#gutter cleaning is quick

[yandere-daydreams]

Black Cat!Wanderer, who you find in an alleyway behind your apartment complex, badly bruised and barely conscious. He's poorly dressed, even for a hybrid, shivering and deathly pale, but he still finds the strength to snap at you as you approach him. You have to bribe him with fish you can't afford and a blanket nicer than anything you'd buy for yourself before he lets you so much as touch him, and even then, he's quick to growl and tell you to get away from him as soon as you try to pet him. He's a temperamental kitten, but considering the state he's in, you can't say you blame him for being so defensive.

Black Cat!Wanderer, who lets himself into your apartment after a few weeks of alleyway visits and offered meals. He doesn't scratch at your door or ask to come in. You find him splayed out on your couch when you get home, muttering that it'd been too long since the last time he saw you and scowling into a clawed-up pillow. He still comes and goes as he pleases (you wouldn't try to keep a hybrid so clearly used to being on his own contained), but he spends most of his time curled up on your bed or trailing after you around the house, still pretending he'd rather be anywhere on earth other than in your lap. He says that you're just like every other human, that he only hangs around you for the food and a warm place to sleep, but the way he purrs when you scratch at his ears says otherwise.

Black Cat!Wanderer, who doesn't just visit you at home, either. He always seemed to ""coincidentally"" be passing by your office just in time to walk you home from work, and doesn't seem to consider a quick grocery run or shopping trip to be a good enough excuse to get rid of him. You're lucky he's a cat, rather than something bigger, something more difficult to pass off whenever he follows you into a cafe or bodega. He's lucky that he's so cute, or else you might call his bluff and start treating him like the housecat he won't admit he wants to be.

Black Cat!Wanderer, who doesn't know that you know he likes to cuddle up to you while you're asleep. Most of the time, he'll wait until you go to bed properly before curling up against your side, but you've found him laid out on top of you after passing out on your tiny couch, fast asleep despite his best efforts to always scurry away before you notice he's there. You never considered yourself a catperson before you met him, but god, sometimes you feel like you could spend the rest of your life fawning over your shy little alley cat.

Black Cat!Wanderer, who's been with you long enough to be hyper-aware that there are people - humans, nonetheless - you'd rather spend time with than him. He doesn't need your attention, he doesn't need you, but he's not going to lose you to a human, either - not when you're the only person he can stand to be around.

Black Cat!Wanderer, who might just be a cat but still has teeth and claws as sharp as any predator. Following the coworker you've mentioned just a few too many times home is child's play, and it only takes a few seconds to drag his claws across their throat, to dig his teeth into their jugular and shut them up before they can scream. It's just like killing a rat, something you've praised him for a thousand times, even if he still cringes when the taste of iron hits his tongue.

Black Cat!Wanderer, who spent enough time as a stray to know the best places to put something he doesn't want anyone else to find. The body is dropped into a gutter with a loose grate, the blood washed off of his face in a relatively clean drainage canal. He's home by sunrise, and he can't control the way his chest rumbles as he slots himself against your side - happier than he's ever been before.

Black Cat!Wanderer, who'd do anything to make himself the center of your little world.

[junkissed]

drenched

member — junhui x f reader  genre — smut word count — 2.4k  synopsis — the pool isn't the only thing that gets jun all wet. warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, oral (reader receiving), squirting, body worship, pussy drunk jun, mentioned that reader wears a bikini (+ other clothes), they're so horny for each other it's actually just gross notes — requested by anon for my 🐈 1k event — thanks to @onlymingyus for looking over this for me <3 sorry the synopsis is boring asdhgsj i couldnt think of a cooler one. also very very sorry again that it's taken me so long to get to these old requests but i hope you enjoy! please be sure to reblog with comments or send an ask if you liked this :)

if there's only one thing in this world that jun is obsessed with, it's your pussy.

practically every night he comes home, throwing his bag on the chair and pulling you onto the couch, begging you to let him eat you out, just really quick before dinner, please? i'll make you cum so fast, promise, just let me have ten minutes with you.

most of the time he slides your pants down and finds you already wet, knowing the kind of mood he'll be in when he gets home. it's almost impossible to force your mind out of the gutter when you can't stop picturing him kneeling between your legs, his dark brown eyes turned even darker with lust as he watches your face and every single tiny little reaction you have to him.

it's not your fault that you really can't help it if your mind wanders during the day, sending a shiver down your spine every time you think about how desperate he is for you. he'll never pass up the opportunity to bury his fingers inside you, moaning about how good it feels to have your cunt clenching him so tight and how pretty your legs look as they tremble around him.

jun loves nothing more than how wet you get and he'll clean you up with his tongue, his cock throbbing because he knows you're like this for him and him only. he'll gladly spend hours between your legs, groaning about how you're straight out of his dreams; what other explanation could there possibly be for the fact that he gets to come home to the prettiest girl he's ever seen every single day? not only that, but that you let him play with you whenever you want? he feels like he's died and gone to heaven every time you spread your legs apart and let him spend as much time as he wants in that spot.

of course, he has other favorite things, too. he loves fucking you from behind so he can see your gorgeous ass bouncing in front of him. he loves laying back and letting you do whatever you want to him, pushing his shaft between your breasts and grinning when he covers your face in his cum. but nothing compares to having his face smushed in your pussy, his skilled tongue and long fingers reaching places inside you that you didn't even know existed before you met him.

tonight is no different than every other night that he comes home and begs for your pussy. except this time he's got one thing and one thing only on his mind, and it's going to drive him insane if he doesn't have you right this second.

the first time it happened it caught you off guard. your cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment as the drops rolled down his abs coating the both of you in liquid, your legs still wrapped around his waist when he stops thrusting. you started to apologize, until jun lets out a long, low groan and tells you don't you fucking dare apologize for the hottest thing he's ever witnessed in his whole goddamn life and now he's made it his life's mission to making you squirt as much as is physically possible.

you didn't even know you could squirt at all before jun, but he brings a side out of you that you didn't know was there. a side of you so absolutely insatiable, like an unquenchable thirst, and now that it's been unlocked you're addicted to it.

with the rising temperatures and clear, sunny skies that have come after the rain and cold, it's obvious that summer is quickly closing in. it's one of his favorite seasons for many reasons, but the main one is that hotter weather means seeing you in more revealing clothes.

he had never been the type of guy to go feral at the sight of an ankle or an exposed shoulder, but around you it's like he loses all control. the way your shorts hug your ass—jean shorts, pajama shorts, bike shorts, any and all of them. his mind goes blank and all he can imagine is your perfect pussy hidden so teasingly from his view, and he'll do anything to get a taste. teasingly, because you know exactly how he gets and you love to play into it just to make him even more riled up.

you've started buying shorts that are just a little bit too small, just a little bit tighter that show another extra inch of skin. and you grin in satisfaction every single time he tears them off of you and pushes his hand down past the waistband to feel how soaked you are… until he wipes that smile right off your face with just a simple brush of his fingers.

the same goes for your shirts, too. the crop tops that expose your tummy; he loves to run his fingers over your skin, and the short length makes it so much easier for him to slide his hands up to feel your breasts. and don't even get him started on the tank tops; he feels like a virgin all over again, unable to stop his cock from twitching in his pants. when he sees that little extra bit of cleavage sitting so perfectly.

god, he loves every fucking thing about your body. but there is, however, one downside to the summer season.

okay, so it's not exactly like they banned him from the public pool, but they did tell him (in not so nice words) to stop feeling up his girlfriend in the locker rooms, and now he's too embarrassed to ever show his face there again. which honestly is more than fine by you, because if your hand wasn't down his swim shorts jerking him off as you lazily sat beside him in a chaise lounge, then was it really even a good day?

but besides that, the problem is that he can't see you near water without thinking about making you squirt. there hasn't been a single time when you've been out on the backyard patio, drops of sweat glistening on your skin from the summer heat as you hold a garden hose in your hand watering the tomato plants, that he hasn't wanted to push you against the side of the house and take you right then and there. to curl his fingers in your pussy until his hand is more soaked than the vegetables.

or like the time you both stayed at your parents’ house for a weekend while they were on vacation. he'd found you sitting out by the pool reading your book after you've just finished swimming, and the drops of water on your thighs that hadn't yet dried from the sun had reminded him too vividly of how you looked after he made you squirt with his cock. that day you'd needed a second shower, and it wasn't from the chlorine in the pool.

if your mind is in the gutter when you think about him, then his mind is in a place further than hell when he thinks about you. 

so really, you can't blame him for tonight. you can't get mad at him after you sent him pictures of the pretty new bikini you'd bought for the upcoming cruise you were going on next month. but not just pictures of the bikini; pictures of you wearing it, your knees spread temptingly in a way that you knew for a fact would get him hard as a rock in seconds.

he's pissed, but more than that he's needy, because he already had to jerk off in the bathroom at work because he couldn't get his hard-on to go down any other way. his own fist will never compare to how good your pussy feels against his face, so it seems as good a place as any for you to start making it up to him for your bad behavior.

he barely gets the front door closed behind him before he's pushing you against the wall, his fingers clawing desperately at your sides as his lips capture yours. it's hot, he’s hot, and the temperature outside has nothing to do with it.

even the air conditioning in your house can't cool you down as he drags you by the waist to your shared bedroom, telling you it would be in your best interests to be waiting naked by the time he comes back with towels because he's not feeling very patient tonight.

you love it when he gets like this, and you grin triumphantly as you pull your panties off and leave them hanging off the edge of the bed, the glistening wet spot on them purposefully noticeable. you already know that you won't be leaving this room until the towels and sheets beneath you are equally soaked, and just the thought alone makes you dizzy. 

the grin on jun's face is wide enough to rival yours when he comes back to find you laid out so prettily on the bed, on display for him like a gourmet fucking meal.

you lift your hips for him as he spreads out a towel beneath you, kneeling at the foot of the bed with your thighs on either side of his head. just one look at your dripping folds and he's already gone, throwing your legs over his shoulders and digging his fingers into your thighs to spread you apart even more for his eager mouth.

you've had jun's mouth on you more times than you can keep track of, but every single time still feels like the first. no matter how often he does it, you don't think you'll ever be prepared for the first lick, when he flattens his tongue to cover as much of you as possible at once before he begins.

the way he immediately and easily finds your clit, sucking messily before moving lower to slide through your folds, is always enough to bring you right up to the edge, but it doesn't last. it's a constant battle between making you cum as fast as possible, or prolonging it and moving around until you can't take it even for one more second and your orgasm is ten times stronger. 

this time he chooses the latter, but you already had a feeling that that's how things would go. he's focused, honed in on your pussy; he is going to make you squirt all over his face, and if you don't think that's a guarantee, then you'd be sorely mistaken.

it's not the first time you've played this little game with him: sending suggestive photos and texting flirty messages, until you inevitably end up under him with enough orgasms to last you a week. but it's never enough to last, of course, and it's not long before you do it all over again.

he likes to act like he's teaching you a lesson, but you both have been through this routine enough times to know it's the thrill that keeps you coming back more than the need for punishment. you could always just ask him, but where's the fun in that? it's much more exciting to push his buttons and let him take over. it would almost be funny how his reaction is exactly the same every single time, if your reaction weren't also exactly the same. it's a habit you fall into together, but you wouldn't trade it for anything.

jun's fingers slide up your body, stopping at your waist to grab you and pull you harder against his nose. it's impossible not to let yourself get lost in it, moaning and threading your fingers in his hair as your pussy throbs in his mouth.

he points his tongue at your clit once more and he doesn't let up until your thighs start to shake, your breath coming out in shallow gasps. you're close and he knows it, almost even better than you know it yourself because he's spent so much time between your legs that he knows how to read your body like an open book. 

your fingers in his scalp squeeze tighter, pushing his head further into you, and he groans at the feeling. he loves how quickly you get fucked out from his mouth alone, that you’re barely even processing how roughly you're moving his head because your body is on fire from the stimulation.

he'd live and die in your pussy if he could, and that's exactly what he plans to do tonight as his tongue flicks faster and harder. he can feel the wetness already gushing out of you and he knows you're right there, ready to give him what he so desperately wants.

with one final suck to your clit you go rigid and your muscles release, whimpers and whines flowing from your lips like liquid as you cum. it drenches his face, running down his cheeks and his chin and soaking his hair.

he drinks you up like a starved man, like he's been wandering alone in the desert and finally found his oasis. your head rolls back and your body writhes under his hands, but his grip is too tight and he is far too committed on getting every last drop from you to allow you to squirm out of his grasp.

it's overwhelming nearly to the point of pain but you don't want him to stop, you desperately need him to keep going until you're drained. and that’s one of the best things about jun, is that by now he can practically read your mind and he can tell when you need more and when you don’t.

he can tell what you want without even having to ask, so he reaches up and squeezes your hand in his as he looks up from between your legs, meeting your eyes and giving you that look that makes you shiver because you couldn’t imagine anyone else but him in this position. you don’t want to stop, not yet, and he nods at you knowingly with a hazy little grin and slides his tongue right back where you want it.

he’s more than willing to spend the rest of the night kneeling in front of you until you’re spent, if that’s what you want. honestly, he’s willing to spend the rest of his life there, too.

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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[heartsforvin]

BIRTHDAY BOY

can’t believe my baby boy is 22 🥹 enjoy this smut in honor of da bday boy himself !!!! hope you all like it <3

pairing: vinnie hacker x fem!reader

warnings: smut, use of pet names, praise kink, bit of degradation, spit play (is that a thing ??), slapping, overstimulation, use of vibrator, bit of cum play, lmk if i missed anything !!

summary: it’s his day so why not let him take control, right?

you woke up extra early to surprise your boyfriend with a special birthday breakfast. you went into the kitchen and made his favorite breakfast meal.

hera came up behind you, brushing against your leg with a small meow.

you look down and give her a smile before continuing to make vinnie’s food.

once it’s finished, you add finishing touches and a glass of orange juice before setting everything on a tray and bringing it back into your shared bedroom.

pushing the door open with your foot, you quietly make your way into the room, noticing vinnie is still asleep.

you almost don’t want to wake him. the way he’s sleeping so peacefully, curls messily in his face as soft snores erupt from his mouth.

you also didn’t want the freshly made food go to waste. so, you placed the tray on the dresser before walking over to your boyfriends side of the bed.

sitting down next to him, you slowly push the sheets away, the tattoo on his upper back coming into your view.

smiling softly, you drag your nails gently along his skin, whispering for him to wake up.

vinnie moans softly before mumbling something you can’t quite hear before shifting in his sleep.

“come on vinnie, get up,” you run your fingers through his hair. “made you a special breakfast.”

vinnie smiles at your words, he lifts his head up and looks at you. “goodmorning sleepyhead.” you say kissing his cheek.

his smile doesn’t falter as you kiss his cheeks. a subtle whine leaves his lips when you stand up, but his expression changes once he sees the tray of food.

“your favorite just for you, my love.” you say, waiting for him to sit up against the headboard before placing the tray on the bed in front of him.

sitting next to him, vinnie smiles and thanks you before digging into his meal. you smile at him, threading your fingers through his messy curls as he eats.

“whatcha’ wanna do today, birthday boy?” you ask with a smirk, making vinnie laugh.

he finishes up his breakfast before answering you. “wanna know what i really want?”

you laugh and push his chest, already knowing where this is going. it was no surprise that’s what he wanted, birthday or not.

“get your mind outta’ the gutter for five minutes, hacker,” you chuckle. “before we get to that, what would you like?”

he smirks at you. “oh so i am gettin’ it tonight?” he teases.

grabbing the tray, you stand up and walk to the door before turning your head to look at him. “keep talking like that and you won’t.” you wink.

vinnie waves you off and you laugh as you exit the room to clean up the dishes from the breakfast you had made.

as you do, vinnie decides to get up and get ready for the day. after his shower and after shower routine, vinnie meets you in the kitchen.

he sees hera laying on her cat tree and goes up to her, scratching under her ear before kissing her head.

“go put a shirt on, i’m taking you out for the day.” you tell your boyfriend as you dry your hands.

vinnie walks over to you and wraps his arms around your waist, yours going to rest behind his neck.

“or,” he starts before kissing you softly, his bare chest pressed against you. “we can stay in and just chill ‘til later.”

you smile and push him away before pushing him to the bedroom door. “shirt, now. i wanna treat you, it’s your day.”

he puts his hands up in defense as he backs up into the bedroom. “okay miss bossy, i’ll go put a shirt on.”

you chuckle at his antics as you walk over to hera, who was still on her cat tree. you kiss her head and tell her the two of you will be back before going to grab your purse.

calling out for your boyfriend, he’s quick to respond with a playful remark before swinging his arm around you and heading out the door.

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡

after hours of shopping and treating vinnie to lunch, the two of you made it home just in time for vinnie to go out with his friends.

you remembered him telling you him and his friends were hanging out tonight.

he had offered you to go with, but you told him to go alone, that it was his night so he can spend time with his friends.

kissing your cheek, he said he’d be back later and that he loved you.

you did your own thing until vinnie got back. about an hour or so later he had texted you that he was five minutes away from the house.

perfect. you thought to yourself. you had this whole idea planned out.

you remembered the conversation from this morning, how vinnie asked if he was ‘gettin’ it’ tonight. as soon as he said that an idea popped into your head.

heading into the closet of your shared bedroom, you go through all your lingerie sets before being met with the perfect one.

a black lace set vinnie had specifically picked out. it was his absolute favorite on you too, not to mention.

finishing up dressing yourself, you jump slightly when you hear the front door shut and vinnie shouting across the house for you.

making sure your set is covered for now, you quickly walk out of the closet and into the kitchen.

“hey baby,” you greet the blonde with a smile. “how was the party?”

the smile on his face tells you he’s definitely a bit tipsy. vinnie grabs you by the waist and pulls you into him, kissing you passionately.

“have you always looked this fuckin’ sexy?” his eyes look over your body hungrily, voice deep as he asks the question.

it doesn’t even register to you that he didn’t answer your question. you’re a blushing mess already at just one compliment.

his head dips from your lips to your neck, his grip on your hips tight. he leaves bruises on your neck, making you moan softly as he does.

you move your hips so you’re pressing against him, vinnie groans as he feels you pressing against his cock.

“feel that?” he asks against the skin of your neck. he moves his hand to grab yours, moving it down his pants so you can feel his hard on through his jeans. “get me so worked up, baby.”

the sound of your sweet giggles fills his ears and he can’t help but smile against the purple bruise that he’s created on your skin.

tapping your thigh, he signals you to jump into his arms. you do and he holds you by your ass as he walks the two of you to your bedroom.

once in the bedroom, he kicks the door shut and pushes you against it, kissing you roughly.

“mmh, vinnie.” you moan against his lips, trying to gain his attention.

he pulls away and looks at you, that same desire still in his eyes. “bed, please.” you mumble.

a drunken smile appears on his beautiful face as he takes you to the bed and gently places you on it.

you look up at him with a smile, and he can’t help but return it. his hands rest on the bed as he leans down to kiss you. moaning into his mouth, he can’t help but groan.

he pulls away and you watch as he starts to unbutton his shirt. you decide to help him, so you sit up and unbutton the last few buttons.

pushing the shirt off him, your hands find his stomach as you move them up his body, smiling as you do so.

vinnie lightly pushes you against the bed, he asks if he can remove your clothes before you tell him yes and he does so.

his mouth goes dry once he sees the lingerie set underneath your everyday clothes.

“sneaky, sneaky girl,” he rasps, and all you do is smile when you realize he knew you planned this whole thing. “wearin’ my favorite lingerie of yours, you knew you were gonna get this, huh?”

biting your lip, you just look up at him as you bat your lashes. he chuckles before leaving down to kiss you.

his hands reach your tits, massaging both of them in his hands as the kiss becomes more intense.

after a few seconds he groans into your mouth before standing up again. you watch as he unbuckles his belt and pulls his pants along with his boxers.

a whine slips past your lips as you watch his cock spring free of its confinements. vinnie looks up at you and smiles.

you scoot against the bed until your back hits the headboard, spreading your legs for your boyfriend as you wait for what he’ll do next.

he kneels on the bed, inching towards you before stopping and grabbing his cock in his hands and rubbing it along your clothed pussy.

you wince at the feeling of him against you. he chuckles as he watches a wet patch form at the panty part of the lingerie.

“strip.” his all he says and you waste no time doing as told.

once completely naked and sprawled out for him, vinnie smiles before he rubs his cock along your now bare cunt.

you moan at the feeling of actually feeling him against you now. he just smiles as he continues to do it.

“gonna have my fun with you, yeah?” he asks, and you just nod, completely submitting yourself to him.

vinnie kisses you before he stands up and goes over to the dresser. you look up and wonder what he’s grabbing before you hear the buzzing noise.

clenching around nothing, you hold back your noises as vinnie climbs back on the bed.

he lays down on the bed so his face is mere inches from your already dripping pussy. he looks up at you and gives you a sweet smile before bringing the vibrator up to you.

“shit.” you mutter under your breath when you feel the vibrator against you.

he pushes the toy inside of you before holding it there for a second then dragging it to your clit.

you immediately grip the sheets and push your head into the pillow with a loud moan of vinnie’s name.

“feel good sweetheart?” he asks, already knowing the answer as he watches your pussy clench.

you nod, seeing as that’s all you can do. he keeps the toy on your clit for awhile before moving it up and down against you.

“fuck, vin ‘m gonna cum.” you moan, gripping the bedsheets as vinnie turns up the toy to the next highest setting.

he gives you a mischievous grin before pushing it against you more. “give it to me, baby. be a good girl, c’mon.” he encourages.

before you can get another word out you’re cumming around the toy with a whine added to it as you try to come down from your orgasm.

vinnie has other ideas though, seeing as he hasn’t pulled the toy away from your sensitive cunt.

“baby, please.” you whine, the feeling of sensitivity rushing through you.

he tsks and pushes it into you more. “know you got another one in you, pretty girl.” he tells you.

with a shake to your head, you grip the sheets again as the intensity of the toy hits you and you’re cumming again.

“there it is,” his voice deep as he turns the toy off and places it on the bed. “such a good girl for me.”

you give him a weak smile as he comes up to kiss you softly. “need that pretty pussy wrapped around me.” he says against your lips.

that does nothing to help the sensitivity you feel at all. you clench around nothing once more before you feel vinnie’s cock against you.

“you gonna let me use you, baby? let me fuck you ‘til you’re nothing but a shaking mess for me?” his words go right through you and you smash your lips onto his.

you push your hips up to meet his and he gets the message. he grabs his cock in his hand again and lines himself up with your entrance.

pushing himself into you, both of you let out moans as he waits for you to adjust. once you give him the go-ahead, he starts moving.

his gains a good rhythm before reaching up and grabbing your right breast in his hand.

“fuckin’ love your tits, y’know that, sweetheart?” he tells you, you just nod your head, unable to form words.

he chuckles and grasps your nipple with his forefinger before punching it, making you moan.

“such a fuckin’ slut f’me, yeah? do whatever i say when i got you like this.”

vinnie gets an idea and grabs the vibrator again. you hear the buzzing and start to pry yourself away.

with his hand roughly grasping your hip and his thrusts picking up speed, there’s no use.

you feel the toy on your clit again and moan loudly at the feeling. the pressure of the toy on your bundle of nerves and vinnie’s cock hitting that perfect spot repeatedly is too much.

“g-gonna cum again!” you announce, pushing your head into the pillow.

vinnie grabs your jaw and makes you look at him. you have tears welling in your eyes, orgasm so close you can feel it building up.

“open.” he tells you, and you comply, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue.

vinnie spits into your mouth and closes your mouth for you. he taps your jaw before saying, “swallow.”

you do as told and he smiles before kissing you. he turns up the vibration on the toy again, which only spurs you on more.

you can’t even warn him before you cum around the toy and his cock, making the man above you smile.

vinnie removes the toy but doesn’t pull out of you. he gives you a sweet smile before he thrusts his hips and smacks your tits, making you moan.

“gonna give me as many orgasms as i want you too, got it?” you’re so fucked out of it at this point, all you can do is give him a small nod.

he smirks and you try so hard not to let another one slip yet. the pace and way his hands do roam over your body feel too good, you don’t want it to end.

vinnie can tell you’re close again though. by the way his tip hits that perfect spot inside you, the way you grip the sheets, chest heaving, he knows.

“come on princess, let go for me. doin’ so good, don’t wanna stop now, right?”

his tone is almost condescending, which only turns you on more and gets you to release all over his cock.

he watches the cum spill out of you onto him and he chuckles. “look at that,” he says, voice strained. “so pretty.”

he pulls out of you a bit but pushes back in, watching the cum seep out of you and go back in as he does.

“p-please,” you try to say. you’re so out of it, barely able to get a breath in. “no more, vin. please.”

you know he’s not going to listen. it’s his day, he can do whatever he wants, and he wants to use you as many times as he can.

“just one more for me baby, promise it’ll just be one more. doin’ so good f’me, love.” he assures you, rubbing your stomach.

you nod, secretly loving the way he has you right now. you push yourself up on your elbows to see what you’re boyfriend is doing.

he slips out of you and nudges his tip against your clit, making you moan at the feeling of him against you.

sliding his cock along your folds, he grabs the plush of your thighs before leaning down and kissing both of them.

“one more, okay baby?” he says as he carefully pushing himself into you again.

you open your mouth but no sound comes out, vinnie looks up at you with a smile, leaning up to kiss you.

“feel so good around me, sweet girl. pretty girl likes takin’ my cock, yeah? take me so fuckin’ good.” his rambling doesn’t go unnoticed by you as you smile lazily at his words.

he thrusts deeper into you, big tattooed hands laying on your thighs and squeezing at each thrust.

he hits a good spot again and you’re pushing your head into the pillow and rolling your eyes back into your head.

vinnie smacks your thigh to get your attention and you look up at him. “eyes on me, pretty,” he breathes out. “wanna see your pretty face when you cum.”

you nod and keep your eyes on the man above you. he looks so fucking hot in this moment, you almost can’t take it.

deep thrusts, heavy breathing, curls sticking to his forehead, hot open mouthed kisses all over your body, you can’t get enough of him.

“good girl.” he praises, making you whimper and give him yet another lazy smile.

his big hands move over your body. one to wrap around your neck and the other to push on your lower stomach.

he’s got you right where he’s wanted you this whole night. you look so fucking pretty to him right now, he can’t help but give you a sweet, genuine, smile.

his hand on your stomach pushes deeper onto you, making you moan.

“feel that?” he asks, adding slight pressure around your neck. “fuckin’ you so good i can feel myself inside you.” he says.

he removes his hand and his thrusts continue, you move up on your elbows and look where he’s looking.

“fuck, vinnie.” you whine, looking at the prominent bulge in your stomach.

he smiles and fucks you deeper into the mattress. you’re so close the two of you can feel it. vinnie reaches his hand down and presses his thumb to your clit.

“let it out, baby. cum around my cock f’me, show me how much you love me.” he rambles, pressure on your clit intensifying.

you try to close your legs a bit around him but vinnie pushes them open. with one final moan to his name, your cumming around his cock again for what felt like the millionth time.

you’re a shaking mess, just how he wanted, when you finally get it all out.

vinnie helps you ride out your high and is soon cums after you, painting your chest.

“so pretty, baby.” he whispers as he slowly pulls out of you.

whining at the loss of contact, you watch as vinnie stands up and just looks at you with so much love in his eyes.

“fucked you too good, huh?” he asks, referring to the way you can’t even move from your spot.

you laugh, taking the pillow from under your head and throw it at him. “come here, birthday boy.”

vinnie jumps on top of you, but not hard enough to hurt you. his head rests in your chest as you run your fingers through his hair.

“how does twenty-two feel?” you ask, kissing his temple.

vinnie smiles and looks up at you. “feels fuckin’ amazing after all that.” he says, referring to what had just happened.

you smack his back and he laughs, hands wrapping around you so he’s hugging you. you wrap yours around his back and kiss his head.

“happy birthday, sweet boy,” you whisper, running your fingers through his messy curls. “i love you forever.”

vinnie’s breathing softens and that’s when you realized he fell asleep. you try your best to do so as well, running your fingers through his hair as you do.

GUYSSSS OUR BOYS 22 🙁 how’s that possible, i feel like he was just 20 (when i found out ab him) i hope you all loved this cus i loved writing it !!

and happy birthday to our handsome boy again <33 i love him so much i don’t know what id do without him

tags: @cosmicanakin , @anqeliclust , @native2princess , @sturnioloshacker , @bernelflo , @slvthrs , @visualbutterflysworld , @kriissy4gov , @leqonsluv3r , @0strawberrysorbet0 , @laylasbunbunny , @louloulemons-blog , @lovingsturniolo , @defnotayonna , @supabhad , @kayleighh , @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom , @jpg3 , @khxna , @hallecarey1 , @violet0182 , @eddieslut69

slim thick queen <3 (has more ass than me 🙄)

[coco-loco-nut]

Book Club - Part 10

pairing: do you even need to know anymore 😂

summary: Checo needs a night out, which means you are babysitting

a/n: thanks for the request 🫶, sorry it took so long, I truly have been slammed with work.

masterlist

———————

“Thanks again,” Checo says when he stands at your Monaco apartment door with his four kids.

“No problem, we weren’t planning on going out anyway. Partying gets tiring,” you smile, stepping aside so the four can run in and find Lance.

Despite his retirement, Checo decided to take a family vacation to the Monaco GP, and when he was invited out with the drivers, you stepped in to babysit. How hard could it be?

“They’ve had their dinner, you just need to entertain them before bedtime, we will pick them up after breakfast. Good luck,” Checo says and starts walking towards the elevator.

“Good luck? What do you mean ‘good luck’? Checo? Checo!” you call after the Mexican as he smirks, watching you panic as the elevator doors close. You close and lock the front door, sighing in defeat. Lance is sitting on the floor with the four kids surrounding him, looking more than content.

“So, uh, do you like jazz?” you awkwardly ask, sitting on the couch. Lance stifles a laugh, looking at you with amused eyes.

“Jazz? I thought you would be better with kids that aren’t your siblings,” Lance says, amused at how uncomfortable you seem. To be fair, you were really looking forward to cuddling up in bed and watching a 2000s romcom with your husband after the race, it was all you had talked about last week.

“Lancie,” you frown, he reaches out to you and squeezes your hand, silently telling you he will take the lead. You slide onto the ground with them, trying your best to keep up with their games.

Lance is a natural. You’d probably be envious if it wasn’t giving you baby fever.

“Do you guys want to watch a movie?” Lance asks the four kids who are currently playing with you.

“Si!” Checo Junior says. They pile onto the loveseat beside your couch as Lance pulls out some blankets and pillows.

“I’ll get some snacks,” you say softly, padding out to the kitchen where you fill a bowl with premade popcorn. You would microwave some but you ate it as a midnight snack the other day. By the time you get back, Lance has them all cozy on the loveseat, a movie cued, and is waiting for you on the couch with a fuzzy blanket. You swear your heart explodes.

You can’t say that you pay too much attention to the movie, seeing as how you are asleep on Lance’s chest halfway through the movie. He looks at the similar scene beside the two of you, the only difference being that all four kids are asleep. Lance gently slides out from under you and carries the kids one by one to the bedroom you had excitedly put together when Checo called.

“Come on, baby, time for bed,” Lance gently wakes you up as he turns off the tv.

“Shoot, did you put them to bed by yourself, I would’ve helped. You go to bed, I’ll clean up,” you panic, looking around the living room. Lance already cleaned up.

“It’s okay, I know the race took more out of you than it did me. Let’s just go to bed,” Lance presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Okay,” you murmur, standing up, feeling everything stretch out. Lance turns the last few lights off before picking you up and carrying you to bed. You look like a koala as you hold him, chest to chest, your head on his shoulder. After getting ready for bed, it doesn’t take you long to fall asleep.

Your alarm wakes you and Lance up early. Normally this would be for your morning run, but there are four kids who are currently relying on you.

“Come hop in the shower with me,” Lance grabs your hand as you stand in front of your closet.

“Lance, there are kids in the next room over,” you blush looking at the door.

“You won’t be saying that when we have kids of our own, plus, it’s just a quick shower. Get your mind out of the gutter,” he teases you and you shake your head.

“I’m going to train after Checo comes and picks them up, you go shower,” you tell him, finding the hoodie of his that you like to steal.

While Lance showers, you make a pot of coffee and sit out on your balcony, overlooking the ocean. As you sip your coffee, you don’t realize Lance is in the kitchen starting breakfast.

You freeze in the doorway, staring at your shirtless husband, whose sweatpants rest low on his hips.

“Hungry?” Lance asks, waving at the food already done.

“No, well yes, but I’m happy with my girl breakfast,” your eyes rake his body. Lance blushes and pulls a t-shirt on, you drool as his muscles flex. “Why’d you do that?” you pout as your girl breakfast was covered up.

“There will be plenty of time to stare once our charges are fed and taken back by their parents, why don’t you go wake them up?” Lance chuckles, amused at your irritation. He’s just glad he still does it for you all these years later. A few minutes later you rejoin him in the kitchen, four sets of little feet following you.

“Up you go,” you lift each kid into their seat at the table. As you set out place settings, Lance brings over the food. He notices how careful you are around them, and for a moment he let’s himself imagine that it is you with your future kids. Maybe he will have a copycat son that has your personality, or a daughter that takes the best from both of you and is a perfect blend, or maybe the kid will look exactly like you but will be a little awkward like he is.

Breakfast goes smoothly, and Checo arrives earlier than expected.

“They weren’t too much trouble, were they?” He asks Lance as you help the kids with their little bags.

“Not at all, perfect angels,” Lance tells Checo, his eyes not leaving you.

“I’ll see you, or I guess hear you, at the next meeting,” you hug the Mexican ex-driver goodbye.

“So, wanna start practicing?” Lance wiggles his eyebrows, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder as he makes his way to the bedroom.

“Lance!”

[intheorangebedroom]

Tonight you belong to me, chapter 4

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town.  Christmas on a Friday means you won't be meeting Frankie this week. This break away from each other might be just what the two of you need to consider if you should carry on with whatever this is…

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞 see series masterlist for extensive tw.

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, Orange besties 🧡 @frannyzooey you mean more to me than you will ever know 🧡

Word count: 14.3k

[prev] * [series masterlist] * [next]

Chapter 4: Frankie

Frankie scratches the stubble on his jaw. Behind the green screen of his aviators, under his creased brow, his eyes are riveted to the red light in front of him. His grip on the steering wheel too tight for safety. 

Something has to be wrong with this light because he’s been waiting at this intersection for ten minutes at least. 

He takes in an angry breath. Loud, but constricted. Yet it’s enough for your scent to fill his lungs. 

It might be a trick of the mind, because it’s been six days since you’ve been in here, and it’s still everywhere around him. It floats in the cab of the truck. It clings to the fabric of the seat. It’s woven into the suede leather of his jacket. 

It’s probably what it is, just a trick of his brain, but he’d like to know for sure. If your presence has pervaded the whole space, or if he’s losing his goddamn sanity. 

The light changes to green. His head rolls back on the headrest, eyes drifting close. 

It’s a light fragrance. A pale shade of yellow, and celadon green. Orange blossom, citrus, honeysuckle. It’s the very last days of spring, when the air is still chill, but the sunbeams are warm and blinding. Before summer sets everything ablaze, the southern wind, the asphalt, the concrete walls and the bodies. It’s the first sunny day on a pale winter skin. 

And there’s the sweet musk you exude, mixed with his own, when he’s fucked you hard and thorough. 

The car behind him honks and he jolts up in his seat, knees knocking against the wheel. He puts the pedal down to the floor in less than a millisecond, tires screeching, engine revving up. 

What the fuck is wrong with him? What is happening to him? 

The route to Will’s place is a familiar one. He drives absentmindedly down streets and avenues lined with palm trees, his mind wandering. To Lua’s shot, that’s due next week; to his Thursday shift he has to swap with Felix. To the gutters that need cleaning, and the front door he should repaint. To the overnight diapers he has to restock soon. 

To the feel of your smaller hands cupping his face, and the coolness of your touch. To that tiny pink wound on your forehead and the weariness in your eyes. To that scar on your knee in the shape of a grid, and that other one on your inner thigh you try not to let him see. To those two dimples above your ass and your scent, fuck, your scent, it does something to him. Something he didn’t ask for. Something he wasn’t prepared to deal with. 

When he turned around, back in that dive, and his eyes met yours, he didn’t feel anything. Or rather, he felt everything, all at once. The end and the beginning. The sweetness and the pain. Blood and honey. It was all there, contained in your luminous, telling eyes. He saw something in them. Something frightened, but brazen. A hunger. A madness. A longing. Something he recognized, and wanted himself. 

He took in your general appearance, the expensive clothes, the even more expensive bag, and he turned back around. Tried to convince himself you were just some corporate executive, bored with your life, looking for a cheap thrill and a quick fuck. 

He could sense your gaze, burning holes through his shirt into the muscles of his back, those damn eyes, wide, exhausted. And they kept boring into him. Strong, determined. They wouldn’t let go. You wouldn’t let go. 

So he left. He got up and stormed out. Went home to the guest room sofa, and his sleeping baby, and tried to forget about you.

Your eyes kept haunting his nights. And his waking hours too. And since he’s been clean, his days have gotten considerably longer. 

No more drugs meant sleepless nights, followed by never-ending stretches of daytime, with nothing to sustain his focus but stress and coffee. It means going to work, and flying on three hours of nonconsecutive sleep, while his thoughts swirl in his overwrought brain. Nothing to take the edge off.

He hadn’t realized the weight he was carrying until Lua was born. 

As long as he was in the military, he had kept his head straight. So many guys he served with were using; all kinds of shit. A genuine feel good hit of the summer. It was disconcerting, the ease with which they could score pretty much anything, in just about any country where they were deployed. As if it were made accessible to them purposefully. 

But not him. He had never needed it. His focus was sharp, his mood even and leveled, his mind clear. Every fiber of his being striven towards one goal: to watch over his brothers. To leave no one behind.  

Things started going south after he’d retired. They followed him. The ones he had left behind. Those times he’d been too quick on the trigger. All of them, soldiers and civilians. Faces without eyes. Deep, bleeding cavities, and dark gaping holes where their mouths should have been. Brothers and enemies merging into one big shapeless and viscous mass of casualties. 

They came to him at night, and soon, he stopped sleeping. Exhaustion exacerbated his temper. His control became tenuous. But somehow, he still kept going. 

When he met Lupe, he had told her everything. Five days a week, she was the voice in his headset, steady, constant, as she dispatched him and the crew of paramedics to wherever the emergency was located. She sent him to brutal, deadly pile-ups on the highway, burning high schools or heart attacks on remote hiking trails with an even tone that aroused his curiosity and inspired his trust. 

When they’d started dating, he confided in her. The nightmares, the difficulty focusing. She understood, but she also didn’t want anything to do with it. She’d answered with a blunt warning. I have my own shit to deal with, Morales, I’m not in this to save you. He didn’t want her to, anyway. He wasn’t her responsibility. 

He had stayed. And so did she. Things were good enough. They were in love. She was already well into her thirties, with a job that didn’t leave much time for dating, and even less for starting a family. She wanted a kid more than anything, and he thought normalcy would do it. That it would ground him enough to fix him. 

After Lua was born, he resorted to drugs to numb out and function. At the time, he had considered it to be a momentary solution. He needed the energy to care for her, not to keep it together.

The drugs helped at first. It helped with the nightmares. It helped with the realization that flying had, for most of his life, been his sole purpose, main goal and greatest talent, and that he’d used it to destroy, ravage and kill. It helped with the guilt. Even as it generated more of it.

The benzos put him to sleep for dreamless hours, and then the coke kept him awake throughout the workday. He thought he’d find some sort of footing. 

It didn’t help long, though. He got caught fast. Almost as if he wanted to be. And then it was all burning shame, and disintegrating self-esteem, with no means left to escape any of his feelings. 

Lupe gave him hell, rightfully so. His sister said nothing, which nearly killed him. She wired him money so he could hire a good lawyer. She’d been the one to advise him in the first place to think twice about bringing a baby into his mess. He still hated himself for not listening to her.

What hit him the hardest was the suspension of his pilot license. Who was he, if not a pilot? 

After the bust, he invested everything into being a good father. Lupe found it in her to forgive him, and things were pretty good for a couple of months. 

Until Pope came back with his bullshit idea. Frankie watched his friends buckle and fold, one after the other. Ben, Ironhead and Redfly. Until he had no other choice but to follow suit. Watch over his brothers. Leave no one behind.  

Flashes after that: Redfly coming back in a plastic bag, to join the mass of eyeless, gaping holes that kept him awake at night. 

The cruel irony of his suspension being lifted within a mere two weeks after he’d crashed that fucking Mi-8. Pope going into hiding, perhaps dead himself. The rest of them left here to slowly fragment, standing amongst all the things they broke beyond repair, with nothing to show for it. 

And then that one day, you collided into him. 

When he came back to the bar two weeks after your first encounter, it was with the firm intention of giving you what he thought you wanted. Scratch your itch, and his. Fuck you once, use you as an outlet, same way you probably wanted to use him. 

The very moment he saw you step inside the bar, he understood how wrong he’d been. 

You were not out for a cheap thrill or a quick fuck; you were not a bored, cynical executive looking to mix with the very working-class you exploited. 

You were in pain. Numbed out. Withdrawn. Absent.

For some reason, that fucked him up hard. He tried running away from you, but you came after him, headstrong. You sought him out. Without hesitation, or fear. And something held him back, prevented him from running away too fast or too far. He let you catch up with him.

You wanted him. You want him still. 

The sounds you make when you come, that breathless moan, full chest, empty mind, he knew he was in trouble when he pulled it out of you that very first night in the parking lot, against his truck. You clung to him, cold hands with a feverish touch. He was greedy and you thrashed before you went slack in his hold and right away he had wanted more. He risked a taste, licked his fingers, and you were heaven. You were unreal. 

He wanted to know so much more: what did you feel like from the inside when you came? How much of him could you take? What your voice would sound like after he’d fuck your throat? 

How much of you really existed? How much of you had he made up? 

He soon found out. About the sensation of your soft skin under his rougher hands. About your patience. About your scent. A pale shade of yellow and celadon green. Intoxicating. 

At the beginning, he thought you were coming to him for degradation, as much as for pleasure. There wasn’t a single debasing act he could come up with that you didn’t let him do to you.

You’d take anything he gave you.

Week after week, you let him fuck you numb, fuck you rough, fuck you raw. Tie you up, fold you down. Cover you in come, choke you on his cock, spit in your mouth. 

Friday after Friday, you kept looking at him like you couldn’t believe he was still here, pounding you blind into that shitty mattress. Not grateful. Surprised. Or relieved. He didn’t know what to make of it, of that dignity you forfeited when you crossed the threshold of that room that very first night. Of your surrendering. 

In retrospect, you understood your dynamic much faster than he did. Back then, he was still struggling with the idea that you were real. 

He grew wary, and in his head, a refrain started playing. Tonight’s the last night. There won’t be a next week. 

He couldn’t stop, though. One last night, that turned into two, then three, then four. He finally started getting decent nights of sleep, a restful slumber of which he felt undeserving. 

He had to put a stop to this. Just one last night, and there wouldn’t be a next week.  

He knew even more when his curiosity started to drift elsewhere. To your life outside the room with the brown rug and the yellow curtains. To that inner island of yours, the contour of which he was only starting to make out through the fog of his blunt desire. 

You kissed him like you knew he’d never be yours, so you’d be his instead. Like his breath was yours. Like your heart only beat under his hand. And yet, you kept eluding him, silent and slippery. The paradox drove him insane.

He grew restless in between Friday evenings, booking the room earlier each week. He forbade himself any other kinds of relief, and instead turned to books. Browsing, flipping pages impatiently, searching for words and concepts. Intellectual tools to rationalize the feeling of you, to understand your presence and describe your scent, because you wouldn’t let him name you, and probably never would. 

He thought that if he didn’t come inside you, perhaps you’d keep coming back to him.

It only made him want you more. The relinquishing drop in your shoulders, every time he asked you to stop him. He became obsessed with the thought of giving you what you knew better than to want. And in his head, the refrain kept playing.

One last night. One last fuck. One last fix. 

In comparison, it had been easier to quit coke. 

He can’t explain your pull. The way his body gravitates towards yours. He can’t explain the visceral craving. 

Aloof and soothing, with a will so hard and unbending it scares him, you take, everything that festers ugly inside him, and absorb it, making it disappear. You turn it into something beautiful, something that blooms and purrs and breathes. Orange blossom and honeysuckle. 

What do you do with all his rage? How do you cope with it? Where do you get this strength from? 

Your strength. He’s only beginning to fathom the magnitude and depth of it. 

It’s hidden beneath the surface of you, dormant, nestled in your quiet resilience, your accidental resistance. The remoteness of your gaze. It’s in your plea for him to take, until he knows he’ll stop breathing if he stops giving in. 

That place within yourself, where you retreat not to get hurt. That’s where he wants to find you. That’s where he wants to live. 

When you didn’t show up two weeks ago, he should have been relieved. He’d got out easy. You’d taken the decision for him. Inside his chest, however, anxiety chewed up his heart and set his nerves on fucking fire. The possibility that your absence was unwilling. That something might have prevented you from coming. Something, or someone. 

He had your plates written down in the little spiral notebook he kept in the glove compartment of his truck. He could’ve pull some strings, found out your address. Fuck, he could’ve found out your name. But it felt like a violation even thinking about it, no matter how sickly worried he was. Like a step too far into madness. Something he wouldn’t come back from. 

And then, you did show up. Exhausted, wounded. Twice as determined. He felt the overwhelming urge to get you into his truck and drive away with you, and never come back.

He felt the familiar grip of wrath, a blinding surge of hatred for this man who’s not quite your husband.

Pulling in front of Will’s building, Frankie puts the truck in park. He grazes a palm over his face, eyes falling on the ugly condo to his left. The teal-colored, budget paint peeling off the sunburned walls in large flecks. 

He sighs, remembering Will’s former house. The one he shared with his fiancée before she left him. Two stories, bow windows on the top floor, a white porch with a swing. Lilac trees in the front lawn. Conversations about having kids.

He readjusts his hat, fingers deftly combing through his hair, takes the six-pack next to him on the seat bench, and exits his truck, dark eyes quickly scanning the block for Ben’s car. The beat-up Camaro is nowhere in sight. He didn’t expect Ben to be on time anyway, but he’s hoping he won’t take too long to join them. 

In the narrow corridor leading to Will’s apartment, a neon lamp goes off and on in a spasmodic, irritating blink. The damp stench of molded wood cloaks his tense frame. He knows that if he tilts his head down to his shoulder and inhales deeply enough, he’ll find you there.

He doesn’t.  

Before he brings down his knuckles to the door, Frankie exhales long and slow. With closed eyes, pursed lips. It’s useless. His shoulders won’t relax. 

When Will opens the door, Frankie’s taken aback by how good he looks. How normal. Thick blond hair kept short, with a carefully trimmed beard. Brawny shoulders, creaseless shirt, alert gaze. Seemingly unchanged, incomprehensibly constant. 

Frankie leans a little longer than necessary into his friend’s full-body hug. When he lets go, the tall man briefly narrows his eyes at him, a steel-blue, surgical stare from behind long blond lashes.

“How are you doing, man?” Will asks in his lazy drawl.

The dim hallway feels too small for the two of them. Frankie’s skin is pulled taut under Will’s unblinking scrutiny. He lowers his head, tucking his face into the protective shadow of his hat. 

“Good. Same,” he mumbles. 

Benny’s buoyant entrance saves him, and it’s more hugs, bulky shoulders colliding, hands clasping and eruptive greetings as they slowly make their way inside the apartment.

“How’s my goddaughter?” Benny asks. 

Frankie smiles at the question. A genuine smile, crinkled eyes and dimpled cheeks. The warmth of the younger man’s baritone spreads in his chest. It’s the care in his words.

“She’s good. Growing up fast. I think it’s just a matter of days before she walks, now.”

“The minute she walks, I’m gonna teach her how to throw a punch,” Benny grins. 

Every time he visits, it takes Frankie a minute to adjust to the contrast between the exterior of Will’s building and the interior of his apartment, and tonight is no exception. The small, one-bedroom’s white walls look like they’ve been freshly painted. The sofa’s cushions are puffed as if no one has ever sat on it. Every surface is spotless, not a dust particle flying. The coffee table is bare, no glass of water, not even the remote control lying on it. 

Matching frames lined methodically on the living-room walls display family pictures, chronologically arranged, as well as a couple of shots from their time together in the Army. Frankie catches a glimpse of his younger self, cropped curls, sharper jaw, smoother grin. His arm is wrapped around Pope’s shoulders. He averts his gaze. 

In the kitchen, the stainless-steel sink is shiny and empty, clean dishes neatly stored away in the overhead glass cabinets. The stove looks like it was just delivered. 

Frankie knows himself to be tidier than most. When they started dating, Lupe would often tell him it was one of her favorite traits of his. 

But Will’s ability to inhabit a seemingly unlived place is unsettling.   

They take their usual seats around the small, round kitchen table. The two brothers fill up the room. Benny’s presence is bright, cheerful, in complementary contrast with his brother’s density and observing silence. Frankie lands somewhere in the middle. Like a bridge. Like a common ground.

The conversation flows between them, effortless. It would be easy to believe nothing has changed. Up until nine months ago, they used to meet at least once a week. Fight nights, bar nights, gym nights... Pope was rarely in town, Tom busy trying to make ends meet, so it was often just the three of them. 

Now, Frankie seldom sees the Millers more than once a month. But after thirteen years, ten of which they’ve spent serving side by side, he knows them well enough to notice the invisible changes. 

There’s a new sort of gravity to Benny’s demeanor. His laughter isn’t as loud, not as immediate. A loss in spontaneity. There’s Will's unusual patience and leniency toward the young man. The nervous glances at his watch whenever his brother’s late. 

Lately, Frankie has caught himself envying the two men’s bond. The many quiet ways in which they look out for one another. A tightly packed unit. Blood tied. 

He could call his sister. Hell, he could even hop on a plane with Lua and fly across the country to visit her, Lupe could probably use the break. His sister would listen. She already has. And she never judged. 

Will places three more cans of beer on the table. Frankie hesitates. He doesn’t need a DIU in his Christmas stocking.

“What are you guys doing for Christmas? Going back to Colorado?” he asks, stalling.

“Yeah, we’re flying tomorrow,” Benny answers with a slow nod. “Can’t leave mom alone.”

Frankie finds himself trapped under Will’s gaze again. It’s charged, with what, he cannot tell yet, but he’s ready to bet he’ll find out before the evening ends. That fourth beer is really tempting. Instead, his thumb finds the target tattooed on his left hand, blunt nail worrying at it. 

“Say, Fish,” Will starts. 

Here it comes.

“I met Lupe the other day at the grocery store.”

Frankie nods, steeling himself. Chin up, to meet his friend’s eyes. There’s the metallic crunch of a tall boy cracked open, followed by the bubbly, high-pitched hiss of the beer.

“Wanna tell me why she’s under the impression that we see each other every Friday evening?”

A second pair of storm-blue eyes dart to his face. If he wasn’t caught in the middle of it, Frankie could find the scene almost comical.

“Wait,” Benny cuts in, “you guys are back together?”

Frankie shakes his head. “No. No, we’re not.”

“But you still live together,” Will states, impassive, carrying on with his interrogation.

“For Lua,” Frankie says flatly. 

Those two words have come out of his mouth for what feels like a thousand times in the past nine months, to family, close friends, colleagues, and acquaintances alike. Today, for the first time, he realizes how incomprehensible, how irrational it might have sounded to all of them. 

“Why are you lying to her, then?” Will leans in closer, his face contrasted in harsh shadows under the overhead suspension. 

“Look Will,” Frankie starts, his tone a notch too defensive, “I appreciate your concern, I know this comes from a good place, but I’m not on anything, ok? So you can– you can drop it.”

The request is rhetorical. Desperate, really. Ironhead is not known for letting go, once he has latched onto something. Across from Frankie, Benny drinks up in silence, eyes flickering between the two men and the growing tension that hangs like smoke between them. 

An ugly apprehension creeps up along Frankie’s nape. 

“I know you’re not using. I can tell. You look better than I’ve seen you looking in a while, aside from the fact that you’re wound up pretty tight. But we’re in this fucking aftermath together, Fish, so I gotta ask: what the fuck is it that you do every Friday evening?”

Frankie sits up straight, folding his arms over his chest, blood simmering. 

“Are you saying you don’t trust me?” he asks, keeping his voice even.

“No. That’s not what I’m saying.” Will cocks his chin toward Benny as he adds, “I trust you with mine and my brother’s life.”

“But not with mine,” Frankie whispers, comprehension finally dawning on him, and somehow, his friend’s concern hits him harder than an unlikely lack of trust. Something snaps and goes slack between his shoulders. 

Benny moves suddenly, his massive frame leaning forward. Propping his forearms on the table, he lets out a long, low whistle. 

“Holy shit, man,” he says, “Fish got himself a new girl.”

Will frowns. His eyes do a quick back and forth between his brother and Frankie, who hangs his head, hiding under the brim of his hat, hissing an angered fuck.

Benny erupts in thundering laughter. Around them, the tension bursts open, the entire atmosphere dripping with it, the air moving again. 

“No. No, I don’t,” Frankie mutters, shaking his head.

His denial is drowned under Benny’s booming voice.

“Come on! Look at yourself, old man, you’re fucking blushing! You got yourself some pussy!”

“Do you? Did you meet someone?” Will presses, trying to lock eyes with him. 

Frankie gives it to him. Raises his head and looks him dead in the eyes, shaking his head still, a vein ready to pop in his corded neck. 

“I didn’t meet anyone. She’s not a girl. I’m not talking about her here,” he grits.

Will leans back in his chair. It creaks loud and tired under his weight. He lets out a heavy sigh, of relief perhaps, or deepened worry.

“Come on, Fish! Give us something. At least tell us what she looks like,” Benny teases. 

He opens another beer and slides it over to Frankie across the table. 

Will’s eyes have yet to leave his face.

“Why don’t you tell Lupe about it? She’s the one who broke up with you,” he remarks. 

“Less than nine months ago. After I fucked up, yet again. She’s the mother of my kid, Will, she’s been through enough on my account.”

Will nods in silence, apparently satisfied with this explanation. 

“Anyway, it’s nothing. There’s nothing to tell,” Frankie adds, swallowing the bitter taste that sits at the back of his tongue.

Silence settles over the three of them. Frankie grabs the can and brings it to his lips, downing half of its content in long gulps. 

Your scent is there, right there, meshed into the fabric of his jacket. It takes all of his willpower not to turn his head and breathe you in.

“She’s married, is she?” Benny asks with a shit-eating grin. 

Will’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline in sheer horror. 

“Is she?” he asks, plunging forward to look at him. 

Frankie grinds his teeth, jaw flexing, eyes clenching shut. 

“Fish, is she married?” Will repeats, a shrill undertone in his usual low drawl.

“Well, I, for one, am not judging you,” Benny declares, giving his brother a pointed look and raising his can as if to toast Frankie.

Frankie sighs. 

He’s never going back to that motel.

—

You don’t like champagne, but that’s all Adrian’s parents ever serve you. It’s fine. For once, you don’t mind. You’ll be driving later today, so you need your mind clear and your reflexes sharp.

You cradle the tall glass in your hand. The taste has long gone stale, the liquid lukewarm in the warmth of your palm. The bubbles are flat. On your lap, your phone buzzes quietly with a new message. Across the table, Adrian’s eyes dart in your direction, annoyance darkening them. 

You swipe your thumb across the screen, and a smile plays on your lips at the sight of Ava and Polly grinning for the camera. They’re sitting in the middle of a large group of women, you quickly count twelve of them, wearing a rainbow of paper crowns. 

They’re gathered in front of a festive table. A small living-room, brightly lit, cluttered with art, lamps, and plants. A Christmas tree stands in the left corner. In front of them, the plates are loaded with what looks like turkey and roasted vegetables. Napkins, cutlery, candles, and decorative pine tree branches scattered on the table. There’s a large cake dish at the center, on top of which sits the highest lemon meringue cake you’ve ever seen, the topping at least three inches high, clearly homemade. 

Some of the women are holding wine glasses, white or red, half full, lipstick smeared on the rim. The photograph has captured them mid-cheers, their lips pursed around a word that’s not yet a smile. The picture is all crinkling eyes, ringing laughter, colorful clothes and flushed cheeks. 

You tap your thumb on the screen in fast motions. 

Gorgeous! All of you!

Wait, is that turkey vegan?

You add a winking emoji to clarify your tone before pressing send.

The three dots blink briefly and the dark-haired, shrugging emoji pops up on the screen. 

You chuckle. 

It’s Xmas!!!!! Lexi’s filling is fkg delicious!!!!! 

What abt u? U holding up????

The little round yellow face, with its mouth turned downward, stirs guilt in your gut. 

Ava was tearing up again, when you dropped her at the airport two days ago, despite your many reassurances that you would be perfectly alright. It’s not your first Christmas apart, but it’s the first one with over a thousand miles between you. You want to put her mind at ease. For her to remain carefree as long as life allows her to be. 

I’m good, pup ♥ But I’d be even better if I was about to eat that meringue cake, OMG!

It’s not a lie, not exactly. Of course, it’s the first time in decades you’re completely sober to face the ordeal that is Christmas diner at Adrian’s parents. It’s almost an outer body experience. But strangely, not the nerve-racking one you feared. You anticipated worse. For every sensation to be impossibly loud, blinding, sharp. For your mind to spiral downward at the first uncomfortable interaction. 

It hasn’t. You’re nervous, but also focused. And that grip provides you with just enough balance. This year, you’ve got a clear course of action. At least for the upcoming couple of days. One step at a time.

Pinching the screen, you zoom in on Ava’s face, before your eyes flicker up to the dining table you’re sitting at and the people around it. 

Everything’s beige. From the tablecloth linen to the leftovers growing cold on the plates. From the Christmas tree and the guests’ clothing to Adrian’s mother’s hair.

Beige, bland, boring. Ashen.

The only touch of color is on Adrian’s face. Those ruby-colored specks spreading to his cheeks from the neck, standing out in his pale carnation. A reaction you only seem to arouse when he’s furious with you. 

His mother announces dessert will be served in the jardin d’hiver, which is how Beatrice insists on calling the back porch. 

Your phone vibrates, signaling another text from Ava. You slide it in the pocket of your jumpsuit without opening it. Adrian glowers at you a second longer before walking over to the end of the table to assist his grandmother. 

His brother nearly races him to it. You watch the grown-up man in his bespoke Armani suit get up so fast he nearly trips over the legs of his chair. 

Their motivation is not honorable. Affection doesn’t play into their eagerness. There isn’t a member of the Mountcastle family who harbors love or respect for the 92 year old, acrimonious matriarch. In their defense, she’s a dried-up, nasty piece of bigotry, built on pure, solid hatred, even by their conservative standards and values. 

But she owns the estate and she holds the money. And so the two Mountcastle spawns scramble to their feet to make a show of their devotion.

The whole clan gets up to form a procession behind the old woman’s frail, hunched silhouette. Parents, aunts and uncles, in-laws and cousins, children in ruffled dresses and short dress pants flittering around them. Your so-called family. You can barely tell them apart. 

Detached, you stride slowly behind, toward the back of the house. You haven't worn heels in two weeks. It’s quite surprising how fast you got unused to them. Your slick, black pumps press uncomfortably on your little toes, rubbing your skin raw. But you won’t be wearing them much longer. So you suck in the pain. You let it ground you. 

Your choice of outfit elicited a stern glance from Adrian when you slipped it on this morning. He hovered behind you, disapproving and silent, still riled up from your earlier confrontation when you had announced you’d be driving your car to his parents’ house, so you could leave early. 

You stood in front of the mirror, rigid and hesitant, sliding up the side zipper. A sleeveless black jumpsuit with a V-cut cleavage in the front, and a deeper one exposing your back, bought in a thrift store ages ago, when you were still in college. You exhumed it from the depth of your closet, in hopes it would convoke the boldness you had briefly experienced during this short period of your life. You’re done dressing to please anyone but yourself. 

The help walks briskly past you through the double, ornate-glass doors leading to the porch. She lays a porcelain tray on the console near the railing. 

“La bûche de Noël!” Beatrice declares triumphantly, opening her arms to gesture theatrically at the brown mass on the tray. 

A wave of blond heads undulates toward the console, blue eyes in every nuance darting at the dish where a log-shaped lump of a cake sits.  

“What is this monstrosity?” her mother-in-law croaks. 

The entire family falls silent. Your eyes grow wide and you bite down on your grin.

Beatrice instantly loses her carefully crafted composure. It’s never been obvious to you until now, how vacant her gaze turns whenever something upsets her. You briefly wonder what’s her drug of choice to escape. You sure hope she has one.

“Oh but it’s French, Abigail,” she murmurs. “It’s a delicacy. I bought it from Sucré Table, on Kennedy Boulevard.”

“What’s wrong with an American pecan pie?” the matriarch spits out without so much as a  look for her daughter-in-law.

Beatrice smiles her empty smile, sharp yellowed teeth, hardened gray eyes. You can’t bear to look at her any longer. You turn your head, and your gaze meets Agatha’s. 

The young girl instantly lightens up, straightening her back in her baby-blue seersucker dress, smiling at you with something you can only describe as relief. She raises a little hand and wriggles her thin fingers. The ten year old is your favorite. You love her dearly. Her bubbly personality and burgeoning sense of humor have seen you through many family gatherings. 

Today, it hurts you to admit, you’ve kept her at arm’s length, selfishly preserving yourself from Beatrice’s favorite question: when will you have a child of your own?

With a slight wince, you blink away the vision of Frankie holding his little girl in the photo booth picture. Their full heads of curls. Their dimpled grins. 

Charles, Adrian’s father, is the first to break the uneasy silence, with a playful albeit daring remark on his mother’s failing sense of adventure. The assembly lets out a collective breath. Beatrice takes a seat on one of the cushioned wicker chairs, curtly signaling the help to cut the bûche and serve it.

You exhale slowly through parted lips. If you wait any longer, courage will fail you. 

Smoothing your palms over your belly, you make your way to Adrian, where he’s leaning against the railing at the rear end of the porch. 

“I’ll be going, now,” you whisper, eyes not quite meeting his. 

He sighs, something constrained and hostile, facing away toward the sprawling, lush garden, hydrangeas, willow trees. Tension rolls off his lanky frame. Your stomach turns, your mind swivels, grasping for words of reassurance. 

Incomprehensibly, you want him to talk to you, even though you’re terrified of what he might say. The poisoned words he’s capable of, somehow preferable to his irate silence. 

“I’ll excuse myself to your mother before leaving. I’ll be discreet. I promise. I won’t do anything to jeopardize your–”

He turns to face you so fast it startles you. 

“You could at least tell me where you’re going.”

You look up at him, taken aback by his pained expression. Under his pinched brow, his features are twisted in an unfamiliar expression. He slithers a hand around your waist, drawing you close, and it strikes you: he’s pleading. 

A breath hitches inside your chest. From this close, you can see the flecks of green in his pale blue irises. You had forgotten their complexity. Their refined beauty. He tightens his grip on you, fingers curling into your tender flesh. The lie tumbles out of you before you can hold it. 

“I’m just going to check in on Ava. It’s her first Christmas on her own.” 

You catch a glimpse of his mother in your peripheral, handing out Bone China dessert plates. The heady perfume of the hydrangea bushes is going to your head. The day is swirling inside your brain, around you, jardin d’hiver, French dessert, delicacy. Agatha’s desperate little wave, her loneliness, your cowardice. Adrian’s eyes of green and their angry plea. 

Your lungs constrict, not letting you breathe.

Adrian tilts down his face, pressing his forehead to yours. His breath skates your skin when he speaks. 

“What happened to us, babe?” 

His lips brush against the edge of your jaw. Static scrambles your brain; your hand motions upward of its own volition to rest on his back. The pain, the remorse in his voice sits like a razor blade inside your throat. You have to talk around the taste of your blood, voice unrecognizable. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow. I promise.”

It’s not a lie. You will be back tomorrow. Facing a blank page, the rest of your life to figure out, to navigate with what you’ve learned about yourself. 

His hand moves, sliding down to rest in the small of your back, the muscles of his back flexing under your light touch, and your palm, your entire body registers the difference. In sensation, in mass, in warmth. 

“I miss you,” he whispers against your lips. 

—

The car stereo plays a classical rendition of Let it snow. Ten minutes into driving, you gave up trying to find a station that would broadcast something other than Christmas tunes. 

The traffic is fluid, the roads eerily deserted. The windows on both sides are cracked open, and the warm, late afternoon air that wafts in soothes your sore rib cage. 

Your mind keeps wandering to the previous Friday, when you sat nestled into Frankie’s side as he drove aimlessly. To the smooth fabric of his jacket under your cheek, to the heat of his chest, to his solid breadth. 

You stop it.

The memory is always a thought away. But it shouldn’t be summoned at random. You can’t risk its erosion. There won’t be another one. 

You’re disappointed to find a lanky young man sitting in Raul’s place behind the counter of the motel’s office. His blond hair is tied in a bun on top of his head, and his phone blasts pop tunes in audio slices of fifteen seconds through revolving TikTok videos. You want to cover your ears. Or smash up his phone. 

He hands you the key, and you all but rush out of the office, only slowing once you’ve reached the front door of your room. 

Before stepping inside, you halt under the porch. 

Beyond the parking lot, beyond the road, over the horizon, dusk descends in dark tangerine over the canopy of trees. Slowly, the sky turns saffron in seamless gradations. The air feels textured, grainy like an old photograph, like long-gone, sunny vacations, like faded memories. The evening breeze is pleasant. The night envelops you, violet-blue, regrets and losses. 

Inside room number 2, you draw the yellow curtains. You stand still for a few moments, confused, your routine disrupted, since you’re not expecting him.  

It’s too early to sleep, but the tension that has run through you throughout the week, culminating with Adrian’s kiss, is now flowing out of your body, leaving you limp. 

Adrian hadn’t held you like that in years. With passion and intent. Perhaps even sincerity. He’d never done that, attempted to use your nostalgic heart to his benefit. Intimidation had usually sufficed.  

Toeing off your shoes, you slowly undress. You fold your clothes in a neat little pile, similar to the one you found on the desk last Saturday. Military-like. 

The questions you never asked Frankie flood your brain. All the things about him you will never have the time to learn. They form a lump in the dip of your collarbone. They prickle under your eyelids. 

You clench your eyes shut, and invoke the image of his daughter’s face, trying to picture their Christmas celebration to strengthen your resolve. Pecan pies and half-nibbled, minute portions of roasted turkey. Red boxes wrapped in white ribbons under the blinking tree. A teddy bear. Jigsaw puzzles with large pieces. Plastic toys with pushing buttons and synthetic lullabies. A rocking horse, maybe. 

The image of him with that little girl has plagued you, continuously, throughout the week. Pain cloaking you like mist, seeping inside you, breaching the molecular structure of your flesh. Redefining it. Until you woke up one night, drenched in cold sweat, with a certitude ringing out inside your head: you had to give him up. Give him back, back to his wife and daughter. 

You’d go to the motel one last time, one last indulgence, to say goodbye to the idea of him, and you’d give him back to his family.

When your heart rate has slowed down, you walk over to the bathroom to wash your face clean. You’ll miss your reflection in that black-edged mirror. You don’t smile and say, “Stop me.”

The bedspread is gross. The polyester fabric, once a peach shade of orange, is darkened in multiple places by stains of various shapes and consistencies. You’re probably responsible for most of it. 

Grabbing a corner of the heavy quilt, you slide it off the bed entirely. The white linen underneath seems clean enough. 

You climb into bed, and repress a shiver. You switch off the lights and pull up the sheet to your chin. The fabric is threadbare, starchy. 

How can you be so cold, in the mild evening?

Lying curled up on your side, eyes strained on the curtains, you don’t feel yourself falling asleep. 

Soon, you’re miles away from the motel, your naked body drifting into the Pacific Ocean. You’re half-immersed, but afloat. The undercurrent is strong underneath the white crests of the violent waves, but you’re not scared. As long as you lie in the water, as long as you don’t try to resist, you’ll be fine. Ears beneath the surface, you’re isolated by the silence of the dark abyss, eyes staring up into the immensity above you. 

It’s a different kind of sunset. Flamboyant, carmine, and the whole sky is ablaze with it. The horizon is on fire, but you’re safe in the water. 

A vague intuition roils your peace. You’re supposed to look for something. How, you don’t know, because you cannot shift from your position, or you’ll sink. 

Suddenly, something tailspins across the sky in a fast downward fall. Too small to be a bird, too slow for a shooting star. Thick streaks of ominous gray fumes trail behind it in its descent.

Should you be scared? Should you try to get away from it? It’s so far in the distance, it can’t be much of a threat. It’s too late, now, anyway, you tilt your head to the side in time to watch it collide with the surface of the ocean. 

You feel the impact in the undertow. Something too big stirs between your lungs, and you gasp as the muted sound of the collision reaches you in a vibrating shockwave. 

The ripples of the impact are crawling fast over the surface, in your direction. A sense of dread, of impending doom, scrambles your brain. You jolt upward to a vertical position, legs and hands beating against the current, pushing against the water. 

The balance is fractured. You’re pulled under.  

You’re sinking fast, as fast as that thing fell into the ocean, and above the surface, the crimson sky is turning dim. 

Instinctually, you rebel against it, screaming for help but it’s water, not air, that fills your lungs. Salty, cold, abrading your throat when you choke on it. 

You’re dying, or you’re dead already, because something firm and soft radiates heat against your back. 

“Shhh, it’s ok.”

A strong arm bands firmly around your chest, warm palm, splayed fingers, pulling you flush against warm skin. 

“I got you, baby.”

Your eyes shoot open. The dark bedroom materializes in your blurred vision, the silhouette of the bedside table and the lamp, the pale square of the window. Its shape detached from the wall, dancing in the darkness. 

“Frankie?”

Frankie presses you into him, a short, strong squeeze of an answer. 

But your dream is clinging to the edges of your consciousness, salty water sloshing at the bottom of your lungs. 

“‘S that really you?” you ask again, words slurred through sleep, panic in the inflection of your question. 

His hand wraps around your breast. He slots his face into the curve of your neck, the scruff of his jaw a tickle against your bare skin. 

“Why, you were expecting someone else?” 

You close your eyes, tears rising, sudden, like the tide of the Pacific Ocean. 

“I’m not still dreaming?” you breathe out. 

His response is immediate. His teeth graze the slope of your shoulder. The bite is shallow, but firm, and you let out a little sound, between a surprised gasp and a relieved exhale. 

“See? Not dreaming. Go back to sleep, I’ll take care of you in the morning,” he mouths against your skin before kissing it better. A pointed kiss, plush, parted lips. A promise. 

The impact of that thing on the surface of the ocean is still pulsating through you. Ricocheting around your rib cage. You wiggle into his hold to turn around and face him, your palms finding the plane of his broad chest. 

Your entire body registers the difference. In sensation, in mass, in warmth.

In the semidarkness, you can only make out the outline of his sharp features. You scoot closer, tucking your face into his neck, taming the vibration with his scent. 

“Will you still be here in the morning?” 

You feel the thick swallow in his throat against your temple. It’s a beat before he moves, tilting his head to rest his chin on the crown of your head, both arms circling your waist. Engulfing you in his hold. 

“I will.”

—

Frankie knew you’d be at the motel. Instinctually so. A gut feeling, unnerving in its clarity. 

He hadn’t planned on going when he headed out. He had decided never to set a foot there ever again, and he was going to stand by his decision. After he’d put his daughter to bed, he just needed to get out of the house. Escape the charged atmosphere. 

It was Lua’s second Christmas, and he hadn't even managed to keep his family together that long. 

Lupe was watching a movie in the living-room. He’d leaned against the door frame, already in his hat and jacket. She hated his hat. She had forbidden him to wear it inside the house when they started dating, and he still abided by that rule. A belated mark of respect. 

“I’m heading out,” he announced, as neutral as possible. “Not sure when I’ll be back, don’t worry, ok?”

She was done being worried about him. He knew this much. He understood. He accepted. 

They still shared a roof, however. Bills, deadlines, and most importantly, responsibilities regarding the child they had brought into this world. He owed her basic information on his whereabouts. He may have lied about where he went, but he had always been back home before Lua woke up, as agreed between them.

“Yeah, ok,” she answered, without lifting her eyes from the TV screen. 

As he pushed away from the lintel, she turned to face him, as if remembering something. 

“Wait, Francisco?”

She hadn’t called him Frankie since she’d broken up with him. 

“Yea?” he said, backtracking to stand on the threshold. 

Her dark eyes glimmered, lit up by the TV screen’s flickering light. She was beautiful. A superior kind of beauty. Like gilded age Hollywood nobility. Dolores Del Rio, Linda Darnell. Even when tired, even with a bare face, and sitting in her pajamas with a bowl of chips between her crossed legs. Frankie hoped Lua would grow up to look like her. To be like her. And not take from him and his rough features. And his fucked up brain. 

“Could you stay in to take care of Lua next weekend? I know Friday’s your night, but I— I’ve got an opportunity to get away for the weekend. I might not be back until the 2nd.”

He recognized it in her demeanor. In the way she tried facing him without being able to look straight at him. The discreet, unconscious fiddling of the hem of her t-shirt. The concealment. Handing out a part, but not all the truth. Only what’s convenient. 

He briefly wondered if he’d been this obvious when he was running around on drugs. Probably even more so. How she didn’t kick him in the jaw was still a mystery to him. He owed her so much for her patience alone. 

“No problem, I’ll be here. Happy to do it for you,” he said in earnest, hoping it didn’t sound too awkward. Hoping she’d get the meaning behind it: she deserved someone else. Someone better. 

“Ok. Cool.” She paused before she added, “Appreciate it.”

He nodded in silence and turned around, walking toward the front door. 

Originally, the plan had been to drive without a goal. Pop an old Jefferson Airplane album into the truck’s stereo and listen to the music, drifting into the night. Slowly ease down from the day’s tensions. 

Your scent had eventually dissipated from the cab. It’d been eight days. He was never going back to that motel, and with her request, Lupe had just made his resolution easier to translate into action. 

The words formed inside his mind. He pronounced them out loud. 

I’m never going back to that motel. 

And he knew. You were there, at this very moment. He couldn’t explain how, but he knew. You’d said you couldn’t come, but it was Christmas evening, not Christmas Eve. Most families were done with the celebrations, heading home, cleaning up, storing away the china until next Thanksgiving. 

He pictured you sitting on the edge of the bed, a lonely silhouette peering out into the twilight beyond the yellow curtains, and a violent pain shot through his chest. He thought he was having a heart attack, the way his heart squeezed and sank. 

It hadn’t been more than a split second between his vision and his decision. He hit the brakes, ignoring the white SUV honking and swerving behind him, and U-turned on Ocean to head toward the 589 northbound. 

When he pulled into the parking lot, the night was pitch dark. Your gray sedan appeared in his headlights. He let out a sigh of relief as he parked behind it. The pain inside his chest was only starting to ebb. 

He got out fast and climbed onto the porch in front of room number 2. You hadn’t even locked the door. 

—

Dawn wakes you. The light gently tugging at your consciousness, little by little. Pale but insistent, nudging your eyes open. 

The room looks so different in the daylight. A miracle you have yet to tire of. Dust particles dancing in the grazing sunbeams of an early winter morning. Quiet and peace.

It’s been a long while since you last slept this well. You sigh at the cliché. A good-hearted, full-chested sigh.

Frankie’s heat behind you is nearly too much. His chest pressed against your back, his left arm, limp and heavy, resting across your waist. 

His breathing is deep. Slow, and steady. With each rise and fall of his chest, a thin sheen of sweat glides between your two bodies. His breath ruffles the thin hair on your nape in a gentle tickle.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, you try peeling his arm off you. You’ve almost made it when he suddenly brings it back down. 

“Nope,” he mumbles with closed eyes. The word is sleep-heavy, but the corner of his lips are twitching.

You stifle a delighted giggle.

“I have to use the bathroom.” 

“Mmh.” 

There’s a pause as he considers it, as you vainly try to bite down on your childlike grin.

“Ok,” he finally says, with exaggerated reluctance. 

He doesn’t move his arm, though. You have to wiggle yourself out of his hold. 

When you exit the bathroom, he’s still in the same position. The room is flooded with light. The sun darts its rays into his sleep-mussed hair. From golden strands to darker depth, his curls are pointing in every direction. 

You tiptoe in silence, doing your very best to climb back on the bed without disturbing his slumber. You want this. More than anything you’ve ever wanted. This tranquil moment to yourself, alone with his sleeping body. 

Kneeled behind him on the mattress, you take in his breadth, impressive even in this position as he lies on his side. You breathe in his scent, leather, cedar wood, and the musk of his skin, warm from sleep, from the morning sun, from your own body. 

There’s a larger freckle on the left side of his neck. Your fingers hover over it, curious, tempted. Drifting higher, your gaze uncovers a faded tattoo behind his ear. You can’t make out what it represents. The green ink is blurred, as if smeared underneath his skin. You doubt it was professionally done. It tugs at your heart with a sharp little pang of a pain to imagine him as a teenager. Tall and lean, smooth cheeks, smooth skin, a friend hunched over him with a needle and an ink pen.  

There’s another one on his left hand. This one, you know well. You’ve kissed it. Licked it. Held on to it. It’s nestled on the muscle between his thumb and index finger. Two circles and a dot in their center. A target, you assume, but you can’t be certain. The pile of clothes folded in military fashion springs to mind. 

Your eyes continue their exploration, flicking to his other wrist, with its inked arabesque, but it’s over in a second. 

You let out a sharp gasp, and he moves so fast you can’t deflect. His arm seizes you by the  waist, strong and unyielding. He drags you over his body, and you stumble onto the mattress in front of him. 

“What are you doing, back there?” he husks, a smile in his tone, and you giggle, again. 

He pulls you in close to him. 

“I’m looking at my Christmas present,” you answer.

He lets out a low chuckle. You made him laugh. Pride flares up in your chest. He smiles a dimpled smile, and you suck in a shaky breath, more pain blooming inside your rib cage. 

“You’re so pretty in this light,” you whisper in wonderment.

“You’re pretty in every light.”

“How would you know, you haven’t opened your eyes yet,” you tease.

You tease. Your levity makes you dizzy. 

His eyebrows disappear in his soft curls. He lifts one eyelid, pursing his lips. The morning sun catches at the mahogany of his iris. 

“You questioning my judgment here?” 

Smiling, you move your hips closer to his, to where you want to feel him. The low rasp of his voice is dripping down inside you, slowly, surely. Swirling like honey. Thick, rich trickles of amber, sticky and sweet. Like the light playing on his freckled skin. Like his warmth under your hands. Too much and not enough, pooling down between your legs. 

Reaching up, you scratch your nails in his beard, tracing the heart-shaped, bare patch on his jaw with your fingertips.  

“Is it ok that you’re still here? At this hour?” you ask, focusing on the tip of your finger.

“I don’t know. I hope my truck is not gonna turn into a pumpkin,” he answers, giving your waist a little pinch.

“I hope not. I like your truck.” 

Your fingers travel down along his strong neck. 

“How’s your head?” he asks. 

The bobbing of his throat is mesmerizing. It’s a minute before you’re able to answer.

“You still don’t believe I fell, do you?”

“I believe you. It’s him I don’t trust.”

You’re brought back, violently so, under Beatrice’s porch, into Adrian’s arms and his lips pressed to yours, prying them open. To his taste on your tongue, bitter like stale champagne. Yesterday afternoon. Forever ago. 

Perhaps he sees the memory clouding your gaze, because his leg wedges between yours, his body curling around your body. Protective, possessive. He nuzzles into the curve of your shoulder, taking in a deep, full breath. His lips trail open-mouth kisses, tickling and wet, along the line of your throat. You burrow into his chest, into his hold, into his world.

The words bubble up from the depth of your chest, from where they formed between your lungs, where the creature is purring, lapping honey, warm and content. 

“My name is Lee.”

Frankie pulls back immediately with a wide-eyed stare. You see, more than you hear, the name rolling around the tip of his tongue, as he tastes it on his palate. 

“Lee. Lee. Lee.”

On the third occurrence, his hand circles your hip and slides down to the round of your ass, grasping your flesh as if to hold you down. Make sure you won’t vanish. There’s that perpetual crease between his brow. His heart is thrumming hard and fast against yours. You grow restless between his arms.  

“I hate it,” you say.

“What?”

You swallow thickly, mouth cardboard dry. 

“My name.”

He props himself up on his elbow to better face your scowling expression, eyes piercing you under his deep frown. 

“Why?”

“They gave me my grandfather’s name. Lee Abbott. Lee Abbott & Son, import export,” you recite. “It’s not even mine.”

Your eyes flicker, scanning his face, trying to read the ticking of his jaw, the widening of his pupils. 

“I think it’s perfect. Lee’s perfect.”

His voice is breathy, like he just took a punch to the gut, and it sends your mind reeling. Is this what he sounds like when he’s lying?

“How?” You wrestle the question out of your throat, and it’s still barely audible.

“It’s fearless. It’s fucking badass,” he answers without missing a beat, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard it. 

“What?” you scoff incredulously. You shake your head on the starched pillowcase. “I’m not badass. I’m not fearless, Frankie, I can guarantee you that.”

The pink tip of his tongue darts between his lips as he narrows his gaze on you. His hand leaves your hip. He brings it up to your face, and he pauses. An inch from your skin, like he’s taming an animal, scared, wild or wounded, or all three, before brushing his knuckles to your cheek. 

It’s overwhelming, his body hunched over yours. Crowding your senses. Filling your vision. His rhythmic strokes, rough hand, gentle touch. It’s something you had foreseen but weren’t quite ready to experience: his ability for tenderness. 

You’re cornered. Entirely. You should probably be scared. To some extent, you are. But you know you’re safe, the feeling instinctive. You must trust the waves, trust the tide of this deep dark ocean. It’ll keep you afloat. Embrace the impact. Embrace its concentric ripples. 

“Ok,” he starts. “Here’s how I see it. Marion… Marion, she’s hiding. She’s running away with something that’s not hers, right? Something she stole. Whereas Lee… Lee got out there and she took chances. She got what she wanted. She made it hers.”

Your heart beats inside your throat, blood flushing your face and rushing through your ears with a deafening roar. 

“Did she?”

He nods. 

“Yea. Yea, she did.” 

He leans down, slowly lowering his lips to yours. His kiss is patient, reverent, slow-building. Plush lips wrapped around yours, tongue gently prodding, softly coaxing you open. Between your arms, his shoulders tremble under the force of his restraint. 

When you ease into it with a quiet whimper, he draws you in closer. You arch up in his embrace, fingers threading through his curls, right leg brushing up along his. 

His mouth crushes yours with a groan. He licks inside you, tongues entwined, swirling. Honey dripping down your spine, fire licking up your core, electricity tingling along your limbs. 

Kisses that are more teeth than lips, when he trails the line of your jaw, the coarse hair of his beard scrapping your cheeks. Calloused hands spamming the expanse of your smooth skin, cupping your breasts, rough and needy, and you feel the hot press of his hard length against your belly as he rocks against you. 

Your heart is impossibly light. Like it’s going to rip through your rib cage and fly away. Like you’ll be left without one, and the wild creature, always demanding more, will take its place. Because that’s what it’s been waiting for, since the very beginning. 

Forgotten, your good will and resolutions, weak promises you made to yourself. Pushed back, pushed down, guilt and photo booth pictures of his dimpled baby girl. Drowned, intrusive memories, blue eyes, white porch, French delicacy. 

He’s yours, he said so himself, didn’t he? For the first time ever, something’s yours, wholly. You got him, because of everything you surrendered. 

And it matters not that you’re lying to yourself. That, really, he belongs to somebody else. It matters not when his mouth is all over you, greedy, taking. Devouring you. When his fingers are gliding through your soaked folds, breaching your entrance. When they’re buried inside you, thick and curled and pumping. 

When you’re blooming sticky and wet, pretty and dazed, bursting open under his touch, moaning his name. 

He’s yours now. In this room. In the gift of your name. In your heart that’s flying away from you as you clench and shatter on his hand. 

He pulls up, blown out pupils, damp wild curls falling on his forehead. He drags his fingers out of you and the emptiness prickles at the corner of your eyelids. His eyes are trained on you as he licks them. As he smiles, a cocky grin stretches his gorgeous lips and dimples his pretty face, and perhaps this is as close as you’ll ever get to see him looking like his teenage self. That smug smile. All pride and confidence. 

You’re sinking into that shitty mattress, weighed down by melancholy and pleasure and regrets. And something else. Something more stubborn than you, that you still cannot name. 

Frankie fastens his mouth to yours, sharing your taste with you, wedging his body between your legs, spreading your hips with his waist. 

Your emptiness is throbbing at the center of you. 

“Frankie please, please.”

“Yes, baby. Told you I was gonna take care of you.”

Flexing his hips, he rubs his length against your scorching heat, coating himself in your slick. Anticipation tingles through the blunt edges of your previous release. You squirm under the weight of him, knees touching the mattress, cracked open, vibrating. 

He lines up at your entrance, dark eyes focused on your face, and oh god, the fucking size of him. The fucking stretch. The burn as he inches in, excruciatingly slow. It has you blinking away tears of pain and gratitude, it has you whining his name. 

He’s all blown-out pupils, taut muscles, and slack jaw, as he sheathes his cock inside your heat, all the way in. Round head nudging at your cervix. The sight of him, nearly wrecked, control waning, as he makes room for himself inside you rips through you. 

“You feel so damn good, Lee,” he says, impossibly soft, and you feel it inside your chest, with the way he’s lying on you. 

It’s a stretching glide, when he starts moving. A spreading grind. You can feel every vein, every ridge of him. He hooks an arm under your knee and folds you around him. He’s not fully pulling out, he can’t, he needs you wrapped around him, this much you understand, clearly, through the annihilation of his deep strokes. 

Forehead to forehead, chest to chest, you can’t breathe and your body’s a thinning envelope between your heart and Frankie’s. It’s too much, his weight inside and over you, his breath in your mouth, his smell everywhere. 

You’re overwhelmed, forced to surrender to the fire coiling inside you. With the coarse hair at his base scraping against the sensitive bud of your clit, with his cock, hot and heavy, dragging against your walls. 

Your body jerks underneath him, fingernails digging into the meat of his shoulder to draw him closer, your other hand pushing him away and he moves fast, strong fingers circling your wrist and sliding your hand above your head, twining your fingers. You’re pinned down. Helpless. Willing. Unmoored by the intensity of the building impact. 

He feels it, feels your frantic flutter around his cock and the frenzied racing of your pulse and he drives in deeper, faster, harder. The room fills up with the sound of his sweat-damp skin slapping against yours. Louder than the creaking bed, louder than the headboard’s thud on the wall. 

“Oh god!” you cry.

“Come on, baby, give it to me,” he grunts into your mouth.  

—

Frankie sees the plea in your eyes, shiny with tears, too wide, too glassy. Come with me, you’re begging him, come inside. He’s never fucked you like that, not you, not anyone, he’s never bared himself so fully. He’s gonna lose himself for good, this time. 

You’re breaking up under his rolling hips, bucking hard against the press of his body. Eyes rolling to the back of your skull, clenching cunt, clenched eyelids. 

Something blares up in the back of his head. A signal. An alarm. 

He can’t even fuck you through it. You let out a broken cry when he pulls out, spurting dense ropes of come on your mound with a tense “fuck.”

A dry little sob rattles through your chest. Muffled, apologetic. 

He untangles his fingers from yours, unhooks your leg from his arm. Pushes away from you on the rumpled sheets, and it’s etched on your face, in your pinched brow, in your quivering lip. The disillusion. The void he’s failed to fill. 

That fucking heart attack of a pain squeezes at his chest again. 

He rolls onto his back, freeing you, and you gulp in a large breath. 

In the room, the air is stifling. Charged with the coppery smell of sex. The daylight is unforgiving with the chipped furniture and the moth-eaten curtains. With that ugly painting of the Appalachian. 

“Let’s go clean you up,” he says, sitting up with a cinch. Unable to bear your silence. 

“No,” you whisper. “I need a minute.”

You shut your eyes close. You retreat. He watches you disappear beyond the shore of your inner island. Where he cannot follow you. 

There’s noise coming through the paper thin walls from next door. Several voices, a television, maybe. Further away, the low humming of a vacuum cleaner. 

How long until room-service robs you from him?

He lies back down. Stares at your profile, still and absent, cut out in amber against the light from the window. 

Lee. 

The most beautiful name he’s ever heard. He briefly noted the similarities: three letters, starting with an L. Lee. Lua. A perfect balance. 

It tastes like honey. You said, “My name is Lee” but what you meant was, “I trust you.” 

What has he done with your trust? 

How could he ever imagine himself capable of living without this? Without you? Without this room, even? 

His mind drifts to his early morning routine, Lua curled up on his lap, drinking her bottle with those hungry, little grunting noises. Chubby little fingers wrapped around his thumb. 

He was always an early riser. Which was practical during his time in the Army. The nightmares, the drugs, they disrupted that. He could be up, without being awake. Without being there. 

But lately, he’s the first to rise again, no matter how late sleep finds him. 

He loves that Lua seems to know he’s awake. She never cried in the morning. When she was just a newborn baby, she would make those quiet babbling noises. Now she calls his name. Papa. 

He comes into her room with her bottle ready. Most mornings, she’s up, already, holding herself upright with the bars of her crib. That smile she gives him, when she sees him. That’s his morning sun. 

He picks her up with one hand, she weighs so little, and yet so much. He covers her face in tickling smooches until she stops giggling and starts pushing him away, making grabby hand gestures at her bottle. 

These moments of a peace he doesn’t deserve, in the early, blue hours, he owes them to you. You’ve smothered the nightmares. You’ve quietened his mind. Patiently chipped away at the walls he had erected between himself and happiness, with your quiet, determined strength. 

Fuck. 

You’re getting up. He watches you climb off the bed and saunter off to the bathroom. He doesn’t want to stay alone on this bed, in this room. Without you. 

So he follows you, standing on the threshold, leaning on the door frame of the windowless bathroom, looking at you as you clean yourself with a towel. 

The paint is coming off on the lintel. The small neon above the sink lights up shit. The shower head is crusty with limestone. Humidity speckles the ceiling in black, hairy dots above the bathtub. 

He hates himself for taking you here. 

Back in September, he had chosen the place because it seemed sufficiently remote. Because he hoped it would deter you. Scare you away. 

He hates that you didn’t even flinch. 

He hates that he’s grown fond of this shithole. 

You turn and hand him a glass of water. He steps inside with you. You watch him drink up, head tilted and your big, searching eyes on him. The resolve that sharpens them, that he witnessed emerging, Friday night after Friday night, as resignation receded. That’s what guides him now. 

There’s something intrinsically soft, a new kind of intimacy, about standing together in that bathroom. Soon, you’ll have to part. The imminent separation hangs heavy and silent between you. Tangible. He wants you again, already.

You’ve sensed the storm raging inside his head. He can tell, because it’s as though you’re trying to absorb it with your calm demeanor. He resents that. Doesn’t want you to. His moods are not your burden to carry. 

You take the glass from him and run the water over it to clean it. As if the cleaning service won’t do it once you vacate the place. 

His eyes flicker up to that mirror, to your dim reflection. Mussed hair, relaxed shoulders. Your face, solemn, illegible. And his, darker looking. A trick of the weak lighting. Pitch-black eyes, flexing jaw. Towering over you. Threatening. 

The reflection is like an old photograph, a decayed daguerreotype that reveals a ghost. A girl and her demon.

He moves forward to crowd you, until your hips knock against the sink, his own pressing against your cheeks, his cock half-hard already. The glass falls into the sink with a clatter when he grasps the hinge of your jaw, twisting your head upward and to the side. 

“You like it when I spit in your mouth, Lee?”

You nod. “I do.” 

He gathers it inside his mouth, and you open yours, diligent, hungry, pulling your tongue out with a soft whimper, and his cock twitches in the small of your back. His spit rolls down his tongue to yours. You raise to your tiptoes with a needy little moan. He watches your reflection as you swallow. 

His mouth crashes over your lips, sloppy kiss, scraping teeth. Hands kneading rough at your tits, rubbing their hardening peaks between his fingers. 

“I want to fuck you in that shower,” he growls, teeth finding the edge of your jaw. 

You arch back into him with a broken moan, but to his surprise, you say, “We can’t.”

His hand skates down your front, down the slope of your belly, fingers roughly parting your folds and fuck. You’re soaked. You’re dripping for him.  

“Why?” he brushes against the shell of your ear. “There’s time. I want you again, Lee.”

“I want you too, Frankie, I—” you try to move away from the sink, your strength a poor match for his. “We can’t because we literally can’t, that shower is impossible.”

Your laughter startles him. Stepping back, he gives you room, and you move immediately, sitting on the edge of the tub to demonstrate. Smeared with your arousal, his fingers circle his cock, absentmindedly, brain fogged in a lustful haze as you run the tap. 

“There’s no hot water. Well, there is, a little, but look, there’s only pressure with cold water. And…” you look up at him with a cheeky grin, “that’s kind of where I draw the line.” 

There’s a glimmer of pride in your eyes as you deliver your joke.  

His heart fucking sinks. He’ll get that heart-attack, eventually. 

“You’ve showered in there, with that broken tap, all this time?”

You nod with a bemused smile before you shrug, comfortable, easy. 

“Well, at the beginning. I haven’t in a while.” You pause before you add quietly, “I like to keep you on me.”

Frankie lets out a long sigh. His cock resting thick and heavy against his thigh. You make him so fucking hard. You make him stupidly soft. You drive him out of his goddamn mind. 

The words come out of him before he gets the chance to think them over. 

“I’ll bring my tools next time. I can probably fix it, if I can access the boiler.”

Getting up, you close the distance between you. 

“You could fix it?” you ask, wide eyes gazing at him in amazement. 

He chuckles, a velvety rumble from his chest, something assertive and low, the sound of which he had forgotten. He considers telling you about his engineering degree. Enumerating all the aircraft he can fly. Fucking boast about it. Because he wants you to know. 

The memory of the crashed Mi-8 in the middle of the coca field invades his mind. Twisted rotor, broken hull. Smoking motor, shattered glass. He can smell the gasoline. Feel the sting of his own sweat and blood in his left eye. 

You skim your hands up along his arms. Bring him back to you, to room number 2. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he grits through a clenched jaw. 

“Like what?” you ask, voice honey sweet. 

You curl your fingers around his biceps.

“Like I can ask you anything.”

“Why not? You can.”

He has to tell you. Tell you he cannot come next week, but that he’ll be back the week after. And the following. As long as you’ll have him. 

Only he catches it before he has a chance to speak. That shadow that plays across your face. The beginning of your retreat, behind the clouding of your eyes. 

“What is it?” he asks, and he has to swallow down the taste of dirt in his mouth. 

You let your hands drop to your sides. You can’t even look at him. 

“Hey, what is it?” he presses, cupping your face. 

“Can’t come next week.” 

You’re so quiet, leaning into his palm, no more than a whisper, and it fucking breaks him. 

“I’m going to that— stupid ski resort. Every year, I– I don’t even ski. I hate it. I just hate it. All I do is wait around all day.”

Eventually, you raise your eyes to his face as he flexes his jaw. He sees you police your expression for him.

“It’s not that bad. I get time to read,” you backtrack. 

Like you triggered the fury his eyes are burning with, and not that piece of shit of a man who takes you to places where you don’t want to be, just to keep you around fucking waiting. 

But his anger subsides abruptly. Everything falls into place. Your presence here last night, your sudden sadness. Like him, you had decided not to come here again.

“Were you going to tell me?” he asks, trying to suppress the resigned sorrow from his tone.

He doesn’t need you to answer. He knows the refrain. He’s never going back to this motel. 

“I saw the picture in your wallet, Frankie. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. But I did.”

Three letters. Starting with an L. A perfect balance. 

“And what does it change?”

His grip tightens, hands sliding through your hair to the back of your skull, thumbs rubbing circles into your cheeks. You’re cold to the touch. You grasp his wrists, hold on to him, like you did last week in the parking lot. Eyes glimmering, a first tear dangling from your lashes. 

“Listen,” he starts, “if you want to stop… this, obviously, I won’t hold you back. But—”

He has to pause. Rake his brain for words, words that fail him, words to express the sadness and the loss and the fear. 

He breathes deep, and your scent fills his lungs. A pale shade of yellow, and celadon green. 

“But I will miss you, Lee. I will miss you so fucking much.”

That tear breaks free. Rolls down your cheek, and he catches it on his thumb.  

“I’ll miss you too,” you whisper.

“Then come back to me. Keep coming back to me, baby.”

There’s that pull. The violence of it like a blow. And you must feel it too, because you leap up to him as he leans into you, and your mouths collide. He’s crushing your lips, licking into you, cocking your head to deepen the kiss. Fingers digging into your waist, into your hips, down your thighs as they roam. A harsh, restless furrow. Looking to bruise, to leave a mark, an imprint of him. 

Your arms fold around his shoulders, pulling him in, nails denting little red crescents into his skin, and he groans into it. A primal sound that rumbles around you and bounces off the dirty tiles. 

His mouth drags wet and hard along your throat. Biting down, sucking in, teeth sinking into your pulse point. He follows it down to your heart. The beating thud, the flowing bloodstream. Hunched over you, lips trailing to your sternum, face burying between your breasts. He bites into the swell of it, pushing the flesh of it into his mouth, latching onto your nipple. A hard suck. Sharp. Painful. 

You keen. Folding over him when he falls to his knees. Threading your fingers through his curls with a choked off moan when his teeth scrape the soft flesh of your belly, where you still taste of him. He can smell your sex, rubbed pink and raw from when he fucked you earlier, less than twenty minutes ago. 

He bites into the tender skin of your inner thigh, around the long, thin scar you hide there, and you spread your legs wider. 

“Good girl,” he grunts.

There’s a knock on the front door. Someone calling “room-service” from outside, and you gasp, hand flying to clasp over your mouth. He couldn’t care less. 

“Don’t fucking move,” he growls into your skin. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you answer, voice high and breezy, and it shoots straight to his cock.

He lifts your leg, slides it over his shoulder, and you grip the sink for balance with a little shriek as he dives between your folds, fingers curled around the swell of your ass. It’s not soft, it’s not tender, there’s no Stop me. It’s urgent and commanding. It’s messy, desperate, demanding. 

His mouth is hard, wide open, cupping your cunt, his neck pulled taut. Tongue curling around your clit, flickering, plunging into your wet, hot center. Licking your slick straight from your walls, drinking you up. You buck into it, riding his tongue, your pleasure, his face, and he groans into your heat. 

His face presses up into you until you nearly topple over. You’re all ragged breaths and wanton whimpers. He wants more, wants to feel you from the inside, and it’s a need, really. Your skin melding with his. Your sex scorching him raw. 

It’s your louder cry, loud enough to cover the repeating knocking, when he pulls away.

“Gotta fuck you, baby,” he rasps, getting up, grabbing you by the waist to turn you around. 

His voice sounds wrecked, as wrecked as he feels. Cock throbbing angrily between his legs. 

“Fuck,” you pant, “I want— I want you to— want you to fuck me.”

He watches you, transfixed, as you face away from him, bracing your hands on the slippery porcelain of the sink. Back bowed, ass perked up. Offered. Waiting. Wanting.

“Oh shit,” he pants. “Fuck.”

He catches his reflection in the dark mirror. Black eyes, hungry. Lips shining with your arousal. A carnivorous expression. It scares him. Like he’s about to eat you whole, eat you raw. A girl and her demon. No one to stop him. 

Circling his cock, he spits down on it, smearing the saliva down his length with a couple of strokes, and he’s at your entrance, hot like a fever, leaking wet and sticky for him. 

Hand brushing up your arched back to curl around your nape, holding you still for him, he drives into you to the hilt with all his strength. 

A broken cry rips through your chest. He pauses inside you, sweat breaking on his forehead, eyes trained on where he disappears inside you, forcing you open for him. Less to let you adjust than to revel into it, the feel of you from the inside, clenching around him. Gripping him, breathing heavily with the stretch of him. 

“Good girl, good fucking girl,” he husks with an obscene smirk, something akin to pride at how well you take him. 

Your head dips between your shoulders and he hears your breathless laughter. 

He pulls out of you, cock catching thick and stiff at your entrance, glistening with your slick, and thrusts right back in. He keeps moving. Long, thorough strokes, fast and steady, dragging along your walls, bumping against your cervix. His other hand a bruising hold on your hip, and those little grunts tearing through your throat with every slap of his hips against your ass. 

You’re standing on your tiptoes, legs trembling, but pushing back into him. Meeting him thrust for thrust, with your small hands braced around the edge of the sink in a white-knuckle grip, and he can’t take his eyes off it. Off that line pulled taut between your shoulders, your grip, your grit. 

Your greed for him. Your fucking determination. 

There’s that pull again, that hunger for more of you, all of you. He bands an arm between your breasts and draws your back flush to his chest. You’re always so pliant. His hand a careful wrap around your throat to hold you upright and fuck. You’re a sight to behold. In that black-edged mirror. You’re a fucking vision. The mess he’s made of you. Fucked out, flushed skin, cock drunk. Sweat-damp hair glued to your beautiful face. 

You’re gripping his arms with both hands, holding on to him, and your eyes find his in the reflection, burning a hole through his soul like they did all those months ago, back in the bar. His heart trips. It swells furious and pounding inside him, how good you look together, how right this feels, your two bodies entwined, surrendering to each other. 

“I feel so good, Frankie, so good when you’re moving inside me,” you tell him, eyes fluttering. Your voice trickling like honey inside him, your sweet slick dribbling around him, soaking the hair at his base. He can hear it with every one of his thrusts. Can taste it where it lingers on his tongue. Lick it from his lips. 

It’s gonna fuck him up. How much he wants to be yours. Fuck up his sanity and everything he’s got that he hasn’t yet destroyed, just how fucking much he wants you to belong to him. Only him. 

He will carve you into his shape if he can’t carve you out of him. 

He skates his hand down to your mound, kneading your soft flesh along the way, the bone of your hip, the small slope of your belly. He finds the hardened peak of your clit, fingers gliding around it. 

Driving into you in deep harsh strokes, he presses his lips against the shell of your ear, hot breath fanning your skin.

“Gonna fucking ruin you for him, baby. Won’t let you go until you’re fucked full of me.” 

“Oh god yes!”

You clench around him, cunt impossibly tight when he shoves you down on it. He sees the tears streaking your cheeks. Feels the shallow bite of your nails into the tense muscles of his forearms when he grinds against your soft cheeks.

“Watch me, Lee. Watch me fuck you full of my come. Gonna fuck it so deep inside you, you’ll be leaking me for days.”

You suck in a sharp breath. Mouth gone slack, eyes locked on him in the mirror, wild and craving. Everything else disappears, the world fades around your two bodies. There’s nothing but your weight between his arms, the feel of you around him. 

Hand wrapped around your neck, he angles up his hips, reaching deeper than he’s ever been, into that spot that makes you cry. His fingers rubbing at your clit, more slick gushing out of you. 

There’s a fast coiling heat in his loins. A fire, licking up his spine, balls drawing tight, cock swelling. 

“I’m coming,” you whine, “Frankie please—”

The words stretch out of you as you trash into his arms, crashing hard around him. He follows with a grunt, loud, primal, possessive. Pumping his come, thick and searing, deep inside your gripping cunt. His vision darkens. 

There’s blinding pleasure. Your skin. Your scent. 

The knowledge that you're his.  

****

[mazikeenhyde]

Less than a minute...

(Ive decided to be brave, I always wanted to try my hand at writing fan fiction so here we go! If i got anything wrong, like warnings for example please let me know so i can fix it! )

WARNING – 

A Poly!Judgment-Day fanfiction containing themes and mentions of DEPRESSION, LONLINESS, SOME SMUT, ANGST, SADNESS, ALCOHOL etc 

Overall, I’m just trying to make you all cry… 

READER X JUDGMENT DAY/POLY! – Rhea, Damien, Finn, Dominik x READER- Written in first person with Y/N (Reader Female)  

Italic font – flashback, speech or memories

Less than a minute 

The hotel room was quiet, the cheap TV fixed to the wall showing Monday night Raw on a low volume mixed in with the sounds of footsteps in the corridor, each sound filling the hot humid air. Outside the rain lashed down, heavy rainclouds hung low in the night sky blocking out the starlight, yet the full moon powered through, illuminating the streets, reflecting in the puddles that ran along the gutter line. 

 It was late, most of these anonymous guests rushing around just outside our door would be returning from busy work days to catch up on sleep or be heading out for a fun night on the town.  A blissful life for most, a chance to escape their homes and stay in a bed with room service, maids to clean up after you and a reception for any assistance required! I hated it though; it wasn’t my choice but when you are on the road traveling for what felt like 300 days of the year with your partners there isn’t much of an option. A different country every month, a different state every week, Christ a different town every night. I longed for those one-off days where we were all free to do nothing. Something many people take for granted is the ability to do nothing, and I missed it. 

Life felt far too chaotic, and despite being in a 5-way Polyamory relationship, I’d never felt so alone. I longed to go home, back to our own little house, we had been away for so long now. I could picture it, the front room shelves filled up high with my collection of books. My own little library I had spent a lifetime building now just collecting dust. The cabinets filled with Dominik’s board games that had bought about so many nights of endless laughter and equally some rather extreme arguments over winners, losers, cheaters and a half empty liquor cabinet that had been drained dry after a game of Scrabble. I still laugh now thinking back to when Rhea would demand the Alexa to define a word, we were sure Dominik had made up. Still, you could always rely on Finn to settle the score with a round of tequila shots and an accidental knock of the board. 

“Oh no!” Finn would laugh as he ‘accidently’ kicked the board off and onto the floor. 

“The board fell… guess we will have to play something else aye lass” he stated sarcastically, winking at me as he passed over one of the shot glasses. 

“I wouldn’t say No to a game of Twister” Damien suggested, raising his eyebrows as he took his shot and ran his fingers down my back. I swear that man would give me goosebumps from the top of my head to the center of my core with just a passing look and that fiendish glint in his eye! 

Rhea was quick to move herself over towards us resting her head in my lap, turning her view point to a more favored position. “I’ll second that” she smiled gently kissing the inner of my thigh, my breath was hitched, excited and on edge all at once. 

“Well I’m calling it!  I won..” Dominik stated with a huff as he began to pick the letter tiles up off the floor. Smirking over at him we each adorned a loveable gleam towards the boy. A little brat at the best and worst of times, but we wouldn’t have changed him for the world. 

Moving Rheas head onto Damien’s lap where the two of them began their own little make out session I crawled my way round to Dom, helping collect the remaining tiles off the floor and boxing his board game up. 

Smiling into his eye line I whispered ‘Never change who you are Dom Dom, We will always be here and we will always love you”

“What about when they break us up though?” he asked, I could hear the anxiety in his voice, his eyes. “I have to turn on Rhea and…and..” 

I held him close, his hands holding tightly to my back and I could hear his gentle muffled cries. 

“You’ll never be alone Dom, I love you so much. Even if I’m not always there to hold your hand, ill never be far away” I whispered in his ear. 

“Less than a minuite?” he smiled. 

-----

I couldn’t deny how much love I felt for each of them, work life had been tough for the four of them after the WWE had stated they would be splitting the group up to start a new storyline involving the likes of Liv Morgan, JD & Carlito. It didn’t stop the love we had for each other, but it certainly made traveling together difficult! I often reminded them that unlike myself none of them exactly blended into a crowd. 

Sitting in the middle of this king size bed I pulled my knees up to my chest, I had stolen Damien’s hoodie and a pair of rhea’s gym shorts in the hopes of being comfortable enough to focus while I studied my textbooks, but alas tonight my mind was elsewhere. I had been studying Law for some time, it had always been such a passion of mine and thankfully no matter where we slept I could bring my books and get my head down while my partners entertained the world. It also came in quite handy when certain members of the group had one too many drinks on a night out and needed some help in escaping the police without legal prosecution. Dominik can tell the world he did hard time in jail all he likes, but it was me that got the little brat released early after a dramatic night with Rhea at his parents’ house on thanksgiving. 

The WWE had offered me a position on their legal team once I had passed all my exams, yet that was over a year ago. I had deferred my exam date twice already, I wasn’t sure what was wrong with me but I didn’t feel the love, the passion or the joy I had done surrounding myself in plans for my future dream career, I was starting to worry I had wasted all these years for nothing.

Finn was always the voice of reason; he would often sit and help me revise while Rhea and Dom would shower together after the gym and Damien would take a nap. He was the voice of reason in the group, the glue that held us all together when things got tough. It was Finn that supported us all the most when our relationship went public, none of us had wanted to hide how we felt and the WWE were supportive, but that didn’t stop the online hate. The four of them were use to random strangers throwing insults due to the nature of their job, and thankfully I wasn’t of much interest to the fans. We had done our best to keep me away from the public eye, almost everyone just assumed I was part of the WWE teams supporting the group. There were a few fan speculation pages online who loved to play the guessing game but the majority saw me as nothing, as no one. 

Finn always knew when something was wrong, he hadn’t wanted to leave me this evening but I had persuaded them all to go on the promise when they returned we could order in and cuddle up to watch a new release on tv if we connected Damien’s laptop. 

“Chicken tenders! Ooh and nuggies?” Dom said, looking around the room in minor disbelief as we all looked at him with smiles. “What?” he asked. 

“Really Dom? Chicken tenders, I’d never have guessed that bro. There’s me thinking you’d want Sushi!” Damien stated sarcastically with a smirk as he zipped up his duffel bag. 

“Ew, raw fish? Bleugh! That’s gross!” Dom was genuinely disgusted at the idea. 

“Hey! Don’t knock Sushi you little squinnie! Just because the rest of us have some foodie culture, your mother should have had you expand your pallet better!” I replied as I walked over and flicked Dom on the head. He was quick to wrestle me up and onto his shoulder, spinning me round onto the bed where he climbed on to pin me down. 

“Uh Excuse me! I think you’ll find…Mami! has expanded my pallet just fine hermosa!” He stated, daring his lips closer to mine. 

“Oh I bet..” I whispered to him closing the gap between us, our lips aching to touch. “Your pallet has had its fair share of tasting sessions aye Dom Dom” 

Before he could respond Damien wrapped his arms around Dominik’s waste pulling him off me and planting him back down to earth, ruffling his hair upon release. 

“Alright you two, break it off!” Damien patted Dom on the chest as he tossed over his rucksack from the chair. I bought my chest up leaning back on my hands winking at Dom as he scowled at me with a mix of frustration and cheek. 

Rhea walked out from the bathroom with Finn following in tow, slapping Dom on the ass and wrapping her arm around his neck. 

“Behave yourself Dom Dom” Rhea said before looking over at me on the bed, “You too Bunny, Brats be warned there will always be consequences.” She laughed and pulled Dom towards the hotel door blowing me a kiss as the two of them headed out to work. Damien followed suit leaning down on the bed to kiss my forehead. 

“Te amo, Hermosa” he held the back of my neck touching foreheads before following Rhea and Dom. 

“Ill catch up with you three downstairs” Finn said and Damien gave him a thumbs up as he headed out the hotel room door and closed it behind them. 

Finn took a seat next to me on the bed as I sat up properly and moved to the edge, adorning one of those fake convincing smiles that had worked so many times before. 

“A night of studying then? We won’t be back too late I promise, you can pick the film tonight. I dread another of Rheas slasher films aye. We will be up all night watching the door” Finn said with a gentle nudge to my shoulder. I just nodded, unsure of how to respond. It was strange, I could hide myself in the love and laughter I felt for them all, the never ending flirting and sexual frustration that would build when we were in a room. But a reminder of the real world, of the real life we were living was enough to shatter my dreams back to reality. Every day was blending into one, the repetitive endeavors were tearing my soul apart. Tears began to fill the corners of my eyes as I was quick to stand and rub them away taking a sharp breath. I knew inside I was breaking, I was like a ticking time bomb and I needed to protect them all. Finn leapt up to his feet spin me around and face him.

“Y/N, listen to me lass, you know we all love you. No matter what, no matter how hard it all gets, whether you sit the exams and pass or fail.” Finn held his hands to my face cupping my cheeks. 

Finn had suspected something was wrong for a while, he and Rhea had sat down with me before to talk. They knew about my past, the scars I had whilst silver and faded now were a window into a past life I had battled for so long to break free from, always terrified it would find me again. I was like a rabbit in headlights when it all got to much, I would freeze in fear of my mind running away with my sanity. Hence the nickname Bunny. 

“I don’t know what is wrong with me..” My voice was fragile, broken. 

Finn held me in a close hug, his warm embrace relighting the fire inside my chest, a willing to keep going forward. The serenity was quickly broken by a car horn beeping outside followed by a text alert on Finns phone. 

BRAT NO.2  -

“Oi! Save some of her for the rest of us Finn >_< get your ass down here! We’re gonna be late!”  

Finn shook his head, “That boy tests my patience to its limit at the best of times, ive a good mind to put him over my knee’ 

I laughed wiping my eyes with my sleeves “Only if you let me watch” 

He smiled and held me close, “I can stay, if that’s what you need?” 

I shook my head and released him from the hug, “No. its okay, you go kick ass! I’m gonna jump in the shower and try to get in a quick nap before I crack on with those books, can’t defer the exam forever!” 

“We will be back before you know it” Finn said softly 

“Less than a minute?” I half smiled

“Less than a minute” He returned the all too familiar phrase. Finn kissed my forehead before getting his bag of the chair and reaching into his pocket to get his phone that had started to ring. He answered the call whilst slumping his bag over his shoulder and nodding his head goodbye to me before heading out the door. 

“Dominik, I am telling you now! I swear to god if you don’t…” Finns voice faded out as he continued down the hotel hallway, the door closing behind him. 

Taking a deep breath I shook off the heavy emotional cloak weighing me down and headed for the shower. 

4 HOURS LATER   - 

Looking around the rather large hotel room we had booked for the night I came to wonder; anyone would have thought we would have been used to this horrendous decor by now. No matter where we stayed every room felt much the same, whether it was the dismal wall art, low pressure shower heads or dull painted walls that felt like they were closing in. Though I knew the others were not fazed by it, they very rarely spent a lot of time in these rooms, aside from catching up on missed sleep or dancing the devils tango with any sparing energy the four of them would be in the gym or at the WWE training centers for live shows or TV. 

Sitting here I couldn’t steady my mind, I felt lost, lonely, empty even. It wasn’t their fault, they showered me in affection, I could want for nothing but more time with them. Yet it wasn’t that either, no amount of time in the arms of Rhea could fix the damage, she was the only woman I could love with the entirety of my heart, but as incredible as she was, even Rhea Bloody Ripley couldn’t fight off the demons inside me. 

The deeper I looked the more the world felt wrong. It all felt alien, uneasy, I wondered if it was just me, was I the problem? I checked the time, just after 10pm, they would be back soon enough, why did that bring about such panic, an anxiety drowning my heart, my breathe hitched and I felt it. You just know don’t you, it could have been years, weeks, days, hours or minutes that you had been fighting the voices in your head, the devil on your shoulder, but I was so lost in it all I just wanted to be alone. 

Slipping  off the bed I pulled on my socks and trainers and headed for the door. Pausing in the doorway I felt my heart sink a little, maybe this was it, maybe I wasn’t what I had promised I would be. 

A single tear fell down my cheek as I closed the hotel room door behind me, leaving my phone and keys on the nightstand. I needed to break free, only time would tell how long for, but I needed to feel. I needed to escape the War inside my head and the only way I knew how to do that, was to run. 

1 HOUR LATER   - 

Rhea and Dom walked through the carpark with his arm wrapped around her waist as they headed towards the rental car. It had been a hard night for them and all they wanted was to climb into bed with their girl and sleep. Damien followed just behind the both of them carrying the groups bags. Finn bringing up the rear of the group was locked into his phone, his face filled with concern for their girl who hadn’t responded to a single text all evening. They had received a message from the WWE management team that they could leave early to limit fan interaction ahead of SummerSlam. 

Climbing into the rental car Dom, Rhea and Damien waited for Finn. 

“Maybe she fell asleep studying?” Dom asked as Finn sat in the back passenger seat. 

Rhea had her phone up to her ear listening to a never ending ringing on the other end, Voicemail again. “Bunny? please call me back.” She ended the call and looked up to Damien in the drives seat. 

“Priest, Floor it!” 

--------

Reaching the hotel all four of them raced from the car inside, adrenaline fed through them as they reached the hotel room. 

Hands shaking Rhea swiped the card multiple times before holding it still long enough to enter. The realization. The Silence. It was deafening.

Damien rushed in to check the bathroom as Finn scrambled around the room with Dom, looking for something, for someone they knew wasn’t there. Rhea stood frozen in the doorway, in silence, her eyes locked in. 

“Rhea?” Dom hastily rushed over, hand on her shoulder as he turned to her eye line. There it was, on the bedside table. 

Finn edged his way over to the bedside as Damien came back into the room. Hands shaking nervously Finn reached down and picked up Y/N phone and hotel keycard. 

They all shared a look between each other, a look of fear and confusion. What were they meant to do now? Where did Y/N go? 

“I shouldn’t of left her…” Finn held the phone tightly pacing the same two steps over. “I could see it, I saw it, I shouldn’t of left her…” Finn repeated again. 

“Finn?” Dom hesitantly questioned his actions. 

Rheas demeanor quickly turned and she slammed her hand against the doorframe and rushed out followed by Finn and Damien desperate to find their girl. 

“Dom stay here! In case she comes back!” Damien yelled, he paused in the hall before rushing back to the room and holding Dominick’s face in his hands. “We will find her, I promise, we will all be back before you know it” Damien kissed his forehead before turning and running back out the door. 

Dom was frozen on the spot, he couldn’t move, he looked around the room at abandoned study books, half unpacked suitcases and clothing discarded on the floor. He felt smaller than ever before, his heartbeat felt cold, his chest filled with butterflies and his hands cold to touch. 

Walking over to the window that stood from floor to ceiling he held his hand to his chest tearing up at the rain lashing down outside . “Less than a minute?” 

[so-much-for-the-seashells]

Being Sick but Dean Winchester’s your BF Headcanons ✨

✨ Dean Winchester x Reader ✨

Minors! Go away! Don’t interact! I don’t have a witty joke but I still don’t want you here! ¡Adios!

A/N: okay now that they’re gone… I’m sick! Some sort of nasty cold shit. Also I have the fucking la la land piano riff stuck in my head. So, more headcanons!!! (As opposed to a “proper” fic. For Dean ofc. It’s okay, it’ll come eventually)

Icons by me, all notes-especially commentary- are extremely appreciated!!

Content Warnings: if you’ve read the others it’s along the same vein, cute but still spicy enough to warrant that 18+ rating. Reader’s GN but AFAB.

Enjoy!

( ˘ ³˘)♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

-okay so first of all, being sick sucks. Whether it’s a runny nose, a headache, throat pain (get your mind out of the gutter), stomach aches, whatever- it fucking sucks.

-but it sucks a little less when you have Dean Winchester taking care of you

-this man knows how to take care of any common virus or cold. Years of taking care of his little brother meant that he could never be sick and that if he was it had to go fast, because he believed he always needed to be able to take care of Sammy first and foremost.

-once he sees you sniffling he’ll bench you from whatever job you guys are working. Immediately. No ifs, ors, ands, buts or coconuts about it.

-once the job is over he’ll come home. If you’re up and moving he’ll sling you over his shoulder or pick you up bridal style, and throw you (in a loving way) down on the couch or bed, depending on where you want to lay.

-he’ll snuggle you a little, and then take a quick shower so as not to get whatever it is you have. He’ll give you whatever blankets and drinks you want, and then head off to the kitchen

-his go-to is to make a vat of chicken noodle soup, extra lemony for vitamin c. He’ll usually either add some chilis to the soup or put some in a salad for you to help clean your system out. And it will always be better than fine dining.

-of course he cooks shirtless, and he’ll come back into the room with a big bowl of soup and your salad ready, cookies still in the oven. He’ll be wearing sweatpants and a ‘kiss the cook’ apron with nothing under it. And if you weren’t sick, you’d definitely do what the apron asked.

-he’ll help you sit up so you can eat it, putting a pillow on your lap so that the bowl doesn’t burn you and wiping your hair out of your face. If your hot he brings a bandana that he dunked in ice water and ties it around your head, if your cold he brings more blankets

-he hates that he can’t touch you or hug you when your miserable like this, but he does his best.

-while you’re eating he’ll talk about the hunt, keeping it as light and funny as possible- probably whatever he and Sam bickered about, the sights he saw, the food, etc

-and he’ll put on whatever you’d like him to. Preferably Gilmore Girls, but he ain’t gonna influence you

-when you’re done he’ll take the empty bowls to the kitchen, leaving them in the sink for Sammy to do them when he gets back to the bunker.

-he’ll grab the cookies, and bring a little plate of them over, and then sit on the sofa in the Dean cave so that your calves are draped over his thighs. If you’re in bed he’ll just lay on the opposite side, occasionally stroking your back comfortingly

-he checks your temperature from time to time, and always adapts according to your sickness. If it’s stomach bug he’s got a trash can beside the bed/couch and is ready to hold your hair. If it’s strep throat he’s gone honey. If it’s literally anything he’s probably got some kind of temporary remedy

-now (you know what time it is 🌶️)

-if you get a little hot n bothered while your sick

-and no I don’t mean hot from the fever

-but like the other kind

-and he can tell

-well, there’s a home remedy for that too 😏

-and you’ll warn him against it, not wanting to get him sick, but he’ll shush you, kissing your belly and pulling your sleep shorts and underwear down in one go

-he’ll kiss all up your legs, making you wish so, so much that you could make out with him

-but he won’t tease. Not when his sweetheart isn’t feeling well.

-so he’ll get as close to your dripping heat as he can, not making you move at all, because he knows you’re comfy on your little bed of pillows and his blankets

-and then he’ll nudge his nose against your clit, the only teasing he’ll do before diving in

-he’s gentle though. Not dissimilar to how he is in the mornings (Shameless plug, sorry not sorry haha)

-he’ll go nice and slow, adding his fingers as he goes, one at a time

-he uses one to gather your wetness and spread it over your poor bud

-and then adds another to scissor into your heat, massaging your spongey walls

-and by the third finger slowly yet deliberately filling you up, along with his mouth on your clit, he’ll have you coming, feeling so much better in one regard

-he’ll lap it all up, careful not to overstimulate you before pressing a sweet kiss to your belly, just as he did before he went down

-he’ll then get up and draw you a bath, helping you pee and then get into the tub

-he’ll dry your hair and then help you into a fresher set of pjs, and lay with you until you fall asleep, then turn off the tv and any lights before getting back in bed.

-and even though he has to sleep a little away from you he can’t help but hold you hand while you sleep, even if it means risking getting sick too

-and if you wake up in the middle of the night, he will too, ready to do whatever you need him to

-he loves you, and it’s he loves knowing that you love him too and would also take care of him if he were in your shoes

-so yeah

-sweet cutie pie caretaker ass with the greener-than-pines eyes gah

-I rest my case

If you have any ideas for headcanons and/or fics my ask box is always open!!

Xx!

[spdrwdw]

Art by peachypie

Pairing: Miguel x f!Reader

Warnings: None, just fluff

Summary: You and Miguel attend a Christmas party at work where you receive the best Christmas gift you could ever hope for.

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Decided to whip up a quick little Christmas fic. Sorry for it being posted last minute lmao. Hope everyone has a happy holiday!

Masterlist

☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡. o .｡.

It was the week before Christmas and the bakery where you worked was just bustling with people. Nonstop orders were coming in as you continued baking various breads and pastries. 

Your face and apron were just covered in flour and frosting and who knows what else. You just looked a hot mess, honestly. But, on the positive side, you being busy with orders made the time just breeze through, and you were thankful, because everything was hurting by the end of your shift. Arms, legs, neck, back. Everything ached. 

“I could really use a massage right about now,” you sighed as you began your clean up routine after the doors closed. 

Miguel, your coworker and best friend, was up front counting the till for the night. 

“Yeah? Hmm, well, I happen to be pretty good at giving massages, you know. If you want some relief,” he replied, shooting a smirk and a wink your way as you walked past him. 

You rose a brow at him, feeling your cheeks heating up at his words before finally shaking your head at him. 

“Why do I feel like you mean something completely different by that?” You questioned. 

“Maybe you should get that mind of yours out of the gutter,” Miguel shot back at you, causing you to flinch. 

“Rude,” you muttered under your breath as you headed back into the kitchen. 

Once Miguel had finished counting the funds made that day and finished cleaning up at the front of the store, he made his way to the back to help you with whatever else you needed. 

“Don’t we have that Christmas party going on in two days?” You then asked, trying to remember when the shop’s Christmas party was going to be held. 

Miguel nodded his head as he cleaned up the mixers. “Yeah. It’s gonna be on Saturday. We’ll be closing shop early for it. We’re also doing Secret Santa during the party, too.”

“Oh, crap! I honestly forgot about that! Crap crap crap!” You hissed, shaking your head as you swept the floor. You definitely had to drop by the mall and buy something for Jess. You really forgot all about the Secret Santa thing. You were so preoccupied with school and finals that it had just slipped your mind.

“Well, you’re welcome for the reminder,” Miguel snickered.

You rolled your eyes at him, however, grateful for the reminder. You didn’t want to attend the Christmas party without your secret Santa gift. 

Once everything was cleaned and checked off, Miguel closed up shop for the night. 

“You’ll be okay getting home?” Miguel asked as he locked the front doors. 

“Yeah, I should be alright. I can catch the last bus home,” you assured him as you zipped up your jacket and stuffed your hands into the jacket’s pockets. 

“Alright. Keep your phone on you and text me when you get home.”

Miguel may be a pain in the ass at times. But, he was still your best friend and he always looked out for you.

“I will. Promise. Have a good night, Miguel,” you smiled up at him, nodding your head.

It also didn’t help that he made your heart skip a beat sometimes when he acted so sweet towards you. Just fueling the silly little crush you had for him since you both met during your freshman year of college, 

“Good night,” he smiled back at you as you turned at your heel and began to walk the opposite way.

Miguel watched you for a moment before you turned the corner, waiting a couple of minutes before he walked the opposite  direction to head home. 

As promised, you texted him once you got to your apartment, even sent him a selfie of you at the front door, sticking your tongue out and giving him a peace sign before you opened the door and stepped inside. 

The next couple of days were a blur. You did not remember the events that happened during those days that had led you to the day of the Christmas party. 

All your coworkers were there. Including Miguel. Of course, he would be there. 

Everyone was dressed up, either wearing ugly sweaters or Christmas themed clothes. You settled for a cute Santa dress. 

People brought in food, either store bought or homemade. You decided to bake some gingerbread cookies to bring in. You did work at a bakery, after all, and everyone seemed to enjoy them despite constantly being around baked goods. 

The party was going well. Everyone was mingling, eating, drinking, and even dancing around in the shop. You were talking to Jess and MJ, sitting down on a booth over at a corner of the shop. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Miguel staring at you, or possibly at the table. 

Since he was your best friend, he sometimes acted like a sad puppy when he wasn’t allowed to be part of the ‘girl group’ that was you, Jess, and MJ. 

You couldn’t help but smile in his direction. He caught your expression and smiled back at you before moving his attention back to the conversation he was having with Peter and Ben. 

While things continued to go great, something else had caught your eye. Ben. 

He was staring at you. You noticed he had been staring at you the entire time. You didn’t think anything of it at first. While he wasn’t a close friend of yours, you did talk to him from time to time. Either during work or if you ran into him on campus. 

But, it had gotten to a point that it made you feel a little uncomfortable. You were aware of his crush on you. And you did even go on a date with him one time a while ago, but it just didn’t click. You didn’t like him like that. And him staring at you at that moment, made you cringe a little.

Miguel seemed to notice it, too. And he didn’t like it. Not one bit. He knew why Ben was staring at you. It was your outfit. While there was nothing wrong with what you were wearing, you looked absolutely cute in it. 

You were wearing the red santa dress, and you had put on some makeup to match the outfit. While you did wear makeup every now and then when you were up to it, you usually didn’t wear it as you did today. It made you look..different. In a way in which Miguel just couldn’t describe. It made his heart skip a beat every time you caught his gaze and smiled at him. 

However, your outfit had caught Ben’s attention as well. And while Miguel was good friends with Ben, he wasn’t going to have him staring at you, either. 

“What are you looking at, Ben?” Miguel asked, trying to divert the blonde’s attention. 

“Hmm? What?” Ben hummed, still looking your way. 

“What are you staring at?” Miguel repeated, with a tiny hint of aggression in his voice. 

Ben raised a brow as he finally looked over at Miguel before shaking his head. “Nothing.” 

“Nothing?”

Ben shrugged. “Okay, maybe I have been staring at the girls over there, but I mean, dude, can you blame me?” Ben slightly nudged over in your direction.

“She looks really good in that outfit. Don’t you think? Like..damn,” Ben chuckled a little. 

Miguel simply grunted in response. However, he didn’t like how Ben kept staring at you. It made him feel some type of way. He wasn’t possessive of you. He had no right to be. But, it did irk him a bit when other guys stared at you. And he lowkey wanted to punch Ben at that moment. His hands were already clenched into tight fits, getting ready to strike.

“Yo, Miguel. Helllooooo. Earth to Miguel!” Peter waved his hand in front of Miguel, trying to catch his attention. 

“W-what?” Miguel blinked as he was snapped out of his thoughts, looking back over at Peter. 

“Sorry. What was that?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I asked if you were gonna want another beer? I was gonna grab some more from the cooler,” Peter repeated. 

“Oh. y-yeah yeah. Sure. Thanks,” Miguel nodded his head as Peter and Ben both went into the kitchen to grab more beers. 

He then looked back over to the table and noticed that you were no longer there. Where did you go?

“Miguel? You okay?” You asked, appearing beside him, causing him to jump a bit in surprise before looking over at you. You simply looked up at him, head tilted slightly in curiosity. 

“I noticed you’ve been a little out of it today. You alright?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” Miguel assured you, giving you a gentle smile. 

“You sure?” You asked, not really believing him.

“Promise,” he nodded just at Peter and Ben made his way back out. 

You then nodded your head and took a step back before making your way over to your other coworkers to talk to them for a bit. Miguel could hear everyone complimenting your outfit. He realized that he hadn’t said anything about it yet. He should bring it up before the night ends. 

About another hour or so had gone by, people were a little more loose, a little more rowdy. The music was louder, the conversations produced more laughter, and people were just a little more bold and daring. 

You had gone into the kitchen to grab yourself some more food, feeling your stomach growling. You grabbed a plate and began to load it with food, humming softly to yourself along to the music that was playing on the other side. You didn’t notice someone entering the kitchen, approaching you. 

“Still stuffing your face with food?” Miguel smirked as he appeared beside you, causing you to flinch slightly in surprise. You pouted and glared up at him before rolling your eyes. 

“This is nothing compared to your sixth helping of this entire table you had a couple minutes ago!” You pointed out. 

“I can’t help it. I’m a growing boy,” Miguel joked, shrugging his shoulders. 

You rolled your eyes again before going back to serving your food. “You want me to get you anything?” 

Miguel shook his head. “Nah. I can grab my own food. I appreciate it, though.”

The kitchen fell silent for a moment. The only thing that could be heard was everything going on on the other side. People were still chattering and laughing, music still booming. Yet, it was dead silent in the kitchen. A sort of tension then filled between the two of you. You could feel your heart beating against your eardrums. 

You were about to open your mouth to say something before you felt Miguel pressing himself against you from behind , but not hard enough to hurt you. You still had some wiggle room to turn around. And you did just as Miguel leaned down closer to you. 

“I hate what you do to me sometimes,” MIguel practically growled as he grabbed you by the arm, squeezing just a bit, but not hard enough to hurt you. 

You looked up at him with wide eyes, caught completely by surprise as you gave him a confused expression. 

“What? What are you talking about?” 

Miguel’s nostrils flared as he exhaled, looking at you with darkened eyes. 

“You make me feel these feelings that I feel like I should not be having.”

“Miguel..I really don’t understand what it is that you’re trying to tell me,” you stated. Which was true. You had no idea what he was talking about or why he was looking at you like that. Yet, you could feel your heart racing a bit. Was it excitement?

Miguel let out a frustrated sigh. He knew he wasn’t making any sense at that moment, but he really did hope you caught on to what he was attempting to spew out. 

He was terrible at explaining things anyway. However, this was the one thing that he didn’t want to be terrible with. 

“Just..come here for a moment,” he said as he pulled you away from the table, pulling you deeper into the kitchen over to a more secluded area. 

He then took your hand and placed it over his heart. Your eyes widened when you felt his heart racing against your palm. 

You then looked back up at him, meeting his eyes. He had those puppy eyes that made your knees buckle. 

“Miguel I-”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “I just..wanted to let you know.Or..let you feel, rather.”

He let go of your hand and took a step back, biting his lower lip. It made your heart skip a beat. 

“Look. I know you may not feel the same. But, I just wanted to let you know. I’ve..been feeling this way for a while. And..I don’t know why I waited this long to tell you. But, seeing how Riley was looking at you the entire time made me feel some type of way. I know you two were somewhat of a thing before and it kinda made me feel a little jealous..” he rambled. He was honestly really cute when he did that. 

He then awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck when you didn’t answer. What were you supposed to say after that? You were completely stunned that you just couldn’t find your voice. 

But, as he began to take a step back, your hand shot forward and you grabbed hold of his wrist, pulling him back closer to you. You were like a robot. You had no control of your limbs or movements. 

Stretching up on your toes, you hooked your arms around his neck, pulling him down closer to you until your lips touched. Again, you had no control of your movements. It was as if your mind had stepped into another room in your brain. 

Miguel’s eyes widened in surprise, obviously stunned by your sudden reaction. However, he quickly shook it off and wrapped his arms around you, pressing you closer to him.

You two kissed for what felt like hours. At one point, he had picked you up and placed you on top of a stack of boxes so neither of you would strain your bodies. 

Eventually, you had to pull away for air. Your cheeks were warm, and your body felt jittery. You couldn’t help but to look away shyly. Yet, Miguel caught your chin with his fingers and had you look up at him. His lips were swollen from your heated kisses. There was also a twinkle in his eye. 

Before you could get a word out, his lips were on your once again. This time, just a little softer. A little sweeter. Gentler. It made you melt into his arms. 

He pecked your lips a couple more times before taking a step back, but never let go of you. 

“Had I known you felt the same I would’ve done that a lot sooner,” he chuckled, giving you a shy smile. 

Your cheeks warmed again and you nodded your head in agreement. “Yeah. Same here.”

He helped you back down, taking your hand in his. 

“Also. Ben and I were never a ‘thing’. I only went out on one date with him. He’s..not really my type,” you shrugged your shoulders, looking up at him with a slight smirk. 

“I like them a little more rugged. Like more..jackass,” you teased. 

Miguel’s jaw dropped for a second before letting out a laugh, shaking his head a little bit. 

“Not sure if that’s something to be proud of,” he pointed out. 

“Didn’t say I was,” you countered with a shrug before grinning up at him. You felt butterflies in your stomach, and you couldn’t help but to feel excited. Stretching back up on your toes, you gave him another peck on the lips. 

Remove his hand from yours, he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close before grabbing your plate of food from the table. 

“Come on, let’s go sit down so you can eat,” he said as you two made your way out of the kitchen. 

“Oh, by the way. You look great in that outfit,” Miguel complimented. 

“Yeah?” You beamed up at him. You’ve been getting compliments all night. But, you didn’t think you’d get one from Miguel. 

His cheeks turned a little red as he nodded his head. “Yeah. I couldn’t stop staring at you. You’re like a Christmas present. Mind if I unwrap you later?” He then smirked. 

You gasped and lightly smacked him, causing him to burst out laughing. 

“Absolutely not! Pervert!”

Miguel continued to laugh. “I’m just messing with you, muñeca. I’ll wait until Christmas Eve to unwrap you.”

“Miguel!” 

“What are you guys talking about?” Peter suddenly appeared in front of the two of you as you exited the kitchen. His mouth was stuffed with food and was a little red in the cheeks. He may have been just a bit drunk. 

“Nothing.” You and Miguel both said in unison before passing by Peter. 

Still. You couldn’t have asked for a better Christmas gift. Miguel had confessed his feelings to you. And shared a set of kisses with you in the kitchen. It was all surreal. It felt like a dream. 

“Look! It’s snowing!” MJ called out excitedly as she stood by the window. Everyone gathered around the windows to look outside as the snow fell. Including you and Miguel. Your food was now forgotten on the table as he kept his arm wrapped around your waist, the two of you looking outside for a moment as if neither of you had seen snow before. 

“Merry Christmas,” Miguel whispered softly to you. 

“Merry Christmas, Miguel,” you whispered back, leaning against him as you continued to watch the snow fall and coat the streets in white. 

Yeah, this was definitely a Christmas you were never going to forget. 

“Also, if Riley stares at you like that again, I’m going to punch him,” Miguel muttered. 

“Miguel!” 

☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡. o .｡.

[facioleeknow]

Changbin Hard Thought #1

TW: Noona Reader, dom Reader, sub changbin, cockwarming, nipple stimulation, cumming inside, studio sex, changbin cums easily, no panties ;), not proofread

A/N: have this little thot while I write the fic for Hyunjin's birthday, also I noticed that a lot of writer friends started to follow me so hi, hello, let's talk more <3.

Please leave feedback, it's what inspires me to write more <3.

“Noona, let me move,” your boyfriend whined underneath you.

Changbin had started to regret his previous request. It was a normal working day for the producer, nothing out of the ordinary. He had gone to the studio, worked on some songs and then had lunch with you. After lunch his two buddies had decided to call it a day, as they were in a slump and couldn't get anything done, but Changbin decided to stay. As a good girlfriend, it was only right for you to stay with him and keep him company. You loomed behind him while he was trying to work, your body heat radiating in waves, your boobs so close to Changbin's face. Your smooth skin was exposed thanks to the little sundress you wore, his favorite. He had to get his head out of the gutter and work, he couldn't think about how good you would look bouncing on him and milking him dry. Unless…

“Noona can you come sit on my lap?” his cheeks red and his voice strangely quiet.

“Sit on your lap and do what baby?” your plush thighs caged him on either side, your core hovered over his crotch.

“Keep me warm, noona, please,” he whined. As soon as those words came out of his mouth, you were taking him out of his pants and sinking onto his thick cock. You didn't have panties on and you were wet. Changbin really thought he was going to die, your pussy was so tight and warm and wet.

“I can't let you move, baby, you asked me to warm you and that's what I'm doing.”

Your warm tongue licked his neck sensually. God he was going to cum without even moving if you let that up. A sudden pinch at his nipples turned a whine into a half choked scream. His nipples were his weakness, he could cum with a couple of pinches only, but now you were licking him and you were dripping onto his pants. He was going to bust soon.

“Here's what we're gonna do baby,” your teeth sinked into his honey colored skin and another choked moan escaped his lips, “Now I'm gonna clench this pretty pussy that you like so much really hard and I'm also gonna pinch your pretty nipples and you're gonna cum for Noona. Okay?”

All Changbin could do was nod because you had already started to clench and unclench around him, he felt pleasure zapping up and down his spine. Your hands under his shirt made quick work of rubbing and pinching his puffy pink nipples.

Nothing felt real anymore, Changbin could only feel you, you who enveloped him like a blanket and made him feel the best of pleasures. With a couple of sobs and whines, Changbin unloaded his seed inside you. Cum spilled outside of your hole and onto his pants, making a mess and staining the fabric.

“You came a lot, baby, did you like it?” Your gentle hands scratched his scalp in circular motions, soothing him in the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“Yes Noona.”

“Good boy, why don't you come and lick me clean? It's only fair since you made a mess.”

[zombiigrll]

ok ok, hear me out...

Enid Rhee x Dixon!Reader??

Prompt: "...Why are you quiet?" "That's probably the most I've ever heard you talk."

So basically, where reader (either fem or gn, whatever you want) is Daryl's kid (biological or adoptive) and they're super quiet, similar to their father. Like, only speaks if spoken to. Reader and Enid are close friends and maybe after a dangerous encounter, or something angsty, reader can't keep their feelings to themselves anymore and confesses.

AAAGH i'm gonna leave it at that and give you whatever creativities you want. I literally love all your fics and your style of writing, so I hope you like this request and take it cause I would personally be thrilled to see what you come up with.

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FATHERS DAUGHTER. ⋆｡°✩ enid rhee x fem!dixon!reader .ᐟ WORD COUNT .ᐟ ⭑ 1.2K ꩜ .ᐟ WARNINGS ⭑ angst + fluff + friends to lovers (mostly fluff IDK WHAT TO CALL IT theres so many fanfic terms my ass is not caught up on!), reader is daryls daughter (you can interpret if its adoptive or not ), reader is quiet/monotoned, near-death situation? kissing, mostly just cute stuff with a tiny bit of angst! .ᐟ SUMMARY .ᐟ ⭑ you admit your feelings out of fear. ꩜ .ᐟ A/N .ᐟ ⭑ okay i LOVE THIS REQUEST ANON!! thank you so much!! enid is so fun to write for and this was just so fun to write AHH!! and thank you so much im so glad you like my writing, hope i did your request justice <3

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you had been staying up all night reading some book you had found on a run.

it was clear to everyone that you were a night owl. you could stay up days without being super effected by it, but that could also just be what happens after being in an apocalypse for a few years.

or, it could be that you were exactly like your father.

you were as quiet as him, had the same sleep schedule as him, everything.

anywho, you stayed up and saw the sun started rising, and thats when you remembered you and enid had a quick run together a little ways away from alexandria.

you decided to start getting ready a bit early, just to kill some time. you placed your bookmark in the gutter of the book before closing it and standing up.

the only thing differently you did from your father was that you kept all of your clothes as clean as possible. you even did his laundry sometimes. you didn't blame him though, he was a busy man. you were glad you could help in some way.

you picked a blue flannel, rib-knit tank top, and jeans.

just as you finished changing your clothes, you heard a knock at your door.

"come in." you replied monotonously.

enid opened the door, raising her eyebrow with a slight chuckle as she looked at you. "you're already ready?"

"mhm."

"did you even sleep last night?" she walked over to your bed and sat to your side.

"no. i was reading." you looked at her. your expression and voice was always quite flat, but enid never cared. she knew it was just who you are, and she'd never change a thing about you.

"of course." she nodded in response, looking at the book that laid behind the two of you. "you are your fathers daughter."

"what's that supposed to mean?"

"oh, nothing bad." she nudged you in the shoulder. "you're just quiet and a night owl. just like daryl."

"yeah." you put a hand up to your shoulder, acting like it hurt with a slight smile.

"well, are you ready to head out?" enid jumped off the bed and picked her bag back up.

you nodded, standing up with her.

...

you've been driving for a little while now. like i said, the place your guys' run was located was a little ways away from alexandria.

but, you guys made it.

you parked on the side of the road and stepped out, grabbing your bag as well as holstering your gun.

you looked over to your side at enid as she stepped out of the car. you walked a bit further forward, scoping out the area.

"does it look clear so far?" enid sneaks up behind you, her iconic smile still plastered on her face.

"so far. i don't hear anything right now, but we still have quite a bit of area to look over."

she nods, stepping directly to your side. "i'm sure this run will be easy. we've never had much trouble over here." enid continues, her voice almost sounding as if she's trying to comfort you?

you shrug. "mhm."

the two of you walked throughout the forest, no signs of any walkers.

"why'd they have us go out here if theres nothing?" enid looked around, her knife in hand despite her firmly believing she wouldn't need to use it today.

"you're jinxing us."

"you believe in jinxes?" she chuckled, her mouth slightly curving up.

you look away, a bit embarrassed. you shrug your shoulders again in response.

as you step forward, you hear a crack from the woods that you guys had yet to check.

"yes, i do."

you pull your gun out and begin stepping into the woods with enid following behind you.

there was a hill at the edge of the woods with a couple of trees surrounding it. you could barely see where it ended.

you turned around at the sound of groans, and spotted quite a bit of walkers in the distance heading right your way.

but before you could think, the edge of the hill cracked beneath your feet.

"oh shit!" you screamed as you fell. enid instinctively reaches out and grabs your hand. you hit your nose on the hill as you swing down, causing it to bleed.

it was at least a 20 foot drop. you looked down as enid struggled to try and get you up.

"oh f- hold on! it'll be okay." enid tried to comfort despite her freaking out along with you. she moves her other hand to try and pull you up.

"fuck, fuck!" you panicked, the taste of iron entering your mouth as you tried reaching your other arm up to help. you helped her pull yourself up and you fell onto the ground.

"come on! we have to go!"

enid holds your hand, intertwining it with hers, to lift you up. you both begin running through the forest and past the walkers that were starting to surround the two of you, adrenaline rushing throughout both your veins.

you guys arrive back at the car, throwing yourselves into the seats and catching your breath.

without thinking, you start speaking through your breaths.

"oh man, i thought.. i thought i was going to die... i thought i was going to die, and i didn't even tell you how i love you, enid. i really love you, i-i'm sorry."

enids eyes widen, her hands still placed on her chest catching her breath as she stares at you with a reddened face.

after a moment of silence, you speak up again.

"...why are you quiet?"

"that's probably the most i've ever heard you talk."

enids expression changed into a large grin. she leans forward and pulls a rag out of her backpack. "and you didn't even care about the fact that your nose is still bleeding."

you stay sitting there as she cups your cheek, putting the rag up to your face.

she didn't respond to what you said.

did she feel the same? or did you just make a fool out of yourself?

as your nose stops bleeding, she sets it down and looks at you with a smile.

"i love you too, by the way."

before you could react, she leans forward and kisses you.

your body froze as you processed what was happening, but you finally got the courage and moved your hands up to her cheeks as you returned the kiss.

you could feel her smile under the kiss the moment your hands touched her face.

you were sure she could tell how anxious you were. that she could tell that there were butterflies in your stomach and a knot in your chest, despite the kiss being soft and delicate.

she pulled away, her mouth still curved into a smile.

you looked back at her in shock, taking in all of her features before she broke the silence.

"you're extremely red."

you choked on air as her words snapped you back to reality. "oh, shut up."

"i'm serious! you look like a cherry." she giggled, moving your hair behind your ear.

you rolled your eyes, unsuccessfully pushing away a smile. "come on..."

"wanna do it again?" she tilted her head, her hands moving down to your shoulders.

despite what seemed like a protest previously, you nodded vigorously.

she laughed and leaned in once again.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────

[newrelasecondos]

[katjohnadams]

The urPoyn Ambassador snarled out a greeting in the most sarcastic way it could. The Faenaran translator paled some, but translated the words, with a less... Aggressive tone.

The human Ambassador, an exceptionally tall woman with a muscular body, smiled. "Greetings to you, as well, Ambassador Kh'chtag. Thank you for meeting us during this cease fire. We were told you had plans to negotiate a permanent settlement about the planet we call Spite?"

Kova translated the human's words in urPoyn. The human pronunciation of the Ambassador's name was admirable, but the language was too utterly even for the famed human mimicry.

Kh'chtag grinned widely, showing their double rows of teeth as their mouth hung open. They virtually spat their response out.

In shock, the translator thought furiously. There was no way the urPoyn thought *humans* of all species would accept this. Another Federation member, perhaps. But not this one. Regardless, she mustered herself to translate the response.

"Yes. You can leave or let your flesh feed out broodlings." There was simply no way to translate that politically. They waited in fear of the human's response. The species was known to be highly aggressive when pushed and this? This was a "*push*".

Ambassador Ruiz kept smiling though, and replied almost sounding tired, or bored. "Ah, but that doesn't work for us. You see, our people are very fond of this planet and did all that work terraforming it into a home. Spite was a nasty little thing but it's cleaned up nice. And we're not willing to let it go."

The Faenaran stared for a moment. Was she serious? Kova translated the gutteral and relax reply to the urPoyn Ambassador and the response was as expected, angry.

"Do you mock us? This world is ours by right of conquest! We have taken most of the world and you are to surrender!"

The soldiers of both sides tensed. A lack of weapons meant nothing. Both Humans and urPoyn were known to be vicious in hand-to-hand combat.

The human Ambassador laughed. *Laughed.* She grinned back, her teeth not as intimidating but something about her eyes made up for it. "We will not. We understand that is your cultural norm, but it is not ours. Ours is simple, the planet is ours and we said no."

The quick, growling translation infuriated the urPoyn. They stood as tall as their legs allowed them and looked down on the otherwise impressively sized human. Kova rushed to translate as she could, trying to keep up with the angered urPoyn.

"'No' is unacceptable. We have split your blood and sanctified this world. It is ours now! Your children will weep, your civilians will be used as food, your soldiers will be ripped apart by our claws!" They smashed their fist on the table, send a crack into the wood.

The human Ambassador grinned viciously. She casually tugged her shirt over her head and threw it free. A simple undershirt covered her torso but her arms, her arms were magnificent, gleaming, deadly looking artificial limbs, with synth skin only covering her wrists and hands.

"I've already been torn apart by soldiers like yours. On ETN62590. We call it Bremin. Beautiful place before the urPoyn landed. I was in the first shock wave that went to push them back. The urPoyn that took of my arms were blown into very small pieces. Bremin, I remind you, is also *still ours*. How many urPoyn did we kill booting you off? Was it three or four million?"

Kova didn't get a chance to translate. The urPoyn Ambassador had understood this was no longer a negotiation but a challenge, and they accepted, leaping across the room.

In what looked like a practiced maneuver, all the human soldiers shed their jackets, revealing various prosthetic limbs of varying types, all previous victims of urPoyn victory rituals. The urPoyn and humans met in a rush and the humans produced hidden weapons, mostly small knives and small capacity repeaters. The urPoyn were eliminated suddenly and violently and the humans stood, congratulating each other, covered in the bloody, pink, hairy remains of their enemies whom they'd just cut, shot, and ripped apart.

Kova shook in fear and horror. The urPoyn were known to be the most violent of sentients, and they'd been annihilated by these wounded soldiers who, instead of being lessened decided to turn themselves into weapons and keep fighting.

The human Ambassador smiled at he Faenaran. "Sorry you had to see that."

The translator stammered before finally croaking out, "You aren't actually an Ambassador, are you?"

The human tipped her head to one side and chuckled. "All fleet Admirals are Ambassadors as well, by default. I was just best equipped to 'negotiate' with the urPoyn. Speaking of which..." She pulled her communicator off her belt and flipped it open. "This is Admiral Ruiz. All force authorized."

High above, the human ships attacked again, taking the urPoyn by surprise. Kinetic slugs and nuclear x-ray warheads lanced across the sky of the little planet called Spite. On the ground, human forces advanced suddenly and with renewed violence. The urPoyn lines broke immediately.

Later, as the Federation civilians began reclaiming their world, there would be stories told of how the humans had simply smiled at the urPoyn and said, "No."

[kiwisugarhighs]

Self Care

Summary: You and Harry decide to have a chill day at home.

Warnings: fluff, some drinking, kissing, brief description of showering together, one bad word, gender neutral!reader

Word Count: 1472

A/N: This is the first bit of writing I've done in a while, so I'm sorry if it's trash. I was just feeling soft for Harry and had to write it down.

masterlist

Your head dangles off the edge of the bed while you make funny faces at the mirror ahead of you. Harry should be home any minute and your day off at home has been excruciatingly boring without him. You cleaned the bathroom, rearranged the flowers three times, and did both of your laundry completely. Your day was productive, but boring.

You’re in the middle of seeing how long you can hold your breath when the front door creaks open.

“Babe? I’m home!” Harry calls out.

“In the bedroom!” You shout back, too comfortable to move from your spot.

You hear Harry’s footsteps as he whistles a tune you haven’t heard before, maybe a new idea, before he appears in the reflection of the mirror.

“Darling when you said in the bedroom this isn’t what I expected.” He teases.

“Shut up.” You giggle, sitting up straight. “Hi baby.”

“Hello,” he whispers against your lips before kissing you. “you want to call in for dinner?”

You nod more eagerly than you intend. The idea of cooking exhausts you, but the idea of going out is worse. You’ve been in your comfy clothes all day and just the thought of getting dressed is making you want to curl up and hibernate.

“What do you want?”

“You call, H. I’m sure you’re starving.”

“‘S not what I asked.” He challenges. You give in, telling him your order before hopping in the shower.

You don’t notice Harry step into the shower behind you until you feel his arms at your waist and his chin at your shoulder.

“Hi.” He mumbles, reaching for the soap.

“Hi.” You say back, enjoying the warm water on your skin.

“Food will be here in 20 minutes.” Harry informs you, kissing your cheek.

You hum a response.

“How was your day at home?” You let out a deep sigh.

“Boring.” Harry snorts out a laugh. He’s not expecting that response from you. You’ve been practicing begging god for a day off your busy work schedule for weeks now, so he was sure you’d be having the time of your life alone.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I just,” you take a deep breath and rinse the last bits of soap away. “I didn’t feel relaxed.”

Harry nods silently and turns of the water.

“I know just what you need.”

You raise an eyebrow while he gets out and passes you a towel.

“Get your mind out of the gutter!” He laughs. “No, I know exactly what to do. It’s my relaxation routine when I’m on the road. It might not work for you tonight, but maybe it will.”

You turn to look at Harry, the towel wrapped around his waist with his hair still dripping and smile.

“I’d love to try it. I know basically what it is, but we’ve never done it together before. It’s probably exactly what I need, baby.” He smiles softly and kisses you before he disappears to get changed.

By the time you’re dressed, Harry has dinner on the table and wine glasses ready for the two of you. He’s wearing your favorite shirt and his hair is still slightly damp from the shower.

“Hey baby.” You hug him from behind, kissing his back. “The table looks great.”

“Thank you. Now!” He claps his hands and turns to face you. “Sit down, relax. I’ll handle the rest.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Dinner is quick and quiet. You realize that you haven’t had much to eat all day and you’re starving. The wine is consumed slowly and you listen to Harry talk about the studio and Mitch and everything else he has going on. It’s a nice catch-up, something the two of you have been itching for. Harry’s playlist is background noise while the two of you wash the dishes in silence.

“Now that those are done,” Harry faces you and gives you a kiss. “let’s begin.” You pull his lips down to yours once more and follow him to the living room.

“Stay here and don’t move.” He orders. “Where do you keep the face masks, my love?”

You giggle and shout directions from your spot on the rug, not moving an inch. You hear a slight commotion before the “Found it!” and see him emerge from the corner.

“Sorry, sweetheart. The wine is hitting me now.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“Because,” Harry holds up nail polish. “I plan to do some painting and I can’t promise it will be pretty.”

He flops clumsily on the rug next to you, almost knocking you over.

“Shit, sorry.” He giggles passing you a face mask. “Get it open, I’m already falling asleep and I want to make sure you’re relaxed before I pass out.”

Your heart flutters at the sentiment.

“Harry, it’s already perfect, baby. Go to bed if you’re tired. You’ve had a long day, too.”

“Nonsense!” He says, smoothing his mask on. “I can’t sleep with this thing on, can I?”

Your face softens for a moment as you take him in. His hair clip is neatly placed at the top of his head, holding up his brown locks. Harry's removed his rings for the night and his hands are bare as they smooth down the mask against his cheeks. He smiles gently at you and looks expectantly at the mask in your lap. He wants to do this with you and you've never felt more loved.

Quickly, you open the mask and smooth the cold fabric against your face. You hiss slightly at the temperature and shoot Harry a look when he laughs at you.

"What's so funny?" You demand.

"That noise you just made." He pulls a pained face and hisses dramatically before laughing to himself again.

"I hate you so much." You roll your eyes.

"Do you?" He challenges.

"Mhmm." You hum, holding his free hand.

Harry quietly sets a timer for the masks and scrolls through the T.V. for something to watch. You both silently agree on your favorite cooking show, commenting on how tasty the recipe looks.

"I'll have to make that for you soon." Harry says, opening the nail polish.

"I want to do yours first!" You say, reaching for the polish.

"If you insist." He shrugs.

"Besides, the artist says he's too drunk to paint, remember?" You tease. Harry shoots you a look from under the mask.

In the middle of painting Harry's nails, his timer goes off. You remove your mask, gently rubbing in the extra moisture. Harry tries signaling to you with his eyes and you laugh, taking his mask off for him. You set it down and keep painting his nails when you hear him scoff.

"Well, rub it in, love." He demands.

"Hey, who's helping who relax here?" You quirk a brow.

"I forgot." He blushes. By now the wine has worn off.

You giggle and rub the moisture into his face and hold his cheeks between your hands. You squish them together and give him a sloppy kiss. It slowly turns into something more heated and as soon as you feel his hand on your spine, you pull away.

"Why?" He whines.

"You're going to ruin your polish, Harold."

"I don't care about my polish, Peach." He taunts back.

"Well, I do. And besides, you still need to paint mine."

"Okay but first," Harry leans in for one more kiss and smiles as he pulls away. "do you feel relaxed?"

You nod silently.

"Good." He smirks. "This is just the finishing touch."

You extend out your hands and watch as he gingerly takes them in his own. He carefully reaches for the brush, so as not to ruin his drying nails, and begins working on your nails. The two of you are matching a light shade of green. It's a soothing color, not too bright or dull, just right.

The look of concentration on Harry's face makes you smile. His brows are knitted together and he takes deep, purposeful breaths while he tries not to mess up his work. As he adds the finishing touches, he bites his lip and looks up towards you.

"All done!" He says proudly.

"Yay!" You respond, resting your head against his shoulder.

The two of you have another glass of wine and watch the cooking show in comfortable silence. Once both of your manicures have dried, Harry reaches for the remote and shuts off the T.V.

"Thank you." You whisper.

"Of course." He responds. "Are you ready for bed?" He asks, kissing your head.

"Mhm." You sigh.

"Do you need some help getting up?" He asks.

"Mhm." You respond again, hearing him breathe a laugh.

Harry stands up and extends his arms to you, helping you up. You rise to your feet and he slings his arm around your shoulder.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

"Let's go off to bed."

[fickleminder]

How I Met The Human Exchange Student (6/7)

DWBD AU. Your first time meeting (and befriending) the lesser demons.

DWBD AU masterlist here. Brief intro to the lesser demons here.

Vorgo (lesser Gluttony demon)

"—soaked in gutter water. According to local experts, those are the optimal conditions for this delicious mushroom to grow, so let's see if we can get ourselves some tonight!"

Using only the flashlight of their phone, Vorgo navigated through the darkened hallways of RAD as they narrated every step of their forage for the rumored fungi. The stairs to the roof were locked, but there was supposedly a classroom with a faulty window they could climb through.

"This is it!" In their excitement, they slid the door open with a loud bang and hurried inside. "Now we just have to— Oh, hello there."

Vorgo immediately switched off the recording on their phone when they noticed you huddled in one corner of the room, trembling and staring at them with wide eyes.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. You good?"

You nodded slowly, looking as though you were bracing yourself for the demon to pounce on you any second now. What were you doing in an empty classroom in the middle of the night anyway?

"Mammon took my D.D.D. and ditched me," you mumbled when asked. Your tense posture had completely slumped into one of resignation. "Thought I'd camp out here and find Lucifer tomorrow. If you're gonna eat me, then make it quick."

"You don't have to worry about that. Lord Diavolo outlawed humans as food centuries ago," Vorgo explained cheerfully. "I'm just here for some mushrooms. Do you mind if I turn the camera back on?"

You opened your mouth to reply, but a loud rumble erupted from your stomach and you quickly folded your arms over it.

Even if they weren't a lesser demon of Gluttony, ignoring a hungry person was practically a crime. "I've got sandwiches on me. Want some?"

In return for the food, you were more than happy to help Vorgo with the current episode of their vlog. You dragged a chair over and steadied their legs while they climbed out the window to reach the gutters, all while the demon rambled on about how to clean and prepare this ingredient for a variety of dishes.

"Thanks for your help!" Vorgo carefully packed away the mushroom after ending the recording. "My DevilTube channel also has lots of info about where to find cheap and good food, so do check it out when you get your D.D.D. back!"

"I'll be sure to like and subscribe," you promised, looking much more relaxed since the start of your harrowing night.

[prettyevermores]

tenth doctor alphabet

Tenth Doctor x gn!Reader

a/n: more fanfic for my fave boy!!! please enjoy <3

🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

The Doctor would be very affectionate towards his s/o, me thinks so! He always wants to be near you and touching you!! (get your mind out the gutter)

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Him as a best friend would be flipping amazing! I imagine lots of giggles and lots of sass

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

My boy is ALWAYS down to cuddle, ALWAYS. He loves to lay on your chest and listen to your heartbeat <3 Brownie points if you rub his back or play with his hair

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

The Doctor??? Settle Down??? I don’t think that would ever happen. He tries to cook for you but it doesn’t end up very good, but he would probably like to have a clean room but his stuff is always strewn across the floor

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It would break his hearts to end it with you, if he did have to do it would probably be for a much more dangerous reason than he would like it to be for.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

The Doctor would want to waste a single moment with you. He wants to cherish every time he sees you smile, every time he hears your laugh.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He’s the most gentle and sweetest soul towards you :)

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

MY BOY LOVES TO HUG!!! I feel like he would give so many good hugs tbh, I want a hug from Doctor

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

I feel like I love you with The Doctor would be apart of his confession to you.

I imagine i love you would be like ‘Y/N, I’m so in love with you and I cant just pretend to just be your friend anymore’

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He is very jealous when some hits on you or flirts with you. He’ll get really affectionate with you, like hand on the waist and a kiss on the cheek. Or the second option is that he’ll shove you behind his back, that’s if it’s your first time meeting Jack.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

HE IS SUCH A GOOD KISSER!! Like did you see him with Reinette?????!!!!! He’d love a good make out session me thinks. He’d love to kiss your lips and behind your ear going down your neck. Kissing the back of his neck really gets him going ;)))

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

I feel like he would be really good around kids, like he would be telling them stories about his adventures. If your family has young kids, they would really look up to him.

IMAGINE HIM HOLDING A TINY BABY ASWELL THO?!?!?! I’m loosing my shit over that idea

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings will be very rushed in the Tardis, but there is always a stop for coffee and time for getting ready to go on an adventure

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights on the Tardis would be much more slow than the mornings. Like, having slow hot showers and then reading and cuddles with The Doctor before sleep

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Bro is not one to open up on first meeting someone (sorry Martha I love you queen) but I feel like over a certain period of time and A LOT of bonding he would open up and he does it all in one go. Like dawg just goes full swing.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He can get angry kinda easily but it has to be something that REALLY pisses him off to do so

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He remembers every little detail about you..The music you like, the food you like to eat, how much you’re going hit a family member the next time you see them. The Doctor does not forget anything or any face

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

I think his favourite memory of you two is when on an adventure he got taken down as you two were separated and you continued to take aliens and people alike out to make your way to him to save him

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Any time you have an adventure that is way more dangerous than other, he’ll keep you close to him. You are his number one priority 24/7

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Well you two kinda loose track of how long you’ve been together in the TARDIS but he always tries to make time so you two can have cute little evenings in together. As for gifts, I feel like he would pick up little souvenirs that remind him of you on your adventures.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He has a bad habit of getting into a power-crazy ego state and no one can seem to snap it out of him apart from you

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He knows that this regeneration is good looking and you know that he knows. He takes great pride in his hair and randomly has no extensive hair care routine to get it to look that good.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He doesn’t feel like himself without you :(

When you go back to your house to either visit family, pick up somethings or do basic human things, he insists that you take him with you!!!

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He. Is. A. BritPop Fan. (because he’s into his 70s punk stuff)

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He wouldn’t be into a partner that is really selfish and doesn’t help people out on adventures.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Bro doesn’t sleep, like literally never. A 15 minute power nap is good enough to keep him going for two weeks, he’d rather do other things.