#i have always pulled it down over my head like a shirt

[animamii]

Part deux of Toji's Valentine's Surprise

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Your body locks up. Your breath stills. Toji—in the flesh—is standing in your living room, looking smug as hell, arms crossed over that broad chest like he knew he just rocked your entire world.

"You should see your face, princess," he chuckles, tilting his head. "Like you seen a ghost."

Your mind is racing. He’s supposed to be locked up. This is impossible. And yet—he’s here. Solid. Tangible. Real. Smirking at you like he didn’t just pull off the stunt of the century.

"You—" You inhale sharply, fists clenching at your sides. "How—" You don’t even finish the question before you smack his chest, hard enough to make your palm sting. He doesn’t even flinch, just grins like he enjoys the reaction.

"Miss me, baby?" His voice drops, smooth and teasing. Still the cocky bastard he's always been.

"Are you insane?" Your voice comes out breathless, uneven. "You’re supposed to be—"

Toji hums, unfazed. "Supposed to be what?" He steps closer, looming over you with that tantalizing smirk he always adorns. his presence thick and heavy—dangerous and intoxicating. "Locked up? Far away from my girl? Mmm, nah. That was never gonna last."

His girl. That shouldn’t make your stomach flip the way it does. Especially after all this time, but it does.

"You’re reckless," you breathe out, but your voice betrays you—too soft, too shaky. You forgot just how little he made you feel, like a little lamb standing in front of the big bad wolf.

"Yeah?" He reaches out, fingers brushing along your jaw, tilting your chin up. "And yet here I am, standing in front of you. Right where I belong." You swallow hard, heart hammering against your chest. His thumb traces your bottom lip, a touch so familiar, so effortlessly possessive, it makes your knees weak.

"Say it," he murmurs, eyes hooded. "Say you missed me."

You hate how easy it is for him to unravel you. How he knows you did. Toji leans in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, "Or do I gotta remind you how bad you missed me?"

Your breath catches. You should shove him away. Should demand answers. Should do anything other than what you do next—fisting his shirt and yanking him down into a teeth clashing kiss.

Toji chuckles against your lips, the sound low and deep, like he expected this reaction all along. His hands—warm, calloused, and oh so familiar—find your waist, pulling you flush against him. It’s been too long, and your body betrays you, melting into his touch as if he never left.

"You’re crazy," you whisper, looking up at him with those wide eyes that he's always loved.

He grins, lips ghosting over your jaw before pressing a slow, lingering kiss just below your ear. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

Your fingers tighten around his shirt, the fabric bunching between your fists. "It is," you hiss, but your body betrays you, tilting toward him when he moves. "You—Toji, you broke out—do you have any idea—"

"Shhh." He silences you with another kiss, deeper this time, his grip tightening around your waist. "We can talk later."

You should be more worried. Should push him away, demand answers, tell him this is reckless and insane. But the moment his hands slip lower, gripping your thighs and lifting you effortlessly, you’re wrapping yourself around him, letting him carry you to the bedroom like you knew this was how tonight would end. It was Valentine's Day after all.

Toji kicks the door shut behind him, smirking down at you as he lays you on the bed. His eyes—sharp, dark, hungry—roam over you like he’s memorizing every inch all over again.

"Missed you," he mutters, voice rough, as his hands slide up your thighs, pushing that silky dress higher.

You swallow, lips parted as you try to catch your breath. "You’re insane," you whisper again, but it comes out weaker this time, more breathless.

Toji smirks, dipping his head until his lips brush against yours again. "And yet," he murmurs, voice thick with amusement and something darker, "you’re still here. Wrapped around me like you never want me to leave."

You shudder. "I hate you."

He laughs, a quiet, knowing sound, before pressing his lips to your throat. "Liar."

Your breath stutters when his lips drag down the column of your throat, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment. Like he knows he has all the time in the world. His grip tightens on your thighs, his body pressed between them, and it’s infuriating—the way he’s taking his time, the way he’s acting like he never left. Like he never spent months locked up, sending you teasing, filthy little letters to remind you he still owned you.

"Toji—"

"Shhh, baby," he murmurs against your skin, voice thick with amusement. "S’been too long. Lemme take my time with you."

He’s impossible. Infuriating. But your body betrays you, arching into his touch, fingers threading through his dark hair as he kisses his way lower. You hate how much you missed him—hate how, despite every part of you screaming that this is reckless, stupid, you can’t bring yourself to stop him.

"You’re a wanted man," you remind him breathlessly, grasping onto some semblance of control, but Toji just grins, his teeth grazing over your collarbone before he presses a kiss there.

"Yeah? And?" His fingers hook under the hem of your dress, sliding it higher. "That stop you from wanting me?"

You glare at him, but the effect is ruined when he tugs the fabric over your hips, leaving you bare beneath him. Your pulse pounds, heat rushing to your cheeks, and Toji just chuckles, gaze darkening as he drinks you in.

"Fuck, baby," he rasps, running his hands up your thighs, rough fingers making you shiver. "Been waitin’ for this. Dreamin’ about this."

You should push him away. Should demand answers. But instead, your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him back down until his mouth crashes against yours. All that could wait for later, right?

Toji groans into your mouth when you pull him down, all teasing amusement vanishing as his body presses flush against yours. His hands are rough, calloused from years of fights and cold aridness of prison, but they touch you with a hunger and gentle warmth that makes your breath hitch. His knee slots between your legs, pressing just enough to make you whimper, and he smirks against your lips.

"Missed me that bad, huh?" His voice is thick with pride, like he knows what he’s doing to you. Like he couldn't wait to make you melt like this.

You glare at him, chest heaving and lips glossy with swapped saliva. "Shut up, Toji."

He chuckles, low and dark, before flipping you onto your stomach in one swift movement. A startled gasp escapes you as he presses his weight against your back, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

"That any way to talk to the man who just risked everything to see you?" His voice is silk and gravel, smooth yet dangerous, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

You swallow hard, pressing your palms against the sheets, heart hammering. "You’re insane."

"Yeah?" His hands slide down your sides, slow, possessive. "And yet here you are, lettin’ an insane man touch you like this."

You open your mouth to snap at him, but then he bites down on your shoulder, just enough to make your breath stutter. You feel his smirk against your skin, feel the way his grip tightens like he’s testing you, waiting for you to fight him, to push him away. But you don’t. Instead, you press back against him, feeling the way his body stiffens for a brief second before a deep, pleased growl rumbles in his chest.

"Fuck," he mutters, voice raspier now. "That’s my girl."

Your stomach flips. Your fingers curl into the sheets.

"Toji—"

His hand slides under your chin, tilting your head just enough for his lips to brush against yours. "Say it." His voice is low, insistent. "Say you missed me."

Your throat tightens. You hate how easy it is for him to pull the truth from you.

"I—" Your voice shakes, but the words tumble out anyway. "I missed you, okay?"

Toji groans like he felt those words, his hand sliding down your stomach, fingers toying with the waistband of your underwear. "Yeah?" His breath is hot against your ear. "Show me, baby."

And then his hands are everywhere, his mouth pressing desperate, feverish kisses along your spine, and you let yourself get lost in the way he devours you like a man starved. Like he’s spent every second of his time locked up thinking about this. About you.

Toji moves like he owns you—like he never left, like he never spent months locked away with nothing but memories and filthy daydreams of you to keep him sane. His hands are rough, greedy, sliding over your skin like he’s trying to make up for lost time. And maybe he is. Maybe that’s why his mouth trails fire along your spine, why his grip tightens every time you sigh his name.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, fingers digging into your hips as he flips you onto your back again. He looms over you, eyes dark, wild, hungry. "Look at you. Been dyin’ to have you under me again." His dark blue eyes scan over every inch of you, burning it into his memory. The way the silk clings to every curve, the lacy trim that is snug against your breasts, the way one straps slides off your shoulder.

Your breath is uneven, chest rising and falling as he takes his time devouring you with his gaze. He licks his lips, dragging a hand through his messy black hair, and the sight alone makes your stomach tighten. It's as if he spent all his time in prison getting even more sexier.

"Toji," you whisper, fingers ghosting over his jaw, the scar on his lip. He catches your wrist before you can pull away, pressing a kiss to your palm, slow and lingering. Like he needs to feel the warmth and softness of your skin, of your touch.

"Say it again," he rasps. It's music to his ears, hearing it in person rather than through a grainy prison call. Seeing it, the way your pretty lips move as every syllable spills out.

Your throat tightens. "Toji."

He groans, like he felt that in his chest, before surging down to capture your lips again. It’s not just a kiss—it’s a claim, a demand, a promise. He presses himself against you, and it’s impossible to ignore how much he wants you, how much he missed you too.

"Missed you, baby," he mutters against your lips, his hands sliding under the silky slip dress he sent you, pushing it up, baring more of you to him. "Thought about you every fuckin’ night. Couldn’t even sleep without—"

He cuts himself off with a curse, shaking his head like he’s annoyed at himself for admitting it. But the way his grip tightens on you, the way his lips move over your skin, says everything he won’t.

You bite your lip, fingers threading through his hair as he kisses a path down your stomach. "Then why’d you leave me?"

Toji stills. His breath hitches against your skin, just for a second. Then he exhales, slow and controlled, before pressing one last kiss to your hip.

"Didn’t wanna drag you into my shit," he finally mutters, voice rougher now. He lifts his head, meets your gaze. "But guess that was pointless, huh?"

You swallow hard. "Yeah," you whisper, tugging him back up, pressing your forehead against his. "It was."

His lips curl into something between a smirk and a grimace, like he knew this was coming but hoped you wouldn’t say it. He sighs, cupping your face, thumb stroking along your cheek.

"You mad at me, baby?"

You exhale, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Ask me later."

Toji chuckles, low and dark. "Yeah?" He tilts your chin up, kissing you again, slower this time, deeper. "Guess I’ll have to make it up to you first."

And he does.

Over and over again.

Happy Valentine's Day.

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Part twoooo!! I love this sm idk I luv itttt. Requested by the lovely @cheolliehugs

tags ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ @psoycy @yourname-exee @fandomsearcherforcuntymen @universallydepressed13

ꨄ︎ comment to be added to tag list for the lockedup!toji series ꨄ︎

[solifloris]

≡;-꒰ 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I  𝒄𝒐𝒛𝒚

╰┈➤ ❝ caleb x afab!reader | VALENTINE'S EVENT !

tags : mostly fluff, slightlyyyyy suggestive at the start but nothing explicit, established relationship, use of pet names "baby" and "pipsqueak".

wc : 1.6k (oops)

an : DROPPING THIS BEFORE I GO TO BED :D requested by @starmocha !!!! this prompt had me squealing hehe 🥰🥰🥰

taglist : under the cut! (SIGN UP HERE)

ko-fi jar / commissions

It's 1AM, and you're hungry, so what better place to go than the convenience store down the block?

"I'm hungry."

The sheets rustled.

Caleb shifted onto his side to look at you, head resting in his palm, eyebrows raised. You could see the way his eyes raked over you appreciatively for a moment, almost as if seeing you in a new light again, almost as if he hadn't been all over you just a couple of minutes ago.

With his free hand, he reached out to tuck an awry strand of hair behind your ear. It was a soft gesture.

yet when he spoke, there was a laugh to his voice. "You're hungry?"

You whined. "Not that kind of hungry! Like, actually hungry! Come onnnnnn. Aren't you?"

"Baby, it's past midnight. Aren't you tired? You should be a good girl and get some rest—"

Despite the phrase deliberately used—you were sure—to bring butterflies to your stomach, you promptly gave him a playful shove. "Well, I'm not gonna be able to sleep if I'm hungry, anyway. So your attempts at persuading me are void!"

To make a point, you sat up and crosses your arms, looking at him expectantly.

An impasse, of sorts.

The two of you looked at each other, silent, a few seconds—

Caleb was the first to relent.

"Alright, alright, we'll get some food. There's that convenience store down the block, that enough?" He sat up along with you and slipped out of bed, trodding towards his closet to throw you one of his sweaters. "It'll be cold out, so wear that for a while. Just a lil somethin' to keep you warm."

You held it close to your chest—it smelled like him. And it was as if you weren't already in his t-shirt, anyway; as if he hadn't left enough of his own marks on you that night, but you were happy to have a little something on you that reminded you of him.

You hopped out of bed yourself and, to make a point, grabbed one of his caps to put on your head.

"Ready!"

And perhaps it was because it was late, and barely anyone would be outside anyway, but it seemed neither of you cared that you'd be leaving in your pajamas.

Caleb tugged at your hand, pulling you close.

"I hope you know that I love seein' you in my clothes," he chuckled. "Makes you look extra gorgeous."

And you could think to yourself that you were so used to his charm, maybe even desensitized… but he would always find ways to prove you wrong. An additional kiss to your forehead had you melting in an instant, and then he still had the audacity to send you a wink.

"Caleb!" you huffed as he pulled away and ushered you outside, the gleeful sound of his laughter never failing to astonish you.

Seriously, the audacity of this man!

And yet you couldn't quite complain, not with the way your heart filled with a complete and utter sense of fondness for him. It didn't matter the hour, didn't matter that the breeze of the dawn before you made you feel a little cold. He squeezed your hand and quietly put it into his pocket… and, really—with your hand in his and his presence beside you, it was all the warmth you could ever need.

As you walked to the convenience store, your free hand took a glance at the time on your phone.

"1:43AM," you mused, "on… February 14th. Huh, look at that! So our Valentine's date this year's to a convenience store?"

You felt him peek over your shoulder, and he let out a laugh. "Guess it is Valentine's, huh? Happy Valentine's Day, pipsqueak." He gave your hair a little ruffle, before the little jingle of your very destination had him tugging you through the doors.

As you expected: quite empty.

He nudged your arm. "I mean, I'm still takin' you out for a date later today," he shrugged, "but as an extra treat, then you've got free reign gettin' whatever you want. I'll pay."

Immediately your eyes brightened, a squeal falling from your lips enough to draw a quizzical stare from the cashier lady, and you squeezed his arm. "Really?!"

"Yeah, really!"

"Oh my god! You better not go back on that promise!"

"Be real. When have I ever, with you?"

You felt another surge of warmth rush through you, and you stood on your tiptoes to give him a quick peck on the lips. "God, I love you!"

And it wasn't really as if you didn't have a little bit of your own snack stash still left at home, but who were you to refuse a free gift?

There was a bounce to your step as you walked through the aisles, and you supposed that neither of you were acting as if it were practically two in the morning. The irony stood—despite everything else being quiet around you two, there was enough joy in the simplest things with him to get you all bouncy like this.

You turned to him with your arms full of little snacks, and laughed as you held one up for him. "Hey! Remember this one? The first time you brought this home, it was 'cause some girl from your class got you this." The memory made you laugh, and you turned the packet over in a moment of nostalgia. "I haven't had these in forever, for some reason, but they were really good. That girl had taste…"

A flick to your forehead.

"Hey!"

He snatched a couple of the packets you were carrying and put them into the basket he was holding, all while giving you a pointed look. "Doesn't matter who got them first," he scoffed, "'cause I brought them home for you."

A smile played on your lips.

"Well… she wasn't the first to give you stuff, nor was she the last."

"Aaand like I said, it doesn't matter."

This time, you grinned and tiptoed to return the forehead flick he'd given you just earlier. "Why're you so upset about it? Of course the golden boy would always get so much attention from all the girls—"

"Sooo I'd get all that attention from 'em, and then disregard their gifts just so you'd have somethin' to have fun with when we got home."

You paused, and he gave a playful roll of his eyes.

"I gotta hand it to ya, pipsqueak, sometimes you spend a lil too much time up there in the clouds."

"What!?"

He held up a box of cookies that you were familiar with.

"This one's been your favorite for as long as I can remember. Some girl gave one of these to me back in middle school… But I knew you'd love 'em. So I gave 'em to you."

Another box of snacks.

"You always say you don't like these, but I see you sneak them back to your room when no one's lookin'… Happened to get this as a gift, too, so I left them in your room when we got back."

And you watched, somewhat amazed, as he held up the very same packet you'd been examining earlier.

"And, sure, maybe you've never had this one before… But you were always a lil adventurous. It was strawberry. I remember, 'cause you like strawberries. So I thought you might've wanted to give this a try, too."

Your gaze followed his movements as he took the liberty to grab a couple more snacks from the shelves, and though he turned back to you with a smile, you found your mind still reeling from what he'd said.

It was always you. From the very start, he…

"I've always watched you," he said simply. Because he could read you like an open book, and some things just don't change. He shrugged, leaned down towards you to give the tip of your nose a little poke. "I saved those for you, 'cause I know you. And you think any of those girls ever mattered to me? Nah. It was always just about you. And you got to relish in all those little snacks, so, you know. Win-win situation if I get to make you happy."

For a moment you didn't speak, and you felt the blush slowly begin to creep up your cheeks.

You'd never realized it before; maybe never even bothered to check for yourself.

Sure, you maybe thought all of those were from him, and, sure, when you found out they weren't directly, you felt a little upset, but…

It was more than just material to poke fun at him for being popular.

Your eyes softened. "So… you were thinking about me."

"Pshh. I always think about you, baby. Not a moment goes by where I don't."

You watched him walk away with a wave of his hand, under the guise of 'checking out the drinks while you think of what else you wanted', and a flurry of butterflies stirred anew in your heart.

As you hurried to catch up with him and stood by him at the counter, he chuckled. "I always thought you'd find out then and there how much I liked you, you know."

"I guess you were being obvious about it, in a way…"

"Yeah, and you were too busy relishing in the free snacks."

"Hey!"

He laughed, grabbing the bag of your little snack haul, and smoothly looped your arms back together.

"Weeelll," he hummed, "now you get to say with certainty that all this here's from me. And I get to do this…"

The minute you stepped outside the convenience store, he leaned down to give you a soft kiss. And again, you'd think—there couldn't possibly be a cozier place to be than right here with him in this moment.

"…You don't need to use gifts from someone else to get me snacks anymore," you laughed a little.

"Mhm, I can get 'em for you myself. And seal it with a lil kiss."

taglist : @darlingdummycassandra @daturasflower @thoupenguinman @valyvinny @rafayelsheart @jellyroom2 @chemiru @ywnzn @pepprrmint @angel-jupiter @cordidy @raiyuxa @xai-mery @pikachuzhc @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn @hunters-association

© solifloris. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[starmocha]

duuude mc making him delirious. next day at the hospital he's stillbworked up. mc sends him a text, it's her day off. he's loving, asks her how she's doing. she sends a 'fine 🥰' and he notices she's typying for a while, he's already holding his breath when she sends 'I can still feel you everywhere' with a pretty picture of her lower body, his shirt pulled up, her hand on top of her pink cotton panties. 'especially here' is the fatal blow that makes zayne think of an emergency and head home.

....oops........ 😔👉👈

Afternoon Lessons

Zayne asks Greyson to take over. No reasoning, no explanation, nothing. Greyson finds it odd that Zayne seems to be in a rush to leave, but seeing as the young surgeon has always been a workaholic dedicated to his job, Greyson dismisses this peculiarity, assuming there must be something urgent to make Zayne leave the hospital on short notice.

There is an urgent matter.

Zayne's minx of a wife has decided to play with fire this afternoon, so it's time she learns her lesson about teasing her husband like that when he is at work.

The moment Zayne arrives home, he comes into the living room, seeing his darling wife lounging on the couch in just her little pink cotton panties and his shirt, half-unbuttoned, and her breasts on display as she poses for some risqué selfies.

His phone buzzes.

She freezes.

Zayne opens the text message he has just received and smirks.

"My love, what was your intention for sending me these lovely photos of yourself?"

Slowly, she turns around on the couch to face him as he walks to her. She feels butterflies in her belly when she notices that hint of arousal in his gaze. Right when he sits down on the couch, she yelps in surprise, not expecting him to grab her suddenly and lay her over his lap, his hand has already pulled her panties down enough to expose her ass. Instantly, his large, calloused hand made contact, the slap has her crying out in both surprise and pleasure.

"Has my good girl decided to be naughty today?" he leans over to whisper in her ear, unknowingly making her stomach coil at how deliciously sensual his voice sounds in this moment. His lips find her neck as he continues in a lazy murmur, "That won't do...she could get me in trouble at work."

"Za-Zayne!" she cries out his name when he slaps her ass again, the sting hurting so good, she could feel a dampness between her legs.

Zayne smirks again, his lips on her shoulder. "One spank for every photo you have sent today."

She gasps, nervously trembling at his stern words.

She had sent him thirteen photos total.

[sailornymph]

sasuke and gaara’s reaction to the reader getting new piercings. it can be nsfw if u want hehe. ty!

‘SWEET SURPRISE’

when their s/o gets a new piercing

cw : nsfw, munch activities, cawk blowing, etc.

authors note : i hope you don’t mind me adding neji, i adore him so much !!

♡ neji hyuga

trying to tiptoe into your bedroom, your heart fluttered at the sight. neji. his long hair spread across the pillow, as he slept comfortably in your bed. turning your back to place your bag in your closet, just as it was sitting on the ground, you flinched at the sound of his voice.

“you’re still terrible at being quiet,” he said, making you face him, he sat upright, shirtless, his cursed seal showing on his forehead.

“neji,” you cheered, rushing over to plop on top of him. despite his groaning, he reached for your waist, caressing your hip.

“i’ve missed you so much,” you pouted, sitting up in his lap.

“i’ve missed you more,” he whispered, a small smile in place.

your mission had been almost an entire month, and for neji to say he missed you, verbally, you knew it was the truth.

“oh, i almost forgot, i wanted to show you something,” you gasped, beginning to unbutton your shirt. his larger hands continued caressing your hips, watching intently as you began to remove your top, revealing the jewelry that was on your nipples.

“what do you think?” you bit your lip, as he slowly reached to cup them, massaging softly.

“do they hurt?”

“at first, but i got them at the beginning of my mission, they are practically healed,” you hummed, as he brushed his fingers against your nipples.

“they’re pretty,” he said, making you smile.

“i was worried you wouldn’t like them-oh,” you moaned as neji leaned down, his tongue lapping over the piercing, twisting around the jewelry.

“i think they’re perfect,” he said lowly, before latching onto your nipple, sucking softly. using his thumb, he brushed over the other — while his free hand, lifted your skirt, squeezing your ass.

“hey neji, is y/n back yet?” rock lee yelled, knocking on the door.

“shouldn’t we come back?” ino asked.

“she’s been away an entire month, don’t you miss her?” lee whined.

“of course i do, but don’t you think, she wants to spend time with neji?” she asked.

“she spends the most time with neji,” sai said.

making eye contact with neji, you could only laugh, at the aggravated expression. pulling away, he pulled you into a hug.

“make them wait,” he said coldly.

“you do have me all the time, it will only be for a while, a few hours at most,” you pouted.

“fine, since your friends are much more important,” he sighed.

“our friends, and they miss me just as much as you-

“that is impossible,” he interrupted making you smile.

“when i am home, we can continue, love you,” you said, kissing his lips, slipping back into the shirt, beginning to button it, as you turned to head out.

“love you too,” he whispered, laying back in bed.

♡ sasuke uchiha

“hey,” you called out to sasuke, as he leaned against the tree, his eyes closed and arms crossed.

“i’ve been looking for you for nearly two hours, where were you?” you asked, as you got closer.

“you said you would only be away a few weeks, it’s been almost a month,” he frowned, looking away.

“you can’t be serious, don’t be a baby, you’re always away much longer than me”

“it’s not the same”

“how is it not the-

before you could finish, sasuke grabbed your jaw, squishing your cheeks.

“open your mouth,” he whispered, as you pulled away, smiling, before sticking your tongue out.

“do you like it? i got it a few weeks ago,” you flickered your tongue at him.

“tsk, you look like a slut,” he rolled his eyes.

“yeah, the strongest slut in this village”

“take it out”

“no, it has it’s perks”

“and what would those be?”

“i haven’t tried anything out yet, but it’s just an idea,” you said, going to your knees, and reaching for his pants. he didn’t say anything, watching intensely. taking out his cock, you chuckled.

“i’m the slut, but you’re rock hard,” you said before you began teasing his tip. twirling your tongue around, sucking, then pulling away. looking into his dark eyes, you took in as much as possible, before your head began moving back and forth.

he stood tall, groaning lowly, his eyes occasionally making sure no one was around, but for the most part, they couldn't leave you. you were a pro, only you could suck his cock like a slut, and still be a princess in his eyes. the coolness and smooth surface of the piercing brought a foreign, but euphoric sensation to his body.

drool ran down your chin, as he fucked your mouth. your hands went under his shirt, touching his toned abdomen. his breathing became heavier, as grunts escaped from his mouth. feeling his cock twitching, you pulled him out.

“are you close?” you asked, biting your lip, as he nodded.

“then, you can finish yourself off, i’m not risking ruining my brand new dress,” you smiled, standing up, dusting off your knees.

glaring at you, he begrudgingly began stroking himself. his eyes were focused on you, as he grunted, his seed painting the grass and leaves. wiping your mouth, it was your turn to lean against the tree with your arms crossed.

“don't look at me like that, did you even miss me? i come back from a mission and i am met with a cold shoulder,” you laughed, looking away, as he fixed his pants.

“you have no idea how much i’ve missed you,” he grumbled, approaching you.

“doesn't feel like it, i look like a slut to you?”

“my slut,” he mumbled, as he pulled you closer, slipping his tongue into your mouth.

sharing the hungriest kiss, you could feel his desperation. the way he would bite your lip, before sucking it, squeezing your ass, before moving up to your waist, to pull you even closer. he liked the way the tongue ring glided against his tongue. pulling away, the two of you stared into each other eyes, panting, a dark tint on his cheeks.

“we should get back, i promised hinata and kiba we’d get ramen,” you said, your face burning, under his analyzing gaze.

“you were right”

“about what exactly?”

“the perks”

♡ gaara

“lord kazekage, you have a guest,” the secretary spoke to gaara, who nodded, continuing to read through the stack of paperwork.

“lord kazekage,” you spoke, entering the office, bowing, as gaara eyes immediately went to you. as soon as the door shut, he was instantly on his feet, walking to you, to pull you into his arms.

“i’ve missed you,” he whispered into your ear.

“it’s only been two months, and it was a success,” you told him, but he didn’t seem to be listening.

“two months is quite a long time to be apart from you,” he said, his face turning red immediately — extremely embarrassed that he allowed his mouth to run so freely.

“aww, gaara, you have no idea how much i’ve missed you too, oh, there’s something i’d like to show you,” you said, turning to lock the door, before going to the window, closing the curtains.

“what is it, y/n?” he asked, curiously, but you simply touched his chest, batting your eyelashes.

“you’ll see,” you smirked, as you began to unbutton your shorts.

“uh, y-y/n, what are you doing?”

“showing you my surprise, don’t you want to see?” you asked, placing a kiss onto his lips.

“yes please,” he nearly moaned.

backing up to his desk, you slowly lowered the shorts, along with your panties, before sitting on the edge of the desk.

“why don’t you take a peak?” you chuckled, biting your lip, as he gulped, nodding his head.

spreading your legs, he gasped at the piercing that was on your clitoris. his eyes widened, as he gulped once more, going to his knees.

“your-it’s-” he struggled to speak, glancing up at you.

“you can touch her, she’s healed,” you said, moaning as he nodded, his thumb going to your clit. rubbing softly, he watched in amazement.

“taste her, gaara,” you moaned, as his tongue was immediately on your clit. his eyes full of concentration, as he grabbed your thighs, pulling you closer.

kissing your glistening clit, before hungrily consuming her. he moaned lowly, his fingers pressing into your thighs. removing his hat, your fingers found their way to his red tresses, running through softly. your eyes could hardly stay open, as his tongue repeatedly lapped over your pussy.

furrowing your eyebrows, you whined lowly, repeating ‘i’m close’, in a whispered rush, the orgasm escaping, as your leg began shaking.

your hand was pressed against your mouth, as you tried your best to conceal your moan. sucking onto your clit, a giggle slipped out of your mouth. pulling away, he quickly licked his lips, before standing — red in the face.

“what do you think of her?” you asked him, wiping he juice from his cheek.

“she’s perfect,” he blushed profusely.

[irissfoot]

arthur morgan x fem reader

him drawing you nude… fluffy and smutty please

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Soft Lines

╰┈➤ After a few weeks away from each other, Arthur takes his beloved wife to the saloon for a night of drawing and soft love making. ♥

Word count: 890

Warnings: unprotected p in v, kissing, nudity (obvi lol), author has zero sexual experience, not proofread

A/N: This is my first ever fic ive written so please be kind lol, also sorry for the delay ive been rlly busy and everytime I sat down to write it i got scared lol.

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Soft giggles met the gentle crackle of the fire, the warm glow casting a soft shadow over her curves as she posed on the rich red chaise couch.

Dutch had sent him and Lenny on yet another wild goose chase, a habit growing annoyingly common. Because of these pointless missions, he hadn't had time to catch up with the love of his life. To correct this, Arthur took her out to dinner at the saloon in Saint Denis - promptly followed by booking a room for the night. 

And that's how you ended up laying on your side on the couch, as bare as the day you were born. You were reluctant at first, I mean, who wouldn't be? Laying naked as your husband who looks like he was sculpted by the gods, sitting there, drawing you. But with a few kisses and a promise that it wouldn't take too long, you obliged. 

“Are you almost done? I feel silly”

“Don’t worry sweetheart, you look gorgeous.” He mumbled as he continued scribbling away, a small smile crept its way onto your face.

“Do you really mean that?” you already knew what his answer would be, but you were growing tired and figured teasing him would help aid that.

He looked up, surprised almost. As if he didn’t say it enough. “Well ‘course I do!” Suddenly an idea popped into your head as he put his head back down.

“Well then show me.” You got up and started walking across the room towards him. Hips intentionally popping out, accentuating your curves.

A smirk made its way onto Arthur's face as he put his pencil and journal down, reaching out to grab onto your soft waist. Pulling you down to have your ass sit flush against his lap. Smiling at you gently as you play with the tuft of hair at his neck, looking lovely into his eyes.

“Don't know what I did to deserve you.” He continued staring into your eyes for a moment, muttering a faint beautiful before leaning in to kiss you. Soft and gentle, those are the words you’d use to describe how Arthur treats you. Holding you like you’re the most important thing in the world to him. 

The kiss became more passionate and deep, kissing down your neck before standing up with you in his arms. Walking back towards the couch, delicately laying you down. You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him closer as you start to unbutton his black blouse - his favourite but only because you always tell him how handsome he looks in it. 

His hands start to move from your hips and up towards your soft breasts. Massaging them tenderly, making you let out a small sound of protest before breaking from the kiss.

“Arthur, take your clothes off.” Your tone was kind but he knew better than to test you. 

“Yes ma’am.” He sat back on his feet, pulling his arm out of his suspenders as you untuck his shirt pulling it down his shoulders. 

Caressing his shoulders and buff chest as he unbuckles his belt, “God I love you.” Just as he takes his pants off you pull him into a deep kiss. His hands find their way back to your breasts, teasing your nipples as you massage his growing erection.

Mumbles and groans grow louder and you just couldn't take it anymore, pulling away slightly whispering a soft, “Please Arthur.”

You don’t even need to ask a second time before Arthur takes his length in his hand, trailing the tip of his penis between your wet folds moaning at the sensation. 

“Good god women.” He rests his forehead on yours, staring oh so lovely into your eyes before entering you. You couldn't help but moan. It had been a long time since he stretched you out, his ridges rubbing perfectly against your warm velvety walls. Letting out a low groan as he bottomed out. He pulls his hands to your sides, caressing you with a desperation you absolutely adored. 

He started moving, slow, deliberate, and deep. Relishing the noises you were making, the desperate grabs at his back. You needed this just as much as he did. Speeding up a little, hitting your g-spot everytime. Reaching down to bring Arthur's hand into yours, placing a gentle kiss on the back of it. 

“Oh God Arthur.” You weren’t gonna last much longer, walls clenching around his  length. Heels digging into his back, pushing him deeper.

“I know sweetheart, I know.” His pace speeding up a little, he wasn’t gonna last much longer either. 

With a few more strokes and messy kisses, you came undone. Walls spasming on his cock with such a vigor he had never felt before. Moaning loudly, you pulled his sweaty forehead down to meet yours once again. He looked into your eyes as he came, watching the way your face contorted when you felt his warm cum filling you up. 

Panting heavily as his thrusts slowed, collapsing down onto you as you panted. Wrapping your arms around him, kissing his head tenderly. 

As you both layed there, the world around you seemed to dissipate. He looked up at you, the orange glow of the dying fire highlighting the sweat on your face and the frizziness of your tousled hair. And he swore, you never looked better.

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[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 3: "The one with the birthday party" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERIST

Chapter Summary: At Frankie’s mom’s birthday party, you aim to keep a low profile, doing just enough to blend in. But the night takes an unexpected turn—his family pulls you in more than you anticipated, catching you off guard with their warmth. And then, just when you think you’ve made it through unscathed, the pavement has a surprise for you too. WC: 18.8k (CAREFUL, THIS BABY IS LOOOONG LOL)

A/N: Alright, it's here at last! You have no idea how much I've been looking forward to sharing this chapter. For some reason, life kept getting in the way and I couldn’t finish it sooner, but NOW IT’S FINALLY DONE! I’d love to know what you think—your feedback always helps me improve, and I really enjoy reading your comments! <3 LOVE YOU YOU ALL, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!! If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifs!

Friday, August 9th. 

“Hey,” you said as you opened the door, stepping aside to let Frankie in. You barely glanced at him before turning toward the other room. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

He walked in without a word, shutting the door with a soft click. His silence felt heavier than it should have, like an unspoken critique. You gestured toward the door on the right, in front of the stairs that led to the second floor and to your apartment.

You went into the bookshop, and he followed you, his shoes heavy against the floor.

Inside, Frankie lingered by the doorway, his eyes darting around the room as though assessing it for structural integrity. You ignored him, sliding behind the counter to finish typing something on the computer.

“What are you doing?” he asked, leaning on the edge of the counter with the practiced impatience of someone who believes they’re above waiting. His tone had a sharp edge, as if the concept of you having a to-do list offended him. “Can’t this wait?”

You exhaled, a soft, deliberate sigh that was barely audible over the quiet clatter of the keys.

“Just finishing an order. If you’re going to stand there and criticize, at least try to look useful.” A few more taps, and you turned the screen toward him with a mock flourish. “There. Done. Satisfied?”

Frankie didn’t bother responding, his attention shifting to you instead. His gaze dragged up and down, his expression a mix of scrutiny and reluctant approval.

You stepped around to the other side of the counter, reaching for the bookshop keys. With them in hand, you paused in front of him, your gaze drifting down the length of his body.

“Well, this is… unexpected,” you said, letting your eyes linger pointedly on his polished black coat, white buttoned shirt and neatly pressed pants. “You look decent.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said dryly, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smirk. “And you look…” His eyes trailed to your dress, narrowing. “Half-dressed.”

“Excuse me?”

Frankie crossed his arms, tilting his head as though giving your outfit a second appraisal.

“I’m not joking. Did you forget part of your dress? Or is it supposed to look like that?”

Confused, you glanced down at yourself. You were wearing one of your favorite dresses—a white one with delicate straps and a fit that was snug but not tight, elegant in its simplicity. It was modest enough: the neckline wasn’t too low, the hem rested just above your knees. Perfectly normal. Perfectly appropriate.

“There’s nothing wrong with my dress. You’re just being annoying and mean.”

“Your back,” he said flatly, gesturing with his hand.

Your fingers flew to the back of the dress, and sure enough, they met the unzipped fabric.

“Oh,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I… I was going to zip it upstairs. I have this little hook thing for it—”

“For god’s sake,” Frankie cut in, pinching the bridge of his nose like this was the single most inconvenient thing anyone had ever asked of him. “Turn around. I’ll do it.”

You stared at him like he’d just suggested performing open-heart surgery.

“You don’t have to—”

“It’s a zipper, not a marriage proposal. Turn around.”

Reluctantly, you turned, feeling his presence close behind you. His fingers were quick but precise as he tugged the zipper up, the movement so mundane yet strangely charged. The warmth of his breath hit the back of your neck, and you froze for a second, hyperaware of the proximity.

“There,” he said gruffly, stepping back as if the contact had been nothing more than a chore. “Happy now? Let's go.”

You turned to face him, adjusting the straps with an exaggerated shake of your shoulders.

“Ecstatic,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Truly life-changing.”

Frankie rolled his eyes and made a beeline for the door, opening it with a sharp glance over his shoulder.

“Are you done with the dramatics?”

Adjusting your bag on your shoulder, you followed him outside, muttering under your breath just loud enough for him to hear.

“You’re lucky I didn’t ask you to tie my heels.”

The party was being held in the gilded elegance of the Golden Room at Hotel Le Grand. Frankie had mentioned, in passing, that he and his sisters had been planning the event for months—though it was clear Luna had been the one to shoulder the real burden. Frankie didn’t strike you as someone who knew how to color-coordinate table linens or confirm catering orders. Luna, on the other hand, sounded like the kind of woman who thrived on spreadsheets and perfectly executed itineraries.

You walked down the wide, carpeted hallway toward the entrance, feeling an unfamiliar kind of nervousness bloom in your chest. It wasn’t fear exactly, nor excitement—it was something in between, something that lived in the pit of your stomach and coiled tighter the closer you got. You could hear the faint hum of voices, glasses clinking, the muffled thrum of music filtering out from the room ahead. Frankie’s pace slowed beside you, his polished shoes scuffing lightly against the floor.

When you turned to look at him, his expression was hard to read. He was studying you, eyes narrowing slightly as if you’d done something suspicious, though you couldn’t imagine what.

“Wait,” he said abruptly, stepping closer and grabbing your arm—not roughly, but firmly enough that you stumbled slightly.

“What—”

He didn’t answer, just pulled you along a few steps before opening a nearby door and tugging you inside.

“What the hell are you doing, Francisco?” you hissed, glancing around the dim, utilitarian room. It smelled faintly of dust and lemon cleaner, the air heavy with the static quiet of spaces not meant to be used by guests. Stacks of chairs loomed in uneven piles against the walls, making the room feel even smaller.

Frankie shut the door behind you with an exhale.

“Let’s go over it one more time,” he said, his voice low and edged with impatience.

“You’re kidding.”

“Just—humor me, okay?” He glanced at you, his dark eyes darting quickly over your face before he looked away again, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Are you nervous?”

“No,” he replied, too fast. He planted his hands on his hips, his expression careful. “Santi introduced us. We’ve been dating for two months. We kept it private because we wanted to talk to him first. It’s… fine. Normal. Our relationship is easy.”

“Easy?” 

“Yes, easy. It just happened. The usual.”

“You’re so nervous,” you said, fighting the urge to laugh. “Look at you.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’re definitely nervous.”

“I just need you to promise me that you’re not going to do anything to ruin this. Okay? Can you promise me that?”

You scoffed, clicking your tongue in mock offense.

“Why do you automatically assume I’m the one who’s going to ruin it? If you want my honest opinion, you’re way more likely to mess this up. Look at you—you’re sweating.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. You look like a dog with its tail between its legs,” you said, lightly poking his shoulder with two fingers.

“You are going to make me fucking nervous if you keep talking like that,” he said, pushing your shoulder with two fingers, a perfect imitation of your earlier gesture.

You exaggerated the movement, stumbling back as though his touch had been far more forceful than it was.

“Deny it all you want, but I’m not the nervous one, and I’m not going to ruin this. I still need you for the wedding, remember? Or has that slipped your mind?”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head in exasperation.

“I guess so. What a ridiculous plan,” he said, his voice dripping with faux superiority. When his gaze found yours again, it was sharp. “And I’m not nervous.”

Frankie didn’t seem to realize how obvious his nerves were. His eyes darted around like they were chasing his thoughts, moving too quickly for comfort. Every so often, his eyebrows would twitch in a way that betrayed the tight control he thought he had over himself. And you’d noticed it earlier, too, during the car ride—his restlessness, the way his fingers drummed against the steering wheel, harder and faster than usual. It was almost endearing, if not for the fact that he refused to admit it. Instead, he was blaming you.  

A thought sparked in your mind and you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning into it. Your eyes brightened as you tilted your head, feigning an exaggerated air of curiosity.  

“Well, if you say so,” you sighed, looking away for just a beat before locking eyes with him again. “So, where can I touch you?”  

Frankie froze, his entire body going rigid.  

“What?” 

“Where can I touch you?” you repeated, slowly, as if he might need help processing the question. “Like, can I hold your hand? Touch your face? Your arms? Anywhere that’s off-limits? I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”  

You could feel the corners of your mouth twitching, fighting the urge to fully smile. God, this was too easy. He looked equal parts horrified and confused, his eyebrows knitting together as his eyes widened slightly.  

“Stick to the basics,” he said, his tone clipped and no-nonsense. He was trying to regain control, though the way he crossed his arms over his chest only made him look more defensive. 

“And what exactly are the basics, Francisco?”  

“It doesn’t matter. This is a family event. Just don’t—don’t overdo it.”  

“Well, that’s a start,” you said, nodding like you were taking mental notes. “So, can I hold your hand? Or is that too intimate for you? If I make you nervous, you can just say so.”

Your voice had softened into something almost saccharine, a honeyed sweetness that didn’t belong to you. 

Frankie stared at you in silence, his dark, intense eyes fixed on your face like they were trying to strip you down to your core. You could almost feel him siphoning your energy, leaving you lighter, emptier.

“Yes, you can hold my fucking hand.”

“Great,” you said brightly, nodding as if you were in complete agreement. “And what about kissing?”

“There’s no need.”

“No need? That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” You paused, letting the silence settle just long enough to be deliberate. “Now I’ll tell you what I’ll allow.”

Frankie frowned, his head tilting slightly in irritation.

“There’s no need. I don’t plan to—”

“You can hold my hand, my shoulders, and my waist. My waist, but no lower—understood?” You raised your index finger for emphasis, looking up at him with mock authority.

Frankie blinked, caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement. He stifled a laugh, though you caught the way his mouth twitched at the corners.

You shook your head, crossing your arms over your chest like a disappointed teacher.

“What? Are you seriously planning to convince your family that you’re head over heels for me without even touching my shoulders? That’s ambitious, Francisco. And, honestly, not very convincing. You’re out of your depth here. And nervous,” you added, tilting your head to one side with a knowing smirk. “But I get it. You’re not exactly the picture of confidence, are you? In fact, you strike me as one of those guys who find it really difficult to socialize with women. You know the type.”

Frankie’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might actually snap. But instead, he nodded slowly, biting the inside of his cheek as a bitter, humorless smile spread across his face.

“I’m very sociable with women, sweetheart,” he said, his voice smooth and edged with something sharp. “The thing is, I have to like them first.”

You raised your eyebrows, disbelief etched across your face.

“Well, I think that makes you a bad actor. You’re not cut out for the job.”  

Frankie leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze, steady and unflinching, fixed on you like he was deciding whether you were worth responding to.

“Oh, no?”  

“Yeah, you know, for the act,” you said, tilting your head.  

“You’re ridiculous.”  

“And you’re a nervous coward.”  

Frankie didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stared at you, his silence stretching long enough to make you shift under the weight of his gaze. You could see the wheels turning in his head, and for a brief, panicked moment, you thought he might just open the door, leave you standing there alone, and abandon the whole charade.  

But then, his face shifted. A smug expression slid into place, slow and calculated, accompanied by that crooked smile that always made your stomach tighten—not in a pleasant way, but in a way that felt like a warning.  

“And what about you, Meryl Streep?” he asked, his tone light but laced with an edge. “You want to talk about bad acting, but yesterday, after I kissed you, you looked completely out of place.”  

You sighed, a deliberate move to buy yourself a second to think.

“Sorry,” you said finally, tilting your head like you were truly apologetic. “I guess that happens when I get the most unpleasant kiss in the world.”  

Frankie laughed under his breath, shaking his head.

“Then it shouldn’t bother you that this party is kiss-free, should it? Little physical contact, just the necessary effort.”  

For a moment, you felt the wind knocked out of you—not by his words, but by the realization that he had managed to flip the conversation so seamlessly, deflating your earlier momentum. But you recovered quickly, letting a slow, understanding smile spread across your face.

You leaned in slightly, your hand lifting toward his face. Frankie, ever cautious, instinctively moved his head back, but you didn’t stop. Your fingers found his cheek, warm under your touch, and your thumb rested lightly at the corner of his mouth.

“You have no idea how much I’m going to enjoy it when you come begging for a kiss or a small demonstration of affection, Francisco,” you said softly, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “Because even though I know how much you hate this whole thing, I also know that your need to make this convincing is even stronger.”

You dropped your hand and stepped back, feeling a delicious sense of control settle over you like a second skin.

Frankie’s jaw tightened as he turned toward the door, his hand gripping the handle tightly, knuckles faintly white. He paused just before opening it fully, glancing over his shoulder at you, his eyes sharp and impatient.

“Ready?”

“Yes,” you said lightly, brushing past him as you moved toward the door.

Already in the hallway, Frankie fell into step beside you, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours. Without warning, his fingers found yours, intertwining them in a quiet, deliberate motion. His steps were slow, measured, as you both neared the doorway leading back to the crowded hall.

You turned to him, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“I thought that—”

“No way,” a voice cut in from behind, smooth and teasing. “Sneaking off to a closet during Mom’s birthday party? That’s risky, Frankie.”

Frankie froze, his grip on your hand loosening for a second. He turned, his face momentarily pale, but when he saw her, something shifted. The tension in his jaw melted away, replaced by a warm, easy smile. You followed his gaze.

The woman approached, a grin already forming, arms outstretched. She pulled Frankie into a tight embrace, her dark eyes bright.

He kissed her cheek before pulling back.

“How are you?” he asked, his voice lighter than before. “How’s Mom? Is she happy?”

“She’s great, so so happy. She wants to see you,” the woman said, and then her attention flicked to you. Curiosity glimmered in her gaze. “Aren’t you going to... introduce me to your girl?”

Frankie hesitated, like the thought had only just occurred to him. Then, his hand slid to your waist, his grip warm and steady as he pulled you closer.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, and your name slipped from his lips with an unfamiliar sweetness. “My girlfriend.” He paused, like he was testing the words, then smiled. “And baby, this is my sister, Maia.”

The way he said it caught you off guard. There was a natural ease to it, like he’d said it a hundred times before. Like it wasn’t the first time he was calling you that in front of someone else. Baby.

Your mind went back to what Frankie had told you the night before. Maia, of all his sisters, was the most perceptive. She’ll figure us out if we’re not careful.

You turned to her with a genuine smile. She was beautiful—big brown eyes framed by long lashes, dark hair swept back effortlessly. There was something about her features, the sharp cheekbones, the knowing glint in her eyes, that reminded you of Frankie. 

“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you,” you said, meaning it. “Your brother’s told me so much about you. You look gorgeous.”

Maia’s grin widened, a pink flush rising to her cheeks.

“Oh, stop, really? You’re gorgeous.” She reached out, touching your arm lightly. Her hands were soft. “I wish I could say the same, but this idiot kept you a secret. He’s told us next to nothing.”

“Maia,” Frankie started, already formulating an excuse.

"It’s my fault," you cut in, glancing at him briefly before turning back to her. "I asked him to keep it private, at least until we told my brother."

Maia's brows lifted. "Oh? And why—"

Frankie exhaled. “She’s Santi’s sister.”

Maia’s mouth fell open slightly, then curved into an amused, knowing smile.

“Shut up,” she said, her tone laced with delight. “You’re dating your best friend’s little sister?”

A small laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

“Can you believe it?” you said, glancing at Frankie before turning back to her. “And I’m dating my brother’s best friend. Talk about a cliché.”

“Unbelievable,” Maia echoed, her laughter bright and infectious. “And what did he say when you told him?”

“Oh, Santi thought it was a little ridiculous at first,” you admitted, glancing at Frankie, amusement dancing in your expression. “But he got over it pretty fast.”

Your eyes met his then, full of plastic love.

Maia smirked knowingly.

“Well,” she said, tilting her head, “this just got interesting.”

Frankie cut the conversation short, brushing off Maia’s questions with the kind of firm, practiced ease that suggested he’d been doing it his whole life. She rolled her eyes but didn’t press further, leading the two of you deeper into the party.

His hand found your waist again as you stepped inside the hall. The space was vast and elegant, bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights strung overhead. White tablecloths stretched across the tables, each adorned with delicate centerpieces of white lilies—his mother’s favorite, according to Frankie. The scent was soft, fresh.

Maia wove through the gathering guests with the effortless familiarity of someone who had done this a thousand times. You, however, were hyper-aware of every step, every shift of movement. The closer you got to the main table, where the rest of his family sat in easy conversation, the more your nerves crept up, curling around your ribs like vines. Without thinking, your fingers sought Frankie’s again, gripping them tighter than necessary.

He leaned down, his breath warm against your ear.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice a quiet reassurance meant only for you. “I’ve got you.”

You nodded, even if you weren’t entirely convinced.

Then Helena spotted Frankie, and everything else in the room faded.

Her eyes went wide, bright with unfiltered joy. “Francisco!”

She pushed back her chair in an instant, standing with her arms already outstretched. Frankie barely had time to let go of your hand before she pulled him into a tight embrace, holding him the way only a mother could—like she needed to be sure he was still whole. She kissed both his cheeks, then held his face between her hands, searching it, memorizing him.

“Esta fiesta es increible, mi amor (this party is incredible, my love),” she told him, eyes still shining. “The best gift of all. Just having everyone together, that’s all I wanted. All my babies with me.”

Frankie smiled, a real one, the kind that made his entire face look younger, lighter.

“Feliz cumpleaños, ma, te mereces esto y mucho más. Una fiesta increible para una mujer increible, ¿o no?. (Happy birthday, Mom, you deserve this and much more. An incredible party for an incredible woman, right?)” 

You felt something swell in your chest at the way he said it, at the way his voice sounded softer in spanish—his voice warm with love.

Helena beamed, then turned toward you.

The shift was subtle, but sharp. Her gaze landed on you with something keen behind it, something appraising. 

“Mom,” he said, his fingers brushing your back again, “I want you to meet someone.” He pulled you closer, and when he said your name, it was softer than usual, careful. “She’s my... She's my girlfriend.”

The word hit the air, and you felt Frankie tense beside you, just for a second.

Helena didn’t react right away. She simply looked at you, studying, deciding. And then—she smiled. Broadly, like she’d decided something in your favor.

She repeated your name, and up close, you saw it now—how much of her was in Frankie. The same warm brown eyes, the same mischievous pull at the corner of the mouth, like they were both always half a second away from teasing you.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” she said, reaching for your hands. “What a lovely surprise, sweetheart.”

Your face warmed immediately, heat spreading down to your chest, and you knew you were blushing. Next to you, Frankie smirked, clearly amused by your reaction.

“Thank you so much,” you managed, shifting slightly closer to him for balance. “And happy birthday. It’s really wonderful to finally meet you, Helena. Francisco has told me nothing but amazing things about you.”

“Oh, thank God,” she teased, tossing her son a look before giving his arm a gentle pat. “And I do hope you’ll fill in the gaps. I’ve been waiting so long for this one to bring someone home, you have no idea. If you only knew!” She clasped her hands together in mock prayer. “Now, come—come! Come meet the rest of our family.”

Before you could react, she had already taken your arm, gently pulling you away from Frankie. You barely had time to glance back at him, your expression somewhere between help and save me, before you saw the exact same look mirrored on his face. He could do nothing but follow as Helena paraded you toward the table.

Introductions unfolded in a series of warm, overlapping voices.

Luna was stunning, exactly as you’d imagined. Her dark hair was swept back, save for a few loose strands that framed her delicate features. Her green eyes carried a quiet curiosity as she hugged you gently, greeting you with the kind of reserved kindness that made you think she was someone who observed before she spoke.

Next to her was Henry, her husband, who greeted you with a polite nod and a brief kiss on the cheek. Jamie, their son, waved shyly from his seat, his big brown eyes round with something close to awe. His curls bounced slightly when he moved, making him look like some kind of cherub from a Renaissance painting.

Then came Grace, Frankie’s niece, who stood just long enough to kiss your cheek before shyly murmuring, “I like your dress.” She had the kind of effortless sweetness that made you instantly want to protect her.

Her mother, Sofia, was beside her. Of all the sisters, she resembled Helena the most. Her dark curls fell over her shoulders, her smile was warm and knowing, and something about her presence felt effortlessly welcoming.

And then Maia, despite having already met you, stood again to press another kiss to your cheek, like she simply had to.

Once everyone was settled, Helena guided you to the empty chair beside her, which you realized—only as Frankie moved toward it—was the seat he had been planning to take. He hesitated for half a second, then shifted to the free chair on your right instead.

You exhaled, trying to ignore the way your nerves still buzzed under your skin. But when you turned your head, Frankie was already watching you.

He leaned in, his breath just barely grazing your ear.

“Calm down,” he murmured, his voice low, easy. “Just do the minimum.”

You huffed a quiet laugh.

“Like you?” you whispered back.

Frankie gave you a crooked smile, his eyes gleaming with the urge to fire something back at you. But he held it in.

“So, how did you two meet?” Grace asked, her voice sweet, playful. She turned to Frankie with a teasing grin. “I didn’t know you had it in you to charm such a pretty girl.”

Frankie let out a low chuckle. You felt heat creep up your neck.

“Oh, you’re going to love this,” Maia said, eyebrows arching in anticipation.

“Frankie was a total heartbreaker when we were kids, baby,” Luna added, her tone rich with amusement. “The girls loved the whole brooding, shy boy act.”

“I was shy,” Frankie defended, frowning slightly, as if the memory still perplexed him. “I think that was just my secret weapon.” He shrugged, then winked.

Helena shook her head, smiling.

“And how did this happen?” She turned to you, her gaze warm, almost knowing. “Francisco hasn’t told me a thing, no matter how much I insisted on it. I can’t believe he kept it a secret—especially with someone as lovely as you.”

“I thought he was about to take a vow of celibacy,” Sofia chimed in dryly, swirling her wine before taking a sip. “After he turned down that date with Genevieve’s daughter, we were convinced. She’s very pretty.”

“What’s celibacy?” Jamie piped up.

Henry, sitting next to him, burst out laughing.

Frankie exhaled through his nose, then leaned in, his arm draping over the back of your chair. The shift in posture was subtle but intentional. You felt the warmth of him at your side.

“Yeah, well, did you ever think that maybe you all just wore me out with that?” His voice was even, but his eyes moved slowly across the table.

“Ay, sweetheart, we were just worried,” Helena said, her concern soft and painfully genuine. “We just want you to be happy, genuinely happy. And after everything that’s happened…” She hesitated, her gaze lingering on her son.

Frankie stiffened, his jaw tight. His eyes flicked to hers, a silent warning: Don’t say it.

Helena caught it instantly. She inhaled, then softened her expression. “I’m just happy to hear you say that you’re happy with someone great.”

You turned to look at Frankie. He was still close, his face unreadable, his body warm next to yours.

What exactly had he told them? That he was happy? That he was in love? How intense was it all according to him?

“How did you two meet?” Sofía asked, her voice light but perceptive, her gaze flickering between you and Frankie. She had noticed his discomfort—of course, she had.

“It’s a funny story, actually.” His eyes found yours, holding them for a fraction too long, something unspoken passing between you. A silent negotiation. A mutual recognition. “Do you remember Santi?”

Everyone nodded. Even Henry, who had never met your brother but had certainly heard his name before.

“Well,” Frankie said, as if stating the most obvious fact in the world, “she’s his sister.”

For a second, there was silence, the air thick with realization. Then—

Helena, Luna, and Sofía all widened their eyes in synchronized surprise. Grace, on the other hand, grinned like she had just won something.

“You’re Santiago’s sister?” Helena asked, reaching out and taking your arm gently, warmth in her touch. She looked genuinely delighted, like this was some grand revelation that connected dots she hadn’t even known were unconnected.

You nodded, already feeling heat crawl up your neck.

“Oh my God, Francisco, why didn’t you tell me?” She asked her son, her tone accusatory.

Frankie shrugged, but before he could speak, you jumped in.

“Oh, that was because of me,” you admitted, smiling at her. “I asked Frankie to keep it private until I had the chance to talk to Santi. I… I wanted to tell him first.”

Luna, who had been watching with her chin propped on her palm, suddenly straightened, her lips curving into something sharp and entertained.

“Wait, but how?” she demanded, eyes glinting. “Was it sudden? Was it a secret? Please tell me everything.”

Frankie clicked his tongue.

“Jesus, relax.”

“Hey, we want to know!” Maia chimed in, twisting in her seat to get a better angle on you both. Grace nodded eagerly beside her, practically vibrating with interest.

Frankie glanced at you then, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—caution, amusement, curiosity. A silent question.

You held his gaze, then gave the smallest nod. Permission granted.

He turned back to them, exhaling like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“It just happened,” Frankie said, his tone edged with impatience, like he was eager to get it over with. “We’d known each other for years, but we never really talked. Not much, anyway. Then Santi asked me to pick her up in Dallas because he couldn’t go, and he’d already promised. So I did.” He paused, tilting his head slightly, like he was considering the weight of his own words. “It was the longest trip of my life.” He glanced at you then, a slow, almost taunting smile curving his lips. “But I think something changed there. Don’t you?”

You held his gaze, matching his expression, refusing to break first.

For his family, this was a love story. For you, it was the beginning of a nightmare in a roadside diner, the longest meal of your life.

“Oh, of course it did,” you said, letting your hand fall onto his knee without warning. You felt him tense under your touch—so subtle no one else would have noticed. But you did. The corners of your mouth lifted, amusement flickering in your eyes as you smoothed it over with something softer, something that could be mistaken for affection.

“Actually,” you continued, turning toward Helena, who was watching you with quiet curiosity, “we never got along too well. The few times we saw each other, we ended up arguing, or worse.” You flicked your gaze back to Frankie, like you were measuring his reaction. “I always thought he disliked me. He always seemed uncomfortable, like he was disgusted by me.” You let the words hang in the air for a second longer than necessary before adding, lightly, “Apparently, not at all.”

“He liked you,” Grace said, beaming as if this was the best news she’d heard all night. “It’s so obvious.”

“Ah, typical,” Maia chimed in, crossing her arms, as if she had seen this exact scenario unfold a hundred times before.

Helena, still completely engrossed, leaned in slightly. “So what happened then?”

Frankie exhaled, his voice smoothing into something more deliberate, as if the story was forming in real-time.

“She left something in my car. I went to drop it off at her place a few days later. We talked for a while and—”

“And he kissed me,” you cut in, turning to look at him, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Frankie’s expression barely changed, but you caught the flicker of irritation in his eyes, the way his jaw tensed for half a second. He had been telling the story clean, simple, effortless. And now, suddenly, you had made it romantic. More than it needed to be.

Helena squeezed your arm gently, as if this moment—this entire fabricated story—was something to be treasured.

“Oh, who would have imagined it!” she said, delighted. “And what did your brother say? Was he angry? Did he approve?”

You tilted your head, considering. “Well, at first, he was just… shocked.” You smiled, remembering the way Santiago had looked at you when you told him your plan the day before, like he genuinely thought he had misheard. “I don’t think he was angry, exactly. More like—‘of all the people in the world, you and Francisco?’” You mimicked your brother’s voice, shaking your head. “His exact words: You two couldn’t even be in the same room without arguing.” Okay. That was fake, he never said that, but was it a lie?

Helena laughed, eyes warm.

Frankie sighed beside you, and when you glanced at him, his gaze was already on you—steady, unreadable. A story told a little too well. 

“Well,” he said finally, his voice dry. “I guess people change.”

“Well, actually, I don’t find it strange at all,” Helena said suddenly, glancing at her daughters as if they should have known this already. “When I met your father, I didn’t like him. Not even a little. I thought he was insufferable, so arrogant. He asked me out five times, and I turned him down every single time. I was convinced he was conceited.” She shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “In reality, he was just… shy and a little bit awkward.”

You smiled, genuinely this time. Maybe that had been true for Frankie's father, but not for his son. With you, Frankie hadn’t been misunderstood—he had been downright mean. What had he called you once? Ah, yes, “little insufferable brat.” 

The memory made you tighten your grip around your glass.

Luckily, the party had started to fill with more guests, and Helena excused herself to greet them. Frankie’s sisters kept you in their orbit a little longer, but their questions were harmless. You answered lightly, intentionally keeping your responses vague, avoiding any personal detail that might reveal too much.

By the time dinner was served, the conversation had shifted entirely, now centered on Helena’s upcoming trip. She was going to Maui with her two sisters.

“Maybe I’ll just stay and live there,” she mused at one point, raising an eyebrow as she sipped her wine. “If the sand convinces me.”

“I think you’re going to love it,” Luna said. “Honestly, I think it’s the best thing you can do. Travel. Go to all those places you always told us about.”

Helena smiled at her daughter, but there was something behind it. A flicker of sadness, a private grief.

“Oh, yes,” she said, exhaling softly. “I just wish I could have had my Gabriel with me.” She smiled as she said it, but the words landed heavier than anything else had all evening.

You glanced at Frankie without meaning to, and that’s when you noticed how he was looking at his mother. Not just listening, watching, the way someone does when they know exactly what’s behind a statement like that. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. The same quiet ache was there, in his eyes, in the way his fingers curled loosely around the stem of his glass. Then he caught you looking and dropped his gaze to his plate.

After dinner, Luna and Sofía stood under the spotlights, microphones in hand, offering heartfelt words to their mother. Helena sat at the center of it all, her expression soft, her eyes shining as she listened. Friends and family followed, sharing anecdotes—some sentimental, others ridiculous.

You found yourself genuinely enjoying the evening. Frankie's family was incredible—funny, loud, and full of life. The stories they told about Helena were the kind of stories that made you want to listen forever. 

At one point, Eli, one of her oldest friends, recounted a story about the time she and Helena had snuck into David Bowie’s hotel as teenagers, only to steal a pair of underwear that—to this day—they weren’t entirely sure had belonged to Bowie himself or just some unfortunate member of his team. Either way, they still had them, tucked away somewhere.

The entire room erupted into laughter.

You were still caught in the story, your attention fully on the speaker, when you felt the weight of Frankie’s arm settle lightly against your back. He leaned in, his mouth near your ear, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“You didn’t have to say all that,” he murmured. 

It took a second for you to register what he meant.

“Huh?” You turned slightly over your shoulder, catching the sharpness in his expression.

“This doesn’t have to be romantic.”

You blinked at him. Then scoffed.

“There’s no way it’s not romantic,” you whispered back, exasperated. “I’m your best friend’s sister. It just happened. How do you expect people not to romanticize it?”

Frankie exhaled, his hand briefly flexing against your back before he pulled it away.

“Just… just leave it to me from now on, okay?”

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the spotlight, where Helena’s friend was still mid-story.

“Fine,” you muttered.

The party carried on the way these gatherings always did—laughter spilling into the air, the clinking of glasses as a few heartfelt toasts were made, voices overlapping in lively conversation. At the center of it all stood the towering delicious cake, drawing admiration before being sliced and passed around on small plates. Cameras flashed as family members huddled together for pictures, arms wrapped around shoulders, cheeks pressed close, and after a few more anecdotes and a couple more glasses of wine, Frankie leaned in, his breath warm against your shoulder as he murmured that he needed to find the bathroom. You nodded, barely looking up, stretching your legs as you stood. The air inside had started to feel thick, a little too warm, a little too full of laughter and clinking glasses.

You wandered toward the courtyard at the heart of the hall, a quiet oasis strung with soft lights, vines curling around wrought iron railings. The hotel was stunning, all old-world charm and careful elegance, the kind of place you’d never had a reason to visit before tonight.

Sinking onto a small stone bench, you exhaled slowly, watching the golden glow of the party through the enormous windows. Inside, the music throbbed, rich and nostalgic—ABBA, because of course it was. Guests twirled and swayed, arms flung around each other, faces flushed with wine and joy.

You lifted your glass to your lips, the white wine still pleasantly cool, still sweet. For a moment, you stared down at your shoes, tracing patterns on the stone floor with the tip of your toe. This was ridiculous. All of it.

What the hell were you doing here, at Frankie’s mother’s party? How had you let yourself get talked into this? His family was lovely, yes. His mother, especially. But did you really need to be here, sitting among strangers, smiling politely at old stories that weren’t yours? And Harry’s wedding—did you really want to go to that, after everything?

“Enjoying the peace and quiet?”

The voice startled you out of your thoughts. You turned to see Helena stepping into the courtyard, lifting the hem of her dress as she walked. Her cheeks were flushed, her dark hair slightly undone from all the dancing.

You smiled despite yourself, tilting your head.

“It’s beautiful out here,” you said, glancing around as she lowered herself onto the bench beside you. “It’s a beautiful place.”

She hummed in agreement, smoothing the fabric of her dress. “Yes, it is. My kids did a good job.”

“It’s a wonderful party. You have so many people who love you.” You hesitated, then laughed lightly. “The stories were funny.”

Helena smiled, and for a split second, you saw Frankie in her—the dimple that appeared when she laughed, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners.

“I really liked them,” you added.

“Yeah?” she asked, turning to you, her expression open, curious.

You nodded.

“Good,” she said. “Me too.” Her gaze drifted toward the party, toward the window where music and voices poured through. “The years go by, and sometimes I forget just how much has happened to me. It’s strange. Sometimes it feels like my life after Gabriel passed away is… something separate. Like a different life entirely, like I became another woman without even realizing it.”

She looked down at her hands, twisting her ring absentmindedly.

Frankie had never talked to you about his father, but you knew. He had died suddenly two years ago. Santi had mentioned it in passing on the day of the funeral, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place—grief, exhaustion, maybe both. You had called him that morning, not knowing what had happened, and when he told you, it felt like the air had changed. Gabriel. You remembered the name, the way Santi had said it so carefully, like it was something fragile. He loved him, that much was clear. Like a second father, he said.

Helena’s words pressed against something in you, something raw. You and Santi had lost your own father a couple of years ago, when you were twenty-three. It had been sudden, too—death always seemed to be, no matter how much warning you had. Your mother had taken it the hardest. She couldn’t bear to stay in the house they had shared for nearly thirty-five years. The grief sat too thick in the walls, in the corners of every room, in the quiet that used to be filled with his voice. So she left. Packed her things and moved to New York to live with your aunt. Sometimes, when she called, she sounded lighter. Other times, she just sounded far away.

You glanced at Helena, something warm and unspoken passing between you.

“As if you had been torn in two,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “As if there was the version of you that knew him, and a new one that spends every day missing him.”

Helena turned toward you, studying you in the dim light. Then she nodded, her gaze drifting back to the party, to the golden glow of the room beyond the window.

“That’s right,” she murmured. “But I’m very lucky, aren’t I? To have a family like this?” She turned back to you, a small smile playing at the edges of her mouth. “Tell me, do you like us?”

You let out a breath of laughter, shaking your head slightly.

“Oh, of course I do,” you said, meaning it. “You have a beautiful family.”

Helena studied you for a long moment, her smile still in place but something shifting behind her eyes. A quiet kind of consideration.

“Can I ask you something?”

You hesitated, then nodded, suddenly unsure of yourself, worried you weren’t as good an actress as you had hoped.

“How is he?” she asked, her voice warm, gentle. There was no interrogation in it, only concern, the careful curiosity of a mother trying not to overstep but unable to help herself. “I don’t want to be that kind of mother, but… I think I am.” She smiled, a little self-deprecating. “Of all my children, he’s always been the most sensitive. Did you know that?”

You swallowed, your fingers tightening slightly around your glass. You didn’t know what to say. What could you say? You didn’t know Frankie. Not really. Not in any way that mattered. Your impression of him had been built on a handful of unfortunate encounters, on snide comments exchanged in passing, on the way he always seemed to carry himself like he had something to prove.

She watched you hesitate, and before you could scramble for an answer, she reached out, her hand landing gently on your leg, a mother’s touch—steadying, reassuring.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I don’t mean to pry—”

“Oh, no,” you cut in quickly, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, I…” You let out a breath, deciding there was no point in pretending. “He’s fine. Maybe a little nervous about tonight.”

It wasn’t a lie.

Helena sighed, nodding knowingly.

“Oh, yeah. I noticed that. That boy isn’t very good at hiding things, dear.” She smiled again, her expression fond. “He’s always been like that. Very transparent with his feelings. From the moment he arrived, I could tell—he looked as nervous as a cat backed into a corner.”

You laughed, unable to help it.

“Oh, yes,” you agreed. “On the way here, he was humming this song, and I swear, it was the funniest thing. And before we even walked in, he gave me this whole speech—like, a full-on monologue.”

Helena let out a laugh, shaking her head.

“But you have nothing to worry about,” she said softly. “I already like you very much.”

Her hand came up, brushing against your cheek for the briefest moment, warm and gentle. You felt yourself smile, unthinking, almost reflexive.

“And I’m really sorry about what I said at the table,” she continued, her voice quiet, careful. “I am happy that he’s happy. It’s just… when he told me the other day that he was seeing someone, I really thought he was lying. I hate to admit that, but I did.” She sighed, shaking her head lightly. “My daughters and I have been… a little difficult with him. And I know he wouldn’t want me to talk about this, but I feel like I have to.”

You nodded.

“Of course,” you murmured, your brows pulling together.

She looked at you then, as if weighing something, as if considering whether or not she should say the thing already forming on her tongue.

“I worry about him,” she admitted finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “After Rachel…” She hesitated. “Did he ever talk to you about her?”

You nodded once.

“Well,” she exhaled, leaning back slightly. “I had never seen him like that before.” She glanced away, her fingers smoothing over the fabric of her dress. “Of course, it wasn’t just her. It was everything. His father’s death shattered him, and Rachel… well, she only made it worse. And Francisco has always been strong, but underneath all that, there’s his enormous heart, and he tucks everything away in there. He carries it all.”

Her eyes softened, as if remembering something.

“And when he finally started to come back to himself, I noticed he was… lonely,” she admitted. “I know I can be overbearing, and I know he’s probably told you all about the blind dates.”

She raised her eyebrows, smiling a little.

You laughed, nodding. “Oh, yes. Absolutely.”

Helena let out a small chuckle, shaking her head, but the warmth in her expression didn’t fade. She studied you for a long moment, as if trying to piece something together, as if she had already made up her mind about you and was simply waiting for you to realize it, too.

“I think you’re a good person,” she said at last. “No, I know you are. My intuition is rarely wrong about these things.” She tilted her head slightly, considering you. “And you’re Santiago’s sister. I know no one of his blood could have a bad heart.”

She leaned forward then. “Can I trust you?”

Your breath caught for a second.

You stared at her, your smile slowly slipping away, your expression shifting into something more uncertain. Could she trust you?

No.

She couldn’t.

You were nothing more than a woman her son had convinced to pretend. A stranger caught up in a performance. And yet, here she was, speaking to you with nothing but honesty, with nothing but trust. Her words settled into you, heavy and warm, and you felt something tighten in your chest, something uncomfortable, something that almost hurt.

“Hey. There you are.”

The voice cut through the quiet, startling you. You turned instinctively, your body tensing before your eyes even landed on him.

Frankie.

He stood in the doorway, framed by the soft glow of the garden lights, his expression pulled into something that looked like a smile, but wasn’t. His eyes gave him away—something sharp, something unsettled lurking just beneath the surface.

Helena moved first. She stood, smoothing out the skirt of her dress as if shaking off the weight of your conversation. By the time she reached her son, any trace of emotion had been neatly tucked away.

“I’ll leave you two,” she said lightly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I can’t abandon my own party just yet.”

Frankie barely glanced at her, his gaze still fixed on you. Helena disappeared through the doorway, her presence vanishing as quickly as it had arrived.

You stayed where you were, fingers pressed against the fabric of your dress, trying to ignore the way your pulse had picked up.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low, edged with something you didn’t like. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He moved toward you, sinking onto the bench beside you. Too close.

“What the hell were you doing talking to my mom?”

You exhaled sharply, already exhausted by the conversation before it had even properly begun.

“I just needed air,” you said, leveling him with a look. “She just… showed up.”

“Well, no. Don’t.”

You blinked at him. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t talk to her.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head.

“What did you want me to do, Francisco? Turn my back on her?”

He didn’t answer right away, just studied you, his jaw tight.

“What did you say to her?” 

The accusatory edge in his tone made something twist inside you—something hot, something unpleasant. Your heart kicked up a little, the way it had when you were younger and had done something wrong, when an adult’s disappointment settled over you like a heavy weight. But this wasn’t that. You weren’t a child, and Frankie sure as hell wasn’t some authority figure.

Still, something about this—his sharp words, his narrowed eyes—made you feel small. And maybe, just maybe, that conversation with Helena had already set something loose inside you. Had already made you feel like the fraud you were.

“I didn’t say anything,” you said firmly. “Seriously.”

Frankie let out a harsh breath, rubbing a hand over his face before gesturing sharply with his hands.

“You already ruined it,” he said, his voice low but forceful. “What was that at dinner, huh?”

“What?”

“Everything. I thought we’d been clear. Nothing too personal. Nothing too over the top.”

You inhaled, slow and steady, trying to keep your irritation in check. But it was creeping in, needling its way under your skin.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, I just acted how we agreed—”

“No,” he interrupted, turning to fully face you. His expression had hardened, frustration and something else—something darker—etched into the lines of his face. “You went too far. You did it wrong.”

Your stomach twisted.

“I did exactly what we agreed on,” you repeated, your voice sharper now. “It’s not my fault your mom wanted to talk to me—”

“You said too much—”

“No, I was just being myself but a little—”

“Exactly,” he cut in, his voice a little louder, a little rougher. “You shouldn’t have been you!”

You felt it like a slap.

Your breath hitched, your throat tightening, heat rising to your face before you could stop it. The burn started behind your nose, your vision blurring slightly at the edges.

Frankie’s expression shifted just the slightest bit, his mouth pressing into a tight line, as if he had only just realized what he’d said. As if he could see it—the way you were gripping your empty wine glass too tightly, the way your whole body had gone rigid.

But he didn’t have time to take it back.

Because you stood so quickly the bench wobbled slightly beneath you. And then you were moving—away from him, away from the awful heat crawling up your neck, away from the sharp edge of his words.

“Hey—” Frankie started, standing just as fast, his voice breaking through the air. But it was useless.

The music swelled, drowning him out, swallowing whatever poor attempt at damage control he was about to make.

You didn’t stop.

Didn’t look back.

Couldn’t.

The farther you walked into the party, the harder your heart pounded, the sound of it loud in your ears, almost drowning out the music. The heat in your face hadn’t faded. Neither had the sharp, lingering sting of Frankie’s words, pressing like a bruise against your ribs.

You exhaled, slow and deliberate, eyes scanning the room. The dim lighting worked in your favor—candles flickering on the tables, the dance floor bathed in a shifting wash of blues and reds, everything softened by the haze of too much champagne and conversation. You doubted anyone would notice you slipping away.

For a brief second, you considered heading straight for the door. Walking out, stepping into the night, inhaling air that wasn’t thick with perfume and laughter and the weight of everything that had just happened.

But instead, you turned on your heel and went to the bar.

You weren’t going to leave. Not yet.

You were angry, and there was an open bar. It would be stupid not to take advantage.

You slid onto a stool, pressing your elbows onto the smooth wood, and ordered a margarita.

The bartender nodded, reaching for a bottle of tequila, his movements fluid, practiced. You watched him pour, shake, pour again. The salt rim sparkled under the low lights. When he finally set the drink in front of you, you didn’t hesitate—lifting the glass to your lips and taking a long, slow pull. The cold hit your tongue first, followed by the sharpness of the lime, the bite of the alcohol. You drank like you had something to prove, and by the time you set the glass back down, it was already halfway empty.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw movement.

Frankie.

He slid onto the stool next to you, his presence shifting the air before you even fully registered him. He didn’t say anything. Just sat there, his body angled toward you, his forearm resting on the bar, his fingers absently grazing his mouth like he was considering his next words. Or maybe biting them back.

Your jaw tightened.

Then he ordered a whiskey, and you rolled your eyes—not at the drink itself, but at the sound of his voice, at the way it cut through the music and curled under your skin.

Still, he didn’t speak. Just watched you, his gaze flicking toward you every few seconds, charged with something unreadable. You refused to meet it, keeping your attention locked onto anything else—the melting ice in your glass, the vodka label in front of you, the way the bartender’s hands moved as he made another round of drinks.

And so it went.

You started your second margarita. He started his second whiskey.

Minutes passed.

Then, finally, you turned to look at him for the first time since the courtyard.

He was already looking at you.

“I know you’re nervous, but that doesn’t give you the right to talk to me like that.”

Frankie opened his mouth, but you cut him off before he could get a word out.

“You’re not going to talk to me like that,” you repeated, quieter this time, sharper.

His eyes flickered—something hesitant, something almost guilty.

“I’m—”

“Look at me,” you murmured, leaning in just enough that your words landed between you, closer than they needed to be. “I spent hours getting ready for this. Hours making sure I looked perfect for this stupid charade. Do you have any idea how long it took me to fix my hair? No, you don’t. Because you’re a complete idiot. An idiot who treats me like shit when I’m the one standing here, at your mother’s party, pretending to be someone I’m not—for you. And do you know why I'm doing this, Frankie?” Your voice wavered, not with weakness but with the sheer force of your anger. “Because I chose to. Not because you deserve it or I need you for another stupid lie. Because let’s be honest—” you tilted your head, smiling coldly, “—we’re not even fucking friends.”

His gaze hardened, but he didn’t look away.

“You owed me,” he said simply, like that was supposed to mean something.

You let out a quiet scoff, your eyes flicking to the dance floor, where Maia was watching the two of you from a distance, her expression unreadable.

When you turned back to Frankie, something had shifted in your eyes—something lighter, something amused. A slow, deliberate smile tugged at your lips as you lifted a hand, resting it against his cheek.

His brows knit together in confusion.

“Your sister is watching,” you murmured.

His shoulders relaxed, his expression softening just slightly. Your thumb brushed over his cheek, slow and calculated.

“Forget about the wedding,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. You tilted your head, your smile still sweet, still deceptive. “Because after tonight, I don’t want to spend another fucking second with you.”

Frankie let out a low breath, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“I’m useful to you,” he said, his voice smooth, certain.

“You’re useless to me.”

He leaned in just enough that your knees touched. “I don’t think so, shortcake.”

"Huh?" You let out an incredulous laugh, letting your eyes flick across his face—his mouth, his jaw, the slight smugness settled into his features. Beneath your hand, you could feel the warmth of his skin, the steady pulse beneath your palm.

Your fingers slid from his cheek to his neck, and you squeezed, just enough to make a point.

“To me,” you whispered, your breath brushing against his skin, “you’re nothing but a pathetic, desperate little loser trying to convince his mommy he’s something he’s not.”

Frankie let out a quiet, bitter laugh, the kind that barely curled the edges of his mouth but darkened his eyes in a way that made your stomach twist. He lifted a hand and wrapped his fingers around yours, prying them gently from his neck. But he didn’t let go. Instead, he laced his fingers with yours, lowering your joined hands to his chest.  

His body shifted forward, closing the already dangerous space between you. If you leaned in even slightly, your nose would brush against his.  

Your breath hitched, the heat pooling in your cheeks betraying every emotion you were trying to suppress. Anger, frustration, something sharper beneath the surface.  

Frankie studied you for a second, his expression unreadable. Then he spoke, his voice low, edged with amusement.  

“You sound a little too confident for someone who might be a pathetic, desperate loser herself,” he murmured. 

You swallowed, your pulse a steady, insistent beat against your ribs.  

“Can I ask you a question?” he continued, his fingers flexing against yours.  

“No.”  

He ignored you, tilting his head slightly, considering something. And then—  

“Which came first,” he asked, voice almost teasing, “the moon or the sun? I thought you were afraid of needles.”

You stared at him in silence, the smug smile on his lips igniting something hot and restless inside you. It wasn’t just anger—it was something stranger, something you didn’t want to name.

Your tattoo.

He must have seen it earlier, when he helped you with your dress. A small moon and sun, delicately inked on your lower back—a reckless decision from a night out drinking with Emma. She was the sun, you were the moon. At the time, in your drunken haze, it had seemed like an aesthetically brilliant idea. Sober, you weren’t so sure.

A quiet laugh slipped from your lips, amusement curling at the edges of your mouth. Your fingers tightened slightly, gripping the fabric of his shirt beneath his hand.

“Look at you, a regular voyeur,” you murmured, tilting your head. “Why do you ask, Francisco? Is it you talking, or the whiskey? And how many glasses of wine had you had before this? Three? Four? ”

His grin didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened, his gaze trailing over your face like he was enjoying something about this moment, about you.

“I really didn't think of you as the type of person who would wear a tattoo like that.”

You raised an eyebrow, lips curling into a half-smile.

“Ah, funny. So, you spend a lot of time thinking about me and what I wear? Or is it only when you’re bored, staring at the walls of your sad, monotonous life?”

“Said the woman who spends her nights with a cat and an imaginary boyfriend,” Frankie said, grinning as he watched you roll your eyes. The dim bar light caught the edge of his smile, sharpening it. He lifted his glass—dark amber, expensive—and took a slow sip. You followed the movement of his throat, the way the muscles shifted beneath his skin.

“Mr. Darcy’s excellent company. And at least I have a cat. What do you have?”

Frankie made a show of looking around, scanning the crowded room like the answer might be hidden somewhere between the swaying bodies on the dance floor or in the clinking glasses behind the bar. Then his gaze settled back on you, steady, assessing.

“What do I have?” He hummed as if considering it, then leaned in just slightly. “I think I really want to have another drink to make being around you more bearable.”

You pressed your lips together, biting back a retort. The warmth of alcohol sat low in your stomach, and the room was just a little too bright, a little too soft at the edges.

Across the room, Frankie’s sisters were dancing, their hair spilling over their shoulders, their laughter rising above the music. Maia caught your eye, her face flushed, and raised her eyebrows in an invitation. Without a second thought, you hopped off your stool, smoothing the fabric of your dress.

Frankie watched you, something unreadable flickering in his expression. He parted his lips like he was about to say something, but before he could, you turned and walked away. His mouth actually dropped open when he saw where you were going.

Maia pulled you in by the arm, and just like that, you were dancing, your body falling easily into the rhythm of the music. The moment felt expansive, electric. A kind of joy buzzed beneath your skin—the kind that only came from being a little tipsy and surrounded by people who knew how to have fun. You let it take you, the laughter, the music, the hands brushing against yours as you moved.

And yet—his words clung to you like the aftertaste of something bitter. You need to seem... normal. Forgettable, even. Like he was the authority on that. Like it was his job to keep you contained, manageable.

Well, if he wanted you to behave, maybe you should do something to really piss him off.

You turned to find him, just to check. Luna leaned in, murmured something nice about your dress, but you barely registered it. Frankie was still at the bar, one arm draped lazily against the counter, the other wrapped around his glass. His expression was unreadable—neutral, detached—but you knew better. You knew him. And if you had to guess, he was furious.

A song passed, then another. Your cheeks were flushed, your hair a little wild. Helena was dancing beside you, swaying Jamie from side to side, both of them beaming. The kind of easy happiness you never saw at parties in your own family. Frankie was still there, but his eyes weren’t on you anymore. He was looking at his phone.

Two songs later, you weren’t thinking about him at all.

You were laughing, lost in the pulse of the music, your head tipped back as you let it all go. Then—fingers wrapped around your arm. Warm. Familiar. Frankie.

Helena appeared beside him, her voice bright and teasing. “Finally! A girl shouldn’t dance alone when her boyfriend’s around.”

Frankie didn’t answer. He just smiled at his mother—an easy, charming kind of smile that didn’t fool you at all—before tugging you toward him. You stumbled a little, your hands catching against his chest as he turned you, pulled you in close.

Your breath hitched, but your smile didn’t falter. You tilted your chin up at him, your fingers settling on his shoulders.

“Are you going to dance with me now, honey?” you asked, your voice syrupy sweet, thick with amusement.

His hand tightened around yours.

Yeah, he was mad.

And you were having the best time.

Frankie licked his teeth, a slow, deliberate motion, like he was holding something back. A smile curved at the corner of his mouth, tight and humorless. He leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

"I see what you're doing," he murmured, his voice slurring slightly, softened by alcohol. "I think you should stop."

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you lifted your chin, closing the space between you until your lips were just beside his ear.

"I'm just having fun," you said, your voice light, teasing. "Completely harmless."

He exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. Amusement flickered across his face, but his eyes told another story—sharp, dark, frustrated. Like enduring this moment, enduring you, required every ounce of patience he had left.

Then, without warning, his hands slid to your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to make you aware of them. Before you could react, he pulled you closer, the movement rough, unhesitating. Your chest bumped against his, knocking the air from your lungs in a quiet, startled gasp.

Your eyes met, and something flickered in the space between you.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, a nervous smile pulling at your lips.

Frankie tilted his head, his expression unreadable, his gaze steady on yours.

"I’m playing your game, didn’t you want to dance?"

You could smell the whiskey on him, the faint traces of something else—lavender, salt, the remnants of the night on his skin. Your hands were still on his shoulders, fingertips pressing into the fabric of his shirt, and for a brief, unsteady second, you let yourself feel it. The warmth of him. The way his body fit against yours.

You flicked a glance around the room, searching for familiar faces—Maia, Sofía, Helena, someone who might be watching. But no. Everyone was lost in their own drunken happiness, in laughter, in swaying bodies and half-empty glasses.

Then Frankie moved.

He stepped forward, hands firm at your waist, steering you with him. The crowd swallowed you both, the music vibrating through the floor, through your ribs, through him.

"This isn't a good idea," you murmured, but you didn't pull away.

Frankie barely reacted. His hand traced up your arm, fingers curling around yours, guiding them into place, his movements seamless, practiced. He looked down at you, his mouth twitching at the corner, like he was already enjoying whatever this was more than he should.

"Oh no? Why not?"

His face was close. Too close.

Then, before you could register it, his cheek brushed against yours, a fleeting touch, just enough to make your breath hitch. The warmth of his skin, the slow, deliberate way he moved to the rhythm of the music—it was too much, all of it. Your fingers tightened around his without thinking.

You exhaled, a slow, shuddering sigh, and with it came the scent of him—warm skin, whiskey, and something else. Something deeper. Was it cologne? Was he wearing fucking cologne?

Whatever it was, he smelled fucking good.

Your eyes fluttered shut, as if that might help erase the fact that Francisco Morales, of all people, smelled good, and that his body was pressed against yours, and—worst of all—that none of it felt bad. In fact, your feet lifted slightly onto your toes, seeking some fraction of closeness, your body betraying you in real time.

It was the alcohol.

It was absolutely, one hundred percent the alcohol. That, and the undeniable, frustrating fact that you were touch-starved. When was the last time a man had held you like this? You couldn’t remember. Your mind was too foggy, too wrapped up in the moment, in the warmth of him, in the firm weight of his hands.

But then it hit you.

It was Frankie. Frankie was the one holding you.

Your eyes snapped open, the realization jolting through you like a slap. Without thinking, you yanked yourself away, stumbling backward. It was clumsy, too sudden, and your own body felt unsteady, like it hadn’t caught up with your decision yet. Your pulse roared in your ears.

Frankie just watched you, an amused, almost devilish grin tugging at his lips. And then, slowly, that amusement shifted into something else—confusion, curiosity—as he took in your wide eyes, your rapid breath, your entire mess of a reaction.

You didn’t wait to see what he would do next. You turned and bolted, and didn’t stop moving until you were outside, back in the courtyard.

The air was crisp and cool, a sharp contrast to the heat burning beneath your skin. You stepped into the garden, tilting your head back, letting the night air kiss your cheeks. It helped, a little. It grounded you, just enough to breathe, just enough to press your hands against your ribs like you could steady your own heartbeat.

"Hey, you okay?"

You stiffened at the sound of his voice.

Of course he followed you.

You didn’t turn around. You heard his footsteps approach, felt him standing just a little too close beside you. He was silent for a moment, and for some reason, that was worse than if he’d said something right away.

"You should drink some water," he said finally, his voice quieter now, less sharp around the edges. You caught the sound of his palm scraping over the back of his neck. "And so should I, honestly. I think I drank—"

“Stop pretending to care,” you snapped, cutting him off. Your voice was sharper than you meant it to be, your arms folding tightly across your chest. And why were you angry? You weren’t even sure. You just were.

Frankie let out a soft, amused breath. He clicked his tongue, then shifted his weight, considering you.

“I’m not pretending anything. I promised Santi I’d look after you.”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh, finally turning to face him.

“What, like you’re my fucking babysitter or something?” You shook your head, your words dripping with frustration. “I’m twenty-nine, Francisco. I can take care of myself.”

Frankie’s jaw tightened. His hands went to his hips, his eyes dropping to your feet like he was biting back whatever he actually wanted to say.

“Fine,” he muttered.

The silence between you stretched, thin but not fragile, the kind that neither of you felt the need to break. You both stood still, eyes moving across the garden as though searching for something worth commenting on. The music inside thrummed against the walls of the house, muffled but insistent, the bass vibrating faintly under your skin.

And then you became aware of your body—every muscle, every inch of discomfort. The dull ache in your feet flared as if your nerves had only just remembered to complain.

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head back, exposing your throat to the cool night air.

“My feet are killing me,” you murmured, shifting your weight, closing your eyes for just a second. 

Frankie snorted. You cracked an eye open in time to see him glance down at your heels—six inches of poor decision-making, glossy under the dim garden lights. His gaze moved up your legs, thoughtful. Then he scratched his chin, eyes narrowing slightly, as if making a decision.

“Sit down,” he said after a pause, nodding toward the bench you’d been perched on earlier, next to Helena. “I’ll be back in a second.”

Before you could ask where he was going, he was already walking off, disappearing through the door.

You hesitated, then lowered yourself onto the seat—not because he told you to, obviously, just because you wanted to. You stretched your legs out, rolling your ankles, relishing the brief relief.

A couple of minutes passed. The music shifted to something softer, slower. You had just started to wonder if Frankie had left you out here for good when the door creaked open again.

He stepped back outside, a crease between his brows and—

You blinked.

“What are you doing?” Your voice carried an edge of suspicion. “What are those?”

Frankie knelt in front of you, setting a pair of slippers at your feet. His expression was flat, unimpressed.

He sighed, already irritated, already prepared for your resistance.

“They’re new, don't worry,” he said, like it was nothing, like this was something he did all the time. His fingers curled around your ankle before you could flinch away. Warm, certain. “Sofia gave them to me, but they’re too small and... not my style anyway. I left them in the car to exchange them, but I never got around to it.” He shot you a pointed look, as if to say, So really, I’m doing us both a favor. “Might as well put them to use.”

Before you could argue, before you could come up with something clever to deflect the strange weight of this moment, he unclipped your heel and slid it off with practiced ease.

You swallowed. Watched him. Felt a strange, unwelcome awareness creep up your spine.

The pads of his fingers brushed over your ankle as he repeated the motion with the other shoe. His focus stayed on the task, entirely unbothered. Meanwhile, something in your chest wound too tight, a tension that hadn’t been there moments ago.

You didn’t like it.

Frankie slid the slippers onto your feet, adjusting them slightly before leaning back on his heels with a groan. He pushed himself up, exhaling through his nose, then dropped onto the bench beside you. A hand scrubbed over his face, rubbing at his eyes, and a yawn slipped past his lips.

You looked down at your feet, flexing your toes experimentally against the soft fabric. You weren’t sure what to say.

But, despite yourself, it did feel better.

“Thanks,” you murmured, voice flat, almost absent.

Frankie nodded, his gaze flicking to your feet, now resting comfortably on the floor.

“You’re welcome.”

And then, silence. The kind that stretched and settled, filling the space between you like heavy fog. Through the glass windows, the muffled thrum of music hummed in the background, but all you could really hear was your own breathing, steady but uneven. Would it be rude if you told him you were ready to go home?

“You okay?” he asked suddenly, pulling you from the thought.

“Yeah,” you said, shifting slightly in your seat. “My feet don’t hurt anymore.”

Frankie leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head tipped down between his shoulders. He exhaled, like he was bracing himself.

“I meant before,” he said, glancing up at you. “I—”

“Ah. Yeah.” 

His fingers brushed idly over the seam of his pants, and when he spoke again, it was barely above a murmur.

“I’m sorry I was an asshole to you.” He hesitated, as if deciding whether to keep going. “You just... you... you get under my skin sometimes, but—anyway. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

You blinked at him.

“It’s okay.”

His lips twitched, like he wanted to say something else but changed his mind. Instead, he let out a short, breathy laugh and leaned back in his chair.

“This was a fucking terrible idea,” he admitted, shaking his head, his eyes glinting with something light, something almost fond. “What the hell were we thinking?”

A laugh bubbled up from your throat before you could stop it. “I have no idea.”

Frankie grinned, pushing to his feet, rubbing a hand over his face as if that might somehow wipe away the flush of warmth creeping up his neck. When he looked back at you, his expression was softer.

“Come on,” he said, holding out a hand. “Let’s stay a little longer, and then I’ll take you home. Deal?”

You eyed his hand, hesitating. There was something about the gesture—about the unspoken truce it implied—that made your chest tighten. But still, after a beat, you placed your palm against his.

Frankie pulled you to your feet, steadying you before letting go.

“You’re drunk,” you observed. “Are you seriously going to drive like that?”

“I’ll call a cab,” he said immediately, as if he’d already made up his mind. 

You nodded, about to say something else when the door creaked open.

A man stepped inside, his movements sluggish, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. Frankie shifted closer to you, his body angling slightly in your direction.

“Hey, it's our little pilot,” the man drawled, his words slurring together as his eyes flicked lazily between the two of you. A smirk played on his lips. “How’s it going?”

Frankie’s expression barely changed.

“Ian,” he said, his voice unreadable. “Didn’t see you earlier.”

“Nah, I was running late,” Ian replied with a slow shrug. “You know how it is—time moves like shit when you wanna leave work early.” He clicked his tongue, his gaze dragging over you with undisguised interest. “So, this your new girl?”

Frankie didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah,” he said smoothly. “We were actually just heading out—”

“You still having those problems?” Ian interrupted, tilting his head.

Frankie exhaled sharply. “Not really any of your business.” A beat. “You still avoiding your ex-wife?”

You raised your eyebrows, glancing between them. Ian laughed, shaking his head.

“Tell me,” he mused, voice laced with something cruel. “Does your dick even work with all those antidepressants? Must be a fucking nightmare trying to keep up with something as sweet as this one.” He gestured vaguely in your direction, his smirk widening.

Your stomach twisted in revulsion.

Frankie went still beside you, his jaw locking, his shoulders tight. His gaze was fixed on Ian, his expression eerily blank, but you could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. You thought of Helena’s words about her son and felt something sharp and bitter curdle in your chest.

Ian chuckled to himself, clearly entertained, clearly drunk beyond reason. Frankie was about to say something—you could see it in the way his mouth parted slightly, the way his fingers flexed at his sides—but before he could, before he even had the chance, the anger—and maybe the alcohol—made the decision for you.

“Oh, not that it’s any of your business, Ian,” you said, tilting your head slightly, voice light, almost sweet. “But since you’re so curious…”

You let out a soft chuckle, flicking your gaze to Frankie for the briefest moment before returning your attention to the man in front of you.

“I suppose I could tell you that... yeah, it works. Before we came here, this man had me seeing stars. Multiple times, actually.” You paused, just long enough to watch the words land, to see the flicker of surprise cross Ian’s face. “So really, I guess that answers your question, doesn’t it?”

You reached out then, the movement slow, deliberate, brushing your fingers along Frankie’s cheek, letting your thumb rest lightly against his lips. His breath caught, just for a second, and his eyes darted to yours, startled but composed, like he wasn’t entirely sure what you were doing but was curious enough to let it happen.

Ian scoffed, recovering quickly.

“Sure,” he said, dragging the word out, his expression shifting into something vaguely amused, vaguely condescending. “I doubt that, gorgeous.”

Your gaze flicked over him, head to toe, as if you were appraising something unimpressive on display. You didn’t bother hiding the disdain curling at the corners of your mouth.

Still, your hand remained on Frankie’s face, still at your side. Turning back to him, you found him already watching you, his lips twitching like he was barely resisting a smile. He didn’t care about Ian’s words, about his tone—he was far more interested in whatever it was you were doing.

And then, without really thinking, without hesitating, you pushed up onto your toes and cradled his face in both hands.

You kissed him.

Not a tentative, testing-the-waters kind of kiss. No, this was different. Your lips pressed against his like you’d been wanting to all night, like you didn’t particularly care if Ian was still standing there, gaping at you. Frankie made a sound in the back of his throat, one of surprise that melted quickly into something else. His hands found your waist, firm and steady, pulling you closer as he angled his head, deepening it.

Your tongue traced the seam of his lips, and he let you in, meeting you there, matching you effortlessly. When you finally broke apart, the sound between you was wet and sharp, but you barely had a second to take a breath before you kissed him again.

Your hands slid to the back of his neck, your fingers curling there as you smiled against his lips.

Frankie exhaled a quiet laugh, his thumb brushing your hip.

And then, just because you could, because it felt like the right thing to do, you nipped lightly at his bottom lip before pulling back completely. When you finally turned to Ian, his face was frozen in something close to shock, his eyebrows nearly at his hairline, his mouth slightly open like he wasn’t sure if he should speak or just accept his defeat.

You bit your lip, suppressing a laugh, and turned to Frankie again. He was staring at you now, serious, a little dazed, his hands still resting on your waist.

“Now take me home, baby,” you murmured, your voice just loud enough for Ian to hear.

Frankie blinked, as if snapping back into himself.

“I—” His lips parted, then curved into something lopsided, something close to a smirk. “Of course, baby.”

His hand found yours easily, fingers curling around yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You turned, stepping past Ian with a saccharine smile.

“Bye, Ian,” you said, not bothering to hide the smirk in your voice.

Frankie pushed open the door, and the pulse of the music hit you instantly—deep bass reverberating through your chest, the sharp hum of laughter and voices filling the gaps between beats. You stepped inside, weaving through the press of bodies until you reached the edge of the dance floor. The lights were dim, warm, shifting in color. The air smelled like spilled beer, expensive perfume, and something sweet you couldn’t quite place.  

You turned to Frankie, amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth.  

“Who the fuck was that?” you asked, voice teasing as you lifted onto your toes, your hands finding their way to his shoulders.  

Frankie dipped his head slightly, his breath warm against your ear.  

“My cousin,” he murmured. “He’s an asshole.”  

You huffed out a laugh. “Oh, yeah? I hadn’t noticed.”  

His gaze locked onto yours, something flickering behind his eyes—amusement, maybe, or something else entirely. For two long seconds, neither of you spoke. Then, his focus shifted over your shoulder.  

“They’re watching,” he said, low enough that only you could hear. “Don’t turn around.”  

Your brows lifted slightly. “Who?”  

“Mai and Sofía,” he said. “They’re having fun with us.”  

The adrenaline still buzzed under your skin, your pulse quick from everything that had just unfolded. You laughed, looping your arms around his neck without thinking, and his hands found their place at your waist like it was second nature.  

Frankie exhaled, a sound that was almost a sigh but not quite. His fingers flexed slightly against your hips, like he wasn’t sure whether to hold you tighter or let go.

“I think you should kiss me again,” he said suddenly, like the thought had slipped out before he could catch it, voice rougher than before.

You tilted your head, studying him, letting him sit with what he’d just said.  

A slow, satisfied smirk tugged at your lips. “See? What did I tell you, Francisco? Begging for a little kiss. It was only a matter of time.”  

Frankie’s throat worked around a swallowed laugh. His grip on your waist tightened for just a second.  

“I’m not begging for anything,” he muttered.  

“Sure.”  

You lifted your chin slightly, and he didn’t waste a second—he ducked his head, his mouth finding yours with an easy sort of urgency.

This time, the kiss was different—less urgent, less about spectacle. His lips found yours with a quiet kind of certainty, warm and unhurried, like something unfolding naturally rather than something being taken. His palm slid up, fingertips brushing your jaw before settling against your cheek, his skin rough but his touch impossibly gentle. His thumb moved absently over your cheekbone, a slow, soothing motion, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.  

When his tongue met yours, it wasn’t demanding, just deliberate—like he was tasting the moment, like he was letting it settle between you before deciding what to do with it.  

And then, before it could tip into something deeper, he pulled back. His lips lingered for a second longer, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go, before he pressed one last, fleeting kiss against your mouth—light, almost absentminded. Then his hand slipped from your cheek, leaving behind the ghost of his touch.

A small smile played at your lips.

“I thought this was supposed to be a kiss-free party.”

“You started it.”

“And you were the one asking for another,” you countered, tilting your head.

He rolled his eyes. “Didn’t take much asking.”

You let out an exaggerated gasp, smacking his arm lightly.

“Oh, by the way—you’re welcome.”

His brows knitted together, head tilting slightly, a stray curl slipping over his forehead. “For what?”

“For what?” you echoed. “I don’t know, Francisco, maybe for showing up to your mom’s party? For saving you a second ago out there?”

“Right. Yes. Thank you. You know that.”

“Do I?” You raised an eyebrow. “How would I know?”

He leaned back a little, his hands slipping away from your waist.

“I thought witches just… knew things like that.”

Your mouth fell open in mock offense as you crossed your arms. Then, without another word, you turned toward the bar, fully aware of him following you, just a step behind.

“You’re not going to the wedding, then?” he asked, leaning his forearms on the bar, watching you carefully.

You shook your head, meeting his gaze. “Why would I?”

He pursed his lips, tilting his head like he was considering something.

“I thought you wanted to prove a point. Show him you were happy. And, I mean… do you even know what kind of food they’re serving?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You sound very invested in this wedding all of a sudden. If you want to go, Francisco, just go. You don’t need me.”

“Maybe I will,” he mused. “Might even steal a bottle or two of champagne while I’m at it.”

A laugh bubbled out of you, light and unguarded.

Your gaze drifted across the bar, unfocused, catching on the row of glass bottles lined up neatly on the shelves. Their labels were intricate, embossed with gold filigree and elegant cursive, the kind of lettering that—under normal circumstances—you might have found charming. Right now, though, your brain, pleasantly fogged from alcohol, couldn’t make sense of them. The letters blurred together, swirling into something abstract and unreadable.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulder as if shaking off the evening itself. The sound of a cork popping somewhere behind the bar made you flinch slightly, and you let your hand drift absently over your opposite arm.

“Ready to go home?”

Frankie’s voice was low, steady, just beside you.

You nodded but didn’t look at him, your eyes lingering instead on the dance floor. Helena was still out there, her laughter bright and careless, her arms thrown around one of her friends. Of Frankie’s sisters, only Luna remained, swaying easily to the music with Henry, her movements fluid, like she could keep going for hours.

Frankie pulled out his phone and stepped away to call an Uber. You tracked his movements for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, a light touch on your arm pulled your focus back.

Maia had appeared on the stool next to you, her cheeks flushed, her hair loose and a little wild. She was smiling, the kind of grin that promised trouble.

“My brother’s a pain in the ass,” she announced. “Dragged you off the dance floor, didn’t he?”

You smirked, amused but not denying it.

“He’s afraid we’ll scare you off,” she continued, lifting an eyebrow in mock seriousness. “But it’s too late for that now. You’ve already witnessed my mom shaking her ass—so, what do you say? One last drink?”

You hesitated for all of three seconds before shrugging and settling back onto the stool. One more wouldn’t kill you. Probably.

Maia was quick with her order—tequila, no hesitation. When the bartender set up the shot glasses in front of you, you eyed them warily, unsure if your stomach was on board with this decision. Was it irresponsible to drink this much at your boyfriend’s mother’s birthday party? Absolutely. But then again, Frankie wasn’t your boyfriend. So, really, what did it matter?

Ten minutes later, the tequila had done its job, blurring the edges of the evening, making everything feel a little looser, a little funnier. Maia had leaned in close, her voice low and conspiratorial, her hands gesturing dramatically as she spoke.

“I mean, she wasn’t explicitly awful,” she said, dragging out the word like she was still weighing it. “But she had… this energy. Something off. You know what I mean? Like, no matter how hard I tried, I could never figure her out. And she could never blend in with the family, like something was repelling her. I know—no, I know—she hated me.”

You shook your head, appalled, as if this was the greatest injustice you had ever heard.

“But you’re so cute,” you blurted, voice thick and slow, your eyes shining with conviction.

“Right?” Maia snorted. “That’s what I’ve been saying. But Frankie didn’t get it. She was nothing like him. Too cold, too shallow. And every time she treated him like an idiot, I swear I—”

“What are you two talking about?”

A new voice cut through the moment, clear and direct, and you turned just in time to see Frankie standing there with Helena at his side. His eyes flicked between you and Maia, suspicion creeping into his expression.

“Maia, shut your mouth,” he said, more exhausted than angry.

Maia made a dismissive sound. “Oh, please, we’re having girl talk.”

“Well, our cab’s here in five,” Frankie said. His voice was flat, final.

You felt a small pang of disappointment. The conversation had been just getting interesting.

Helena stepped forward, her smile soft and radiant, her cheeks flushed from dancing and champagne. She reached for your arm, her touch warm, familiar, like she’d known you for years instead of just a few hours.

“It was so lovely to meet you, sweetheart,” she said, her voice brimming with sincerity. “You have to come over for dinner one of these nights so we can actually sit down and talk properly. How about it?”

Frankie was watching you. Not just watching—staring, as if he was trying to telepathically send you some urgent message. But you weren’t looking at him. You were too busy giggling, too charmed by Helena’s smile, too caught up in the easy, affectionate way she spoke to you.

“I’d love to!” you said, too eagerly, too enthusiastically.

Helena clapped her hands together. “Wonderful! How about next week?”

Before you could answer, Frankie’s hand landed on your lower back, grounding, insistent. His voice was tight when he spoke.

“I think we should go.”

Maia let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head.

“Don’t be rude, Frankie.” Then she turned back to you, her grin conspiratorial. “So? Next week?”

You blinked, suddenly feeling like a deer caught in headlights. But Maia and Helena were both looking at you with those eyes—hopeful, expectant, impossible to refuse.

“Yes,” you murmured, stepping off the stool, your smile a little uncertain.

The car door shut with a muted thud. Frankie exhaled, pressing himself into the seat beside you, saying something to the driver in a voice that was trying very hard to sound composed. It didn’t quite land.

You slumped against the seat, your arms folded over your chest, your head feeling heavy on your shoulders. He had practically dragged you out of there. You hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to the rest of his family.

Outside, the city blurred past in streaks of streetlights and neon, and the radio hummed something soft and familiar—an ‘80s ballad, the kind that lived permanently in the background of cab rides at ungodly hours. The dashboard clock read 4:03 a.m.

After a few minutes, he turned his head toward you.

“You okay?”

“Mmhmm,” you murmured, eyes closed.

“Good.”

A silence settled between you, neither comfortable nor tense, just thick with something unspoken.

After a while, he exhaled sharply.

You cracked one eye open. “What’s your problem?”

“Nothing,” he said, staring ahead. “I’m just tired.”

“Me too.”

Another beat of silence. Then he said, “Why did you accepted? Now I have to come up with some excuse to get you out of dinner.”

You turned your head lazily toward him, your eyebrows knitting together.

“I felt cornered, okay? They were both looking at me with those eyes…” You trailed off, searching for the right words before finally landing on him, blinking slowly. “Those eyes. Exactly.”

His expression didn’t change. “They’re just my eyes.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem.”

His brow furrowed. “What’s wrong with my eyes?”

“I don’t know. They’re kind of… intense.”

“Is that an insult?”

You sighed dramatically, letting your head fall back against the seat.

“I don’t even know anymore. I’m too drunk for your dumb questions.”

Frankie let out a short, derisive snort, shifting his gaze toward the window, his thoughts scattering in odd, untraceable directions.

“You left your car at the hotel,” you murmured after a beat, your voice quiet beneath the steady hum of the radio. Maneater by Daryl Hall played, tinny through the car speakers.

He turned his head toward you with an excruciating slowness, like he already knew you’d be looking at him. And you were. Your head tilted back against the seat, arms curled tightly around yourself, fingers bunched into the fabric of your dress.

“I’ll get it tomorrow,” he muttered, as though your comment had somehow irritated him.

“Do what you want.”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “What’s with you and that attitude?”

You exhaled, your shoulders rising and falling as you turned toward the window, the passing streetlights slicing gold ribbons across the glass.

“What’s wrong with my attitude?”

“A lot of things.”

Your eyes flicked back to his, the darkness between you not quite enough to make out his expression, but enough to catch the sharp glint of his gaze. The passing lights reflected off them like tiny, fractured stars.

“You look just like your mom,” you said, the words slipping out, direct and unfiltered. “Same eyes. Same dimples.” Your hand moved before you could think better of it, the tip of your finger pressing into the crease of his mouth. “But she’s nice.”

Frankie huffed out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, my mom’s nice.”

You nodded, shifting back against the seat. “Yeah. Not like you, Francisco.”

He didn’t say anything to that, but you caught the faint twitch of his lips as he turned away, like he was suppressing a smirk. He was pretending to be less drunk than he was. But so were you.

A few minutes later, the Uber rolled to a stop in front of your house. You sighed, pushing the door open, but before stepping out, you turned back, fixing Frankie with a long, unfocused look.

“See ya,” you mumbled, dragging your feet out of the car, your gaze still locked onto his. “I hope this never happens again—oh, fuck—”

The next second, the world tilted sharply. There was no time to react, no time to process the way gravity wrenched you down. Just the sudden, violent awareness of pavement rushing toward your face.

Somewhere behind you, the driver made a startled sound. But Frankie’s reaction was immediate. The car door slammed, quick footsteps on asphalt. Then his hands—warm, steady, bracing under your arms, lifting you before you had time to register the impact.

“Jesus—Are you okay? Fuck—fuck—are you bleeding?” His voice was strained, almost frantic, his palm finding your chin, tilting your face up.

There was a sharp, metallic tang on your tongue. Something wet trickled past your lips. You blinked down at your hands, lifted them into the glow of the streetlamp. Blood.

“Oh, shit.” Your breath caught. Your stomach lurched. “Oh my God, how bad is it? How bad is it?”

Frankie didn’t let go of your face. His fingers pressed lightly beneath your jaw, guiding your head back.

“You’re fine. It’s fine. Just a nosebleed—stop moving, Jesus—hold still.”

You let out a noise somewhere between a whimper and a cry, your hands still hovering uselessly in front of your face.

“It was the slippers,” you muttered, voice thick, your fingers pressing beneath your nose as Frankie tilted your head back. “They’re too big. I tripped.”

Frankie exhaled, a short, sharp breath.

“It wasn’t my fault, if that’s what you’re implying.” Then, when you tried to look at him, he clicked his tongue and pressed his palm against your forehead, forcing your head back again. “No, keep it back. Jesus.”

You made a weak sound of protest but obeyed.

“Where are your keys?”

You blinked at him for a second like you had to remember what keys were. Then, with exaggerated effort, you fumbled through your bag, fingers clumsy as they scraped against receipts and loose change. When you finally found them, you thrust them toward him, and Frankie took them without comment, his mouth pressed into a tight line.

The door wasn’t hard to unlock. He nudged it open, watching as you hesitated on the threshold, swaying slightly. He helped you inside, his hand warm around your wrist as he guided you up the stairs.

Halfway up, you mumbled, “They’re moving.”

Frankie frowned. “What?”

“The stairs.” You squinted. “They’re moving.”

Frankie huffed out a laugh. “No, you’re drunk.”

Then, without thinking, he tightened his grip on your arm, steadying you as you wobbled again.

As soon as the door of your apartment clicked shut, a small, sleepy meow filled the quiet. Mr. Darcy stirred from his spot on the couch, stretching lazily before trotting toward you, his tail curling high in greeting.

“My child,” you said dramatically, bending down as if to scoop him up, only to pause when you caught sight of your own hand, still slick with blood. “Oh—no. Later, my love. Later.”

Frankie crouched down with far less hesitation, rubbing the cat’s head in that familiar, absentminded way. Darcy pushed into his touch, purring loudly, winding between his legs like he belonged to him instead of you.

You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t know why he likes you so much.”

Frankie shrugged, still scratching behind the cat’s ears.

You snorted, wincing as the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through your nose. Frankie caught it immediately. He stood, his expression shifting into something more serious, brows drawn together.

“Oh,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “You look awful.”

“Huh?”

“No, I mean—really bad.” His hand found your jaw, holding it lightly between his fingers as he turned your face toward the light. He made a thoughtful noise. “I don’t think you’re gonna recover. Honestly, I think it’s permanent.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

Frankie’s lips twitched, but before he could say anything else, you swatted his hand away and shoved past him, making a beeline for the bathroom. The second you flicked on the light and caught your reflection, your mouth fell open.

Your face, usually warm and flushed, was pale beneath the streaks of dried blood smeared across your cheeks, your mouth, your chin. Your nose was red and swollen. Your hair was a mess. You looked—

“Oh my God.”

Frankie leaned against the doorway, watching you with amused curiosity.

“I look like Carrie,” you whispered, horrified.

You turned on the faucet and bent over the sink, splashing cold water onto your face with frantic urgency. Beneath you, pink-tinted water ran down the white porcelain, swirling toward the drain.

“Hey,” Frankie said, stepping closer. His voice had softened slightly. “I was kidding.”

You didn’t answer, just scrubbed harder.

Frankie sighed, then reached out, gathering your hair in his hands and pulling it back, holding it away from your face. His grip was gentle, careful, his fingers brushing against the nape of your neck.

“It hurts,” you blurted, voice uneven, breaking on the last syllable.

Your upper lip throbbed—hot, swollen, like it was pulsing with its own heartbeat. Your nose ached with a sharp, stinging pain that settled deep in the bridge, radiating outward. The tears welled without permission, collecting on your lashes, blurring the edges of the bathroom light.

Frankie’s eyes flickered with something close to panic. He shifted on his feet, glancing around the room like the answer to fixing you was written somewhere on the walls.

“Okay, okay,” he said, voice slightly unsteady. “I—uh—come on, sit down. Sit on the toilet.”

He guided you gently, hands pressing into your shoulders until you sank onto the closed lid. Your body was sluggish, your movements heavy. You let your head tip back, exhaling sharply as a fresh wave of discomfort spread across your face.

Most of the blood was gone now, wiped away in streaks of pink-tinted water, revealing the damage beneath. The split in your upper lip was small but deep, the skin torn at the center, already swelling around it. Your lower lip, though unbroken, was puffy. And your nose—God, your nose.

Frankie crouched in front of you, his knees pressing into the tile. “Show me your teeth.”

You parted your lips obediently, and he leaned in, squinting like he was searching for something. After a second, he sat back, exhaling through his nose. “Okay. They’re fine.”

You blinked at him, still dazed, then let your gaze drop to his shirt. A dark red smear stretched across the fabric, half-dried, stark against the soft white cotton.

“You have blood on you,” you mumbled.

Frankie looked down, as if just now noticing.

“Yeah,” he muttered, then turned abruptly, yanking open the nearest drawer and shuffling through it.

You watched, brow furrowing, as he fumbled through an assortment of things that had nothing to do with first aid—spare toothbrushes, old makeup, boxes of tampons, a crumpled tube of moisturizer. His hands moved too fast, fingers twitching as he knocked things over, searching for something useful.

You let out a small huff. “Not there.”

“I know that now,” he grumbled, slamming it shut and pulling open another one.

Finally, he found a bottle of antiseptic and a pack of cotton pads, exhaling like he’d just won a small battle. He turned back to you, unscrewing the cap with his thumb.

“Hold still,” he said.

You did as you were told, though every so often a soft, involuntary whimper escaped you, the pain still sharp enough to make your breath catch. It wasn’t unbearable, but it was enough to make everything feel worse—amplified by exhaustion, by alcohol, by the surreal absurdity of it all.

Frankie moved carefully, dabbing the antiseptic along your lip, then your nose, pausing when fresh blood welled up from the split skin. He wiped it away, slow and methodical, before moving on to your knees, gently cleaning the scraped skin there too. You had forgotten about them, but the second the cotton touched the raw, stinging patches, you inhaled sharply.

“Oh, my God,” you muttered under your breath.

Frankie huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Scraped knees suck.”

A few minutes later, he tossed the stained cotton into the small trash can and started putting things back where he found them.

When you stood, Frankie’s gaze snapped to your nose, scanning for any new blood. You caught the movement and narrowed your eyes at him.

“What?”

“Just making sure you’re not gonna start gushing again.”

You turned to the mirror, taking in your reflection with a fresh wave of despair. Your skin was still damp, your nose and cheeks flushed from scrubbing and crying. Your lip looked even worse now, swollen and bruising at the edges. And your dress—your favorite dress—was ruined. White satin, now streaked with dark, rust-colored stains.

Your throat tightened. “I look awful.”

Frankie sighed. “You don’t—”

“My dress is ruined.” You turned to face him, your expression nothing short of tragic. “I love this dress, Francisco.”

“We’ll fix it,” he assured you, nodding quickly. “We’ll take it to the laundry—”

“It’s white.”

“I know.” He waved his hands, exasperated. “But they know how to get these stains out, don’t they?”

You frowned. “I think so. I’m not sure.”

“They do,” he said, nodding like it was law. Then, after a beat—“Do you have any anti-inflammatories?”

“In the kitchen.”

Frankie waited, then lifted his eyebrows. “Where?”

“In the kitchen,” you repeated.

He rolled his eyes. “I know in the kitchen, where in the kitchen?”

You thought for a second. “Oh. Over the fridge.”

Frankie shifted, his body tilting toward the door, ready to leave. But before he could get too far, your fingers curled around his wrist.

He stopped. Turned. His frown was immediate, brow creased like he was bracing for whatever was coming next.

“Can you—” you hesitated, suddenly too aware of the weight of your own request. “Can you help me with the zipper?”

You were already turning before he could answer, offering him your back like you were giving him no real choice in the matter. Your hand ghosted over the clasp, fingertips brushing the delicate fabric, then dropping to your side in silent surrender.

Behind you, Frankie let out a long, tired sigh. Then, a moment later, the unmistakable sound of the zipper being drawn down, slow and careful. The fabric parted beneath his touch, cool air rushing in where warmth had been. His knuckles skimmed the length of your spine, steady and impersonal, but still—

A few hours ago, you might have been embarrassed.

Now, not so much.

The man had seen your bloodied face. Your tampons. Your secret tattoo, the one no one was supposed to know about. What was left to be embarrassed about? Any lingering self-consciousness had evaporated somewhere between the pavement and the bathroom floor. Or maybe it was just the alcohol, stripping you of inhibition, loosening things that might have otherwise remained tightly wound. Maybe.

The zipper reached its end. Frankie’s hand fell away. He left the bathroom without another word, and you didn’t wait to see him go.

You hurried to your room, pushing the door shut behind you.

The dress slid from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. Your slippers followed, discarded without care. You unclasped your strapless bra with an exhausted groan and tossed it somewhere—where, exactly, didn’t matter.

The closet door creaked as you pulled it open, grabbing the first thing within reach: a worn-out T-shirt, oversized enough to swallow you whole. You pulled it over your head, wincing as soreness pulsed through your body, a dull and aching reminder of the fall.

Then, just as you were tucking the fabric against your thighs, a knock at the door.

A dull thud, careful but firm.

“Don’t come in!” you called instinctively.

Frankie’s voice filtered through the wood, low and steady.

“You okay? I brought you some aspirin.”

You exhaled, raking a hand through your tangled hair.

“Wait,” you warned, shifting on your feet, making sure the shirt was long enough, that everything was—decent. Or as decent as it could be at this point.

Once satisfied, you reached for the doorknob and cracked the door open.

Frankie stood there, quiet, holding a glass of water in one hand and a small white pill in the other. His gaze flickered briefly—to the dress on the floor, then back up—but he didn’t let his eyes stray from your face.

He held out the aspirin. You took it without a word, placing it on your tongue before chasing it down with a sip of water. He watched you carefully, noting how your swollen lip pressed against the rim of the glass, how you winced slightly, the tenderness in your face growing more pronounced with every passing minute.

Something twisted in his chest. A strange, unnameable thing.

He swallowed.

“You feeling okay?” His voice had softened.

You nodded, then immediately regretted it as your lip pulled in protest. Grimacing, you wordlessly handed him back the empty glass.

Frankie hesitated before taking it from you, his brow still creased with that same look—something tight and unreadable, like watching an injured animal struggle to stand. Like witnessing something fragile and knowing there was nothing he could do to fix it.

"I'm sleepy, I..."

Your voice trailed off as you turned toward your bed, your gaze settling on the smooth, undisturbed surface of the sheets. They looked impossibly soft, the kind of soft that could swallow you whole, erase the sting in your knees, the throbbing in your mouth, the hazy weight of the night pressing on your shoulders.

Frankie nodded, shifting his weight. "Yeah. You need rest. Get some sleep."

He took a small step back, like he was giving you space, but not too much. 

Without much thought, you turned and walked toward your bed, your limbs heavy with exhaustion. The second you reached it, you collapsed onto the mattress, sinking in, the cool fabric pressing against your skin. You didn’t even bother with the quilt.

"Good night," you mumbled, already curling into yourself, your back to him.

Frankie hesitated. He stood there for a moment, watching you, feeling strangely uncertain, though he wasn’t sure why.

"I'll call an Uber," he said after a beat, voice quiet, as if he wasn’t sure if you were still awake enough to hear him. "Head home."

"Okay." Your response was barely above a whisper, thick with sleep.

"Okay." A pause. "Good night."

He waited a second longer, then turned and made his way out of the room, walking slowly into the dimly lit living room. The air was cooler here, quieter. Mr. Darcy was waiting for him, perched on the coffee table like some kind of tiny, judgmental sentry. The cat’s tail flicked, his green eyes tracking Frankie’s every move.

Frankie exhaled, running a hand down his face before stepping toward him. He reached out, dragging his fingers gently over soft fur. Mr. Darcy purred instantly, pressing into the touch, rubbing his face against Frankie’s hand like he’d been waiting for this all night.

Frankie huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

He sat down on the couch, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the Uber app. His body was too heavy, too worn out, but he forced himself to go through the motions—searching for a ride, entering the address, preparing to leave.

But then—

A small weight landed on his lap.

Mr. Darcy, stretching out comfortably, his tiny paws kneading into Frankie’s thigh before settling completely, purring so loudly it was practically vibrating through him.

Frankie sighed, phone slipping from his hand onto the cushion beside him.

It was only for a second, just to close his eyes, just to let his body sink into something solid. Just until the exhaustion stopped weighing so heavily on his limbs.

The next thing he knew, he was lying flat on his back, his arm draped over his stomach, the cat now curled up on his chest. Frankie’s breathing slowed, deepened, and before he could fight it, his eyes shut completely.

His body gave in.

And then—sleep.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 (some tags aren't working apparently sorry!)

[fujoshirat]

Goodbyes ☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾ Child Spotlight: Hana Todoroki! ☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

Goodbyes are hard for Hana.

She’s a sweet, soft-hearted little girl, attached to the ones so kind and loving towards her. A little girl so full of warmth and love that parting with someone she cared about felt like a piece of her heart was being taken away. And when it came to her papa—her strong, kind, gentle papa—goodbyes felt impossible.

The moment Shouto knelt in front of her, jacket zipped up, luggage by the door, and bag slung over his shoulder, Hana’s lips wobbled. The five-year-old knew what was happening. Sometimes, her papa had to go do something important and wouldn’t come back for what seemed like a long time (weeks felt like years to the little girl).

She tried to be brave, just like Yueru told her to be ("Papa is super strong! He'll be back before you know it!"), but when he cupped her tiny face in his warm hands, she burst into tears. Dropping Sa-kun, the jellycat stuffed animal hitting the ground softly.

“I don’t want you to go, Papa!” she hiccupped, flinging her arms around his neck and burying her face against him.

Your husband held her close, stroking her back in slow, soothing motions. “I know, my princess. But I’ll be home soon, I promise.” This only made her cry even more, hot tears pouring down her mochi, cherub cheeks. Shouto’s heart clenched at his youngest’s tears, reminded of how you looked when you cried.

The red-and-white-haired sighed, kissing the top of her head. It was always too long for her, no matter how short the trip actually was. He pulled back just enough to look into her teary eyes. “I'll only be gone for two weeks, and it'll go by so fast.”

Hana sniffled, rubbing her eyes, too upset to respond. Shouto discreetly glances up at his wife, heterochromatic eyes studying your expression. It’s unreadable, a hint of sorrow—emotions mirroring your youngest.

Goodbyes were always hard for you too, even before having children. He already kissed you and the twins goodbye, Hana having stopped him from finally departing. Your eyes were glossy, and he knew tears would soon fall down your pretty face.

“Hana-chan,” Shouto whispers, stroking her (y/h/c) hair. “I need you to do something very important for me, can you do it?” The five-year-old’s doe eyes reflect curiosity as she nods, sniffling.

“While I’m gone, you need to take care of Mama for me. Can you do that, my sweet?” Wiping her snot with her sleeve, Hana shakes her head in response. “Okay… but only if Mama lets me sleep in the big bed.” A soft laugh escapes Shouto’s lips.

“I’m sure she will. Thank you, Hana.”

And just like that, for the next few days, Hana stayed glued to your side. She climbed into the master bed every night, holding her rabbit stuffy and tiny frame swallowed up by one of Shouto’s old shirts that still smelt like him. She refused to sleep without it, hiding it away in her bedroom whenever it was laundry day (you had to make her watch TV while eating dinner just so you could spend 30 minutes trying to find the shirt, and when you found it and put it in the washer, she wouldn’t stop crying until Aki and Haru dug out another of your husband’s old shirts). Even during the day, she stuck close, holding hands, following you around the house while her older siblings were at school, always seeking comfort in the absence of her papa.

Two long weeks without Shouto, and to the rest of the world, it seemed like you were managing everything perfectly.

In theory, you were. Groceries were properly restocked, no uniforms lost their buttons, no plates were dropped. The spitting image of a proper, well-rounded hero housewife. It helped a lot to have 9 years of experience. But emotionally? You felt unstable and drained.

Every night, when Hana clung to you in the master bed, her tiny fingers curled around the fabric of your shirt, you swore you could still smell Shoto’s scent lingering on the pillow beside you. It was comforting and agonizing all at once. You knew he would come back—he always did—but knowing didn’t make the waiting any easier.

Hana wasn’t the only one struggling. One could say that you struggled the most.

The night of Shouto’s flight, you woke up to the feeling of movement beside you. Groggily, your eyes flutter open as little kicks and wiggles nudge your side. The culprit? Your youngest, squirming and shifting around in bed with a small pout on her face. Even though she went to bed with her rabbit, it was no longer by her side. Instead, it was by your neck, tossed carelessly in her sleepy fit.

“Baby,” you croaked, voice heavy with sleep. “What’s wrong? Sa-kun’s right here” Hana sniffled, rubbing her tired eyes full of distress. “’Can’t sleep, mama…” You lift up the blanket, gesturing for her to cuddle up. Hana eagerly tucks herself into your arms, a wave of Shouto’s scent flooding your nose. God, you miss him.

“’Miss Papa,” she whispers, voice wobbily as she hugs her plushy. “When is he coming home?” You shift closer to her, kissing her forehead and stroking her (y/h/c) locks away from her eyes. “Soon, lovebug. His flight should be coming in.” The little girl lets out a tired, shaky breath before nodding against you. Gingerly, you cup her cheek and smile at her.

“You’re tired, Hana-chan. Can you go to sleep for me? You and Sa-kun have to sleep so you can see Papa.”

Hana blinked up at you, her tiny fingers clutching at your shirt and the rabbit. Then, with a slow nod, she nestled closer. Within moments, her breathing evened out, warm and steady against you.

You stayed awake just a little longer, watching over her, listening to the quiet of the house. Yueru and Yuuri in one bedroom and Aki and Haru in another, all four children sleeping peacefully upstairs. It was just you and Hana, in the big bed.

Just as sleep began to pull you under, the faintest sound of the front door unlocking reached your ears. Your brows furrowed, and for a second, your half-asleep brain struggled to process it. Then, the quiet creak of the door closing, the rustle of a coat being shrugged off.

Your heart lurched.

Soft, familiar footsteps padded through the house, moving with careful intent. You barely had time to sit up before the bedroom door eased open, revealing the broad-shouldered silhouette of your husband.

“Shouto?” you whispered, voice thick with exhaustion and relief.

The moment his name left your lips, he was at your side, kneeling by the bed without hesitation. He didn’t even bother putting his things away—his luggage sat forgotten by the door, his jacket abandoned somewhere in the hallway. His eyes, still drowsy from travel, softened instantly at the sight of you both.

“My loves,” he murmured, reaching out to brush his knuckles over your cheek.

Your tired eyes burned as you leaned into his touch, drinking in the familiar warmth of his palm, the faint chill of his travel-worn skin. Shouto recognized it, that tiredness that always seemed to come when he left you, a sense of guilt flooding him.

“You’re home,” you breathed.

His lips twitched into the smallest smile. “I am.”

A soft sigh left you as the tension melted from your body. Your arms fly around him, senses going overload by his presence. He was really here, your husband was home. Cool, soft lips press against yours, a feeling you missed dearly these last 14 days.

Then, as if sensing his presence even in sleep, Hana stirred, making a tiny noise before blinking up at you with bleary eyes.

“Papa?” she mumbled.

Shouto’s breath hitched, and before you could say a word, he shifted onto the bed, gathering your daughter into his arms. Hana let out a soft, sleepy sob, little fingers clutching at his shirt.

“Uwah….”

“I’m home,” he promised, pressing a kiss into her hair.

With Hana snug in his embrace, Shouto looked back at you, exhaustion and love written all over his face.

Making space, you let Shouto tuck in, and he wraps an arm around you while letting his youngest sleep tucked into his chest. It hadn’t even been five minutes, yet she was knocked out cold. Shouto gently takes his daughter’s plushy and tucks it in Hana’s arms, earning a subconscious sigh from her. You also sigh, letting your head rest against his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. His familiar warmth felt so nice, like a soft, weighted blanket. “I missed you,” you murmur softly. Shouto’s throat tightens at your words. "I missed you too, Y/N."

Nothing compares to actually being with you in person, and even though you both facetimed every day, talking and speaking to you on the screen wasn’t enough for the red-and-white-haired man.

“Go to sleep,” he whispered, pressing soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got you, dove. I’m home.”

Goodbyes are hard for everyone, but with every return, love shared in the moment makes it all worthwhile.

This is a feeling that you, Shouto, and your sweet little (big) family know so well.

☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

[manmuncher777]

Nanami basically has two personalities when it comes to your sex life. Sometimes you might behave certain ways to ensure you get the… treatement you want

Nanami is always a gentle and loving partner, his first priority being you and you well being. This is his soft dom side, pleasure dom even. He loves to worship you, and has no problem doing so. So on those evening where you’ve been so sweet for him, he cant help but lay you out on your shared bed, and give you everything you’ve ever wanted.

“Let me have you darling” he whispers against your neck, kissing the word into your sensetive skin. He’s memorised your skin like a map, permanently burned into his mind. He knows every little spot that makes you shiver and whine. Nipping gently on the spot just against your collarbone that has you quivering under his touch.

“You have me ken.” Your hands clinging onto his skin, trying to tug the shirt off of his toned body, needing to feel him.

“Eager darling?” He chuckles at your rushed hands, pulling the shirt over his head. He’ll let you do that, but other than that, he does all of the work. All for his pretty girl

Stripping you down, laying you on the bed. Eyes trailing over you like it was the last time he was going to see you like this. Savouring every inch of perfect skin he could see.

Wasting no time in kissing his way up you legs, never taking his eyes off of your beatific face, loving to see how he was making you feel. Making his way to where he needed to be.

Planting gentle kisses over your dripping pussy as you mewl beneath him.

“More ken~ please.”

Oh how well mannered you were, who was he to deny such a polite request?

No need to say anything, no wasting time. His tongue quickly finding its way through your folds, slurping up your juices.

Pretty nose bumping against your clit as he fucked you on his tongue, letting you buck your hops and tug on his hair in any way you needed

However, you soon found that Nanami had the ability to change, like the flick of a switch. Of course you were an angel in his eyes, but there were certain occasions where you would push your luck, and he needed to remind you that you were meant to be his well mannered wife, not a little brat.

“Ken~ m’ sorry” you cried out, begging. You had been begging him for hours now, the was no room for you to worry about how pathetic you were being, you didnt care. You just needed him.

“Too late for that my love.” That stern look forcing you into silence.

You had gotten a little bit too spoilt today, and Kento wasnt going to put up with your attitude. So here you were pathetically grinding against his thigh while he had his hands on your hips, stopping you from cumming every time you came close

You were quivering from the overstimulation of being brought to the edge so many times, tears streaming down you pretty face as you husband cooed at you. You had no idea he could be so … harsh. But there was something about his unforgiving attitude that had you craving him even more

“Please ken, m’so sorry. Please- let me cum” You cry out, hips rolling again and again, those waves of pleasure never stopping. The faint build of your orgasm once again.

You couldn’t keep up any more, pausing your hips to give your soaked cunt a moment to recover.

“I don’t recall telling you to stop darling.”

[anonity]

wrote something quick and sweet for you guys because i have a whopping 40 pages of angst sitting in my drafts rn.. do we want the pazzi fic first or the paige x reader fic? 

anyways enjoy

summary: azzi drags paige out of bed at 6 in the morning, just to go to the gym. (also, they’re dating and paige is in love) WC: 1000ish

beep, beep, bee–

paige buries her head into her pillow as silence befalls the room – for three seconds. then, it gets ripped out from underneath her. 

“morning, paige!” azzi’s voice rings, annoyingly chipper for – paige cracks an eye open, finally looking at her alarm – 6 in the morning.

hesitantly, hoping if she moved slowly enough azzi would not notice she was awake, she looked towards where the voice had come from. instead, she comes face to face with neon pink. azzi steps back, and paige finally gets to take in everything in front of her – gray sweats, a bright hoodie, and a black gym bag slung over her shoulder.

the sight makes paige want to die. 

“az,” she groans, yanking their blanket up over her head, “it’s six in the morning.”

azzi promptly pulls the entire comforter away. “six-thirty,” she corrects helpfully, balling up the blanket and leaving it on the opposite end of the bed. paige groans again, reaching blindly for it. it’s decidedly too far, so she settles instead on falling limply against the mattress.

azzi’s nose scrunches in response. “you promised you’d come to the gym with me.”

paige mumbles something that sounds like another complaint, but her voice is muffled in the mattress. azzi shoves her shoulder, forcing her face up. “c’mon, don’t make me pull you out.”

paige just barely cracks a smile. “you never have to pull out, ma.”

“paige!” azzi yelps in response, slapping her chest half-heartedly. “that doesn’t even make sense! get up!”

feeling particularly unamused again, paige's voice comes out groggy. “you know not to make plans with me before nine in the morning.”

azzi’s eyes narrow. “then you shouldn’t have said you’d go with me.”

paige doesn’t answer, throwing an arm over her eyes instead. azzi lets out an overly-emphasized sigh, leaning down so her face is level with paige’s.”you’re lucky i think you’re cute.”

paige peeks out from under her arm. she’s met with that soft, sickeningly fond look azzi reserves only for her, and can’t help the smile it warrants. “you think i’m cute?”

“i think you’re lazy,” azzi shoots back, standing straight again. “but, because i know you soo well, i brought you coffee.”

paige perks up immediately, reaching for the cup expectantly. “you’re the best, az.”

azzi immediately pulls back, holding it just out of reach. “nuh-uh,” she chides, a glint in her eye that can only mean trouble for paige. “not until you’re ready to go.”

paige scowls. “you’re joking.”

“it’s strategic.”

the second the word leaves azzi’s mouth, it’s a mistake – she knows it because paige immediately shoots up from the bed, wrapping her arms around her. 

“paige!” she tries to sound annoyed, but the giggle that follows is indisputable. “get off of me!”

paige immediately fumbles for the coffee cup, a disposable one from downstairs, and briefly wonders when azzi had time to even go get it. “taunting opponents is not a strategy, it’s a flagrant foul,” she corrects, still fighting for the drink. azzi pokes her side in that spot that always has paige jerking away and frees herself, holding the still-intact coffee up triumphantly. 

“all is fair in love and basketball,” she grins. 

paige scowls. “don’t use my favorite movie against me.”

“it’s my favorite movie.”

“i had it first.”

“you did not!”

“did too, i’m older than you.”

baffled, azzi jerks back. “what does that have to do with anything?”

paige straightens, looking particularly smug. “it means i had time to watch it before you did.”

“paige!” azzi groans, shoving her towards the dresser. “get dressed!”

paige grumbles but acquiesces, yanking on a pair of sweatpants and a thin t-shirt. there’s cold biting through the windows of their apartment, and azzi briefly comments on paiges lack of a jacket, but paige shrugs her off lazily. “ion’ need no jacket, i’m a big dawg.”

azzi doesn’t try to correct her again, (even though the phrase big dawg has her rolling her eyes) and instead leans against the doorframe of their room. paige all but throws herself back onto the bed, tying her shoes with drama only rivaled by toddlers.

azzi tracks each tug of laces with barely concealed amusement, taking a purposefully loud sip of paige’s coffee.

giving one last tug, paige stands from the bed and saunters over to where azzi is leaned. raising her eyebrows and staring expectantly at the coffee again, azzi finally hands it over. “now, all that drama was for nothing,” she says pointedly. paige hums as if she disagrees, but doesn’t add to her argument as she follows azzi out the door.

they don’t speak again until their feet land on the sidewalk outside. the air in storrs is sharp, frost clinging to the ground like broken cobwebs, and paige can’t help the shiver that wracks her body.

really and truly, she should have grabbed a hoodie like azzi had suggested. she can already hear the i told you so forming in azzi’s mouth, though, so paige stays quiet. instead, she scrunches her nose against the breeze and turns finally to look over azzi’s features.

the sun is just barely rising – the barren trees lining the sidewalk are casting long, soft shadows across her face. azzi walks a step ahead, hands tucked into her hoodie pockets and posture straight. the light flickers over her features – the way her lashes fan against her eyebrows, the pink dusting the easy slope of her nose, the way her lips are tugged into that ever-present smile.

paige can’t help the way her gaze lingers. azzi’s exhale rises in a delicate plume, curling lazily into the quiet air. 

paige thinks she’s pretty – and, actually, that she’s quite lucky to have someone like azzi dragging her out at 6 in the morning.

ever the instigator, though, paige chooses not to voice the softness of her thoughts. instead, she tears her gaze away and rolls her eyes. “you’re lucky i love you.”

azzi glances over, dimples falling over her face as she grins again. her voice is soft, tinged with a quiet warmth meant only for paige to hear. “i know.”

[munsonsmixtapes]

Expect me to creep into your inbox whenever you ask for requests 👀 I am always going to annoy you because you are so talented

Eddie smut with a plus size reader? Maybe she’s there at one of Corroded Coffin’s gigs at The Hideout and Eddie is just like

girl you keep giving me a big head (don't stop) and I love writing about plus sized!reader so your wish is my command!

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotect sex (wrap it before you tap it) public sex

You enter the smoky bar, looking around the place to take everything in. It's exactly what you thought it'd be but that doesn't mean you don't like it. It's exactly your scene and you love live music so when you heard that a local band preforms there every week, you just knew that you had to check it out.

You make a beeline for the bar to get a drink as the band is setting up. Your eyes immediately catch the guy at the front of the stage fixing up his microphone. He's got long curly hair and the tight t-shirt he's got on is so distracting. You swore to yourself that you weren't going to do this again.

You're trying to not get involved with anyone but that doesn't mean that you can't have a little fun, right? He's exactly your type with the way he's dressed and those large rings he's got on his fingers are making your head spin with the dirtiest thoughts.

Eddie's eyes lock on yours and he's immediately in love. He's always loved curvy girls but there's something about you specifically that is making hearts appear in his eyes. It's the way you carry yourself like you're hot shit and fuck are you.

The tight pants you're wearing are making him dizzy. He wants to have you in the back of his van and love on every inch of you, telling you how beautiful you are. You've got such a hold on him and he doesn't even know your name.

His eyes follow you as you head over the bar and he’s so close to following you just so he can know what name he’s supposed to moan. He just has to have you and straight after the gig, he’s going to ask for your number. 

You give him a little wave and he winks at you before you turn and head to the bar where you take a seat before ordering a drink. Eddie’s watching you the whole time, wondering what you’re drinking, wanting to sit next to you and let you talk his ear off the whole night. You’ve completely captivated him and he doesn’t know what to do now that he’s seen you.

The set starts and you get closer to the stage, fully intending on being in the action. You just want to be near him. You want to see how pretty he is up close with the sweat dripping off him in the heat of the bar. You want to feel the scruff of his beard against your skin as he kisses his way down your body. 

You’re nodding along to the music, really hoping that they have a tape or something so you can listen to it on repeat. The lead singer’s voice is nothing like you’ve heard before. It’s deep and raspy and you just know that you’d run the tape out because of how much you’d listen to it. 

His eyes are shut tight and it makes you wonder if that’s what he’d look like as you topped him, pretty hair fanned out on your pillow, his eyes shut tight as his hips buck against yours, trying his best to keep up with your pace. 

You clearly haven’t been out in a while because why are you thirsting over the first man you’ve seen? But considering the other women around you seem to be thinking the same, you feel a lot better, more sane for thinking about this stranger in such dirty ways. 

His eyes open and he’s staring straight at you, a smirk playing on his pretty lips as he strums on his guitar, pulling away from the mic as he goes into a guitar solo, his fingers moving down the neck in a rapid motion. You’re not even sure how that’s possible, but at least you know he’s good with his fingers. 

Eddie’s trying his hardest to focus on what he’s doing, trying not to turn his head and look at you because if he does, he’s going to fuck up the set then take you by the hand to go somewhere private where he can kiss you absolutely stupid. 

But he can’t help it. You keep catching his eye and he’ll just stare before he’s pulled out of his trance and thrown back into the song. He can tell you want him too because of the way you’re staring back with that flirty look and he’s counting down the seconds until he’s finished. 

So as soon as the set is done and the crowd begins to disperse, Eddie jumps down from the stage and takes you by the hand, pulling you to his chest, your body flush to his as his hand rests on your back. 

“Hi,” he greets.

“Hi,” you smile and watch his gaze drop to your lips. 

“I’m Eddie.” You’re not sure how, but the name suits him, almost as if it was made specifically for him.

“Y/n.”

“Well, y/n, I hope you don’t have any plans tonight.” You don’t and for the first time, you’re glad for it. You have a feeling you know exactly what you’re going to get up to.

“Just whatever you’re doing,” You reply, twirling a strand of his hair. Oh yeah, he’s definitely wrapped around your finger now. 

“I need to pack up my equipment but as soon as I’m done, it’s you and me.” His lips press to your cheek and then he hurries back to the stage while you stand there, waiting for him to be done. You watch him bend over to put his guitar into the case and can’t help but stare at his ass as he does so. You want to just give it a squeeze and hope you get a chance once you’re alone.

He finishes up pretty and quickly hands his guitar off to one of his bandmates before heading over to you, sticking his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. His eyes are raking over your body, his tongue slowly licking across his bottom lip as he does so. 

They get to your thighs and he so desperately wants to give them a squeeze, to bury his head between them and eat your pussy like a man starved. Fuck, he’s never been so attracted to anyone like this in his life and he needs you so bad. 

As his band mates flee, he takes you by the hand and lead you out to his van. He pins you to  the side of it and his lips find yours in a hot kiss, not afraid to slide his tongue into your mouth as his hands grab a firm hold of your waist. 

You push his jacket from his shoulders and he lets it fall to the ground behind him before pulling to the back. He opens the doors and helps you inside before climbing inside himself and closing the door behind you.

Once you’re safely inside, you’re quick to undress each other between heated kisses. His lips are hot in your skin as he presses them to every new inch of skin that’s revealed as another piece of clothing is removed. He’s mumbling compliments into your skin and you’re so glad that you’re sitting because you feel like you’re melting under his touch.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, knows exactly what to say and what to do and if just making out with him is making you melt, you’re not so sure how you’re going to handle the sex. Once your bra is off, he lays you down onto the floor of the van, his lips kissing down your chest before wrapping around your hard nipple.

His tongue swipes across it gently and you let out a whine as if asking for more. Eddie pulls away to give you a shit-eating grin before going back in, giving your nipple a suck as his tongue flicks back and forth across it, his other hand reaching up and massaging your other one. You’re whining at the feeling and he takes that as an invitation to continue, going in with his teeth to bite down on it which causes a loud moan to fall from your lips. 

So Eddie does it again, harder this time, causing you to grab fistfulls of his hair, yanking on it to show just how much you’re enjoying yourself. He lets out a little yelp in response, but that doesn’t stop him from biting you again. In fact, it only makes him do it again and again until you’re close to an orgasm.

And when he moves onto your other nipple, you swear that you’re seeing stars as he does the exact same thing, your back arching in pleasure as you keep tugging on his hair, feeling yourself getting progressively more wet as he does so. It’s soaking wet between your legs and you need him between them so bad. You need him to fuck you so hard that you can’t walk for days. 

“Need you,” you whine and spread your legs so he knows exactly what you mean. So his lips travel down your torso and you gasp as his teeth grab onto the waistband of your panities, pulling them down so slowly because he’s such a goddamn tease. He’s looking up at you as his eyes darken, almost looking black. 

He then removes his own before taking out a condom from his jeans pocket and rolls the thing on. He spreads your legs as wide as possible so that they’re touching the floor then positions himself so that he’s lined up with you before going in, pumping as hard as he possibly can, watching you respond to every touch as you lie beneath him. 

You’re watching him in awe, getting even more wet as you take in his tattoos and the way his hair falls, the chain around his neck hitting against his collarbone in a rapid pace because of how hard he’s fucking you. 

“Look so pretty on my cock, sweetheart. And you’re taking me so well already.” His cock is not even halfway inside and you need to feel all of him. You’re desperate for the whole thing, to see just how much you can take so you grab hold of his ass and push him farther inside you until his bush is pressed up against you. 

You gasp at the feeling and tears well up in your eyes because of how big he is, but it just feels so good. Your nails dig into his cheeks and he takes the hint, fucking you with his whole cock as he picks up the pace, moving in and out so quickly you can hardly keep up as you buck your hips against his. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” he says as his lips press to your neck in a soft kiss. “Like fuck, this is just unfair sweetheart.” He reaches up and swipes some sweaty hair from your forehead. He then picks up the pace even more as he sees that you’re close, making sure to insert all of himself as he does so. 

And when you finally do come, he continues thrusting into you until you’re crying his name. Once you’re coming down, he pulls out and disposes of the condom before helping you get dressed, being nothing but kind to you as he does so. 

And once you’re both dressed, you drive around the city talking about everything and nothing until it’s early in the morning. He then reluctantly drops you off at your car and is quick to make plans to do this all over again because there’s no way he’s only going to do this once. He’s got to see you again because he’s pretty sure that he’s already falling in love with you.

[dadsdog]

Kinda vague prompt but can you do some of your ur usual shit but like. In a truck. Like one with a bench seat. I like pretty much all the shit u post about. Js... truck. In a truck.

as an avid truck sex enjoyer, this is awesome ty :] this one's not very forcemasc-y but it's VERY dad/son fauxcest-y

while i'm all for dad/son incest fantasies, i can't stop thinking about a teenage boy, who opens up to an older man (maybe a family friend, a friend's father) about his relationship with his dad. how he was never there, how he never supported his son when he needed it most. the older man comforts him, wraps him up in a tight hug. "hey... you're gonna be okay bud." the boy sniffles and looks up at him, still clinging to him desperately, "thank you. im sorry for dumping all of this on you." he shakes his head. "don't say that kiddo, there's no need to be sorry. i'm happy to listen. just say the word and i'm there."

he starts spending less time at home, and more time with this older guy. he takes the boy to get food, shows him all his old interests, let's him ramble on for hours about one thing or another. and if the boy's father did anything that upset him, he would always be there to listen.

this kid finds himself thinking about him all the time. how wonderful he is, how patient and kind. he wonders what it would ve been like for him to be his dad instead. he thinks about how he smiles at him when he speaks, how handsome he is. he thinks about how whenever they re going out somewhere, he always rests his hand on the nape of the boy's neck. his hands are big and calloused, but so gentle. he wonders why he gets so excited when he touches him. wonders how his hands would feel cupping his chin or petting his hair.

"i wish you were my dad." the boy confesses to him, on a late night drive. he looks down, finds his hand gripping the truck's bench seat. the older man has gone strangely quiet. looking over at him, the boy tilts his head. "what's wrong?" the man feels his knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. "you shouldn't say stuff like that, kiddo." "why not? you might as well already be my dad, you're the one actually looking out for me."

the man pulls over jerkily, stopping in a forgotten, tree lined road. he exhales heavily, hands still clenched. "hey, what's wrong? did i do something?" he's never this quiet. the kid slides closer to him, and hears him inhale sharply, like the older man had just been burned. "are you ok? what did i do? i promise i wont do it again. please, just tell me whats wrong." he lays a hand onto the older man's knee.

suddenly, the man has the boy by the shoulders, gripping him tightly and pushing him away. he gasps, clearly spooked by the roughness of his touch. "i'm sorry, kiddo. you didn't do anything wrong. it's me." his hands loosen their grip ever so slightly, he starts to rub comforting circles up and down the boy's arm. "you can't say stuff like that." the boy tilts his head. "why?"

he had no idea what to say. because i've wanted to fuck you ever since you first cried into my shirt. because the idea of having you as my son gets me so hard i can't think. because i don't know how long i can have you in my car without losing control and taking advantage of you.

"because i..." he stares down into the boy's eyes.

"you just shouldn't." he starts to break away from the touch, but the kid moves to hold his hand, pouting up at him. "but i really do think of you like that. i think of you as my dad." he inhales sharply again, feeling his cock throb in his jeans. he tightens his jaw and his mind strains with the effort of not grabbing the kid and rutting his cock into him through their clothes.

the kid looks up at him, creeping even closer.

"i love you, dad."

the final shred of self control left in the man is shattered into nothing. he grabs the boy by his waist roughly, and puts his other hand in his hair. he brings their lips together in a sloppy, clumsy, hungry kiss. the boy's eyes go wide and his mouth falls open as he lets out a cry of surprise. this only allows the man to slip his tongue into his mouth.

"wait- mmh!" the boy is pulled roughly onto the man's lap, where he can feel the hard cock pressing up into him. the older man finally pulls away from the kiss and holds the boy's head on his shoulder. "fuck- 'm sorry. love you. god, you're such a good kid. fuck."

he's grinding into the boy's pussy, hissing his apologies into his ear. he can feel the boy take fistfuls of his shirt, gasping and shaking. "wait-what are you doing, please-" "shh. it's okay. you're okay. fuck, i'm sorry- just let me-" his hands grab hold of his hips, pushing the kids small body against his, listening to his shocked moans. the boy is too stunned to say anything, to ask what he's doing, why it makes him all wet down there, why it makes him feel so good. "mnh. shit. im sorry, have to have you- doing so good, champ-nnhgh." he feels the boy lift his head to look him in the eyes. tears are dripping down his cheeks, but his face is twisted in pleasure. his cock throbs so hard the kid can feel his pulse through his jeans.

"feels- nnh! it feels- weird, dad. nmh! dad!" he can't stop himself from slamming the boy's hips down onto his cock. "call me dad. fuck. do it again, son. nngh- say i'm your dad." the boy's thighs shake on his lap. "dad. nngh- you're my dad. mngh! ah! dad- please don't stop- hhnm" the kid feels warmth spreading through his body, and pooling in his stomach. the friction and the rubbing and the hands on his hips are all too much. he feels a pressure building, making his cries for dad even louder.

"ah! nmh! dad, m-my- it feels- nngh! oh god, dad. oh god oh god oh god dad." he feels the kids thrust his hips back and forth on dad's cock, chasing that fuzzy warm feeling in his tummy. "ngh- shit. such a good boy. c'mon son- fuck. gonna make me cum. gonna make your dad cum. nnnh, fuck!"

"dad, dad, dad! nnh! my- it's gonna- oh god daddy! daddy!" the boy doesn't know what's happening. his boxers are soaked through and his head is fuzzy and the pressure in his tummy is too much. he grinds his pussy into his dad's lap hard, in a long downward motion, that finally lets the pressure release.

his dad watches as he quivers, cumming on his lap, completely overwhelmed by the shock of his own orgasm. he watches his boy moaning and crying for him, and feeling his orgasm build, he grabs his hips and presses him down onto his cock, thrusting upwards and cumming in his jeans for his little boy.

the kid collapses into him, panting and shaking, occasionally twitching with aftershocks of his orgasm. the man, huffing and sweaty, embraces him, placing soft kisses on his head. they sit like that in his truck for a long few minutes, catching their breath, before his boy looks up at him.

"i love you, dad."

[h0efor2ho]

Tutoring Temptation

Wonwoo X Reader

WC - 6.1k ( I got carried away )

TW - Nerd!Wonwoo, there is plot here with the porn, fingering, oral (f), unprotected sex (wrap it kids) cream pie, Wonwoo is the sweetest ever.

You'v always been a pretty good student. Able to keep up a 3.6 gpa while still having a decent social life. That was till you entered advanced calculus in your second year of college. You just couldn't grasp it no matter how hard you tried to study. Your grades dropping down to a 3.2 gpa. Your parents threatening to pull you out of school if you don't get your shit together. "Stop partying and start studying" your mother said. So you did. Spending night after night reading your text book, looking over your notes. Turning down invitations to house parties. Even going as far as to record your class and watch it back later. That's when you noticed that the guy who sits in the front of the room seems to always raise his hand and always gets the answer right. The idea formed in your head right away. You'd ask him to tutor you. You desperately needed the help and you figured he knew what he was doing.

The next day you make your way to class early, waiting and looking as students file into the lecture hall. It doesn't take long before you see his head of dark hair enter the room and make a b-line for the front seat. You quickly make your was down the steps past people talking till your feet hit the bottom floor and turn to carry you right up to his chair. He's bent over, back angled toward you as he pulls things out of his bag. His shirt neatly tucked into his brown pants, with a blazer over it. He doesn't notice you at all. "Uhm hey..."

Shit, you dont even know his name. You try and think back to the videos from class, of your professor calling him by name when you raised his hand. You're drawing a blank. He spins in his chair, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he looks up at you. "Uhmm" you say again as you take in his features. He's not that bad looking for a nerd persay you think. "Wonwoo" he says snapping you out of your own thoughts. "huh" you ask.

"Wonwoo. My name. It's Wonwoo" he gives you a small smile. "Oh yea." you give him a small nervous laugh. "Sorry, I'm bad with names. I'm also really bad at calculus. Which is why I'm here bothering you. I was hoping maybe you could tutor me?" you finish rambling and give him what you hope is not a cringy smile. Wonwoo tilts his head slightly, considering your request. His dark eyes study you for a moment before he replies, "I see. And here I thought you might be asking me on a date," he quips, his voice low and unexpectedly smooth. You feel heat rise to your cheeks, caught off guard by his playful response. "Oh, uh, no... I mean, not that you're not... I just..." you stammer, mentally kicking yourself for suddenly losing your ability to form coherent sentences.

He chuckles softly, seemingly enjoying your flustered state. "Relax, I'm just teasing. I suppose I could help you out. When were you thinking?" Relief washes over you. "Really? That would be amazing. I'm free pretty much any evening. Whatever works best for you." He nods, pulling out a small planner from his bag. "How about tomorrow night at 7? We can meet at the library." "Perfect," you say, trying not to sound too eager. "Thank you so much, Wonwoo. I really appreciate it." He gives you another small smile. "No problem. Just make sure you bring your textbook and notes." You nod enthusiastically, about to respond when the professor walks in and calls the class to order. You quickly make your way back to your seat, heart beating a little faster than usual.

As you sit down, you can't help but glance down at Wonwoo. He's already focused on the professor, his pen poised over his notebook. You find yourself wondering what he's like outside of class. Is he always so composed? Does he ever let loose? The lecture begins, but your mind keeps drifting back to your upcoming tutoring session. You try to concentrate, scribbling down notes and formulas, but your thoughts are a jumble of calculus and curiosity about your new tutor. The rest of the day passes in a blur. You barely remember your other classes, your mind preoccupied with preparing for tomorrow night. That evening, you gather your calculus materials, making sure everything is organized and ready. You even jot down a list of specific questions and problem areas you want to address. That night, you toss and turn, your mind racing with thoughts of complex equations and Wonwoo's unexpected charm. When you finally drift off, your dreams are a bizarre mix of calculus symbols and dark, knowing eyes behind glasses.

The next day drags on endlessly. You constantly check the time, willing the hours to pass faster. When 6:30 finally rolls around, you grab your backpack and head to the library arriving early, claiming a quiet table in the back corner. As you spread out your materials, you can't help but feel a mix of excitement and anxiety. The sound of approaching footsteps makes you look up, and there's Wonwoo, looking as put-together as always in a navy sweater and dark jeans. "Right on time," you say, trying to sound casual. He smiles, sliding into the chair next to you. "I'm nothing if not punctual. So, where should we start?" For the next hour, Wonwoo patiently guides you through problem after problem. His explanations are clear and concise, and you find yourself grasping concepts that had previously made you struggle. As you work through a particularly tricky equation, you can't help but notice how close he's leaning in, his shoulder nearly touching yours as he points out a crucial step. You catch a whiff of his cologne – a subtle, woodsy scent that's surprisingly appealing.

"See? It's all about breaking it down into smaller parts," he explains, his voice low and close to your ear. You nod, trying to focus on the numbers and not on the warmth radiating from his body. As the session progresses, you find yourself relaxing, even joking with Wonwoo about some of the more absurd word problems in your textbook. His dry sense of humor surprises and delights you, and you catch yourself laughing more than you have in weeks "You know," he says, leaning back in his chair, "you're not half bad at this when you actually focus." You feel a flutter of pride at his words. "Thanks," you say, smiling. "I guess I just needed the right teacher." Wonwoo's eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you think you can see a spark of something behind his gaze. He clears his throat and glances at his watch. "We've been at this for almost two hours. Do you want to take a break?"

You nod, suddenly aware of how stiff your muscles feel from sitting hunched over your textbook. "Yeah, that sounds good.” Wonwoo smiles “Maybe we could grab a coffee? I know just the place," He says, standing up and stretching. You try not to stare as his sweater rides up slightly, revealing a sliver of skin above his waistband. You follow him out of the library and across campus to a small, cozy coffee shop tucked away in a corner you've never noticed before. As you step inside, the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans envelops you. The shop is dimly lit, with mismatched vintage furniture and local artwork adorning the walls. It's intimate and charming, nothing like the bustling campus coffee chains you usually frequent.

"This place is amazing," you say, taking it all in. "How have I never been here before?" Wonwoo smiles, a hint of pride in his eyes. "It's a bit of a hidden gem. I like to come here when I need to escape the chaos of campus life." You follow him to the counter, where a barista with long blonde hair greets Wonwoo by name. "The usual?" she asks, already reaching for a mug. "Please," he nods, then turns to you. "What would you like? Their lavender latte is excellent if you're feeling adventurous." "I'll try that then," you say, intrigued by his recommendation. As you reach for your wallet, Wonwoo waves you off. "My treat," he says. "Consider it payment for being such a good student today."

You feel a warmth spread through your chest at his gesture. "Thank you," you say, touched by his kindness. You follow Wonwoo to a cozy corner booth, sinking into the plush velvet seats. The soft glow of Edison bulbs hanging overhead casts a warm light across his features, softening the sharp angles of his face. You notice  things about him you hadn't before. Like a small scar just above his left eyebrow, and the fact that is hair is not black but a very dark shade of brown. "So," you say, breaking the comfortable silence, "What made you decide to major in math? I mean, you're clearly good at it, but there must be a story there." Wonwoo looks at you, a thoughtful expression on his face. "It's always just made sense to me, you know? There's a beauty in the logic of it all. Plus," he adds with a wry smile, "it impresses people at parties."

You laugh, surprised by his humor. "I can imagine. Though I have to admit, I've never been to a party where calculus was the main topic of conversation." Wonwoo's eyes twinkle with amusement. "Then you're clearly going to the wrong parties. What about you? What's your major?" "Psychology," you reply. "Interesting," Wonwoo muses. "So you're studying the complexities of the human mind while I'm dealing with the complexities of mathematics." You're struck by his observation, realizing there's more depth to Wonwoo than you initially thought.

As you talk, you find yourself opening up about your struggles with calculus, your fears of disappointing your parents. Wonwoo listens intently, his dark eyes focused on you. When you finish, he leans forward slightly. "I understand that pressure," he says softly. "It's not easy living up to others' expectations." There's a vulnerability in his voice that surprises you. For a moment, you see past the composed exterior to someone who might be struggling with his own doubts and insecurities. "How do you do it?" you ask. "How do you make it all look so effortless?" Wonwoo's lips quirk into a half-smile. "Trust me, it's not effortless. I just... I've learned to channel my anxiety into my work. But sometimes, I wonder if I'm missing out on other aspects of college life."

You're about to respond when the barista approaches with your drinks. She sets down two steaming mugs, the rich, floral scent of lavender rising from your cup. You give Wonwoo a quick glance, and he nods in thanks, offering a soft smile. "Here you go," the barista says before retreating behind the counter. You wrap your hands around the warm mug, feeling the heat seep into your palms, a comforting contrast to the coolness of the evening. "Thanks for the coffee," you say again, the warmth in your chest spreading. "This place really is great. Perfect for getting away from everything." Wonwoo nods, taking a slow sip from his own drink. He seems more relaxed here, away from the chaos of the main campus. "Yeah, it's one of my favorite spots. Feels like a little slice of calm." His eyes flicker to you briefly, an unreadable look in them before he shifts slightly in his seat, settling back.

For a few moments, the two of you sit in comfortable silence, the ambient hum of the café filling the gaps between your conversation. You take a sip of your lavender latte, savoring the sweet, floral taste, feeling oddly at peace. "So," Wonwoo finally breaks the silence, his voice a little softer now. "You mentioned earlier that you're majoring in psychology. What made you choose that?" You think for a moment, your fingers tracing the rim of your cup. "I guess I’ve always been curious about what makes people tick," you say. "Why we do the things we do, how we make decisions, how we deal with emotions... There's just so much to learn, you know? It feels like there's always something new to discover." Wonwoo listens, his gaze thoughtful, and you can tell he's really taking in your words. "It’s interesting," he murmurs, "how you’re trying to understand people while I’m trying to make sense of... numbers. There’s something kind of poetic about it."

You smile, surprised at how well he understands. "I guess we're not so different after all, huh?" He chuckles lightly, leaning back into his chair. "Seems like it." His eyes meet yours for a brief second, a spark of something flickering in them. "You know, I didn’t take you for a psych major, no offense. It's just the only thing I knew about you before tonight was that you partied a lot. You chuckle, a little embarrassed. “Yea, I guess I gave off that vibe before I got serious about school,” you admit, feeling a bit sheepish. “I always had a good time, but I’ve definitely been focusing more lately. Trying to get things back on track. Your parents threatening to pull you from school does that to you" Wonwoo nods in understanding, his expression thoughtful. "It's good that you're figuring things out. College can be a balancing act. But you seem like the kind of person who doesn’t give up easily. I think you’ll get there."

His words, simple but encouraging, make you feel a little lighter, like the weight of everything isn't so heavy anymore. "I hope so," you say, taking another sip of your latte. "Honestly, it’s nice to talk to someone who gets it. I feel like I’ve been caught up in my own head lately, especially with everything going on at home." Wonwoo's eyes soften at your words. "You don’t have to carry it all on your own, you know. It’s okay to lean on people." He pauses, then adds, almost as an afterthought, "And sometimes it’s okay to take a break too." You look at him, really look at him for the first time since you’ve sat down, and for the first time, you notice that there’s more to him than just the quiet, reserved guy who aces every class. There’s a quiet strength in him, a kind of stability that draws you in.

"Thanks, Wonwoo. I really appreciate everything," you say, your voice sincere. He smiles again, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly, and for a second, you can’t help but feel a little spark of something more between the two of you. Something you can’t quite place but that feels strangely warm and comfortable. "Anytime," he replies, his voice low and steady. "And hey, don’t worry. You’ll figure out calculus. But if you ever need someone to talk to... about anything else, I’m here." You smile, feeling a little flutter of gratitude. "I think I just might take you up on that."

The two of you sit there for a while longer, enjoying your drinks and the quiet atmosphere of the café, talking about everything from school to silly memories to your favorite music. You realize how easy it is to talk to him, how comfortable you feel in his presence. And even though you’re still not sure what exactly is happening between you two, you can’t deny that something is starting to change.  As the night grows later, the cafe begins to empty out, and you both realize it's getting late. You stand up, gathering your things, and Wonwoo does the same. "Thanks for the coffee," you say again, a little reluctantly. "And for everything tonight. I feel like I actually get calculus now." You grin.

Wonwoo smirks, clearly pleased. "I’m glad I could help. Just don’t expect me to tutor you every night. I have my own assignments too." He says it with a teasing tone, but you can tell he’s enjoying this new dynamic between you. “I’ll take that as a challenge,” you reply, grinning back. "I hope you do." He replies as he opens the door for you. As you both step out into the cool night air, you feel a sense of warmth linger between you, something subtle but unmistakable. The evening was a nice break from the grind of school, but there’s also this growing sense that maybe, just maybe, you’ve stumbled upon something more than just a tutoring session.

As you walk together back to campus, the conversation flows easily, the chemistry between you two undeniable. Wonwoo’s witty remarks and insightful comments seem to draw you in further, and you can’t help but find yourself eagerly looking forward to the next time you’ll see him, even though you try to play it cool. “So, same time tomorrow?” you ask, trying to sound casual but failing to hide the excitement bubbling underneath. Wonwoo turns to you, a half-smile playing at the corner of his lips. “I think we can make that happen. But how about we meet at my dorm, I expect you to bring your A-game,” he teases, nudging you playfully with his shoulder “Deal,” you breath out.

The next day feels like it stretches on forever as you go through the motions of your classes, but your mind keeps drifting back to Wonwoo. The way he helped you the night before, the casual banter, and that lingering smile — it all replayed in your head in a loop. Something about him made everything seem easier, not just calculus, but the world in general. When evening finally rolls around, you find yourself feeling oddly nervous, though you try to brush it off as you gather your notes and make your way to his dorm. Your heart beats a little faster as you walk, the excitement of yesterday's conversation still fresh in your mind. 

As you approach the dorm, you see Wonwoo waiting outside, leaning casually against the brick wall, his arms crossed talking to Mingyu, the quarterback on the football team. He’s wearing a simple white tee shirt and gray sweatpants, his usual composed demeanor softer, somehow more approachable in this setting. When he sees you, he straightens up and gives you a smile that makes your stomach flutter, before dismissing himself from their conversation. You watch as Mingyu walks away as Wonwoo walks to you.

“Ready for round two?” he asks, a playful glint in his eye. You laugh, feeling the tension melt away. “I’m ready. Let’s do this.” You glance at his outfit. "Glad we chose casual attire today" you poke at him. He chuckles rubbing the back of his neck. "Yea I just got out of the shower, I was at the gym with Mingyu." You make your was up the flight of stairs. "I didn't realize you two were friends." You say as you follow him. "Yea we grew up together. He's the closest thing I have to a brother." As you step inside his dorm, it’s clear this isn’t your typical college living situation. The space is surprisingly neat and organized, with a few bookshelves lining the walls and a desk cluttered with notebooks and textbooks, but in a controlled way, as if it was a deliberate mess. There’s a sense of order to it, just like him. You hang up your sweater on the coat hook, take off your shoes, and take a seat on his bed. Wonwoo follows you into the room, his footsteps quiet on the carpeted floor. He grabs his textbook from his desk and then turns to face you. There’s a small, amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he observes you settling in on his bed. 

“You sure look like you’re comfortable there?” he asks, his tone teasing but still warm. He walks over and climbs up on the bed with you, close to you. "Comfortable?" he teases, raising an eyebrow. You smirk, leaning back slightly on your hands. "Very. I figured if I’m going to suffer through calculus, I might as well do it in comfort." Wonwoo chuckles, shaking his head before sitting down beside you, placing the textbook between you both. "Alright, let’s get started then. No distractions this time." You nod, but it’s hard to ignore the fact that you’re sitting this close to him, the warmth of his body radiating next to you. You force yourself to focus as he starts explaining derivatives, his voice calm and patient.

The study session goes smoothly at first, but as the minutes tick by, you find yourself more aware of the way Wonwoo’s fingers move as he writes out equations, the slight crease in his brow when he’s thinking, the way his lips curve ever so slightly when he glances at you to check if you’re following along. At one point, you get stuck on a problem, groaning in frustration. "I swear, calculus was invented just to torture people." Wonwoo laughs, leaning in slightly as he looks over your work. "You're overcomplicating it. Look—" His hand brushes against yours as he reaches for your pencil, his touch brief but enough to send a tiny spark through you. You glance at him, and for a second, neither of you says anything. The air between you shifts, something unspoken lingering in the silence. He leans in slightly, eyes tracking your face. "It's all about perspective," he murmurs, his voice low and unexpectedly close. He's still holding your pencil, his fingers brushing against yours, and the simple act feels charged with an energy you can't quite explain. You can smell his cologne again, that same subtle, woodsy scent from the coffee shop, and it’s intoxicatingly distracting.

He doesn't pull away, and neither do you. The textbook lies forgotten between you, the complex equations blurring into meaningless symbols. His gaze flickers down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, and you can see a flicker of something in the depths of his dark pupils – something that mirrors the nervous excitement fluttering in your chest. "You know," he says, his voice barely a whisper, "I never would have guessed you were so… focused." The word hangs in the air, loaded with a double meaning. You know he's not just talking about calculus anymore. "Focused?" you echo, your voice equally soft. He nods, his eyes still locked on yours. "Yeah. You seem… different than I expected." "Different how?" you ask, your heart pounding against your ribs. He hesitates for a moment, as if considering his words carefully. "More… intense. More… interesting."

A blush creeps up your neck, but you don't look away. You're mesmerized by him, by the way the light catches his glasses, by the slight furrow in his brow that suggests he's just as nervous as you are. "I could say the same about you," you reply, finally finding your voice. "I thought you were just… a genius. Turns out you're also… interesting." He chuckles softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Is that so?" You nod, unable to articulate the thoughts swirling through your head. You're acutely aware of the proximity of your bodies, the way your thighs are almost touching, the warmth radiating from him. The air crackles with unspoken tension, and you have the distinct feeling that something is about to change between you two.

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "Maybe… maybe we should take a break from calculus," he whispers, his eyes searching yours. You swallow hard, your pulse quickening. "A break?" He nods, his gaze dropping to your lips again. "Yea. A break." He doesn't need to say anything else. You know exactly what he means. The calculus book slips off the bed and falls to the floor with a soft thud, unnoticed by either of you. His hand reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. His touch is feather-light as it lingers in your hair, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

"Is this okay?" he murmurs, his voice husky. You nod, your own voice lost somewhere in the sudden rush of adrenaline. "More than okay," you manage to say. That's all the confirmation he needs. His lips are soft when they meet yours, a tentative touch at first, as if he's testing the waters. But the kiss quickly deepens, becoming more urgent, more passionate. His hand moves from your hair to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you instinctively reach up, your fingers tangling in his hair. The kiss grows more urgent, more heated, and before you know it, you’re lying back against his mattress, Wonwoo hovering over you. His glasses are slightly askew, his breathing uneven, and the sight of him like this—disheveled and undone because of you— sends a thrill through you.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, voice low, gaze searching yours. You nod, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. “Yes. I want this. I... I want you” He kisses you again, a searing kiss that leaves no room for doubt. His hand finds its way under your shirt, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You arch into him, your own hands exploring the contours of his back, feeling the rapid beat of his heart against yours. His lips trail down your jawline, his breath hot against your skin, and you can't help the small moan that escapes your lips as he nuzzles your neck, his teeth gently grazing your skin, and you gasp, clutching him tighter.

Your hands slide up under his shirt, your hands flat against the muscles of his back. It's not long before his mouth reaches the collar of your shirt. He pulls back, sitting on his knees as he looks down at you. "Can I take this off?" he asks breathlessly pulling on the bottom of your shirt. You eagerly shake your head yes "Please" you say. His hands make quick work of pulling your shirt off over your head, his hand coming down and sliding under your back. His hand gripping the clasp of your bra. "This too?" he ask's as his lips ghost over yours. You kiss him in response. His hand move quickly, undoing your bra before he pulls back from the kiss. 

He gently removes your bra, his eyes darkening with desire as they rake over your exposed skin. The cool air brushes against you, making you shiver with anticipation. He leans in, his lips finding your skin again. His hands roam over yourbody, his touch setting you on fire. You gasp as his teeth graze your neck, the sensation sending waves of pleasure through you. He pulls back slightly, his gaze intense as he takes in your flushed skin. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice husky. His hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips as he presses himself against you, the evidence of his desire hard against your stomach. You moan softly, arching into him, wanting more.

Your hands gripping the hem of his shirt and tug. "Off" you say breathlessly. "As you wish" he says, pulling his shirt over his head and revealing his sculpted chest and abs. The evadence of those work outs with Mingyu. Your hands immediately explore the hard planes of his muscles, earning a low groan from him. He captures your lips again. His lips trail down your neck, leaving a hot, wet path to your collarbone. You arch your back, craving more contact. His hand slides down your stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants. You gasp at the intimate touch, your hips rising to meet him. His fingers find your core, already slick with desire. He groans your name, the sound sending a thrill through you.

He coats his fingers in your wetness before finding your clit. With deliberate strokes, his eyes locked on yours, watching your reactions. You writhe beneath him, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. "Please," you beg, your voice barely a whisper. He smirks, his touch becoming more insistent, pushing you closer to the edge. You grip the sheets, your body tensing as the pleasure builds. He leans down, his lips finding yours again, swallowing your moans as you shatter around him, waves of ecstasy crashing over you. He pulls back, his eyes dark with lust as he watches you come undone. He grips the top of your leggings, pulling down both them and your underwear in one swift motion till they are a heap on the floor.

 His hand moves lower, slipping two fingers inside you. You cry out at the sudden feeling, your walls clenching around him. He pumps his fingers slowly, curling them to hit that soft spot deep inside you. Your back arches off the bed, your hands gripping his sheets as he drives you wild. "More," you plead, your voice ragged. He slowly, adding a third finger and increasing the pace. The sound of your wetness fills the room, mingling with your moans and his groans. He leans down, capturing your nipple in his mouth, sucking and biting gently. The sensation of both pushes you over the edge again, your body convulsing as you come undone around his fingers.

He doesn't stop, continuing to thrust his fingers as you ride out your orgasm. Your vision blurs, pleasure coursing through you. He pulls his fingers out, bringing them to his lips and tasting you. The sight sends a fresh wave of heat through you. He moves down your body, spreading your legs wide. His tongue replaces his fingers, licking and sucking your clit. You scream his name, your hands fisting in his hair as he drives you higher. His tongue lapping at your wet entrance,  his fingers gripping your thighs as he devours you.

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with desire as he continues his assault on your senses. His tongue circles your clit, teasing and tormenting you. You can't hold back any longer, your body tensing as another orgasm crashes over you. He doesn't let up, not even when the tears start to flow. 

He finally pulls away, his lips slick with your arousal. He moves back up your body, his hard length pressing against your thigh. "How are you doing?" he ask's, concern shining in his eyes. "I need you to take then off now" you say as you push the waist of his sweats down his hips. He gives you a small chuckle before standing up and pulling his pants down. Your eyes widen at the site of his huge cock. This long and thick and has a head the prettiest shade of pink that currently is driping pre cum. He climbs baack ontop of you, pepering kisses along your skin till he meets your mouth again. 

You reach down, wrapping your hand around him and stroking slowly. He groans, breaking the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he tries to regain control. But you're not done with him yet. You guide him to your entrance, "Please Wonwoo" you moan. With one smooth thrust, his cock is deep inside you. You let out a moan from deep in your throat as your eyes slam shut. He still's. "Hey, hey. Open your eyes  for me baby" he coos down at you. His hands pushing your hair out of the way, cupping your face. You peel your eyes open, finding his right above you. "Are you okay?" He ask's sweetly. Your chest filling with warmth. "Yea" you whisper out. "Do you want me to stop?" He starts to raise up on his arms. "NO" you say gripping onto his arms to stop him. "I just needed a minute to adjust. Your big Wonwoo" you watch as a blush creeps across his face, joined by a smile. 

"You are going to be the death of me aren't you" he laughs "And you will be for me if you dont move" you push your hips forward to get your point across, instantly regretting it as you feel him nudge inside of you. A moan slipping from both of your mouths. In response he starts to move his hips. Slow and cautious at first, but your sounds quickly spur him on. He picks up the pace, growing more confidant as he watches you chant his name with each thrust. Your hands gripping the sheets to keep yourself grounded as the coil in your stomach tightens. Wonwoo leans down, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. "You feel so good," he whispers, his voice rough. His fingers lace with yours, pinning them beside your head as he thrusts into you. The room filled with the wet sounds of his hips meeting yours, your small gasps and moans and his grunts every time you tighten around him. 

"Wonwoo," you whimper, your back arching as the pleasure coils tighter inside you. He presses his forehead to yours, his lips brushing against yours as he murmurs, "I’ve got you, baby." His thrusts grow deeper, more deliberate, hitting that perfect spot. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, desperate to feel every inch of him. "You’re amazing," he breathes against your lips, his voice trembling as he fights to make this last. But the way you feel around him, it's unraveling his control. His free hand trails down your body, tracing over the curve of your waist before slipping between you, finding your clit and making  your breath hitch. He starts with tight pressured circles. "Wonwoo, I—" Your voice breaks as you're vaulted over the edge. Your wall tightening around him as you release all over his cock. His movements turning erratic as he chases his own release behind you, burying hims cock deep inside you as he shudders with pleasure. Spilling deep inside you. 

His body collapses onto of you, staying buried deep in you. He presses gentle kisses along your jaw, his touch now featherlight, a stark contrast to the intensity from moments ago. "You okay?" he murmurs, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your hip. You nod, a blissful smile stretching across your face. "More than okay." He chuckles softly, rolling onto his side and pulling you against his chest. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as if afraid to let you go. You listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling safe, cherished. "I have something to tell you" he says as he kisses the top of your head. "okay" you say hesitantly, fear creeping into your mind at what it could be. 

"I have had a little crush on you for a long time now." He says voice just above a whisper. "But I'v been to scared to ever approach you. Afraid you wouldn't want to be with someone like me" Your breath catches at his confession, your heart squeezing in your chest. You pull back just enough to look up at him, your fingers tracing soft patterns over his chest. "Wonwoo," you whisper, his name a gentle reassurance on your lips.

His eyes flicker with vulnerability, a rare sight that makes your heart ache. "I didn't know how to approach you. You were always hanging out with the popular kids." he says "it felt like we were in two different worlds." You look up at him thinking back to just last week and you could see how that could be. "Well we're not anymore" you say kissing his chest. He laughs "Your right, so if I were to say ask you out on a date this weekend, your answer would be?"

You grin up at him, your fingers still tracing lazy circles against his skin. "I’d say yes," you murmur, watching as relief washes over his face, quickly replaced by the softest smile you've ever seen from him. "Yea?" he asks, as if he can’t quite believe it. You nod, tilting so your face is closer to his. "Yes, Wonwoo. A thousand times yes." you ghost your lips over his. His arms tighten around you, pulling you flush against him. He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, then your nose, before finally capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss. It’s different from before. Less urgency, more depth. Like he’s trying to memorize the way you taste, the way you fit against him. When he pulls back, his eyes shine with something deeper than just desire. "Guess I should start planning the perfect first date, then," he says with a soft chuckle.

You smile, nuzzling into his chest. "Yea I guess you should."

Dividers by @strangergraphics

[little-diable]

Think I'm in love with you - Dean Winchester (smut)

Requested by lovely @foxyjwls007 for my birthday bash. The lyrics are from Chris Stapleton's song "Think I'm in love with you". Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Pwp, the reader confesses her love for Dean in the middle of a fight

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (m), idiots in love

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (800 words)

“You don’t get it, do you? You don’t fucking get it!” Her voice filled the motel room, angry eyes set on Dean’s frowning features. He kept quiet, pondering over her words while caught up in a storm of emotions he had tried to run from ever since he had met (y/n) all those months ago. For a second, his eyes flickered towards the door, something she easily picked up on. “Don’t you dare run again, Dean. Not this time.”

“(Y/n),” he mumbled her name like a silent plea, begging her to stop rambling. But the damage was done, there was no way out of the grave she had dug for them, unable to forget the words she had tried to hold back for too long now. “What do you want from me?”

“What I want? Jesus, Dean. Everything, I want it all. And I am so sick and tired of you ignoring it. Don’t you see it? I wanna make your dreams come true, I think I'm in love with you, you fucking idiot.” It took Dean exactly three seconds to move, to cross the short distance between them. His lips were soft against hers, even though the kiss was anything but soft or sweet - no, it was fuelled by the desire both had tried to tame for the past months. 

Without breaking the kiss, Dean pushed her down on the old bed they had been sharing for two nights now. He pressed himself close, weight shifted onto his forearm while his tongue met hers over and over again. She didn’t give him a warning before shuffling around, set on straddling his waist. 

“Say something, please, Dean.” He cupped her warm cheeks, staring up at her with a gaze filled with adoration. Her trembling fingers clung to his shirt, tugging on the fabric but not moving it off his body just yet, desperately wanting to hear his raspy voice. 

“I love you too, sweetheart. Always have.” It was all she needed, a confession that made her heart skip a beat or two. Dean’s shirt was ripped from his frame, with (y/n)’s following moments later. His big hands felt all too unfamiliar on her skin, but she couldn’t worry about it now, all she could focus on was freeing his cock and getting her mouth on him just like she had dreamt of doing for years. 

Dean raised his hips for her, allowing (y/n) to pull his trousers and underwear down his strong legs before straddling his thighs. Just the sight alone drew heat down to her core, watching Dean lay below her, spread out and naked - all for her. A dream come true, something she had never dared to speak of until this very day.

Her lips kissed their way down his stomach, trying to ignore the numerous freckles she swore to eventually count, all until she reached his hardening cock. Their eyes met as she spat down on him, letting her saliva drip down his length to lube up her movements. For a second, (y/n) thought about teasing him and taking her sweet time, but the impatient jerks of his hips forced her to move faster.

“Christ, sweetheart, if you keep up this pace this will be over very soon.” She could only chuckle at his words, too mesmerized by the feeling of his skin pressed against her, by the short breaths leaving him over and over again, and the unmistaken love swimming in his pupils. (Y/n) brought her mouth down to his cock, licking at his tip to get a taste of him for the first time, before slowly taking more of him. 

The second she gagged around him, Dean let his head fall back against the pillow. The deep groan he let go of could have made her cum right at that moment, instantly spiralling from the way he exposed his every emotion to her, something she interpreted as a clear sign of trust. (Y/n) was fully mesmerized by Dean, staring at him with glassy eyes as she bobbed her head, set on making him cum with her mouth. 

“(Y/n),” he panted her name, eyes rolling back into his head to get swallowed by a blanket of darkness. He jerked against her tongue, about to cum down her throat with another raspy moan, something she found herself aching for. (Y/n) gagged around him again, letting her tears roll down her cheeks all while Dean was overpowered by his orgasm. 

He came down her throat, choking on his moan while she didn’t dare move away. She greedily swallowed every drop, parting with a pout as Dean pulled her away from his cock to kiss her. 

“Fuck, I love you, sweetheart.”

[creolefatu]

Crash Out

***After thinking you were out with another man, Joshua confronts you only to realize he’s trippin***

This is my first time writing like this please be kind lol hope you enjoy

SO YOU REALLY OUT HERE TRYNNA MAKE A NIGGA LOOK DUMB! the voice on the other end of the phone was Joshua, of course. Over reacting as usual. What did I do now?! I thought as he continued to rant.

Josh idk what you’re talkin about, I’ve been home all day! You always callin with some bs. I responded. When he gets like this it does annoy a small part of me, but damn hearing him all fired up like that made my pussy jump and drip.

So now John just lyin on you? So you callin my brotha a liar now! He ain’t got no reason to lie on you Y/N!

Wtf yo messy ass brotha said now? I swear he always got some dumb shit to say and hear you go blowin my phone up with the bullshit Josh!

Dating a twin is not for the weak! If I’m not caught up in their pranks then it’s their drama or pettiness!

So you ass wasn’t in the mall all hugged up with some nigga in Nike? Cause that what my bro said he saw!

Josh listen to yourself! Do you fuckin hear how you sound? Why in the fuck would I be out in public with another man if ima play you? Especially knowing you have eyes everywhere?! And stop all that damn yellin before I hang up!

You gone hang up on me?! Bet!

I could feel the vibrations through the phone of the low growl in his voice when he said it

Bet!

**boop boop boop** was the next sound Josh heard cause I surely did hang up

Walking around my house in a XXL YEET shirt I heard the familiar sound of a truck engine in my driveway.

Y/N OPEN THIS DAMN DOOR RIGHT NOW GIRL!

He was so damn sexy when he was mad 💦

Josh stop banging on my door like that! You’re gonna break it!

Then open it tf up!

He hit the door again this time I heard the frame crack a little

Ok ok ok just stop beating on my shit!

Josh came in looking around before his eyes settled on me

Bae calm tf down! Look at you, you all swole in the chest!

I’m telling you right now y/k if you lyin to me I swear…

Bae look around… I been here in yo shirt all day taking a lazy day.

You’re right I see the ice cream on the counter, the blankets and the movie goin, it’s just John called said he thought he saw you and I lost it! Idk what I’d do if I ever lost you. Just the thought drives me crazy

I grab his face in both hands, he grabbed my wrist and kisses the palm of my right hand.

You know it does something to me when you get like that bae

I’ll crash out any time, any place over you, and over this

He reached bw my legs and lightly grazed my clit

Damn! You ain’t got on no draws for big daddy Jey?! Let me see!

He lifted my shirt off and began to kiss my neck as he slid his hand below my waist and found my soft pussy lips soaked.

You wet for me too, you like when I get like that over you. You my nasty freak

I’m in heaven, his warm kisses on my neck , his thick fingers working their way into my tight wet pussy, finding my g spot and applying pressure. I wrapped both arms around his neck as my legs begin to give way to the pleasure. He walked me back against the wall and never missed a beat. Fingers stroking me, moving in and out to the rhythm of my heart beat. I could barely breathe

This my pussy? Tell me it’s my pussy.

Yes! It’s your pussy baby! It’s daddy Jey’s pussy

Josh pulled his fingers out and sucked my juices off, then pushed them into my mouth to give me a taste.

I want you to taste why I’m ready to crash out behind you bae

His big hands gripped my thighs and lifted me up, I wrapped my legs around his muscular waist. He pulled his pants down and I could feel his 8in dick pop up and slap my ass.

You feel that? You got me feeling like this

Put it in, please I need to feel you in me

He grabbed the shaft and begin slapping my pussy with the head of his dick. It made me absolutely feral! I begin to grind my pussy against him as he continued to tease me. My pussy dripping with anticipation. Then I felt him press his body against mine as he pushed his thick head into me. I gasped… it was what I was begging for. My pussy gripped every inch as he slowly entered me. Once fully in he griped my thighs to hold me up against the wall. The strokes started off slow, moving his hips in a circular motion. Sending me into another dimension.

This what I been needing. When I’m in you, I know you all mine he whispered into my ear.

I could feel every stroke grow stronger, I clawed shoulders as I was looking to readjust my grip on him. The sound of skin smackin and macaroni filled the air, I gasped as he sped up his pace. I could feel him throbbing in me as he grew harder. The growl he made as he pushed deep into me made me even wetter.

You like how I handle that pussy baby?

Mmhm was all I could say. I couldn’t even talk he had me so gone from the dick.

You gone cum for big daddy Jey? He didn’t have ro say no more. I was already there. But he already knew that. This man knew my body like that back of his hand.

Mmmmhm ahhh fuck! You strokin me so good bae

My body begin to shake and my pussy squeezed his dick and I begin the have the best orgasm anyone has ever given me.

Damn baby you bout to make me cum with you

He pressed me harder against the wall and he bottomed out inside of me. He let out a primal growl that made me want a round 2 immediately. Still holding me up he kissed me wildly and passionately. He lowers me to the floor and we both collapsed into each other arms and onto the couch. As I lay on his chest listening to his heart beat he held me tightly and whispered.

Yeah I’ll crash out a million times a day behind that lil pussy.

And I’ll do the same behind that dick

THE END

[star-suh]

The Cabin in The Woods

Johnny Suh x Male Reader

an: this is a short one.

—

johnny and his boyfriend planned to go on vacation to one of those cozy cabins in the woods, where you would be surrounded by wildlife and plants and the sounds of nature that could help to calm down even the most stressed person, “this would be a relaxing weekend” yn says with joy. but this plan soon would be scrapped because johnny’s hornyness augmented when he saw his dear boyfriend in black shorts and a sleeveless white shirt, “let’s go for a swim” yn said while running towards the lake but johnny just stood there, sitting with his mouth open and looking over his black glasses, “the fuck” he murmured. like a deer in headlights johnny kept watching yn swimming, how that white shirt sticked to his wet body, is like the shirt became transparent by how much of yn’s skin could be seen through the fabric. johnny was flustered to say the least, his little friend down there slowly grew in size “why you have to be so hot yn” he exclaims, “fuck!!” he yells while running towards the lake too. he jumps on it and splashes everywhere including yn, “someone’s eager to swim” yn jokes but then he chokes on his words when johnny emerged from under the water, now the tables were turned, this time yn is the one being in awe at johnny’s figure seeing through that piece of fabric, his sexy chest and toned abs… damn, such a fine man.

the couple tried to brush the obvious sexual tension with some games like swimming races or who could last more under the water, in one of these rounds is when yn managed to see johnny’s thick meat bulging in between his laughs, this made him open the mouth and by consequence he drank some water causing him to choke and go quickly to the surface to cough it out “oh my…. what the fu-”. “are you okay?” johnny asked, worried by yn’s well being, “what happened?”, “i think i saw a monster down there” he replies, “don’t be dumb yn” johnny said a bit annoyed, “don’t joke with those things”. minutes passed since that incident and the atmosphere turned a bit awkward but the older couldn’t take it anymore swimming towards the floatie in where yn was resting, proceeding to steal a kiss from yn who opens his eyes in surprise “what-” he says confused but johnny didn’t let him process what just happened when his tongue was already deep in yn’s mouth. johnny’s kisses were always rough and messy, something that yn liked, how the other man moves his tongue inside in the right places, that would be enough for yn to cum.

things escalated quickly when johnny got yn off the floatie and started humping on his wet clothed ass, drawing little sobs from yn who was biting his lower lip, “come here” johnny uses his big hand to move yn’s head closer and kiss him again. his meat getting bigger and bigger down there, yn could swear that thing would rip the fabric of the shorts apart by how massive it was, “do you want it?” johnny asks lowly, yn nodded “yes sir”, “that’s what i thought” the taller one says happily.

they didn’t bother to discard all their clothes completely, johnny just took off the sleeveless shirt and yn just the shorts and underwear, “you went commando?” yn asked when he saw johnny pulling his dick out by one of the leg openings, “i like it better without underwear” he winked at his lover. yn was now folded in a mating press with johnny pummeling into him, his big balls slapping against yn’s ass. “tight as always” johnny whimpered while yn tried to not cum right away. johnny’s meat went up and down, slicked in their fluids and some spit. “sho deep…” a dumbfucked yn murmurs, in this position johnny easily managed to fuck yn’s prostate, abusing it to the point he just goes dumb. “cum for me ynnie, cum on my dick” johnny commands, stroking yn’s dick that after some rubbings spurted his spunk everywhere including johnny’s chin, he cleaned it with his thumb and licks it “sweet as always”.

johnny didn’t stop fucking yn in that position until he reached his orgasm, nutting inside, “that was wild” he admits while gasping for some air, “yeah” yn barely speaks, his chest heaving up and down rapidly, is like johnny fucked the air out of him. the older then kneels and starts moving his tongue up and down yn’s hole and then putting it inside, “johnny what the hell?” yn mewled, pushing johnny’s head deeper with his hand, “i just wanna eat some cream” he says with a sweaty face, his hair sticked to his forehead and the surroundings of his mouth and the tip of his nose smeared in a mix of saliva and nut, “you know how much i love to creampie you but sometimes i wonder how it would taste it, but know i know” his smile with that disheveled hair and fucked up face made yn came once again, “you’re quite the milk fountain” johnny sad while nuzzling yn’s balls with his nose, “god i fucking love you so much” he says and stands up to kiss yn, “i love you too” he responds. the couple spend the rest of the day sleeping with yn cockwarming johnny’s cock.

[nativegirltapes]

drew taking a honey packet by accident…

warnings: fingering, drew being sweet but eager (hot), p in v, kind cut short at the end lol. i know nothing abt honey packets, this is purely based on the 3 minutes of google searching i did

before your weekly movie night, drew was doing some snooping in your purse. in his defense he was looking for a phone charger, which he didn’t end up finding. but he did find some honey packets, which he was offended you were keeping from him. without any care for what he was about to eat, he tore the end and sucked up the honey. also in his defense, they tasted really good and just like regular honey he’d eaten. but unbeknownst to him, they were in fact sex enhancement honey packets, which would explain why he just couldn’t keep his hands off you the whole movie.

it wasn’t unusual for drew to have his hands on you during movie night, but tonight was definitely a little different. his hands kept trailing dangerously close in between your legs and under the waist band of your sweats. he waited till the movie was actually over though to finally make his move and get what he wanted. he looked over at you, leaning in giving you a kiss on the cheek, then his lips traveled down to your neck, giving you kisses and sniffing your neck. “you smell so good baby.” he groaned out. “you wanna go to the bedroom?”

you giggled, shoving his face away from you. “what’s gotten into you?”

“nothing, you just look really good.” drew brought his head back to your neck, kissing and sucking on your soft skin. “cmon.” his hot breath sent shivers throughout your body. “wanna feel you.” he whispered. his words always made butterflies emerge from the pit of your stomach, he made you nervous in the best way.

“yeah?” he repeated himself, making sure you wanted it too. “yeah, carry me.” you agreed, and without wasting any time drew scooped you off the couch bridal style and carried you to his bedroom, playfully throwing you on his bed. before he crawled over to you he tossed his shirt off. everytime you seen his bare chest is made you just as horny as it did the first time you’d seen him shirtless. he was perfect, and he thought the exact same thing about you. “you’re so fucking pretty baby.” drew whined while giving you sloppy kisses as he hovered over you.

his free hand wasted no time pulling down your sweats and finding its way in your panties. “you’re fucking soaked, holy shit.” drew whispered. “so fucking hot.” he rubbed circles on your clit before shoving a finger in. your body jolted under him in response. little moans came out in between your kisses. you toyed with your tits, drew shoved a second finger inside of you. “my pretty girl.”

you weren’t sure why drew was so eager today, but you were eating it up. he always talked you through it but today his words were just hitting different in the way that made you want to have his baby tonight.

after coming on drew’s fingers and watching him lick up your mess you were laid back on his bed watching him pump in and out of you. “you feel so good.” he sighed out. drew was obviously bigger than you, but when you were laid there under him he seemed even bigger and you loved it. everything about him was so sexy and big and buff. the way his arms would flex as they grabbed onto your inner thigh while trying get deeper inside of you, or the way his forehead vein would pop out because he was out of breath and focused on pleasing you. there was nothing about him you didn’t like.

“you like that?” drew asked as moans and profanities left your mouth. “yes!” your tits bounced as drew speed up, you were both reaching your climax. drew watched your face and the way it tightened up as you both came undone at the same time. you always looked so perfect and angelic.

drew finished inside of you and came crashing down on top of you, both of you breathing heavy. “you did so good baby. i love you.”