you come towards him and drop to your knees. You grip his shoulder to turn him on his back, his eyes scrunched shut against your smirk. The corners of his mouth curl when he hears you snort again.

‘Come on,’ you giggle, ‘I’ve got just the thing for geriatric patients.’

He moans and tries to turn himself back over, shoulders rounding, but you keep your hand firmly where it is.

‘Leave me,’ he grumbles, ‘I’m no good anymore. Take the kid. She prefers you, anyway.’

You laugh anew, settling on your butt, before pulling him roughly to lie flat. You pull the cork from the whisky bottle and take his chin between your thumb and forefinger.

‘Open up,’ you say, ‘This’ll help your strength.’

You bring the bottle to his open lips and tip it. He winces when the whisky hits his tongue, coughing it down, shoulders lifting from the grass as he hacks. When it begins to sputter out the sides of his mouth and dribble into his beard, he sits up, narrowing his eyes at you as he splutters and wipes the spill with the back of his hand.

‘You’re a bad influence.’

You roll your eyes and begin to stand, holding a hand out for him. He eyes it sceptically.

‘If I had a dollar every time I heard that,’ you say as he takes it and you pull him up with a groan, ‘I’d have at least three dollars.’

‘Goes to show.’ He mutters, swiping his hands on his jeans as you lead him to your porch.

You clap him on the back as he staggers forwards, keeping your palm plastered to the warmth of his shoulders as you guide him up the steps, handing him the whisky and settling him on the bench facing the garden before disappearing back inside. He’s still nursing achy joints when you reemerge, two tumblers pinched between fingers, a lighter and a cigar case in the other hand.

You plop next to him with a sigh, handing him the glasses as he pops the cork back off the bottle.

‘Ordered pizza.’ You tell him, picking a cigar out from the case.

He smiles, eyes sparkling as he holds a filled tumbler out to you. You take it, fingers brushing his.

‘Pepperoni?’

‘Of course.’

He sets the bottle down as he watches you deftly cut the end of the first stogie, picking up your lighter and letting it warm the darkening end. He accepts it gratefully, letting it rest between his fingers as you cut your own, rotating it over the flame. The silver of the lighter catches the moonlight, and in it, he can see the intricate carvings engraved on its surface. Flowers and leaves, a tiny bee. Your initials at the bottom.

‘Cardinal sin to just let it burn.’ You murmur, nodding to his hand. He chuckles, lifting the cigar to his lips for the first, rich drag. He peers at you through his eyelashes on the exhale, and you smile at him as you inspect the burn on yours.

‘Nice lighter.’ He says as you flick the cap back over the flame.

‘Thanks. Was my dad’s,’ you say. ‘The cigars were my graduation gift from him. Last two.’

Frankie pauses.

‘Last two?’

Mhm.

He lowers his hand.

‘Bug, if these are your last two, I don’t wanna -’

You cut him a look through your first puff of smoke, and he stops.

‘Frankie, honey. I wouldn’t have invited you over if I didn’t want you to have one.’ You hold your glass out to cheers him, and he clinks it gently. ‘Consider it payment for the sink.’

He scoffs at you.

‘You don’t owe me anything for the sink.’

You twist your body to face him.

‘What kind of friend would I be if I didn't get you back for the sink?’

He shakes his head.

‘You already do enough for me with Luc.’

You regard him for a moment, so long that he’s forced to meet your eyes. Something moves through them. Something deep and warm, a little sad.

‘You know I’d do anything for you two.’

You’d meant it to sound casual, but it slips from your lips and lands heavily on the bench between you. It sits there for a moment, a sentiment beyond its words, its presence ballooning so quickly that you scramble for some quip to say to make it smaller.

Frankie’s eyes don’t leave yours.

‘I’d do anything for you, too, Bug.’

He says it with such sincerity, such understanding, that it takes your breath away; his eyes so deep, so round, you feel you might fall into them. Pupils so blown they’re almost black, mouth parted to release a breath before he clears his throat. Your eyes flick to your hands, the last cigar your father gave you, before finding his again.

‘School breaks up on Friday.’ He says.

‘It does.’

You wait.

‘Luc gets picked up Friday evening. Vanessa’s back. I’m, uh - I'm having a barbeque on Saturday. The boys are coming,’ you raise an eyebrow at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. ‘They want to meet you.’

The small smile pulls into a grin.

‘You been telling your friends about me, Morales?’

He scoffs.

‘Told them about you the day you moved in. They know all about you.’

You chuckle a little, taking a puff of the cigar.

‘All good things, I hope.’

‘Everything about you is a good thing.’

You cut him a look.

‘You'd better stop that before my ego gets too big.’

He laughs this time, taking a drag before asking you -

‘Do you wanna come?’

You knock your shoulder against his.

‘Course I do.’

He nods, head dipping low.

‘Good. That's good.’

You’re grinning still, leaning so your knee touches his.

‘So, what else do you tell your friends about me?’

Frankie freezes, hand stopping halfway to his mouth. Only a second, but you don’t miss the way a blush begins to bloom up his neck.

‘Nothing else.’

You grin wider.

‘Nothing else? You sure?’

He stammers on his words when it should be easy. How great of a friend you are, how good with Lucia you are, how I almost kissed you on the porch, how much I wanna kiss you all the time, but nothing. Nothing -

From within the house, through the open back door, there comes the short blast of the doorbell. You suck a breath in through your teeth, still amused - oblivious.

‘Saved by the bell, mi amigo. Hold this for me.’ You say, handing him your half-finished stogie.

He sighs as you stand and vanish into your home, knocking his head against the back of the bench, gazing up at a moth fluttering around the porch light. He closes his eyes, counting to fifty in his head to try and sooth his pounding heart, before you appear again.

You hold a box out to him.

‘Don’t go falling asleep on me now,’ you sing, ‘The night is young, and so are we.’

He chuckles.

‘Speak for yourself, asshole.’

Several more moths are scrambling above your heads by the time you finish eating. Hot, greasy cheese, scarfed down between sips of whisky and the dregs of the cigars. You leave the boxes stacked clumsily next to the bench, your legs intermittently slung over Frankie’s lap, or your heads knocking against each other's shoulders in laughter as conversation wanders from work, to family, to stories of friends. It’s a rare night that you get to yourselves - no hushed voices for the small person upstairs, no muffled laughter.

When an almost imperceptible chill begins to settle, you stand from the bench. Frankie raises an eyebrow at you.

‘You wanna dance, Fish?’

Inside your living room, you hand him your phone, busying yourself with turning on your speakers. Frankie’s eyes stay glued to the slope of your back as you crouch down, a little fuzzy around the edges, before dragging his attention to the device in his hand. He presses his thumb to it, and the screen alights. Something warm pulls and floods in his gut when he’s faced with a picture of him, you, and Lucia at Pride, one of the selfies you took. He’s still smiling dumbly when you stand and look at him expectantly.

‘What am I supposed to do?’ He says, gesturing to it.

‘You’re supposed to connect -’ You cut yourself off, rolling your eyes a little. ‘Here, I’ll do it.’ You say, taking the phone from him, unlocking it and opening the bluetooth settings. Frankie sways a little in time with the swell of his heart.

‘Your lockscreen.’ He says.

You smile broadly at him.

‘It’s you guys.’

‘It’s us guys.’ He chuckles, sweeping you up into his arms in a rush of affection. He kisses the top of your head as you press the phone into his hand, Spotify already open.

‘Pick something,’ you say, ‘Anything you want. But make it groovable.’

So he does. Leading you in a romp through his expansive taste, interspersed with your own picks. Queen, Bowie, Pet Shop Boys, Incubus, Dire Straits. He surprises you with ABBA, Soft Cell, and Daft Punk. Leads you through Blue Öyster Cult, wields a dramatic air guitar through Aerosmith and AC/DC, sings Noah Kahan with full lungs, dances to La Bamba with his whole chest. Wails through Livin’ On A Prayer and More Than A Feelin’, drops to his knees for Pour Some Sugar On Me, bops around the room to Groove Is In the Heart and Earth, Wind and Fire.

He pulls you close during Springsteen, closer still when Fleetwood Mac pours through the speakers. You’re laughing through it all - pressed against his broad body or dancing on opposite sides of the room, arms free and wild, feet never still. Mouths breathlessly close during You Make Loving Fun and Gold Dust Woman, howling at each other through The Chain and Go Your Own Way. Theatrical during Silver Springs, singing to him as you dance on top of the sofa. Close again as you croon Dreams to each other, your head pressed against his chest, moving in time with him as he wraps his arms around you.

You’re drawn, time and time again, to the way his eyes crinkle with his near permanent smile. The way his hips move, the way he sings, unburdened, unbothered, the way his hands search for you. Spinning and twirling you, pushing your arms with his in time to the beat of the music, one hand cradling your head as you slow dance, one clutched to the small of your back, moulded to the curve of your waist. The press, subconscious grind, of your bodies moving together. A low, sticky state of arousal, easily pushed aside by bright laughter and off-key singing.

And it feels so natural, this night, to be with each other. Uncaring and sweaty, time passing without you realising, your breath continuously caught in your throat by the way he looks at you, how easy it would be to press your lips to his. You itch with the possibility of it all, the way your heart would once batter against your ribs in fear of him discovering the way you feel drowned out by the drums and guitars and whisky.

You could spend the whole night - a whole lifetime - alone in your living room with Frankie like this.

The light from the lamps is low and warm now, bathing the room in shadows, the leaves of your plants sinking into a darker green. Outside, it is utterly dark.

You slip through each other’s arms like molasses, giggling uncontrollably. Frankie only breaks his firm hold on your waist, your hands, to reach for the bottle again, pouting when he finds it empty. He tips it up to his eye level, emptying the last few drops onto his tongue before swinging it around like more might magically appear.

You plant your hands on his shoulders, squeezing the firm muscle there. He meets your eye, trying - and failing - to balance the bottle on your head.

‘Ya want more?’ You ask, a grin slipping across your face.

His answering ‘Yup,’ is emphatic enough to have you bounding into the kitchen, the walls softening the sound of Fleetwood Mac as you stumble to the cabinets on the far side. Frankie watches, slouched against the doorframe, as you struggle on your tiptoes to reach the highest shelf where another bottle sits, label glinting gold. There’s a soft grunt as you sway a little, before starting to scale the kitchen units. He starts towards you.

‘Bug, let me get it.’

You relent immediately, kneeling on the countertop, eyes glassy as you watch him. He’s so fucking handsome you could cry. His curls, his smile, his arms, the little slither of tummy that’s exposed when he reaches up -

You barely catch the noise you were about to make in your throat as he lowers the bottle and shuts the cupboard door.

You’re still watching his fingers as he pops the cork and inhales deeply. He hums, deep in his chest, and you want to press your ear against his ribs to hear it better.

‘That’s good stuff.’

‘Always for you, baby.’ You smile, tongue poking against your teeth.

He knocks your shoulder with his fist, apparently oblivious to the blush that spreads right to the tops of his ears.

‘Stop that.’ He chuckles.

‘Mm-nope.’ Is your reply, and he’s still grinning as he swaggers out of the kitchen, taking a great gulp as he walks. You stay knelt on the countertop for a few seconds more before you manage to process that his warmth is no longer beside you.

‘Hey!’ You call, scampering down, running back through to the living room. Frankie is dancing again, but the sway of his hips is easier to ignore when he’s drinking your liquor.

‘Hey!’ You protest again as he lifts it back to his mouth, raising his eyebrows at you - teasing.

‘Give me some of that -’ you crow, trying to swipe it from him. But he's so fast. ‘Frankie, that’s mine,’ you whine, a petulant child, as he easily dodges your grabbing hands. ‘You fucker, I want some -’

And he’s giggling, ‘Come and get it, then.’

You move so quickly you surprise even yourself - climbing up onto the sofa beside you and launching yourself at him. He catches you on instinct, your arms wrapping securely around his shoulders as you fight to get the bottle back, him swinging himself in circles to try and dislodge you. The collision knocks whisky from his mouth, the air from his lungs.

‘Fuck - Bug - get off - my back -’

You manage to pry the bottle from his fingers, taking great glugs as he spins and you laugh maniacally.

‘Bug,’ he pants, ‘Please -’

‘Oh baby,’ you coo in his ear, a shit-eating grin on your lips, ‘What’s wrong?’

He stills briefly, the blush returning, his heart hammering against your palms. You lick your lips, pulling yourself a little closer, a little tighter, hitching your head over his shoulder so you can nibble at his ear lobe.

‘Tell me, Frankie. What do you want?’

His breath stutters, eyes flutter shut.

‘Baby -’ He croaks.

Something warm curls in your belly, wetness beginning to dampen your underwear. Baby.

You lean forward again, this time pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his neck. He staggers like you’ve swept his feet out from under him.

Frankie lurches, grunts, heaves you around to his front, and drops you on the sofa beside him.

Still smirking, you drink from the bottle again, watching as he drops heavily onto the loveseat adjacent to you. He’s breathing deeply, lifting his hips to adjust himself in his sweats.

‘Fuck. You.’ He breathes, levelling a finger in your direction. You smile wider, lascivious.

‘Is that a promise, or a threat, Francisco?’

He groans, low in his throat, a hand scraping over his jaw, and you’re moving without thinking about it. Drawn to him so easily, the neck of the bottle hanging between two fingers.

He watches you, eyes heavy lidded, fingers twitching where they rest on his thighs. You bite your lip, a quiet whine working from behind your teeth as you process the growing bulge against the grey.

He hasn't broken your gaze. You stop in front of him, between his spread legs. The air is thick, warm. You’re not even sure if the music is playing anymore.

‘Promise? Or threat?’ You repeat, softly.

He leans forward. Big, calloused hands trail up the back of your calves, the backs of your thighs. So slow, so sure, you’re positive your knees might give way. Your breath stutters as he presses a kiss to your stomach, brown eyes wide, looking up at you.

‘Promise.’

You bury a hand in his soft curls, tugging his head back softly, before trailing the backs of your fingers down his stubbled cheek. You pinch his chin between your thumb and forefinger.

‘Open.’

He does. Slowly, so slowly, you pour the whisky into his waiting mouth. Big brown eyes patient, wanting.

‘Close.’

He swallows as you bend to place the bottle on the floor, watching a dribble of liquid flow from the corners of his lips.

Good boy, you murmur, and he moans again. One hand pressed to his shoulder to push him back into the cushions, you drop a knee onto the sofa on one side of his narrow hips, and he uses his hands on your thighs to guide you the rest of the way to straddle him.

‘So good. Wanna make you feel so good.’ You whisper, half delirious, crowding him, settling your core over his growing hardness. Tangling a hand in the curls at the nape of his neck, the other cupping his cheek. You lean closer, and his eyelids flutter as you flatten your tongue against his chin, licking the whisky from him, rocking your hips slightly at the same time. It’s delicious, and you can’t tell whether it’s the taste or feel of him that cracks your mouth open with a moan. You lean back again, and he’s staring at you - pupils so blown they're black. Searching his eyes for permission, as if he would have ever let you get this far otherwise.

He beats you to it, leaning forwards again, your eyes just closing at the first press of his lips to yours - soft, sweet, gentle. He holds his mouth there for a moment as your heart catches up with your body, dropping dizzyingly into your stomach, your breath suddenly hard to find.

You open your mouth, and someone so different to the Frankie you're used to - desperate, hungry - claims it as his own.

His hands are everywhere. Cradling your cheek, gripping the hair at the back of your head, squeezing your ass, your thighs. Halfway between grounding and ravenous as he kisses you, all tongues and teeth and desire. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth, and you fist your hands in the hem of his t-shirt, wondering whether you should pull it up and off, thinking about the slip of skin you’d seen earlier, the scar and broad chest you’d admired at the beach. He releases your lip and ducks his head, kissing and nipping at your throat, and your body is so numb with feeling, goosebumps all over your skin, that you wonder whether this is what it should have felt like. All this time, everyone you’ve ever wanted. Even Annie. You’re gasping, moaning, a high pitched whine slipping from your mouth as he sucks a mark into your pulsepoint, your hands grabbing at him, pink half moons carved into his shoulders.

‘Frankie,’ you gasp, ‘Frankie -’

He mumbles your name against your skin, and then again, lower, growling.

‘Want you.’ He presses just behind your ear, and then his hands are squeezing at your hips, rocking you back and forth slowly. His head falls back against the sofa as yours tips forwards, fighting the urge to shut your eyes against how good it feels. You’re soaked, panties sticking to your damp folds, so wet you’re sure it’ll show through your sweats. So wet you’re sure Frankie can feel it, the way he looks down between your bodies. You follow his eyeline, groaning again, a fresh wave of slick pulsing out of you when you see how hard he is, tenting against the soft material.

You slant forward, bumping your forehead against his as you whimper, the seam of your clothing catching perfectly against your clit, head spinning. Frankie licks his lips, mouth tacky from breathing so hard.

‘So good, baby,’ he groans, ‘Fuck, you feel so good, moving like that.’

And you’re hot all over, heavy with arousal. Dipping your head low to kiss at his neck again, letting your tongue trace his skin, biting at the tendons there. He groans above you, puffing breath through his nose as he paws at your ass, urging you to arch your back more as though he knows you need to chase more friction. You whine into the crook of his neck, letting him drive the pace now as you clench around nothing, heat pooling in the pit of your stomach.

‘Fuck,’ you breathe against him, ‘Fuck, Frankie.’

‘Yeah?’ He rasps, ‘You like that, princesa?’

You moan again by way of an answer, scrunching the neck of his tee in your hands, squeezing your eyes shut. You don’t know how you’ve gotten there so quickly, knot pulling tight in your core, burning through your insides, but the hours of thinking about it probably haven’t helped.

‘’M gonna come.’ You mumble against him, and his breathing falters.

‘You gonna come like this?’

‘Mhm.’

You tip your head to suck at his neck again, and he presses you harder against him, moaning out.

‘Okay,’ he gasps, ‘Good girl.’

His praise goes straight to your aching cunt, your orgasm blinding as it approaches even faster than you thought. You stagger out a gasp, a moan, a broken cry of his name as you grind against him, hips twitching, one hand flying out to tug at his curls. Frankie grunts your name, something like a warning, and then the heat between your legs gets warmer, wetter as he spills inside his boxers.

‘Fuck,’ he gasps, ‘Fuck me.’

You giggle, dazed, as the grip of his hands soften, and you take the moment to grind against him a little more with the aftershocks. You keen at the sound of his overstimulated whimpers, the feel of his cum soaking through your clothes, until you can no longer resist the urge to draw back to look down at him.

He’s wrecked. Flushed and sweaty, curls a little tighter where they’re damp. His eyes are wide, deep and sparkling, lips wet and swollen from your kisses. Blissed out, a little faraway as he gazes at you. He looks beautiful.

You lean down to take his mouth with yours again, slower this time, relaxing into it as you come down from your highs. You lick along the seam of his lips, and he lets you in, tongues tangling lazily with each other. You run your fingers through his hair, twisting his soft curls around your digits, and it’s all you’ve ever wanted. He’s all you’ve ever wanted.

He’s all you want, and suddenly you have no idea where you stand.

All at once, the music is too loud, the rest of the world too still. Your legs feel too heavy, your hands shaky, a queasy feeling in your stomach. A spiral of something, a crushing weight of dread. You’re fucking this up.

He’s all you want, but what if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if you’re just drunk - what if this is a one time thing? You won’t be able to look at him, won’t be able to sit at the table drawing with Lucia now you know how he sounds when he falls apart. And you will not break your own heart by getting into something casual, something where he’ll inevitably find someone else -

You try to push it away, swallow it down, focus on the press of his soft, full lips, the firm feeling of his body against yours, but your mind is screaming at you -

What the fuck have you done?

Fleetwood Mac falls into silence. Your eyes fly open, mouth quickly detached from his.

‘Bug?’ He says, too softly.

You can’t breathe. Can’t say anything as he watches you, one hand still at the nape of your neck, the other wrapped around your hip. There’s a prickle in the back of your throat, a burning at the back of your eyes. Whisky sits heavy in your blood, and yet you’ve never felt more sober.

‘What’s wrong?’ He asks, and you shake your head.

‘I’m sorry,’ you whisper, voice strained, ‘Frankie, I’m so sorry -’

He sits up properly, adjusting you on his lap. Your hands drop to your sides. Frankie’s stay at your waist.

‘Bug, why are you sorry?’

His words are rushed, pitching higher. He’s worried - he’s panicking.

But you’re searching his face for regret, for clarity, for shame.

‘I -’ the words are too thick, too heavy to come out. Impossible to tell him now what he means to you, when it seems so clear he got caught up in the moment.

He’s still watching, still waiting. His hands squeeze at your sides, offering comfort. You close your eyes, shake your head, lips trembling.

‘I don’t know if you wanted this - if - if - you just did it because it’s something to do - or -’ you choke off with a shuddered breath, clenching your jaw, trying so hard not to cry. The wetness from both of you is cooling between your legs, and it’s too much, this whole thing is crushing, too much -

‘You don’t think I wanted this?’

You shake your head again, lips pinched together against a sob. Your chest aches. Frankie’s warm palm settles against your cheek.

‘Baby, look at me.’

You tip your head back, inhaling deeply through your nose, before tilting it back towards Frankie and opening your eyes. Warm, deep brown, frantically checking you over. Eyebrows crinkled in a frown. He breathes your name, mouth working around the words he’s trying to find.

‘You have no idea,’ he begins, ‘No idea how long I’ve waited for you. Not even since you moved next door. I’ve waited my whole life for you, do you understand that?’

You shake your head, refusing to hear him, unbelievable, a sob clawing out your mouth. He holds you closer.

‘I have. My whole life. God, Bug. The only thing I wish was different is that I’d bought the pizza so I could say I got you dinner first.’

A watery chuckle escapes you, despite yourself. Relief trying to bloom in your chest, a smile teasing at your lips.

‘You’ve made me dinner plenty of times -’

‘Mm-mm,’ he hums, smiling now, too. ‘Doesn’t count. I wanted to take you on a date, get dressed up, have some wine -’

‘No,’ you laugh - it’s so incomprehensible, ‘No you did not -’

‘I did.’ He rasps. ‘I just could never find the words - the fucking nerve - to say it.’

You take him in. His sweet, soft face. Every line and freckle you know so well. You could draw him from memory, starting with the little heart-shaped patch in his beard.

‘You mean it.’ Not a question, a confirmation. He takes your hand from your side, brings the knuckles to his lips.

‘Of course I do.’

You twist your hand in his, kiss his palm. Words tangle on your tongue but are swallowed, catching on their way down.

‘What do we do now?’

He laughs, head knocking against the back of the sofa. He looks down between you.

‘Get a change of clothes.’

You giggle, shifting again. His grip tightens, a sigh shifting past his lips. Your hips twinge.

‘After that?’

Frankie tips his head. In the quiet, you can hear birds through the glass of your windows. Without bidding it to, your mouth stretches in a yawn. Frankie quickly follows.

‘We go to sleep.’

‘And then?’

He smiles, plays with your fingers. A dusting of pink across his cheeks.

‘I tell everyone we’re seeing each other. And then, maybe one day, I tell them you’re mine.’

Your heart swells to double - triple - its size. Everything that felt heavy before now floating, light as air, as though nothing tethers it to the ground.

‘Sounds good to me, Morales.’

You lean forwards, press your lips against his. Feel his eyelashes flutter against your cheeks. He pulls away minutely, just to mumble against you.

‘If it sounds good to you, baby, it sounds perfect to me.’

‘Holy fuck.’

You scrunch your eyelids tighter together, trying to stave off the pounding of your head, how the room is spinning even in the darkness. Frankie is warm against you, his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as he groans.

‘I know.’

He laughs, a deep rumble vibrating through your ribs, until you’re joining him, cut off with a sharp intake of air.

‘Don’t,’ you mumble through clenched teeth, ‘If you make me laugh, I’ll puke.’

‘Mm. Yep. Not what we want. Water, that’s what we want.’

The mattress shifts as he does, and when you muster the strength to roll over, you’re faced with his bare, broad back, perched on the edge of the bed. You reach out a finger to connect the freckles on his shoulders, dipping low to the dimples above his boxers. You watch as his muscles tighten, as goosebumps flare over the skin you’ve touched. He swivels his hips to half face you.

‘Morning.’ He smiles. You answer with one of your own.

‘Morning.’

His lips stretch wider, mischief twinkling in his eyes. He gestures to your rumpled sheets.

‘Last night, did we…’

You snort, rolling your eyes at him.

‘Oh, fuck off, Fish -’

He leans over, chuckling, crawling back towards you. Your lungs freeze as his gaze drops to your lips.

‘I know,’ he breathes, ‘But I wish we did.’

He pecks you, gently, catching your eye before leaning closer to do it again. You return them, quick, gentle, peppering them all over his face. He hums, coming closer still, one arm braced over your body.

‘You know, you’re making it very hard to -’

His ringtone chimes loudly through the room, and you squeeze your eyes closed against it as it rattles through your skull. You knock a fist against his arm.

‘Frankie - please -’ as he groans, retreating, grabbing his phone from the bedside table. He answers the call, holds it as far away from his ear as possible.

‘Hello?’

You listen to the murmur of the conversation, piecing it together, trying to save yourself from the doze threatening at the corners of your body. When quiet returns, you crack an eye open to find him watching you.

‘Luc?’

He nods.

‘Duty calls.’

You smile, stretching your neck to catch one last kiss as he stands and leans over the bed. He stumbles around your room for his clothes - fresh sweats - yawning and stretching, scratching at his shoulder, and you can’t help how goofy, how giddily happy you feel watching him do it.

‘Are you safe to drive?’ You chuckle.

He squints into the sunlight streaming through your curtains. Pulls his t-shirt over his head, covering the chest you’d slept against. Looks down at you in the bed he’d held you in months ago.

‘Reckon I’m good,’ he grins, ‘See you later?’

You nod, biting your lip.

‘See you later.’

He swoops down again, seeking your lips, unable to help himself.

‘Later.’ He mumbles, puffing out a laugh as you push him off. ‘Get some rest.’

You hum as he leaves the room with soft footsteps, pulling the door gently closed behind him. Listen as he closes the front door, starts his truck.

I tell everyone we’re seeing each other. And then, maybe one day…

You roll back onto your side, one eye open, staring at the picture on the bedside table of you and your dad. A grin twists across your face, lip caught between your teeth as you point a finger at him. His answering smile, his arm always wrapped around you.

A ship in a harbour is safe. But that’s not what ships are built for.

‘You knew, didn’t you?’

You can hear his laugh all the way from here.

You spend the last few days Lucia is home playing the most entertaining game of nothing-has-changed.

School is exhausting, the kids bouncing off the walls as you strive to finish your final piles of marking, of grades, working to the bottom of your inbox. You catch Frankie and Lucia every morning, almost every evening. Stay for dinner twice, stealing kisses in the kitchen when Luc isn’t looking.

As the week drags on, hands get more desperate, the game gets riskier. He backs you up against his counter, one hand grasping the marble beside you, the other against your face, splitting your mouth with his tongue, licking behind your teeth. His thigh tangles between your legs, his quiet moans so close, but not nearly close enough, to what you heard on your sofa.

It’s never enough.

You spend the nights alone, hands buried between your thighs, soaked with the knowledge he’s doing the same.

It’s the last day of term when you struggle out of your truck, arms laden with potted plants and summer reading, to see a small, red car parked on Frankie’s driveway. A swoop of sadness in your gut, a tiny, guilty, twinge of excitement.

You’re trying to work out how to retrieve your keys from your pocket, worrying whether you’ll have time to say goodbye when she jumps down the porch steps to greet you.

‘Bug!’ Luc crows, sprinting across the grass before crashing into your knees. Your precarious pile of books wobbles dangerously as you laugh.

‘Well, if it isn’t my favourite Morales!’ You cry, peering down at her over the monstera. She beams up at you, jumping a little.

‘Mama’s here!’ She shouts, her arms still wrapped around your legs, squeezing them tighter.

‘Your Mama!’ you parrot back excitedly, ‘I have to meet your Mama, Luc. You’ve told me so much about her, all the places she’s been -’

Movement on Frankie’s porch catches your eye, and you look up to see a woman coming down the steps towards you. Beautiful - shining hair, a wide, genuine smile. Lucia’s smile.

Luc swivels against you, following your eye.

‘Mama!’ She shouts. ‘It’s Bug!’

You laugh again, and Vanessa laughs with you. She stretches an arm across your shoulders, pressing a kiss against your cheek.

‘Bug,’ she repeats warmly, squeezing your arm. ‘Vanessa. I’ve heard so much about you. Luc talks about you all the time on the phone. You’re her favourite person in the world.’

Your cheeks heat, a bashful chuckle leaving your lips.

‘She has awful taste.’ You whisper conspiratorially. Vanessa laughs loudly.

‘Hardly,’ she says, ‘You’ve been an angel. All the stories I’ve heard, the way Frankie talks about you -’

She cuts off as he emerges from the house. He spots you straight away, eyes shielded from the afternoon light, cap pulled down over his curls, smile as bright as the sun.

‘Hey.’ He says, softly, as he approaches the three of you on the grass.

Vanessa rolls her eyes at you.

‘Hey,’ she repeats, nudging you, ‘As if he's not been talking my ear off about you all afternoon.’

‘Making friends already, I see.’ He says, cheeks turning rosy as he catches the tail end of her sentence. You poke your tongue into your cheek.

‘You talking about me again, Morales?’

Frankie flushes an even deeper pink, and Vanessa giggles, delighted.

‘Oh, I like you even more than I already did.’

Frankie tips his face to the sky, exasperated, as you snicker. Lucia’s tinkle of laughter joins yours, and Frankie plants his hands on his hips, frowning playfully down at her.

‘You don’t even know what you’re laughing at, mija.’

Lucia sticks her tongue out at him, and you and Vanessa laugh again.

‘She’s clued in, this kid,’ she says, ‘Knew it from day one.’

‘Knew what?’ Lucia demands.

Vanessa ruffles her hair.

‘That Bug’s special.’

Something swells in your throat as you catch Vanessa’s eye. There’s such goodness there, an understanding. Gratitude, a kind of encouragement.

‘Are you staying for dinner?’

Vanessa shakes her head, smiling fondly down at where her daughter now stands between you.

‘Not tonight. We only hung around to see you.’

She smiles at you again, eyebrows raising. Your throat aches, and you swallow tightly.

‘Thank you.’ You say softly.

Vanessa scoffs.

‘Thank you,’ she says, ‘For everything you’ve done. I hope you have a really great summer.’ She pauses, nodding to your books. ‘You deserve it.’

You chuckle, bending down to lower them onto the lawn, arms sore. You swipe your palms on your pants. She pulls you close again, and you go willingly, arms wrapped around her.

‘I mean it,’ she says in your ear. ‘Have a really great summer.’

She winks at you as she pulls away, and your cheeks heat again, eyes darting to Frankie.

‘Shit stirrer.’ He whispers, chuckling over her shoulder as she hugs him too.

She smacks a hand against his bicep as she steps back.

‘Someone had to say it.’ She grins.

You bite your lip, squatting down to Lucia’s level as Vanessa pats her pockets for her car keys.

‘You be good,’ you say to her, hands on her arms. ‘Look after your Mama, do what she tells you. And I’ll see you when you get back.’

She nods solemnly.

‘Promise?’

You hold out your pinky.

‘Pinky promise.’

She joins your fingers before lurching into your arms, her little body bending into yours.

‘I love you, Bug.’ She whispers.

You squeeze her tighter, tears pricking in the backs of your eyes.

‘Love you too, bean.’

You rub her back as she tightens her fierce hold around your neck before backing away. She takes Vanessa’s outstretched hand.

‘Shall we go, Luc?’ She asks.

‘Yep!’ She says, taking Frankie’s offered hand in her spare one. He squeezes your arm as he passes you on the way to the car, dropping a quick kiss on your forehead.

You watch as he straps Lucia into her carseat, leaning over her to tuck in her belt, pressing kisses all over her face until she squeals. He murmurs more quiet goodbyes to her before reluctantly closing the door, hugging Vanessa again before she lowers herself into the driver’s seat. He steps back as the car starts, raising a hand to wave as they start to back out of the driveway. You step closer, standing at his side as you wave, too, until the little, red car shrinks to a pinpoint on the road.

You turn to face him as the first tear falls to find his own streaked with wetness. His mouth tightly closed, eyes watery, lips downturned before cracking into a smile. You giggle at each other, though your heart pulls low.

‘Gonna miss her little face.’ You whisper, before you blink and the tears start in earnest. Frankie crackles out a half-cry, half-laugh.

‘Me too,’ he says, pulling you into his chest. You wind your arms around him, breathing him in. His chest rumbles with another chuckle. ‘Jesus, look at us.’

The sun is low in the sky, glinting against your jewellery as you drape your arms around Frankie’s neck. It’s well past the hour you should have left, but each time you get close to stepping out the door, your lipstick manages to get smudged again.

You can’t begin to guess why.

His hands are incessant, grasping at your waist, the nape of your neck. Lips even more so, intent on undoing your work as you giggle at him, putting on a poor performance of driving him away.

‘Frankie,’ you murmur against his lips, ‘Baby, I have to go -’

He grumbles, hands gripping you tighter.

‘Don’t have to go anywhere. Should stay here with me.’ He mumbles, full mouth pressed to yours as you try to squeeze out your reply.

‘I’m new - I can’t - miss - my first - end of year - party.’

‘You’re not new,’ he says, scruff whispering against your neck as he peppers kisses below your jaw. ‘Been there for the whole year. Can’t believe the first chance we get at a free house - and you’re making your escape.’

He rolls his hips against yours, and you briefly consider sacking the whole thing off and pulling him into your bed. But you’d promised Rachel, promised Marie and Calum and Helen -

‘Tomorrow.’ You half-moan, and he grunts.

‘Barbecue tomorrow.’

A huff sounds between you, and you can’t tell whether it’s from you or Frankie. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to stave off the arousal pooling between your thighs.

‘We’ll have the whole summer after this -’

‘Not long enough.’ He growls, and you laugh properly, if a little breathlessly.

‘And all the months afterwards. I need to go.’

You fist his hair, his t-shirt, a little rougher. He inhales deeply at your pulse point, dragging his nose against your skin as he pulls away.

‘You look beautiful.’ He says.

Your cheeks heat as you take in the way he looks at you. So intense, so honest in his truth and his want. It makes your insides gooey.

‘Thank you.’

He waits as you collect your purse, checking your lipstick in the mirror before the door. He kisses you again, soft, chaste, as he steps out before you into the evening air, a hand tangled with yours as you lock the door and come to the bottom of your lawn.

‘I’ll see you later.’ You smile, loosening your fingers for fear he’ll pull you back in and truly render your plans asunder.

‘Later,’ he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. ‘Be safe. Text me if you need anything.’

‘I will.’ You murmur, unable, despite your best efforts, to fight the instinct to kiss him one last time.

Frankie keeps a vigil most of the night. You’d texted him to say you’d arrived, sent a couple more to tell him you were having a great time and that you’d told Rachel, who told everyone else, that you were seeing someone.

Somehow, they guessed it was you first time.

You been talking about me, teach?

Apparently I never shut up about you. Embarrassing.

Go to bed ;)

His eyelids are heavy against the glow of the TV in his bedroom, and more than once, his head droops so low that he starts himself awake with the sudden movement.

He doesn’t even realise he’s been asleep until the thud of a closing car door shakes him from his slumber, brain slowly processing the sound of your front door opening and shutting. He groans, rolling over to check the time on his bedside clock. It’s three in the morning.

He stands in a heavy-lidded daze, body weighted and warm with drowsiness, twitching his curtain to see your bedroom light on, standing there in the semi-darkness as the shadow of you moves across your window.

His heart lurches in his chest as the corner of your own curtain lifts, heart hammering at the peak of you just like it did that first day. There’s a flash of your teeth through the gloom, and then you disappear, the window covered again.

His phone buzzes on the bedside table, and he moves with slow feet towards it. He picks up on the second ring.

‘I thought I told you to get some rest.’

He falls heavily back against his pillows, free hand searching blindly for the remote to turn the volume down.

‘Couldn’t sleep.’

You snort down the line, and he can see your eyeroll.

‘I saw your scruffy hair,’ you tease, ‘You’ve been asleep already, Morales.’

His voice is more slurred than yours when he speaks again, and it makes you giggle even harder.

‘Wanted ta make sure you got home safe.’

He stifles a yawn against his hand, and you chuckle again.

‘’M home safe,’ you say softly, ‘All good.’

The line is quiet for a moment as he fumbles for more words to say, wanting to listen to your voice a little longer.

‘Didya hava good time?’

Your answer is a little more indulgent this time, and in the following silence he hears the click of your lamp and the rustle of your sheets.

‘A very good time,’ a pause, and then, with the sound of a smile, ‘I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.’

He nods, although you can’t see him.

‘Mkay.’

‘Goodnight, baby.’

‘G’night, princesa.’

He’s out like a light, phone slipping from his hand before you even hang up.

Before he can catch the words that slip in a hush from your lips.

frankie and bug's whisky night playlist <3

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fluff #pedro pascal fanfiction #fic: on call

205 notes · View notes