#just two little nosy bitches enabling each other

[trashydemigodmess]

"So important that you should've taken notes?" Macey sat up, interest immediately piqued. Wether it was having lived there for so long, or exposure from their jobs, or just being friendly and well connected, having the gossip on everyone they knew—and speculating about it together—was one of the tiny joys in their life. She took an incredulous sip of her coffee, moving in closer so she was pressed up against his side, "What the fuck kind of tea did you find that was so important? We gotta get to the bottom of this, babe. Who do you remember talking to?"

"Hmmm." Brent was slurping his coffee so he didn't respond with words. Where to start? Brent had a feeling he wanted to tell her something. But the latter part of the night was mostly a blur, and before that... that felt very long ago. "It was a time," he said, nodding. "I actually had a lot of fun. Caught up with a lot of people, too, and... Mmm, there's something I wanted to tell you." Brent furrowed his brow, trying to piece the memory together. "Damn, I drank too much." It was so stupidly obvious it made him laugh into his mug. He drank some more coffee, then sighed. "I should have taken notes or something."

[pilothusband]

All Hail The King

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Warnings: Alcohol, oral sex, p in v sex, praise kink. I’m a horny bitch, okay? This is purely indulgent.

Word count: 5k

Author’s note: Special thanks to @wyn-dixie​ for reading this over before I posted it and for enabling this filth. ❤️ This idea entered my brain randomly and I had to write it out. Please let me know what you think! I want your feedback. If I had Photoshop I would have made an edit of Frankie with a crown for this but I don’t have it so here’s this gif instead.

The bar is humming with activity, but the table you’re nestled at in the back provides enough shelter to allow you all to converse without having to yell at each other.

You’ve been nursing a glass of water for a while now, since you’re the designated driver this week. It doesn’t bother you, though— you’re just happy to be out with your friends.

Every once in a while you steal a glance over at Frankie, who’s sitting diagonally across the table, next to Santiago who is directly across from you. Benny is to your left, his large body crowding you into the wall, and his brother Will is at the head of the table.

“Hey Fish,” Benny claps a hand on his shoulder. The force of his hand jostles Frankie’s solid body backwards a little, but to his credit he doesn’t flinch. “How are things with that girl you were seeing? Jennessa? Jennifer?”

You take a sip of your water and look down at the table to mask your interest at the sudden change in conversation.

“Jessica,” Frankie clears his throat. “They aren’t. We didn’t have much in common so she broke it off after a few dates.”

Queue the internal cheering. Jessica was a bit of a wet mop, to be honest. She never had anything to say when Frankie brought her around and she would scoff at everything that was slightly unsavory in her eyes. Deep down, you had to come to terms with the jealous twinge you felt in your gut every time she would squeeze Frankie’s shoulder affectionately, her immaculately manicured nails pressed harshly into his jacket.

“I’m sorry, Fish,” Benny said, slinging his arm around the man, the clumsy movement knocking his hat slightly askew. “Her loss, brother.”

“Here here,” Santi agrees, raising his bottle in the air. “To the king!”

Benny cheers clinks his bottle against Santiago’s echoing his sentiment. Will huffs out a laugh and Frankie groans, hiding his face in his hands.

You gape at the two men in question, but they just giggle like a couple of school girls.

“I didn’t realize I was in the presence of royalty,” you say, trying to figure out what they’re talking about. You look over at Frankie as he takes an impatient sip from his drink.

Benny just about spits out a mouthful of beer onto the table.

“Shut the fuck up, guys.” Frankie warns his friends. “Seriously.” Santi and Benny give him an innocent look. Will focuses his gaze on the bottle he’s holding, picking at the paper label, damp and curling at the edges from condensation .

Santiago leans towards you, his breath hot in your ear.

“We call him the pussy eating king.”

You thank the powers above you weren’t mid-sip, because the choked sound that emits from your throat was both involuntary and sudden. Heat blossoms in your stomach and your thighs clench together as you make eye contact with Frankie. He looks away nervously, embarrassed even. 

“So was this a self coronation or..” You trail off, grinning at the flush on Frankie’s cheeks.

“It was that really talkative chick he was seeing for a while,” Benny says, turning to you. “Brianna?”

“Brenda,” Frankie sighs.

“So Brenda crowned you the pussy eating king?” You ask Frankie, who still refuses to meet your eyes.

He grumbles in response, waving off the subject.

“Yeah, she went on about it in detail for the whole night one time. I think you were away for a work trip or something” Santiago is absolutely smirking, loving the way Frankie is physically shrinking under the group’s attention. “Come on Fish, don’t be so modest. You’re a beast in the sack, it’s a good thing!”

You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You remember why you weren’t there. It was because you couldn’t stand seeing Frankie so happy with another woman, so you feigned sick.

“Well, I can see why things with Brenda didn’t last,” you respond, knowing Frankie was kind of a private guy. “But hey, at least she can tell all her friends she got the royal treatment while it lasted.”

Benny, Santiago and even Will all roar with laughter, fists banging raucously on the table. Frankie huffs out an embarrassed laugh, despite himself.

“Yeah, yeah,” he takes a swig of his beer, emptying it. “I need another drink.”

“Hey Ben, what time is your fight next week again?” Will calls over to his brother. You’re grateful for the change of subject. Frankie’s had enough torture for one night and you aren’t sure how many more details about Frankie’s sexual prowess your nether regions can take.

Benny turns towards Will to talk about his upcoming match and you take a sip from your glass to try to hide how flustered you’re feeling. Did this bar get hot all of a sudden?

The glass lands back down with a dull thump and you look up to find Santiago studying you, his eyebrow raised.

“What?” You don’t mean to sound aggressive, but his gaze is unnerving, as if he’s trying to suss out something you’re hiding.

“Nothing, nothing at all.” He smirks and tips up his beer, taking a long gulp. You roll your eyes at him and look down to pick at your nails.

A few moments later, Frankie returns with a fresh beer and you can feel Santiago turning his face in your direction again to read your body language. You school your reaction, fingers digging painfully into your pint glass. Sometimes Pope is too fucking nosy for his own good.

He must lose interest after a moment though, because he turns his attention back to Benny, who’s still talking about his upcoming fight.

The topic doesn’t come up again, thankfully, and you’ve dropped all the boys off at their separate destinations, save for Frankie, who lives the closest to you.

The car ride alone with him isn’t as tense as you were expecting, since his tongue has been loosened with the fair amount of alcohol he’s had tonight. You both chat easily about the upcoming week and how much you’re dreading going back to work on Monday.

You can’t resist one smart remark though, as you pull up to Frankie’s house.

“Your castle awaits, my liege,” you quip, trying and failing to hide your amused smile as you look over at him.

Frankie throws his head back and laughs freely, opening the car door with a wink.

“Goodnight, my queen,” he bows exaggeratedly before shutting the car door.

The butterflies don’t tamp down until you’re securely inside your own apartment, locking the door behind you.

That night was a month ago, which means it’s been a whole fucking month since your brain flew the coop. Every time Frankie does just about anything with his mouth, everything else around you ceases to exist.

Take last Thursday, for example. Frankie dropped by after work to help you change your porch light, since the fixture is too heavy and the light is too high up to easily reach.

He steps up the ladder with ease, unscrewing the fixture and holding it with his left hand. He puts the screwdriver in his mouth so he can hold onto the ladder as he gingerly hands you the fixture. You grab onto it and hand him the replacement bulb so he can swap them out.

He gets the lightbulb in and gestures towards you to hand the fixture back, which he screws back in before stepping down.

“Blegh,” he wipes his mouth on his sleeve, an action that has your last two brain cells screeching to a halt. “Screwdrivers taste awful.” 

His statement is cute, self-deprecating, and you try to respond appropriately but all you can do is gape at him like a fish out of water.

‘Get your shit together, he’s wiping off the taste of rust, not your pussy,’ you try to mentally shake yourself out of your stupor, but it does no good.

He turns back towards his toolbox to drop the screwdriver in and close the lid.

“All set,” he says, dusting off his jeans. He sounds a little uneasy, probably because you’re acting like a complete weirdo.

“Thank you so much, Frankie. I really appreciate it.” You find your manners and pull him in for a hug, secretly reveling in how good he smells.

“Any time,” he tells you as he wraps his arms around you and squeezes softly.

Before he pulls away you make a spur of the moment decision, and reach up to give him a small kiss on the cheek. He’s so impossibly warm and so inviting, you can feel your heart flutter in your chest. The sparse hairs on his face tickle your chin. 

Frankie clears his throat and ducks his head down, mumbling a hurried goodbye before he heads back to his truck, toolbox in hand. You don’t miss the way his lips are turned up and the crows feet make an appearance in the corner of his eyes, nor do you miss the brilliant flush that spreads over his face and down his neck.

It’s Saturday now and your torment knows no end. You decide you’re too tired to go out and opt to invite the guys over for a movie night, to which they all agree. 

You decide you’ll just have to look away every time Frankie takes a sip of a drink, or eats a handful of popcorn. Or God forbid, if he licks his lips.

The group chat has been a nightmare, with everyone trying to come up with a movie to watch. Benny wants to watch The Expendables, Will mentioned something about wanting to see Dunkirk for ages now and Santi is playing devil’s advocate, disagreeing with all of their choices but not coming up with one of his own.

Frankie has been quiet in the chat, besides initially agreeing to come over initially.

It’s 9:00 PM, you have a 30 rack of beers in the fridge and some popcorn set out for everyone. All you have to do now is wait for the guys to arrive. Your phone chimes with a notification from Benny.

Benny and the Jets 🥊: Sorry lady, I got called in for a last minute practice. Raincheck?

Ironhead 🦸🏼: I gotta duck out too. The lady wants to have a date night. Sorry!

You type out a reply to them, a little disappointed but bidding them a good night all the same.

A knock sounds on the door and you rush over to answer it. The door swings open to reveal Frankie, wearing the softest looking navy blue hoodie you’ve ever seen, along with his Standard Oil cap. He looks as unsure as ever, holding a bottle of red wine.

You chirp an over-enthusiastic greeting, internally cringe at it, and step aside to welcome him in.

“I know you like red wine, so I got some for you on the way here. I hope it’s the kind you like.”

You accept the wine and look at the label. It’s a California Zinfandel. You can’t believe he remembered your favorite wine.

“I love it, thank you so much.” You pull him into a hug, nuzzling into the soft material of his sweatshirt. He returns the hug just as enthusiastically, pulling away to kiss your forehead.

“Is Santiago on his way?” You ask, padding into the kitchen to grab a glass from your cabinet. “Do you want a glass? Or I have some beer if you’d prefer.”

“Beer is perfect, thanks,” he says a little breathily as he looks over at you. “Santiago said something came up and that he’s sorry.”

Something feels a little fishy with the three of them ducking out all at the same time, but you don’t mention it as you hand him a beer and search through your drawer for a bottle opener. A few minutes later, you’re both set up on the couch and are scrolling through Netflix for a movie.

“I have no idea what to watch. Do you?”

“Want to watch Civil War? I know the guys will bitch we’re continuing the rewatch without them but they can deal.”

You tip your head back and laugh, navigating over to your Disney+ app.

Frankie takes off his hat and sets it aside while you spread a blanket over your laps, braving a chance to scoot closer to him. He takes the hint and wraps his arm behind your shoulders, nestling you closer to his chest. You settle in and try to pay attention to the movie, despite the wild fluttering that is taking place in your stomach.

Frankie shifts uncomfortably and winces a little. You can tell he’s trying to hide it, but little does he know you’ve been watching every single movement he makes like a hawk. Or a nervous lap dog.

“Does your back hurt? I can move,” you start to get up but Frankie grabs onto your wrist and pulls you back in.

“No, stay. I just need to find a comfortable position.”

You make a soft noise of surprise when he lifts you up and pulls you towards him, settling back so he’s spread out on the couch. You’re settled on top of him, your legs stretched out over his with your back to the cushion, half draped over his torso.

This position has your heart thumping hard in your chest. His face was just a few inches from yours. All he’d have to do is tilt his face towards yours, and you’d be practically kissing.

Focusing on the movie is harder than ever. Your left hand rests on Frankie’s chest and your right is near his head. Without even thinking, you reach out and start stroking your fingers through his soft curls. He hums contentedly, the pleasant sound rumbling through his chest.

A hand makes its way up your arm leaving goosebumps in its wake, landing on your shoulder.

You brave a glance at Frankie and feel your heart stutter in your chest when you realize he’s been looking at you. His eyes are as dark as ever, twinkling against the flicker of your TV.

He closes the gap and captures your lips in a tender kiss. His lips are warm and soft, melding to yours perfectly. The brush of your mouths together is intoxicating. Your tongue darts out to lick at him and he complies, letting out a guttural moan at the sensation as your tongues meet languidly.

You shift your leg so it slots between his and both of your hands find his shoulders and squeeze them, eliciting a soft mewl from Frankie’s mouth. His hands are hot on your back and he slides one down to your ass, kneading the soft flesh over your leggings.

Your hips press into his, rutting into him, soft pants falling from your mouth– mingling with his. You need to be closer, closer, closer. He tightens his grip on your ass in response and rolls his hips so you can feel how hard he is against your belly.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, breaking the kiss, words tumbling out between his ragged breaths. 

You can feel yourself throbbing for him, wetness rushing to your core as his hushed baritone makes your head spin with need. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’re convinced this is a dream. That there’s no way you’re dry humping the man of your dreams on your couch right now.

You duck down to hide your expression, not wanting to ruin the moment with your anxiety and doubt. You’ll take whatever this man gives you, even if it’s just this moment. 

You busy yourself by peppering small kisses on his neck, trailing them up to his jaw.

“Hey,” he slows your movements and holds your chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up gently up to look at him.

“I want you. I want this. Do you?” 

You feel the urge to look away, his gaze is intense and laser-focused on you. Eye contact has never been your strong suit, so this was a lot for you to handle. But you fight the urge to flinch and stare back, searching to see if there was anything that will give away any trepidations. His expression remains hard set, serious but not unkind. It’s just like Frankie to have eyes as clear as day, giving away all of his secrets. They’re just like him— strong, unrelenting in their hardness and softness.

“Yes,” you reply. Your voice cracks a little, thick with emotion. “I’ve wanted this, wanted you, for so long.” 

You feel embarrassment wash over you with the admission, but Frankie doesn’t let it last long before you crushes his lips to yours in a searing kiss. He breaks it off after a moment, lips swollen and pink.

“Baby, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

He strokes a hand down your jaw, his thumb caressing your skin as a goofy smile blooms over your face.

“I want to make you feel good, baby,” he whispers, his thumb catching on the swell of your bottom lip. “Will you let me make you feel good?”

You blink and swallow heavily, a fresh wave of arousal flooding to your center as the deep rasp of his voice utters those words, smooth as caramel– dousing over you like kerosene on a fire.

You nod, not trusting your voice at this very moment.

“I need you to say it out loud, honey,” he says, his lips brushing against yours ever so lightly.

“Yes, Francisco,” you breathe out. “Make me feel good.”

He bites your bottom lip and tugs, then growls playfully before he grabs your shoulders and flips you over. You let out a delighted shriek, giggling as he lifts up the hem of your shirt and kisses every inch of skin that’s revealed.

“Wait,” you call out. He stops his movements immediately. “You first.”

Frankie grins. You want to press your fingers into the dimple that appears and feel the scratch of his beard under your nails. He leans back and lifts his sweatshirt over his head, the grey t-shirt he’s wearing sticks to the inside of it and he rolls both garments down his arms. 

His chest is bare to you now, smooth except for a smattering of hairs in the middle of his chest, and a patch leading down into his jeans. You want to reach out and run your hands down the planes of his torso and follow the path of hair,  but your arms aren’t long enough to reach. 

You remove your shirt, leaving you in your leggings and bra. It’s a soft lace number, a delicate pink with no underwire. You watch as his hungry gaze roams over your chest. To your surprise, he doesn’t motion for you to take it off. Instead, he leans over you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

 He moves downwards, tongue darting out to taste the salt of your neck. He continues his path and mouths between your breasts, one of his hands reaches out to squeeze the plump flesh in his large hand. You nipple instantly pebbles under his ministrations and he pulls the fabric aside to tease it with the pad of his finger. You moan softly at the sensation and yelp in surprise when he sucks it into his mouth and bites it, soothing the sharp sting with a flick of his tongue.

 “Mmm, love how responsive you are already,” he hums, moving down. Your back arches as his mouth makes a hot trail down the rest of your torso. You look down and notice he’s left wet patches where his mouth has been, coating you in saliva and leaving goosebumps in his wake.

 He reaches the waistband of your leggings and pushes them down, letting out a strangled groan when he gets an eyeful of your panties, the same shade of pink that matches the bra you’re wearing. 

“So fucking sexy,” he breathes.

He peels your panties down your legs and pulls them off along with your leggings, leaving you completely bare from the bottom down. You start to cross your legs to hide yourself, feeling self-conscious at how exposed you are, but Frankie grabs your thigh to halt the movement.

“You better not hide this pretty pussy from me,” he says, licking his lips.

You half expect him to dive in, but he takes a moment to look at you. He’s resting a hand on your hip. His pointer finger makes a path down, tracing an invisible line up and down your slit. You hiss at the ghost of his touch and thrust your hips towards his hand, seeking out more friction.

Frankie lets out an amused chuckle at your reaction and leans forward to plant a wet kiss to your inner thigh. You let out a shaky breath in anticipation– your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest. He kisses up your thigh until he reaches the apex between your legs, then licks a stripe through your folds with the flat of his tongue, pulling a surprised gasp from your parted lips.

He sucks your clit into his mouth and you can’t help it– you buck up into his mouth and grab onto his hair and tug at the strands. He grabs onto the flesh of your hip and whimpers into your pussy. Despite being almost dizzy with need, you feel a rush of power knowing you have this effect on him.

“You taste so fucking good. So wet for me,” he punctuates his words with bold licks up and down. “Never want to stop.”

He changes patterns, making tight circles on your clit with his tongue. The sudden switch has you mewling and your legs clamp around his head involuntarily. Frankie grabs your thighs and wrenches them apart, hooking them over his shoulders as he latches onto your pussy. His hands are on your ass, holding you up as your back arches off the couch.

All you can do is scramble at the cushions below you for purchase as Frankie buries his face into your cunt, lapping at you with abandon. His tongue licks into you with an intensity you’ve never experienced before; it has you seeing stars.

You have no idea how he knows exactly how to manipulate your body to pull the pleasure from you so naturally. Every lick feels like it’s searching for treasure, every suck hits somewhere deep inside, reverberating through the muscles of your thighs and up in your abdomen.

He gently places you back down to the cushions and rubs at your entrance with his pointer finger, looking up at you for permission.

“Yes, please–“ you whimper brokenly. He complies immediately and plunges it into you, following with a second finger, and curls them up. His pace is slow at first and he flicks his tongue out to play with your clit at the same time. He’s soon spurred on by your moans and sets a brutal pace. You once again feel the urge to clamp around him to increase the pressure, but Frankie uses his broad shoulders to hold your thighs apart.

 Seeing his shoulders, bare and perspiring from his intensive movements, so wide and flushed, coupled with the furrow of his brow, his eyes pinched closed, makes something primal within you awaken. You barely have time to feel your orgasm coming before it’s hitting you– thighs shaking, back arching, hands in his hair. You don’t even realize it, but you;’re shrieking his name, chanting it like a prayer. He’s groaning in reply, milking you through it with his fingers and tongue, lapping up your release, syrupy sweet and indulgent.

 He doesn’t stop until you’re flinching from overstimulation. He kisses up your body lazily, taking his time before capturing your lips. You kiss him back, licking into his mouth and tasting yourself on his tongue. He grinds into you, his jean-clad erection rubs against your aching cunt and rekindles the fire, molten heat shooting through your entire body.

 “Wanna fuck you so bad, baby,” he says, panting the words into your mouth.

 You moan and break the kiss.

 “Want to take this to my room?”

 He doesn’t reply, but instead swings his body off the couch and picks you up bridal-style. He stumbles a little with the first steps and you both laugh, kissing each other with each step he takes towards your bedroom.

He tosses you onto the bed softly and you let loose another delighted giggle when Frankie flops over you dramatically, caging you in his arms. Your tongues tangle together in an impossibly sensual kiss. He’s momentarily distracted, caught up in the feel of your body underneath his with the soft touches of your tongue, and you take the opportunity to roll him over and straddle his hips.

Frankie is looking up at you as if he’s in awe, like he can’t believe you’re here right now, naked from the waist down and grinding down on his hard cock, tenting his jeans.

You move down his body and zip his fly down, pushing down the denim along with his boxer briefs. His cock springs free, hard and hot and leaking at the tip. You can’t help but lick the bead of precum, and a broken whine rips from Frankie’s throat. His hands are clenched into the sheets, knuckles white with how hard he’s gripping the mattress beneath him.

You’re bobbing your mouth up and down his length, tongue licking around his shaft and cheeks hollowing out. His moans are loud, constant. He’s babbling praise, telling you how fucking amazing your mouth feels, how badly he wants to fuck you. It’s a heady feeling, bringing a strong and quiet man to his knees like this. You love that he’s letting you know how much he’s breaking for you.

Your tongue finds its way down to his balls and you suck them into your mouth, moaning at the musky taste. His moans are high pitched now and his hand is squeezing your shoulder.

“Baby, you gotta stop,” he grabs onto your hair to pause your movements. “I need to feel you.”

You give him one last broad lick up his shaft and shift back up, and look down at Frankie to catalogue the number you’ve done on him. He’s absolutely wrecked– brown eyes blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly with his uneven breaths.

 You remove your bra, stretching it over your head and throwing it to the side. Frankie follows the movement and lets out a needy, staccato moan at the sight of you, completely bare before him.

 You reach down and kiss him soundly on the mouth, lining his cock up with your entrance.

 “I’ve got you, baby boy,” you coo, sinking down on his length.

 “Fuck,” he grits out between his teeth.

 You give yourself a moment to get used to his size and rock into him. His hands fly up to your chest, squeezing lightly and rolling your nipples in between his fingers.

 “So fucking big,” you pant out. “So good for me.”

 It seems Frankie loves praise as much as you do, evidenced by the twitch of his cock inside you.

 Your pace is agonizingly slow. You’re trying to tease out the moment, stretch it out so it lasts forever. It doesn’t last long– you can’t stand it anymore. You bounce up and down on him, snapping your hips when they meet his.

 “So fucking perfect,” he pants out. “Wanna fuck you from behind.”

 You breathe out a moan and stop your movements. Frankie mistakes your pause for hesitation and reaches up to brush the hair out of your face.

 “We don’t have to,” he says, voice gentle, brow furrowed in concern. 

 “No, fuck. No, Frankie. I want to.”

 You gingerly get up and whimper at the loss when he’s no longer inside you. Frankie sits up, shoulders rocking forward and cock bobbing with his movement as he settles onto his knees. You watch him and bite your lip, getting on all fours and lifting your ass up in the air to present yourself to him.

 Frankie can’t help the groan that falls from his lips and sinks forward to lay an open-mouthed kiss on your pussy from behind before he lines himself up. He enters you without hesitation, hips slapping against your ass rhythmically, setting a decisively fast pace. 

 All you can hear is the filthy sounds of your wet pussy as he pounds into you, along with your strangled moans, and his heavy breathing, laced with whispers of praise you can’t discern. The waves of pleasure are too much, too strong. You can feel the familiar build up of an orgasm. Your head is in the clouds as it climbs and climbs– then crashes.

 His fingers on your clit is what does you in. Your whole body shakes and all you can do is whimper and moan around his cock while he fucks into you. The strong, practiced rock of his hips become sloppy as he chases his release, muttering words of adoration into the air as he pulls out and cums, spilling onto your back. He pulls every last drop out of his cock before collapsing over you, forehead resting on your spine as he catches his breath.

 “Fuck, baby,” he says, once he’s caught his breath. “Should have done this ages ago.”

 You both laugh and Frankie gets up to grab a wet face towel from the bathroom

A little while later, you’re both in bed, blissed out and wrapped up around each other. The movie, drinks and snacks are all forgotten. All that matters is here and now– your breaths mingling together as you kiss each other lazily, tongues probing slowly. 

In the other room, both of your phones ping on the coffee table with unheard notifications.

The first text is from Santiago.The other boys follow suit, not a minute apart.

Pope 🤦🏻‍♂️: 👑

Benny and the Jets 🥊: 👑

Ironhead 🦸🏼: 👑

Neither of you see the texts until the next morning.

 The following weekend, it’s Santiago’s turn to be the designated driver. He’s parked outside of Frankie’s house, waiting to pick both of your asses up. He starts to tap his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel after the first 15 minutes. 

“What the fuck are they doing in there?” He asks Will and Benny. They all know the answer, but don’t say anything.

Meanwhile, Frankie has you crowded against the front door, your sundress is hiked up and his face is buried in your pussy. Neither of you can hear the sound of Santi’s impatient honking over your moans.

And if you end up going to the bar sans panties because you can’t find them before Santiago is pounding his fist on the door, well that’s just a secret you and Frankie will have to keep.

Taglist: @tenderclio @softdin @darnitdraco @freeshavocadoooo @recklessworry @wyn-dixie @manalg14 @codenamewife @comphersjost @princessxkenobi @manalg14 @comphersjost @a-skov @sheresh0y @greeneyedblondie44 @blackmarketmummy @brandyllyn @gracie7209 @bootyliciousbilbo @dobbyjen

[hxseok-honee]

atlas heart || part 28

a/n : aha,,, ahaha,,,,, listen, i know this is a jimin au okay I KNOW -- but this chapter belongs to jung hoseok and thats that im sorry

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When Y/n finds Jimin down by the lake, she feels that every fiber of her being wants her to turn back, wants her to run and hide under her blankets -- as if she’s the one that needs protecting from him. He doesn’t see her until she’s a few feet away, approaching him from the shoreline. The smile he gives her when he turns is kind but reserved, like he’s preoccupied. She lets out an awkward laugh.

“Why did you want to meet down here in the middle of the night? Way to be weird, Jimin.” He rolls his eyes playfully, nudging her with his elbow before gesturing back toward the ground not far away, covered in grass instead of the sand here by the water. Y/n follows him there, taking a seat next to him with question marks in her eyes when he doesn’t answer her. He snickers at her confusion.

“You’re really stuck on this, huh? Maybe I just wanted to look at the stars with you.” Her features scrunch up cutely as she reacts to his admittedly cheesy one-liner, and he feels the tips of his ears go red. “Okay, I swear that sounded better in my head.” She grins before turning away, looking up at the sky in contemplation. Jimin thinks that maybe, in other circumstances, they really would have been able to sit here together in peaceful silence and watched the stars all night long. He hates that he has to ruin it.

“I actually… I have to talk to you.” She doesn’t pull her gaze from the sky, but he does notice that her expression has clouded over with something he can’t place. It looks a lot like resignation. Swallowing once and trying to shake out his nervous limbs as subtly as possible, he takes a single deep breath before turning his upper body to face her. She still won’t look at him.

“I know you’re probably going to hate my guts after this, and I completely deserve that because I’m selfish and stupid, and I’m too nosy for my own good, and I never should have pushed so much, but I--”

“I know.”

“Yeah, I know you know that I’m an idiot, and that I’m annoying, and that I ask too many questi--”

“Jimin, I know.” He stops then, and the look of pure confusion he gives her breaks her heart. She has no idea that the pained expression she’s giving him is breaking his. She can’t even keep her eyes on him when she continues. “I know that you know.”

Jimin jaw drops, and he gets the idea that he looks a bit like a dying fish, closing and opening his mouth as he tries to figure out how to continue. He hadn’t planned for this turn of events when he’d practiced the conversation in his head.

“You -- but how? Was I too obvious?” He sits up straight, terrified that his suspicious behavior had already gotten her into more danger. “Did I do something that risked your secret? What was it? Tell me so I can make sure never to do it again--” Y/n’s eyes shut as she sighs, and she quiets him with a shake of her head.

“Dumbledore told me, the day after you’d gone to see him. He wanted to warn me.” Jimin stares at the side of her head, processing that she’d known almost two weeks that he’d figured everything out, but she hadn’t confronted him about it. “I haven’t told the boys yet, but I’ve been freaking out about it. I wanted to talk to you right away, but… I decided to wait until you were ready to talk about it…” Her eyes flick to him, but at the sight of his gaze fixed completely on her, his attention fully hers, she looks away. “I was scared that you hated me. Even when you kept reaching out and talking to me, I felt like… maybe you hadn’t realized exactly what I am or what that means. I was waiting for you to leave me. Or expose me. I don’t know. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“I would never do that to you.” It falls out his mouth, feeling oddly like a confession when he says it without thinking and is immediately embarrassed. He clears his throat when she looks up at him with wide eyes, scratching awkwardly at his collarbone. “I needed time to process… not that you’re a werewolf, but that I had been such a fucking idiot the entire time. I should have listened to your friends and just let you be. I was nosy and selfish and objectively really annoying, and I hadn’t even realized that they were just trying to keep you safe by pushing me away. I’m really sorry, Y/n… for endangering you like that.”

He won’t look at her -- he can’t. But when a cold hand closes around his own, squeezing gently, he at least is able to look in her direction. She squeezes again, and, with as much courage as he’s ever had to gather at once, he lifts his eyes to meet her. She looks to be on the edge of tears, but she’s smiling at him, and it confuses him to no end.

“You’re not… mad? Because I completely understand if you are--”

“I’m not mad, Jimin. I’m kind of relieved that you know now, even if I am probably going to always be scared that one day you’ll wake up and realize that I’m a monster and run for your life.” He breathes out a laugh, knowing that she’s not joking. He just can’t imagine a version of himself, now or ever, that would look at her and see anything but the girl he’d been desperate to befriend all this time.

“I’m not going anywhere, Y/n. I want to help you, if that’s okay. I want to do anything I can to help keep you safe.” It’s then that she pulls away from him, her expression turning apprehensive. Jimin takes one look at her and assumes it must be about her friends. “I know that Hoseok and Jungkook don’t like me, but I can talk to them if you want me to! I can explain myself and make sure they know that I’m just trying to help--” She shakes her head suddenly, cutting him off with a wave of her hands. She can already tell how her conversation with them later tonight will go, dreading having to ask them to meet so she can break the news.

“No, it’s not them… I’ll handle the boys -- it’s probably better that you aren’t there when they lose their minds, so I’ll talk to them. It’s just… things are more complicated than you think. It’s not really as simple as helping me… there are things you still don’t know, and it’s not my place to tell you…” Jimin thinks back to the way Dumbledore had called the situation ‘infinitely more complicated’ than he knew, and the way Y/n’s talking right now has him going out on a limb.

“Is this… about Remus Lupin?” Y/n meets his eyes with alarm, her breath catching audibly in her throat, and Jimin knows he’s right. “He’s… like you, right? His friends are involved, too.” She gapes at him, unsure how to respond.

“How…” He looks away, rubbing at his neck uncomfortably.

“Well, the night I figured things out -- it was a few days before the full moon, so your symptoms were a little more apparent at the time. I saw him in the Great Hall the next day, and he was looking just like you… and his friends, they act a lot like Jungkook and Hoseok sometimes… it wasn’t hard to put it together.” Y/n sits there in silence, not certain if Jimin is just really observant and was hyper-aware of everything because he’d just realized such a monumental secret, or if she needs to talk to the Marauders and her own friends about being less conspicuous. Probably both. She barely hears Jimin when he starts talking again.

“Is… that what’s keeping you from letting me help? I swear I won’t say anything -- I’ll even pretend I don’t know about him. I’ll do anything.” She watches him as he starts to devolve into what’s probably the third rant in the last half hour alone, and she knows he’s desperate to prove himself to her. He doesn’t need to -- he’d made his innocence and kindness clear to her long before he’d had any idea of her affliction. It’s everything about him, really, that’s causing her so much pain. She’s scared for him.

“Jimin… are you sure this is what you want? We’re in the middle of a war… and you’re a muggleborn. If anyone were to find me out, and they link us… I don’t know what would happen to you. Everything’s so delicate and dangerous, I don’t know if I can put you in that kind of danger.” This time it’s Jimin that reaches out for her, slipping his fingers through her own and linking their hands once he has her in his hold. He looks entirely level-headed when he looks her in the eye and responds.

“I’m with you, Y/n. I’m with you.”

--

Y/n stares up at the entrance to Slytherin common room, a deep frown set into her features. She’d made what she’d believed to be the right choice by not having Jungkook and Hoseok in the same room when she told them about Jimin -- they have a habit of enabling each other’s worst characteristics, and the last thing she wants to deal with is two enraged boys in the middle of the night. But now that she’s here, having just left a furious Jungkook in the room of requirement, she’s not looking forward to having this conversation again.

Jungkook had been surprisingly calm when she’d broken to him that Jimin had discovered her secret, but if there’s only one thing in the world that Y/n can say with complete confidence, it’s that she knows Jeon Jungkook. The look of complete ease that he’d given her had terrified her far beyond any explosion of anger. She almost prefers that he had reacted. It had taken her the better half of an hour to calm him down, only feeling comfortable texting Hoseok that she was on her way to him when she’d seen an emotion cross Jungkook’s eyes other than blank detachment. Even then, it was only annoyance at the fact that she refused to let him “talk” to Jimin on his own.

Now, it’s almost 3am, and Y/n’s only brushing away her tragic attempt at reasoning with Jungkook when the door to the Slytherin common room slides open, revealing a sleepy-eyed, bedhead-ridden Hoseok. He’s only half-dressed, clearly unable to be bothered to care about his appearance this late at night. He scratches at his bare collarbone with one finger while he squints at her, his blatant concern hidden slightly by how disgruntled he looks.

“Do you have any idea what time it is? Why would you do this to me?” Y/n snorts, knowing from experience how objectively rude Hoseok can be in the first few minutes of being awake. She hopes he stays bogged down by his sleep-deprived mind long enough that he doesn’t completely lose it when she talks to him. She glances past him into the common room before responding.

“Is there somewhere we can talk in private? I have something to tell you.” Immediately, the sleep is gone from Hoseok’s eyes, and Y/n mourns the hope that he wouldn’t be clear-minded during their conversation. He nods once, pointing over his shoulder.

“My room’s fine.”

“Isn’t Yoongi there?” Hoseok shakes his head, a slight smile gracing his features while he explains.

“He got a call from Kim Seokjin not that long ago -- something about a late-night snack run and how eating alone is ‘a lonely habit’.” He shrugs, and Y/n guesses that Yoongi must get dragged out against his will by Kim Seokjin quite often if Hoseok is unbothered by it. Hoseok points again in the direction of his bedroom, and Y/n only follows with a nod.

By the time they return to his room, Hoseok’s awake enough to be self-conscious, so he’s searching for a shirt immediately, gesturing for Y/n to close the door behind her. Then he flops down onto his bed, crossing his legs and patting the spot at the end of his mattress for her. When she decides to remain standing, running her fingers along the edge of his bedpost awkwardly, Hoseok squints, suspicious.

“What happened?” Y/n closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, looking Hoseok head-on and ripping the metaphorical band-aid off.

“Jimin knows about me. He just told me. Before you say anything, we talked about it, and--”

“That little shit--” Hoseok’s standing from his bed, fists balled up in rage as he heaves out an enraged breath. “When I get my hands on that nosy, obnoxious fucking twerp--”

“Hoseok, wait! Wait.” Y/n holds her hands out in front of her, planting them on his chest while she stares up at him with wide eyes. “It’s okay! It’s fine, we talked! He’s not going to say anything to anyone, even about the stuff with Remus--” She’ll admit that saying that last part probably wasn’t her best idea, considering how Hoseok reacts, blind with fury.

“What do you mean? What does that mean?!” He’s growing louder now, and Y/n knows she has to calm him down before he wakes the entirety of Slytherin house. Taking his face in her hands, she tries to force him to focus solely on her, but it only results in Hoseok gripping at her wrists, desperation clear in the way his hold is shaking. He’s looking at her with wild eyes, demanding an explanation for something so wholly unacceptable, but Y/n can’t give that to him while he’s like this.

“Hoseok, I need you to breathe, okay? I’m okay. I will be okay. But I need you to lower your voice and breathe. Don’t think about anything else.” This display -- a total loss of control -- is what she’d expected from Jungkook, but the boy who’d been beside her their entire lives must have known better than to show his ruthless side and risk upsetting her. In this moment, Hoseok, who’s always so keen on hiding himself behind a mask, is seeing red the way he never has before, and that’s what scares Y/n most.

“Eyes on me, Hobi, hm? Look at me -- I’m right here, and I’m okay. Look at me. See? I’m perfectly fine. Nothing’s gonna happen to me, I promise.” She’d somehow managed to bring him down from his erratic high, keeping his face close until she could see in his eyes that he’s looking only at her. His breath is ragged, and if she thinks she’s caught the slightest tremble of his bottom lip when he opens his mouth, he’s hiding it well. But what he whispers to her breaks her heart clean in half.

“You can’t promise me that. The more people that know about you, the harder it is for me to trick myself into believing you.” Taking a breath to stop herself from tearing up, she releases him slowly, stepping back when he only moves to sit back down on the edge of his bed.

“Hobi… you can’t do anything to Jimin, okay? You can’t confront him or do anything rash. I mean it.” It takes a few moments, but finally Hoseok is lifting his eyes to meet hers. He nods, and Y/n knows that’s all she’ll be able to get out of him. She wishes it was enough, that weak agreement, but if there’s one other thing in the world she can say with complete confidence, it’s that she doesn’t know Hoseok quite as well as she knows Jungkook.

--

Jimin’s on his way to class the next morning, lost in his thoughts about Y/n -- he can’t seem to focus on anything else these days -- when he’s unceremoniously dragged by the back of his robes into an empty classroom and shoved against the nearest wall. Hissing at the pain, he barely has time to slump over and catch his breath before he’s being pinned back against the cold stone by a pair of very determined hands.

He stills completely when he finally lifts his gaze and meets the eyes of Jung Hoseok. The Slytherin is visibly furious, his glare almost manic as he pushes Jimin’s shoulders back into the wall. He only lets up when an involuntary cry of pain escapes Jimin, but he never lets the boy go.

“Now, you’re going to listen to what I have to say, and you’re going to listen closely. Yeah?” Jimin isn’t sure it’s a question that needs answering, considering that he’s literally trapped, but the increased pressure of Hoseok’s knuckles on his chest has him nodding frantically. Hoseok doesn’t release him when he leans down into his face.

“For some ungodly reason, Y/n has decided that you can be trusted, and I’m sure you loved that she said she’d talk to us so you wouldn’t have to do it yourself, huh? But I think that you deserve to have the whole picture, Park -- look at me when I’m talking to you.” Jimin had shut his eyes simply from the proximity of Hoseok’s hateful glare, unable to handle it, but when the older boy shakes him roughly, he opens his eyes so wide that he’s terrified to even blink.

“This game you’re playing? Using your obvious little crush on Y/n as an excuse to pry into her business and put her in danger just because you like sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong? It needs to stop. Because you don’t know all the rules, Jimin. And you don’t get any do-overs.” Jimin can feel the grip on his shirt starting to tremble, and at first he thinks maybe Hoseok’s so enraged that he’s actually shaking, but the glint in his eye tells Jimin differently. It tells him that Hoseok is scared -- he’s terrified. The uncertainty of Jimin’s existence in Y/n’s life -- not knowing if this is going to end badly for them -- it’s scaring him, and Jimin gets the feeling that Hoseok’s someone who deals with fear by being angry. Taking a very big risk, he whispers out to the 7th year.

“I swear, I just want to hel--agh!” Squeezing his eyes shut when Hoseok lifts him away from the wall and promptly slams him back into it, he doesn’t finish his plea. He can feel Hoseok’s breath fanning angrily over his face, and he swears a low growl rumbles from deep within the Slytherin’s chest when he responds.

“Shut up! You don’t know what that even means. You don’t know how to help. All you’ve done is screw things up for us, so let me welcome you into our little group with a warning.” A hand clamps the sides of Jimin’s jaw, lifting his face and squeezing hard until Jimin opens his eyes to look at Hoseok.

“You get one chance, so if you even come close to screwing that up, Y/n is the last thing you’ll have to worry about. Clear?” Jimin nods again, the hand on his face making that incredibly difficult. Finally, Hoseok releases him and steps back, watching with unmasked annoyance as Jimin fixes his clothes and rubs at all the spots he’s sure will be bruised by morning. They stare at each other, Hoseok eventually rolling his eyes with a sigh.

“Y/n told me you want to help. She asked me to mentor you in potion-making. I only agreed to it because she’s very stubborn when she wants to be, and someone needs to take over her doses. I won’t go easy on you, so you better be ready for a summer of hell. I need to know she’ll be safe with you once I’m gone, and frankly, I don’t even trust you to boil a pot of fucking water, much less a dangerous, highly sensitive potion.” Jimin swallows hard but doesn’t comment on the blatant insult, only processing that Jung Hoseok has agreed to train him.

Hoseok’s eyes flicker to the door, and Jimin takes that as his cue that the conversation -- if that’s what this was -- is finished, so he wanders out of the room in a slight daze, Hoseok following closely. As if the universe is telling him that this moment can, in fact, get much worse, Jimin meets the eyes of one Jeon Jungkook as the Gryffindor happens to be passing on the way to class. Where Hoseok’s glare was unbridled fire and rage, Jungkook’s gaze is turning to pure ice, and Jimin can’t decide which is worse. Jungkook doesn’t even acknowledge him as he passes, breaking eye contact and going on his way as if Jimin doesn’t even exist. Hoseok chuckles darkly behind him.

“I almost feel bad for you, Jimin. If you think you have it bad with me, you’re in for a real treat with Jungkook.”