#look at him. are you looking at him. its the longer hair and beard it must be

[isabellaofparma]

Miguel Ángel Silvestre as Father Simón Antequera in Los Enviados (2021– )

[dumbbitchgalore]

Price’s cute little whore 💓

Idk what people say but John will absolutely be adamant to have a housewife. And it is absolutely because he is a hypocritical fuck.

Sure, he’s worked with female colleagues who he has deemed equal and possibly better than other men that he has worked with but at the end of the day, he’s not there to make those women his wife.

John knows when to fuck you like a slut and when to treat you like a princess.

Coming home after months away on the battle and sees you in your home looking absolutely fucking comfortable on the couch wearing his worn out Led Zeppelin t-shirt and suddenly the rope of restraint in him snaps. Dumping his duffle bag on the floor, he can barely kick his boots off his feet as his strides towards you purposefully, finally having you in his arms after months away filled with lonely nights with just a polaroid of you on the wedding night absolutely dishevelled, makeup ruined and hair tousled. He’d groan, fisting his palm frantically using all his might to imagine the feeling of your wet, warm cunt squeezing his cock, but there is only so much he can imagine being hundreds of kilometres away from his birdie. The single picture gives a depraved man like him a sliver of comfort on such nights. 

And now he finally has you and he’s not gonna let you go. 

John would push you to lay flat on the couch, kissing the side of his neck to lick a long stripe down his neck, his nose burying into your skin as he inhales your scent deeply and he swears that he can just cum in his pants right there. 

You chuckle softly, the scratchiness of his beard tickling his skin as you push his face away from your neck only to cup his face in your hands as you look into his eyes. You notice how his dull blue eyes slowly gain back its spark back the longer he looks at you. The pad of your thumb caresses his cheek, tracing the contours of his face as a loving smile gracing your lips. 

“Didn’t come home in a casket…” You mutter softly grateful to once again have him close to you, alive. 

A weary smile makes its way to his face, his knee making it between your thighs, gently pressing against your cunt. John hovers over you, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead. 

“Told ya I wouldn’t as long as I know you’re here waiting for me,” John murmurs, placing a chaste kiss on your lips.

You respond eagerly, kissing him with fervour, closing your eyes. John slips his tongue between your lips, tasting the faint flavour of rum on your tongue. He pulls back, memorising his face with reverence, his saviour and ticket to salvation. 

Staring up at him, eyes glossy with need and lust, you try to pull him back down for another kiss only to have him pull away. John helps you to take the shirt off your body leaving you in a pair of cotton panties. It was nothing fancy but made John’s head swirl with hunger. 

John is a patient man, even though in this moment he wishes to do nothing but to use you like a fleshlight but he can see the love you have for him. He needs to take his time, he reminds himself; to prepare his darling to take him again after months of being apart. He takes his time to worship your body to relish in the pudgy-ness of your flesh groped by him, splayed underneath him for his eyes only. Heat pools in between your legs, sticky arousal coating your flesh. A silent plea for the need to be taken care of. 

John stops kissing, pulling away, tsk-ing at your neediness. 

“I’ve left my girl alone for too long, hm?” 

You choke back a sob unable to hide your desperateness, “Uh huh!”

John hums, your cries fueling his pride. Making his way down to your sopping cunt, nuzzling his nose into your begging hole inhaling your scent with zeal.

“Gonna fuck this pussy good tonight, kiddo.”

[boysmentfs]

Stepbrother's Room.

Erick never liked the idea of going to live with his stepfather and stepbrother, but his mother thought differently, So here he is, living with his stepbrother and stepfather for 1 month now.

The ideas he had about James (his stepfather) changed a lot since he started living with him, he no longer found him stressful or grumpy, But Gio (his stepbrother) made his life difficult, whenever he crossed paths with him he would make fun of him, calling him a faggot, 4 eyes and all those cliché insults.

But that was not the worst, Erick endured all the insults, the worst was yet to come when his mother and stepfather said that he was going to stay with his stepbrother since they were going on their honeymoon, Erick didn't want this to happen. now just imagining that it would only be the two of them alone, Erick began to tremble.

The day arrived, his mother and stepfather packed and left the two boys at home, Gio turned to look at Erick while smiling at him and giving him a grimace.

"They're really crazy if they think I'm staying with you, you f*ggot freak"

Gio commented as he got up from the couch and walked out the door, leaving Erick alone watching TV.

"Better for me, home alone and without having to put up with you"

Erick commented in a low tone while Gio closed the door.

The hours passed, Erick finished watching TV, ate alone, washed his dishes and that's how he went to sleep knowing that tomorrow he wouldn't see Gio either until his parents arrived, He went to bed with a smile and closed his eyes.

The night passed and the day began to shine, the sun began to set through the window as the clock rang, Erick yawned, wiped his eyes and got out of bed and headed straight to the bathroom, It was time to take a shower since he didn't do it yesterday because he was lazy.

Once he finished showering, he went to his closet to put on his favorite outfit, a blue shirt, his short red shorts, and his boxers, but when he looked for his clothes he couldn't find anything and wrinkled his face.

"Mom must have made a mistake and put my clothes in that idiot's room... Damn it" Erick cursed as he went to Gio's room, when he opened the door the smell of hormones, exercise, and sweat invaded his nose.

But what surprised Erick the most was that there were no clothes lying around and everything was in order, Erick knew that Gio was the typical dumb straight jock so why was his room so clean and tidy?

He shook his head, he didn't come for that, he just came to get his clothes, but something was calling his attention, on his bed there was a transparent male thong and a toy, so Erick approached.

When he grabbed the toy he was surprised, it was a rubber sex toy from a woman's intimate part, he grabbed the thong and smelled it, it had the smell of Gio, Even though he was his stepbrother, Erick began to fall in love with Gio, and how could he not? Gio was tall, muscular, bearded, and had just turned 25 years old.

The moment Erick smelled Gio's thong he head started to spin and a heat began to grow in him while his small 5-centimeter cock became erect and hard, His head moved on its own as Erick looked at Gio's toy, he climbed onto the bed and sat down as he began to insert his cock into the fake rubber entrance.

His hands began to rise with the toy between them as Erick moaned in pleasure but he knew something was wrong, He would never get excited by seeing a sex toy, much less a p*ssy he was homosexual, not heterosexual, He tried to stop but it was as if his hands were moving on their own.

""Fuck... No, this-this is wrong... But.. DAMN IT, this feels so good" Erick commented between moans and gasps.

While Erick had his eyes closed, his body began to change, his feet began to grow in size until they reached a large 16 size, while a masculine smell came out of them and hair too.

His legs and thighs also underwent a change, his once thin legs were now full of muscles, they looked like trunks, capable of breaking a watermelon, A layer of hair also came out on them.

His buttocks, which were of a normal size, began to enlarge as his hole began to close, No one would ever put a cock in his ass again, now he had two buttocks like bubbles, big and firm.

His stomach started to burn as all the baby fat he had started to disappear to make way for a well-worked, firm and desired 6-pack of abs.

His chest, which was thin and flaccid, began to expand outwards as two large and sensitive pectorals began to emerge, he now had 2 large pectorals created by the gods.

His torso began to expand as well to give him a more masculine, more jock look.

Erick wasn't realizing this, the only thing he had in mind was feeling that toy p*ssy around his hard cock.

His back began to expand to give him a more manly and mature look, while muscles also began to emerge on it, his shoulders also lengthened.

His biceps and arms began to change, his biceps began to enlarge to look like the size of balls and his arms began to fill with hair while now his veins were more noticeable.

His hands began to grow larger as he held the toy, his fingers lengthening as they now looked more masculine, while veins also popped out.

His Adam's apple became more noticeable, making his moans more manly and masculine.

Next was his face, it started to change and his bones started to crack as his whole face changed, His jaw became slimmer and more defined, his lips grew a little in size while his nose was now cuter, his eyes that were green changed to a brown color, A 5 o'clock beard started to appear on his jaw making him look hotter and more handsome.

His hair that was almost blonde in color began to lose its shine as a new color began to bloom in his hair, a brown color, His haircut also changed, giving it a more masculine and jock cut.

His Adam's apple stood out, making his moans sound much more mature and masculine, when he heard his new voice he opened his eyes, he recognized this voice as Gio's voice.

The moment he saw the mirror in front of him, he was surprised, there was Gio jerk off in his bed, but... Gio was not at home, there was only him.

"What the fuck!? Gio? What's going on?" Erick commented while continuing to jerk off.

But before Erick could react, he saw his cock grow larger and thicker as he was about to break the toy.

"No... It can't be, I can't be Gio, I can't be that idiot!

But just then he came inside the fake p*ssy, causing his past self to come out along with his c*m.

"FUCK... That felt so fucking great... Ryan didn't lie to me that a fake p*ssy was better than a real one, good thing that freak f*ggot isn't here, house to myself"

gio took his cock out of the toy, he cleaned and got out of bed putting on his thong, Once he put on his thong he sat back down on his bed waiting for his stepbrother to arrive so he could continue harassing him.

[targaryen-dynasty]

A SUCCESSFUL HUNT.

Cregan Stark x female!Targaryen!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MDNI; fingering, p in v, rough sex, praise kink, size kink, possessiveness

WORDS: 4K

NOTES: What can I say? I just love this man. Thank you @sylasthegrim This can be read as part 3 of Set Me Alight Again!

✖️ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

The crackling of the fireplace is calming and comforting in your otherwise quiet marital chambers, its bright flames casting shadows to dance across the room. A chaise that has been specifically requested by you not long after your wedding to Cregan stands in front of it, and it was hard work for you to pull it from its place beneath the window to where it stands right now.

You’re nursing a goblet of wine, enjoying the peace and quiet while your husband is out on a hunt with his men. Nothing more than a relatively thin, white nightgown covers your curves with no smallclothes beneath, thanks to the warmth brought by the natural hot springs and the fire lit in front of you.

Cregan’s absence drags on with the hours passing, and you slowly but surely find yourself growing restless and a little lonely. He is a fine swordsman, you know that, but whenever his ventures take longer than anticipated, you can’t help but start to worry for his well being.

When the door suddenly swings open with your husband striding into the room, you jolt out of your reverie, making you look up at your husband, a soft smile playing on your lips. “You’re back,” you observe, taking in his disheveled appearance with his hair windswept and his clothes slightly rumpled from the hours spent in the cold forest.

Your husband grins at your words, the expression a little crooked and more than a little wolfish. “Oh, did you miss me, my love?” he teases, his voice rough with the exertion of the hunt.

At his teasing, your smile widens, eyes roaming over his disheveled appearance. He usually isn’t one to walk around with a neatly trimmed beard and well-combed hair, you have learned as much already, but this look of him coming straight from the forest, hair and clothes appearing as though he’s a savage, a true wildling, certainly sends a wave of something distinctly primal through your veins.

Rising from your chair, you place the goblet aside. “I might have missed the warmth of your body beside me, husband,” you reply, a hint of playful coyness in your voice as you outstretch your hand to beckon him closer.

Cregan lets out a small huff of laughter as he steps closer, taking your hand in his. His gray eyes trail over your figure, taking in every contour of it beneath your nightgown. “Is that so?” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with desire. “And I here thought you needed some peace and quiet without me keeping you up all night…”

“Oh, I do require peace and quiet,” you agree, bringing your hand up slowly to run your fingers along the lapel of his furs. “But I did not say I wanted you away from me, did I?”

“You’re a vixen, aren’t you, my love?” he murmurs, his voice a raw, gravely rumble. “Were you waiting for me, all alone, wearing that?” He pinches the thin fabric of your nightgown between his fingers, tugging gently on it.

Your hands wander idly over the solid planes of his chest, and you look up at him through your lashes, your expression coy and playful. “Maybe I was,” you purr, voice soft and teasing. “Perhaps I was hoping for my lord husband to return home and ravish me after a successful hunt.” Your words are bold, but Cregan is nothing but a man that enjoys a certain straightforwardness.

A deep rumble vibrates in his throat at your words, and he leans in to nuzzle against the sensitive skin of your neck. “My dear wife,” he rasps, pressing a kiss to your neck that makes you crane it to grant him even more access. “You know exactly how to drive me mad, don’t you?”

“Is it a crime to want my husband’s touch after being alone all day?” you whisper, your voice breathless with desire. “Surely you must be starving, my wolf, and I just happen to have something for you to feast on.” A soft moan escapes your lips as his teeth dig into your skin, arching against his sturdy frame.

His restraint is starting to fray at your soft moans and the feeling of your body pressed against his. “You have no shame, my love,” he growls, “but I am starving, indeed. And I plan on feasting until I’ve had my fill.”

His mouth finds yours, and there’s no gentleness in this kiss, only passion and desperate need, all teeth and tongue. As you pull away, your lips are swollen, and heavy breaths slip past them. “Then you best hurry,” you whisper, fingers tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck once before you slowly sink down with your eyes never leaving his, making yourself comfortable on the chaise again. “I would not want my handsome wolf to starve to death.” There’s a hint of sultriness in your voice, and if he doesn’t get the silent invitation for him to feast on you, he certainly does the moment you spread your legs for him, the flimsy hem of your nightgown riding up your thighs.

It’s more than obvious, and Cregan does not hesitate to rid himself of his thick furs and place Ice, the ancestral greatsword of House Stark, aside.

A gasp escapes your lips as you watch him sink down to his knees in front of you with half lidded eyes, his large hands trailing over your thighs with a possessive grip. Your heart hammers in your chest, and your skin heats with desire.

His breath comes out ragged as he pushes the hem of your nightdress higher, baring even more of your skin to his hungry gaze. But you don’t feel ashamed, and certainly not vulnerable – not in the presence of your husband, your protector, your love. “Let me taste you, wife,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

Grabbing one of your thighs, his lips find the thin skin on the inside, pressing a kiss to it, before he proceeds to drape it over his shoulder. But when he repeats the motion, letting his lips linger on the inside of your other side a little longer, that’s the moment you all but want to squeeze your thighs together, soothing the aching that settles at their apex. The moan you release at the sight is pathetic, resembling more of a whimper than any sound of pleasure, and it makes your husband chuckle.

Both his hands cup your arse to bring your hips closer towards him, your breath catching in your throat the moment his hot breath fans over your soaked folds. “Gods, husband…” you whisper, voice barely more than a breath. You tangle your hand into his dark curls, urging him closer. “Please… I can not take much more of this teasing, I– oh!” The words cut off the moment your husband’s lips make contact with your cunt, his tongue trailing a hot, wet path up towards your sensitive pearl.

With one hand in his hair, the other tightly fists the skirts of your nightdress. The stubble of his beard scratches against your inner thighs as they squeeze around his face, igniting wave after wave of desire to course through your veins.

His name tumbles softly from your lips, a plea and prayer all at once, growing more and more desperate with his tongue lapping hungrily at your cunt. He moves his hand, one broad palm spreading your thighs open wider, granting him better access, his mouth never relenting as he devours you.

“By the Seven,” you whimper, tugging harshly at his hair. “I need you, husband… now.”

He chuckles against your folds, the sound low and wicked. Tilting his head, the coarse hairs on his chin graze your pearl, making you jolt. “I shall never get used to hearing a princess of the realm beg and plead,” he remarks, and for the first time you spot something akin to smugness on his features. “But I’m not sure I’ve had enough just yet, my love. I want to hear you scream my name before I give you what you really want.”

Your chest heaves with ragged breath as his lips tease your swollen cunt once more, a shiver running down your spine. “Gods… I need more, just give me–” The tip of his nose spreads open your folds, not only granting his tongue better access to your entrance, but also allowing him to ease two of his thick digits into you. Your body arches towards him, and your thighs enclose around his head again.

His nose rubs against your sensitive pearl, and with his fingers and tongue working in tandem, he has you right where he wants you in a matter of seconds – on the edge of your peak with your body taut like a bowstring and his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

Voice ragged with desire, you have a hard time forming coherent sentences. “I… please… I can’t take much… much more of this torment.”

Your grip on his hair tightens, desperate to keep his lips on your hot flesh, yet he still manages to tilt his head, interrupting his ministrations and forcing the wave of pleasure to subside at once. His digits still are buried inside of you, but not even squirming or shifting of your hips gets him to resume his movements.

“Patience,” he rasps, his lips curved into a wolfish grin you want to smack right off his face. “Good things come to those who wait.”

You release a frustrated moan at the loss of stimulation, your body desperately craving him. “You’re cruel,” you pout, writhing against the chaise. “And it truly is maddening.” Your complaints, however, are half-hearted, because at the same time, you love the way he winds you up like this; the delicious torment only heightens your arousal.

“And you love every second of it, don’t you?” he teases, leaning in to ghost his lips over the inside of your thigh, a hint of teeth grazing against it. It makes you impatiently shift your hips toward him, silently begging for more. He chuckles. “You have not suddenly become a quitter, wife, hm? I know you can take a little more.”

“I swear, if you make me wait any longer I’ll–” you break off as his tongue drags through your folds again, lapping at them like a man starved. With your eyes squeezed shut and the skirts of your nightdress tightly clutched in one hand, you allow yourself to revel in the pleasure again. “Gods… I need you, husband,” you whimper, tilting your head back. “Inside me… please.”

Cregan can barely hold back the groan that rumbles in his throat at your whiny voice, vibrating through your core as he groans against your cunt. But it seems your desperate pleas bear fruit with him rising to his feet, a pleased rumble in his chest. “There you are, begging so nicely for me,” he drawls as he leans forwards, both his hands resting on the back rest of the chaise, caging you in. “I do so love it when you use your manners, princess. You think you deserve a reward?”

Your eyes glint as you look up at him, coy smile on your lips. “I have been a good wife,” you retort. “I’ve waited all day for you to return, I was ready the moment you walked in. Is that not deserving of a reward? I ache for you, husband.” Your fingers trace idle patterns over his lips, touch light but insistent.

A growl rumbles in his chest. “These pretty eyes and that sweet cunt of yours are going to be the death of me.”

He captures your hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it, before his other hand grabs your hips and adjusts you so you lie back on the chaise.

“You have the manners of a wolf, husband,” you remarked with a grin at his way of talking.

You’re ready to welcome him between your parted legs, but Cregan, however, deems it most fitting to shed off any piece of clothing left on his body, baring himself wholly to you. It’s the sight of his hard cock, straining and standing to full attention that has you licking your lips, and you find it difficult to meet his gaze again.

Chuckling lowly, he grabs your leg close to him and lifts it to make it easier to get between them, draping it over his shoulder like he’s done plenty of times before. The action makes you gasp, and you can feel your teeth dig into your bottom lip.

“But whose fault is that, hm?” you tease, raking your nails across his bare chest, scratching the dark, coarse hairs that spread all over it. “I recall you being the one who was rather insistent upon taking me as your wife,” you continue. “So, you best die a happy man.”

Both your hands are captured by his large paw, pinned to your belly. “You’re a cheeky wench, and too quick with your tongue,” he murmurs, leaning down to nip at your earlobe. It immediately coaxes you to arch against him, full breasts pressing against his chest. “I best find a way to keep it occupied…”

Your laugh is swallowed with a rough kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, claiming you with an almost primal possessiveness. It’s passionate enough to suck the air from your lungs, making you completely unaware of his hand sliding down your curves to line his cock up with your entrance.

It’s the swift push inside that makes you gasp against his lips, his body covering yours completely, pinning you down in a wall of heat and muscles. His lips tear away from yours, only to immediately trail a path of hot kisses from your jawline down to the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. His hand grips your hip, hard enough to surely leave a bruise as he fully sheathes himself inside of you.

“This…” he mutters against your skin, voice strained and laced with desire. “You… mine. All of you is all mine.”

Feeling him fill you completely, your eyes fall shut, a whimper escaping your lips. You should be used to his size by now, yet you’re not certain if you could ever; not when each time he enters you – regardless of how often you’ve bedded each other already – it’s still accompanied by a slight stinging that washes away with the first rut of his hips.

“Yours,” you moan, your fingers finding purchase in his hair. “All ours… only yours.” There once was a time you whispered the same things to your uncle Aemond, entangled in the silky sheets of his bed, but they never bore a meaning similar to the one they have now – the ghost of an arranged marriage ordered to make up for the errors of your younger brother always lingering within them.

You writhe beneath him, trying to take him even deeper than what’s possible. There are no words needed to encourage him to move, but when he starts to grind his hips against yours, you aren’t quite sure if you’ve anticipated him to take things slower. His pace is merciless, toe-curling intense, and while your grip on his hair tightens, his shoulder is soon to be littered by crescent shaped marks of your nails digging into it as you clutch at it.

There’s barely one coherent thought forming in your head, mind consumed by the overwhelming sensations he’s stirring inside of you. All that leaves your lips as you clench so tightly around his cock are soft, broken gasps and moans, each of them desperate as the last, his name falling past your lips like a prayer.

Your body’s reaction is what drives him to go faster. And while the stinging of your nails makes him hiss, it also urges him to mark you himself, digging his teeth into your flesh – burgeoning bruises forming that are certainly meant to be discovered by your maids.

“That’s right,” he growls with a ragged voice. “You’re mine, and I’m never letting you go.”

You unravel beneath him, arching your back and tipping your head back against the chaise, the sight not making it easier for him to stay composed enough to not peak on spot.

And that’s when he moves to press his chest flush against yours, holding your cheek with one hand, whilst the other grabs the side of the chaise, his biceps bulging from how tightly he holds onto it. His lips find the side of your face, kissing along your jaw, earlobe and temple. You have your head tilted to the side, granting him even more access as the weight of his body stops you from squirming beneath him, just allowing you to roll your hips against his.

“Oh, by the seven…” you whimper, turning your look at him. “Don’t stop… please, don’t stop…”

His frenzied, almost animalistic pace falters slightly at your words, clearly driving him wild. But he has a goal in mind, and won’t stop until you’re a mindless, trembling mess for him.

“Gods, you drive me wild with your…” he trails off, drunk on your cunt. “Such a wicked wife. I… I intend to make sure you will not be able to walk straight on the morrow.”

You cross your arms behind his neck, one hand tugging on the short, dark curls at the nape of his neck. Every time you try to arch against him, your hard nipples press against his sturdy chest, teasing his skin, and each time that happens, you’re certain you can feel him throbbing inside of you.

The dark, coarse hairs splayed around the base of his cock and over his pubic bone drag over your sensitive pearl with the reckless snaps of his hips, sending a shiver up your spine each time. His thrusts are harsh and determined, reaching deep and expertly brushing your sweet spot as he fucks sweet, little mewls and moans out of your throat, filling your chambers.

His relentless pace brings you towards your peak quicker than anticipated, and your husband can tell by the needy look in your eyes and the way you all but cling to him. His swollen lips find yours, a heated, sloppy kiss exchanged that swallows down every whimper and moan that threatens to make you pull aways from him.

“Let me feel you falling apart for me, wife,” he grunts. “Peak for me.”

Your husband all but shows that he knows your body better than you know yourself, his words and the desperate plea behind them sending you careening over the edge. Your body tightens around him, choking him with the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level. Your lips part with a gasp. You convulse all over him, your hips grinding against his as the hot pleasure courses through your veins. But this time his thrusts don’t stutter, keeping the passionate intensity to the point you’re losing your mind.

“That’s it,” he husks. His hot breath fans across your heated features as he leans in to rest his forehead against the side of your face. “What a pretty face you make when you’re drenching my cock.” You’re not sure whether it’s his pubic bone still dragging over your pearl, his cock still sliding in and out of you, or if his praise alone is enough to prolong your peak, but you feel yourself keening at his words.

It takes him a couple more thrusts that slowly bring you to the point of uncomfortable overstimulation, until his own peak washes over him. His cock is twitching and throbbing as your walls squeeze him for every drop of his seed, spilling his release deep inside of your quivering walls.

For a moment, everything goes blissfully blank for the both of you, your minds blissfully empty of everything but each other. The sounds of your heavy breaths fill your chambers as he collapses on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

Releasing a soft sigh, your hand slowly starts to massage his scalp, dragging through his dampened curls. “Was the hunt successful, husband?” you inquire softly, despite your still slightly ragged breath.

He hums contentedly against your neck, lips grazing the sensitive skin of it. “Quite successful,” he murmurs. “But I would not say it was the highlight of the day.” With these words, he pushes himself up so he’s able to press his lips to yours for a gentle kiss. “You, on the other hand, definitely take the top spot.”

You let out a soft laugh at his words. “I assume you caught something worth bringing home, then,” you say, your voice teasing. “Unless you spent the entire day just wandering around in the woods.”

There’s a roguish glint in his eyes as he speaks. “Oh, love, you know me better than that,” he teases. “I’d never hunt without catching something worth bringing home. Suffice to say, this particular catch is something I think you will like very much.”

Arching a brow, it’s clear your curiosity is piqued. “And what makes you assume I will like this mysterious find, husband?” you ask. “For all I know, it’s a boar’s head or some deer’s antlers. Not exactly the romantic gestures that make a woman swoon.”

If Cregan has learned something about you, it’s that once you’ve set your mind on something, there’s no stopping or distracting you – not that he wants to do that anyways. Pushing himself up off the chaise, he slips into his discarded clothes, and you do the same, putting on a soft gown that covers your body with the exception of the obvious marks his mouth left on your skin.

The dark, possessive glint in his eyes at the sight makes your body heat up, a renewed wave arousal pooling between your thighs. But no, there’s something else waiting for you right now.

The fur coat he’s worn before is now draped over your shoulders as you make your way through the dark halls of Winterfell, your steps quick and purposeful. You arrive at the stables rather quickly, walking through the aisles.

“What are we doing here, Cregan?” you ask.

He chuckles. “Patience, my love.”

And as you reach a small pen at the far back of the stable, you feel as if you’re about to faint. Holding onto your husband’s arm, you stare into the pen with wide eyes, watching the small litter of puppies sleeping in a pile. Their gray and brown coats shimmer slightly in the dim light, and if it wasn’t for you not wanting to wake them up, you’d all but squeal. Having seen plenty of dragon hatchlings before, you’re certain their cuteness was defeated by the small pile in front of you.

Stepping closer to the pen to get a better look, you can’t avert your eyes from them. “You found puppies in the forest?” you breathe, voice almost a whisper. “Where’s their mother?”

Cregan comes up to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Not just any puppies, my love. They’re dire wolves. The whole pack was slaughtered by poachers, apart from these little ones. As we found the pack, we heard them whining and yapping not too far away.”

“Poor things,” you remark with a pout, leaning against the edge of the pen. “What are you going to do with them now?”

It seems as though he’s contemplating his answer for a moment, looking at the small creatures whining and wincing in their sleep. “I was thinking of keeping them for my… ourselves. They could make some good hunting companions and serve as protection for the castle… for you. Dire wolves are fiercely loyal creatures, and they’d make ideal guards for Winterfell and you,” he states, his hand running up and down your waist.

A shiver runs through you as his hand moves to rest on your belly, rubbing it softly since his seed has not yet bore any fruits. “And they’d make formidable companions for any of our children. I have heard that dragons do not enjoy the cold as much.”

Placing your hand over his, feeling the warmth of his fingers, you squeeze it softly. “They’d make splendid companions,” you remark. “And having them as protection for the castle would mean you could leave it a little calmer and reassured.”

“Exactly,” he rasps, nuzzling your hair with his nose as his lips brush against your ear. “Plus, they could keep you company. It would be nice to have a part of myself guarding you when I am away. Like the ultimate protection.”

Finally looking up at him, you have a soft smile on your lips. “I like that idea,” you say, pressing yourself against him.

And while your life in Winterfell is now seldomly graced by loneliness anymore with most of your time occupied by these small balls of fur, you have come to learn quickly that there’s been your own pup slowly growing inside of you, your husband’s seed finally bearing fruit and expanding your family.

Cregan Taglist: @nats-whore @gemini_mama

[elysianightsss]

Another sweet sweet price thot💋

Okay but let’s talk about Mountain man Price. He retired a few years ago and decided he much prefers the solitude of the beautiful mountains, with the tips of them all covered in snow. He likes the quiet, knowing he won’t run into anyone here. No one from the little town at the bottom of the mountains would be brave enough to hike the mountain trail.

He remembers the day he built his nice log cabin with the help of his trusty lieutenant of course. Simon helped his Captain one last time, before parting ways. Price wanted to be alone, after everything he’d experienced in the military, he wanted it to be just himself and the weather to keep him company.

He’d have the survival skills no doubt about it, but the more time he spent up there the more his social skills began to fade away. He’d have to come down every six months or so to restock his food, he make his trip down the hike trail to the little town at the bottom of the mountains and through the woods.

But the shop workers weren’t his biggest fans. He’d practically clear them out of their stock, the poor little local shop. They didn’t like his attitude either, found him strange and unapproachable. Though that’s exactly what John was going for. The less people that spoke to him, the better.

Until he met you of course.

It was only your second week at your new job, you’d just moved to the little town around a month ago and this was the only job available after some woman called Darlene went of maternity leave.

My gosh the way you’d be so nice to him having no idea the stigma that surrounded him and how suprised he’d be at the kindness you showed him. He’d actually look forward to coming down to the town.

He’d come more often as well, saying he’d ran out of supplies and yet he’d only buy a bag of fruit or some meat. Then he’d start to tidy up his appearance too, trim his over grown beard and moustache back to its former glory. The blush that would spread across your cheeks the first time you see him like that.

Hair trimmed too, you’d be able to see his perfect lips and crooked smile. It provoked a feeling in you that you’d long forgotten. Slowly but surely he’d start trying to flirt. Trying. Though you found it endearing how bad he was at it. Finally though he’d succeeded asking you out on a date and fuck the moment he’d turn up in his dark blue jeans, black shirt and dark brown leather jacket and boots. You swooned.

He had the charm turned on, especially after his phone call with his ex team. They could all hear how nervous their former captain was for this date. It made them very intrigued to meet you one day.

John didn’t miss a beat, almost as if he’d laid this date out like a mission. Going step by step to win your heart. He made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt, made you smile until your cheeks ached. Ordered the food and drinks impressively, no umming or stuttering.

He gave you butterflies when he reached over the table to grab your hand in his larger one. The skin was rough and calloused, but it felt amazing against your hand. He loved how soft your skin felt against his. He traced around the palm of your hand with his thick index finger, those gorgeous ocean eyes gazing into your soul.

After dinner, John took you to a local bar that you were pleasantly surprised with. A few drinks later you tipsily confessed how handsome you thought he was. The longer the evening went on, the more longing looks and teasing touches were shared.

The evening ended with the two of you slow dancing until last call. The way your bodies pressed together, the intimacy and warmth. The way he’d always make eye contact, almost as if he was trying to read you. The way he held you so tender yet tight, his large hands on your body. It all just felt so right.

John walked you home, looking so sad when it was time to part ways. “Please, let’s do this again sweetheart.” When your manager Billy had called you that, it made you feel sick. Had the hairs on the back of your neck standing up, disgust shivering down your body. But when John said it, damn. Your body shivered in delight, the deep mumble entangled with that delicious accent of his made you gulp back a lump in your throat. You swear your underwear was a little wet too.

You nodded leaning forward to kiss his cheek goodnight, John was quick to take your cheeks into his hands and press his wanting lips against yours. He was hungry and almost vicious when he kissed you, it made you wonder what kind of lover he was like as he pressed you against your front door and kissed you like he’d never get the chance again.

[notjustjavierpena]

(Mid)summer Loving

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Yes, based on that new picture. I’ll call this my first contribution to getting railed in a sundress season. 

Summary: The last two years of being with Joel has transformed the both of you. Mostly him. For the better. 

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, joel’s kink is being loved and appreciated, long haired joel!!!, healthy joel, established relationship, piv sex, size kink (it's big), rough, loud and desperate sex, dirty talk, praise kink, creampie, railed in a sundress season contribution, they are so soft for each other, bit of aftercare. 

Word count: 3.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55988128

(Mid)summer Loving

It happens when you hear him through the crowd of people in the community center. Your head whips in his direction, your eyes settling on the crinkles around his eyes as he laughs at something Tommy has said to him. He swirls the whiskey in his glass and downs it with slight difficulty because he is still smiling. 

You are only a table away, sitting with some of the women from your patrol group who gossip about potential suitors in the room, especially amongst the newcomers. However, you don’t really pay attention to what is being said because the love of your life sits across from you. It makes you able to admire him, struck by his transformation since he first came to Jackson and barged into your life. Your heart is so soft for him. 

The most obvious change is the hair. It’s gotten longer, the ends curling slightly in a way that softens his otherwise rugged appearance of big leather boots and tripled layered clothing. He used to have it shorter, and while you loved its fluffy bounce on top of his head whenever it was caught in the wind, it doesn’t compare to how it now frames his face by just brushing his collar in the back. It may be a subtle shift to others but to you, it means that Joel is more at ease with who and where he is, and that he has allowed change to find him.

His beard, too, has filled out. It is now thick and even, not at all the patchy scruff that you noticed the first time he talked to you by the rag pile in the trading center. He’d searched for fabric that could be used for shining the creations that he makes when seeking respite in wood carving. You had noticed the patch that resembled a heart first, your own heart skipping a beat as you forced yourself not to point it out to him immediately. That patch is gone but you’ll spend no time mourning it when the result is Joel looking healthier than ever, almost as if his body has responded to happiness with you by filling in all the gaps that heartbreak had left. 

Then there’s his face. It glows, despite his age, with a newfound youth, the signs of weariness and stress of years lived too hard it once bore completely wiped away. When you first met him, your heart had ached for his tired eyes, bags underneath them revealing all the sleepless nights and the burdens that he carried. The way they shine when they look into yours has your heart at ease and you can only hope he feels the same. 

Around you, the women keep chatting, talking animatedly and giggling while you sip your drink and stay silent until they are nothing but a low hum in the background. 

You only snap out of it when your name is said out loud. You furrow your brow, “Sorry?”

“I said that you don’t have to worry about things like this,” one of them chirps happily, “You already got your man.”

“Guess not, guess you’re right,” you chuckle softly and start to feel shy. You have never been one to be glaringly obvious in your happiness to the point where you display it at every opportunity but then Joel came along. He may worry about the gap of years between the two of you, often feeling undeserving of your love and attention but you only wish that he could see himself from your point of view. To you, he is everything. He doesn’t see how his presence calms and grounds you, how he makes you feel safe even in a world beyond repair. In his embrace, you feel even the biggest of anxieties and the worst of your challenges shrink into nothing. All he has to do is put his gentle, calloused hands on you and talk to you in that familiar southern drawl, and then your mind quiets down instantaneously.

However, if not his hands or his voice, his loving gaze also seems to do the trick. He suddenly turns his head in your direction, catching your eyes, and the sound of the lively conversations from each table mutes to nothing. He smiles at you and mouths a ‘you okay?’ at you. 

‘Save me’ you decide to mouth back at him, making a face to see him smile with amusement. He slaps his brother’s back before putting both hands on the table to push himself to stand. You didn’t think he would take it seriously but just the sight of seeing him approach you makes you want to go home with him. 

“Ready to go, honey?” He asks when he reaches your table, placing a hand on your shoulder and gently squeezing. 

“Hi Joel,” your friend group says in unison.

“Ladies,” he nods and they giggle like schoolgirls, “Gotta get this one home.”

You shake your head with a little smile at their reaction. Then you swing your legs over the side of the chair. Joel helps you up and a moment after having said your goodnights, you leave together like you’ve done for a few years now. 

Outside, people are scattered across the town square where a huge bonfire has been erected in the spot where the Christmas tree usually stands. Today is the annual midsummer celebration. Jackson is decorated with bundles of flowers that have replaced the painted eggs that tell people it is Easter. You smile at the memory of Ellie having been forced to join in on getting people in the spirit of Easter which had resulted in you trying to guess which of the eggs hanging from the sky had been crafted by the angry teen. You had decided that it might’ve been the one painted completely black.

Now, bright colors from nature hover above your head instead as you make your way down the main road. Joel holds your hand all the way home. He strokes the back of it with his thumb, feeling no pressure to fill up the silence between you as it has reached a point where it is comfortable. 

When you reach your shared house, Joel stops you by the front door instead of opening it for you in the gentlemanly way he always does. He stands in front of you, the porch light softening his features as he gazes at you.

“You seemed a bit distracted with your friends tonight,” he notes, “Is everythin’ alright?” 

“Just thinking about how lucky I am,” you answer with a smile, your voice sincere, “To have you.”

“I’m the lucky one, baby,” Joel huffs out a little laugh of disbelief, trying to brush off how flattered he always feels each time you say things like this. He gathers your hand in both of his, lifting it to kiss the back of it a few times, “Best fuckin’ thing that ever happened after the world ended.” 

“Don’t let Ellie hear that,” you tease gently. In your chest, your heart hammers against your ribs from being loved by him. 

“I’d never dream of it,” he steps closer with his eyes burning to get closer to you. You see them darken slightly as desire fills them and your heart jumps into your throat at the realization of what he wants. 

You. 

He wants you. 

That’s the one thing that has also changed since you met him; he has become much more untameable when he has you around. Who knew that his stamina was so impressive? Who knew that Joel Miller getting a confession of love - whether it consisted of the actual words or simply was said in your actions - would have him dragging you to somewhere private as soon as possible? 

“I love you, Joel Miller,” you say dreamily, pulling the trigger, “To the day that I die.”

And then suddenly Joel rips the door open so roughly that you’re afraid it might come off its hinges, pulls you inside along with him and slams it shut behind the both of you afterward. He locks it without hesitation, not about to be interrupted by any of your neighbors even if it’s most likely that everyone is out and about the town to be social. 

You are pressed up against the door next, his broad hands resting on your hips as he holds you against it. He bunches up the skirt of your sundress, groping your sides on top of the fabric, and you sling an arm around his back. Your other arm reaches up so you can cup the back of his head, your fingers sliding into the hair there. He has the perfect length for pulling these days - you should know - but you’ll wait for the right moment. 

His lips nearly bruise yours with how hard he kisses you, beard scratching your skin as he practically eats at your mouth to the point where your head swims and your belly swirls with hours of suppressed desire. You need him now, already soaked through your underwear and ready for him to be inside of you.

“Fuck me,” you whine against his lips, heart beating rapidly in your chest. So much that your breathing is already uneven, “Please, Joel, please.”

“S’alright, baby, I know whatcha need,” he rasps as his lips messily start descending on your chin, all the way across your jaw until his mouth attaches to your throat. You let your head bump against the door with a breathy moan, giving him access to bruise your neck too. He creates a purple mark that you will try to hide tomorrow during patrol to avoid interrogation on how Joel Miller is in bed. Only you can know. 

Your skirt falls down the slight amount it has been pulled up when Joel goes to unbuckle his leather belt. The noise of the metal sends a shiver through you, anticipation rising to your cheeks by heating them up underneath no touch. You look down to see the belt hanging open, him shoving the denim down around his thighs afterward and following up with his briefs too. 

The sight of his cock makes your mouth water. He is fully hard already, standing into the air at full attention and threatening to smear your pretty dress with his precome by poking into your belly if he dares get closer. You moan pathetically and he shushes you gently. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he soothes you like he would a child that has scraped their knee. He curls his fingers in the fabric of your dress once more before hiking it up along your thighs until he can stuff the bottom of the skirt into the top of your dress, effectively holding it up so it doesn’t fall down over your soaked panties again. 

You grab at the sides of your underwear to shimmy out of them but Joel doesn’t exercise enough patience to wait for you to step out of them, so he hooks his fingers into the front. He finds your eyes when he feels how wet the cotton fabric is, doesn’t directly say anything about it but just shows you how full-blown his pupils are at the realization. Without warning, he yanks your panties to the side. 

Satisfied with his work, he makes you gasp as he bends his knees to reach down and splay his strong hands on the back of your thighs. He lifts you off the ground and wraps you around him, pressing his knee into the door to hold you up while guiding his throbbing cock into you. You moan desperately at the initial sting, brows furrowing with slight pain as he sheaths himself inside of you to the hilt. 

“Oh my God,” you whimper, letting his name fall from your lips in a helpless chant as he pulses from how your walls choke him as you strain to take him like you always do in the beginning. He might just split you open right here in the hallway when he starts fucking you. 

“Shh, you can take it,” he whispers with the most brutally gentle peck on your zipped lips, “It’s okay. She knows it’s big, baby, but she can take it. I always fuck ya real good, don’t I?” 

You nod helplessly, and fuck you, he does. It’s fast and hard and dirty. The poor wooden door rattles alongside the jingle of his belt buckle with each slam of his hips, the doorknob painfully gnawing into your lower back, and you fear the fabric of your underwear will snap from the strain that is put on it as it sits to the side. Sometimes you think you might even cut a hole in some of your pairs with how often Joel, still two years later, rushes to get his cock into you. There’s something oddly satisfying and offensive about just being able to bend over and let him see that all he has to do is push in. 

“That’s it, look at me, baby, such a good girl f’me,” he praises to get you back to him, not here to lose your attention to the way his cock feels inside of your tight heat. Your eyes settle on him again, your mouth hanging open to elicit pathetic gasps each time he knocks the wind out of you by driving his hips up into you and effectively pounding your g-spot. His face is so close to you; you can feel his breath and share it with him, can study every little imperfection in the form of tiny scars and dark lines that you hadn’t been able to see earlier from your seat a few tables over. 

“Joel,” you pant, digging your heels into the small of his back, clinging on desperately and angling your hips as he has his way with you. The slight adjustment has him going deeper, touching something inside of you that ignites the first sparks of an orgasm. Your nails claw, dig and scratch at his back in ways that would have been enough to draw blood if he wasn’t wearing a shirt, “Fuck, baby! Don’t— ngh, don’t stop.”

“You feel so good,” he replies with a groan, most likely powering through the exhaustion and strain on his body to make you feel even better. He is everywhere on you, his hands on your thighs, gripping and squeezing. He is everywhere in you too, his cock twitching inside of you each time you cry his name.

“I’m—“ you sob.

“Let go, baby, I can feel ya,” he growls when you dance around the edge of your orgasm because your fingers on both hands tangle into his beautifully chocolate hair, yanking harshly as impending pleasure knocks the breath out of your lungs. Your skin burns, your whole system halts and goes into overdrive at the same time until all you can do is shout silently at the ceiling. Your walls clench in mind-altering ecstasy then and your quietness is over, replaced by a relieved whine as you come on his dick. It is intense from how fast you’ve gotten there since he entered you, your body writhing as it is held against the wall. He fucks you through it, has you wailing as he chases his own high. 

You cradle his head during his last few thrusts, feeling his damp breath against your shoulder as he buries himself inside of your spent cunt and comes hard. It feels so good when he groans as he fills you up, the sound vibrating through his entire body. You whimper at the ceiling with the way he pulses deliciously with each breathy moan until he has no more to give you. 

He leans all his weight into you as he comes down again, holding you in place with his chest against yours to make sure that you won’t fall down and drag him with you. He gives you a moment and places a string of lazy kisses on your lips until he slips out of you with a soft sound. 

Carefully, he places you back down on the floor and eyes you as he does it to be certain you won’t collapse. He moves off of you when it feels safe to do so. 

“I say it back?” He asks as he leans against the door with you. Automatically, you tilt your head towards him. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, turning his head a second later to fully look at your disheveled state. You have a hand on your chest to calm your breathing but it still matches your fluttering heartbeat. He still aches between your legs.

You look back at him, awaiting his words with short breaths, “Say what?”

He makes a gesture to the both of you, “Before what we just did happened. I tell ya that I love you too?” 

“No?” Your reply is almost a question. 

“Shame on me,” he smiles and turns his whole body so that he faces you completely, shoulder against the door. His eyes soften as he reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. The warmth of his touch is nice when the sweat has started to cool you down, and you lean into his palm, feeling the roughness of his calloused skin against you. 

“Shame on me, indeed,” he murmurs, eyes on your slightly open mouth, “Because I do love ya. More than I can understand sometimes.”

“You don’t have to say it back every time, Joel. I know,” you try to brush off how much your body and mind buzz at the same time. 

He shakes his head slightly, his eyes never leaving your mouth, “No, I do needa say it. You deserve to hear it. I love you.”

You nod and reach to hold his wrist when he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your open mouth. Just a few minutes ago, the now-careful hands had been rough on your skin and his words had dripped with sin.

“Now, how ‘bout I take you to bed?” He asks and pulls your dress’ skirt out of the top, watching it tumble down and fall back into place around your knees. 

While you wait for him to get dressed again, fatigue seems to finally have caught up with you because you feel like you might collapse in your hallway at that suggestion. When it’s safe to do so, you let yourself fall into his arms and he catches you without hesitation. 

He scoops you up, goes upstairs with you in his arms, undresses you, washes you down with a warm flannel, and gets you into bed. You curl up on your side and after a while, after hearing his boots come off and the shuffling of clothes, the bed dips from his weight. 

The warmth of his body against your back lulls you to sleep. Oh, how simply he loves you. Forever doesn’t seem like a lot to ask for.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[kisses4reid]

not our scene | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,, - part 2

summary - an undercover mission causes realisations that otherwise would be squashed in denial

genre - fem!shy!reader x spencer, forced/wanted proximity, fake relationship -> real relationship, awkward idiots, fluff

warnings - awkwardness, mentions of trafficking and manipulation, realisations of love

w/c - 1.9k

a/n - second part!!! sorry for the cliffhanger that’s my favourite thing to do NOBODY COME AT ME. maybe third part/epilogue?? who knows. love y’all

The instrumental music that poured from the live band on the elevated stage came to a close, you and Spencer hovering on the opposite side of the expansive floors, discreetly keeping an eye on two large kitchen doors. The room erupted in applause, which you joined into, for the band, the man you assumed to be the main musician stood and bent at the hips with a sly smile - he knew he was good. The room quieted down to a small chatter from the abundance of people that filled the room. Women with large hats, velvet gloves, and bright lips cornered tall men in grey suits (or the other way around) and laughed like they’d known each other for many years. Men with peppering beards whispered to each other before letting out howls and pointing towards women who were not their wives. The wives stood silent. 

Spencer cleared his throat, breaking you out of your trance, “He’s been in there for around 10 minutes now. I’m gonna call it in, in case they’ve already got the tracker on him.” You nodded with a tight lipped smile, still recovering from the rollercoaster of emotions that dancing with Spencer had put you through. He glanced at you once more before holding down a button on his cuff and speaking out loud. You nodded along, in case anyone was watching - and also as a kind of self-soothing motion. 

You didn’t drink - well, not often. So when a different waiter came up to you both every 10 minutes asking if you’d like a variety of alcohol, you had to kindly decline each time. And each time you became more irritated. People laughed loudly, people danced in quick blurs, people came up to you both and stared at your dress for a little too long. Thankfully, Spencer took your hand (you’re still in love after all) and nodded with a smile that almost made you forget you were on a mission. 

The two of you escaped onto a balcony with a cold breeze accompanying the faster music that both of you wanted to avoid. Your night was already over, just as it started. One dance. You scolded yourself for wanting more, a longer night, for Webley to continue manipulating people. But you’ve done your job, you’ve completed your mission, and now you have to go home and act like all of it never happened.

“Great job, the officers have been notified and we’ve got a tracker on him now. You two can leave whenever-“

“I think we’ll stay for a bit.” Spencer spoke up, and it shocked you. It must’ve shocked Morgan too as the line went dead quiet. “Right, Y/n?” He gulped and eyed you with pleads. His tie was slightly askew, the wind flapping his jacket lightly, his eyes reflecting the stars that now hung high in the sky. 

“Y-yeah. This party’s actually…” You looked over the over-crowded floor, to your red and sore feet, to the bad alcohol standing on the waiter's trays. But then you looked over to Spencer. His eyes, his hair, his small smile, his red tie. “The party’s actually not that bad.” You say with a smile.

“Okay… don’t stay for too long. We don’t want everyone to be hung over for a flight home tomorrow.”

The balcony was made of white concrete pillars and marble floors, sconces of warm lights and vines of ivy that wrapped around the pillars and balcony like waves of seaweed. It was beautiful, just like the rest of the establishment, it was unfortunate its main use was to take advantage of innocent people. But you weren’t out there to think about that - at least that’s what you assumed. Spencer wouldn’t want to stay to talk about trafficking or crimes surely. 

In that moment, even after watching his small smile of excitement that you agreed to stay with him, all you wanted to do was kick off your shoes and take a goddamn breath. 

You walked over to the parapet of the balcony and was glad to see the top was a flat slab of concrete, just wide enough for you to pull yourself up and sit down. 

You sighed in relief, taking off your heels and letting them fall onto the shiny marble. 

Spencer followed your movements, standing next to you and looking out onto the view. City lights and stars blended in with each other from this angle. 

“Are you okay?” He asked gently. You smile, “That’s the third time you’ve asked me tonight. Do I look troubled?” He stood for a moment before turning his head towards you, his hair sweeping across his eyebrows in the breeze. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.” “Was it really that obvious?” “To me, yes… I think that if I didn’t pretend to enjoy tonight people would’ve been suspicious of us.” You frown slightly, “You didn’t enjoy the night?” “I didn’t enjoy the reason, nor the location. I enjoyed the people though.” He sends you a smile that makes your heart flutter and your cheeks redden. You hope he doesn’t see it in the dim lighting. 

Inside, the dance finishes and people clap, and you do too. Spencer glances at your hands and smirks slightly. “You don’t think they’re suspicious now? We danced once, and now we’re out here watching them like weirdos.” 

Spencer turned to lean on the balcony and look into the ballroom, shrugging. “We’re two young people in love,” he turned to look at you, eyes warm and deep, “alone time is what we need.” 

You bit the inside of your lip and stared at Spencer. His suit, his matching (skewed) tie, his hair and his eyes. He did the same to you, before gulping and looking down at the floor. He bent and picked up your shoes, turning them in his hands and observing. “These are too small for you.” You laugh at the obvious fact, “They’re JJ’s. She’s got the tiniest feet I’ve ever seen.” “You’re only one size above her.” “She wears high heels much more often than I do.” “You swap between sneakers and converse. You’ve only bought new shoes two times since I’ve known you. This is the second time I’ve seen you wear heels, and even then they were practically ballet shoes.” He smiled to himself like it was an inside joke. “Oh…” You looked down at your feet and realised he was exactly right, “I’m surprised you’re not wearing your black converse right now.” “Morgan didn’t let me. He said he was pressured to make me look good by all the girls.” He lifted a finger and turned fully towards you, “Did you know that sleeve buttons on suits were created to help doctors who worked in the war keep their sleeves up? Now, they’re a sign of intelligence and wealth. Also, a few weeks ago, you called me a grabologist because of my collection of ties, but did you know that the largest collection of suit ties is owned by a New Zealander woman called Irene Sparks. Now, I think I’d like to oppose that not with my own collection, but with Morgans.”

You smile at the memories of the girls dressing you up, fueling the sisterhood that the childhood version of you missed out on. You thought about Morgan, Hotch and maybe Rossi, and how they were probably dressing him up as well. It was truly a found family, something that you felt you belonged to. They knew your habits, they knew when you were lying, they knew a good portion of your past. And you knew all the same for the rest of them. But Spencer? 

Mentally, without realising, you had been creating essays for him since the day you met him. You made journal entries for everyone else, but for Spencer it was books on books of mental notes and facts and aspects of him and his life that you kept in the back of your mind, ready at any point to bring out and use. Why he wears mismatched socks, why he likes purple, why he can’t handle too many people talking at once, why he feels uncomfortable at hospitals, why he hasn’t contacted his father in years. And he knew no doubt even more about you. He had a talent for knowing your emotions and feelings like no one else could, and it made your heart palpitate every time he did it.

“I mean, you’ve seen my collection of ties but jeez, you’d think a guy who mainly wears t-shirts would keep his collection small. You’d like one of his, it's a green that matches that bedside table you painted once. Like those socks you got me last Christmas. But anyways, he somehow had a perfect red to match your… dress. Which by the way, I noticed a lot of people looking at you - and I don’t blame them. I think you look, um, I think you look incredible.” His rambling quietened down for a moment as he tried to avoid eye-contact with you, before he cleared his throat and continued on with his rambling (which mixed with compliments every second sentence). 

And suddenly, you realised this was all an excuse. You were in denial, so badly, that you thought of him as a subject of your devotion without stepping back and seeing the real picture. 

“Spencer…” You cut him off and he looked up with big eyes, surprised you spoke up. You were the only person that let him ramble, it may have been the only time you stopped him. “Wh- You wanna go home?” He saw your eyes, you looked in pain, in shock, in… “No, Spencer, I… Um.” You pressed your lips together and looked down - were you really going to say this? Were you really going to admit you loved the man in front of you without any evidence that he felt the same way? He was your coworker, your best friend. Everything could be ruined in just a few words. Suddenly, you wanted to take your train of thoughts back, to let him continue on with his rambling - it always calmed you down anyways.

Suddenly, his palm was held out in front of you with a small mint in the middle. You looked up at him and his worried but genuine smile. “Here,” he said softly. You took the mint in your hand and simply stared at it. To be loved, is to be known. “Um, Spencer. I…” His eyes were wanting, curious, they were so goddamn beautiful, “I… I love you.” 

His mouth gaped slightly and his cheeks reddened. Spencer gulped and fiddled with his fingers before chuckling nervously, “I was supposed to say it first.” “What?” “I was supposed to say I love you first.” You hopped down from the concrete railing, dress falling to cover your shins again. “I can take it back if you want.” You responded quickly. “No, no don’t take it back, even if you did I don’t think I could mentally accept that you had taken it back.” You covered your mouth with your hand and looked up at him in shock, “So you-” “I love you, too.” He nodded and took your hands from your mouth, holding them in his, “I have since the third week you’ve worked with the BAU.” 

“Oh, that’s great um…” You looked down at your intertwined hands and furrowed your eyebrows, “What do we do now?” “We could go to the McDonalds that’s a 10 minutes walk away or, I could kiss you.” He stared into your glistening eyes and wanted to pinch himself to see if this was actually happening. “I don’t-”

“You don’t like McDonalds, sorry, my brain is-”

“Just kiss me.” You replied exasperated.

“Okay.” He nodded and placed his hands on your waist.

taglist (open!!) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover @c-losur3 @littlelearningbrat @khxna @laurakirsten0502

[takami-takami]

You Keep Sawdust for Starlight.

includes— hawks x reader. comfort. minors dni.

warnings— gn!reader.

"I wish you could bring me with you," Keigo whispers.

"You're already with me."

"No— like," he waves away a palm. It pushes the air forcefully around in a small wisp. "Like, I wish you could shrink me down and stuff me into your shirt pocket. Somethin’ real cute like that."

Keigo's lips are pursed when he speaks, boyish and gesticulate. Although his words barely peak over the sound of your breathing, they are enough to startle you from the lullaby daze and candlelit, pillowfort days. Your hand pauses twirling a clump of feathery, dust blonde hair around its index, releasing it gently and opting to gingerly prop up your body behind you.

Your sheets are blue and the velvet fabric tickles your palms and fingertips. They're sapphire, splattered by glittered specks sewn in shades of yellow across its surface. Night sky, imitation Van Gogh. 

You can vet its authenticity; because unlike its painted namesake, your sheets remain intact. The comforter cradles you both in its arms, the fabric creasing like soft, blue waves, pushing and pulling you in its tides each time you shift beside him.

Your eyes flick and click to watch Keigo's.

He continues staring upwards at the popcorn ceiling as if the divots were countless stars, draped by curtains of black lashes. If tonight were colder, you might catch his breath.

"All those fancy places you go for work, and you wish you could come follow me around," you deadpan, brows stitched.

"Well, yeah." Keigo swallows and his Adam's apple bobs handsomely with each word like a fishing lure. You opt not to bite.

His nails scritch at the scruff of his beard, contemplative with viscous, syrupy thoughts.

“You always seem to be getting yourself into some trouble or another,” Keigo smiles a wet smile at the thought, still gazing up against the popcorn sky.

“People worry about you, you know," he says. "Worry if you’re safe. Worry if you’re you. You know I’ll be the first to tell you that you’re not exactly convincing.”

At that, Keigo folds two calloused hands, one over the other, against his sweater-clad chest, and exhales through his nose as he meets your eyes.

Many moons ago, you might have startled at how wide Keigo’s eyes looked when they reach yours, the black holes at their center swelling and fattening up. Tonight, you let them swallow you without fear of becoming lodged in their throat.

“I’ll think about it,” you sigh.

“I know you always think of me,” he says.

“You did say I’m predictable, didn’t you?”

You press your lips to his cheek, sticky and sweet. Keigo only opens his eyes again once you retreat back to lay beside him.

“Think of me a little while longer,” Keigo says. “And I promise I’ll follow you wherever you go.”

[shotmrmiller]

soulmate au part 2

john price x f!reader (was feeling mad angsty yall, sorry)

You'd locked your tender heart in a cold, iron box. Sealed it shut, hoping, praying, that if you'd buried it deep enough, the ache would fade. The small key had lain heavy in your palm— disproportionate to its size— with words best left unspoken, with feelings that'll never be returned. Tossed it right into the sea with a shuddering breath that tasted of salt.

Of tears. Of mourning, of grief, loss.

(You told yourself you wouldn't cry yet here you are, eyes prickling, vision blurring. Hold it together, girl.)

And it'd gone well enough for a while. Avoiding him— the act of self-preservation— almost became second nature. You made your exit anytime he walked in, a quiet victory each time you successfully escaped the danger of his presence.

(Be still, your battered heart.)

But it'd only been a matter of time before you were forced into a situation where evasion was no longer a choice. Something that would threaten to shake loose the fragile composure of indifference you'd so carefully pieced together.

Your sneakers squeaked against the linoleum as you ran toward the LZ— the world around you losing its sharpness, smudging into a flurry of colors and fluorescent lights. Errant strands of hair whip across your face, sticking to your lips. Your breath comes in short, ragged, desperate bursts; lungs working overtime. The barking of orders from one of the other medics gives way to the roar of helicopter blades, a deafening sound that drowns out everything else.

Once the helo touches down, its doors slide open and the stark reality of war spills onto the ground. Your heart beats frantically against your ribcage once you drink in the macabre sight. Crimson stains their tattered uniform, their dirt-streaked skin, even the dull grey of the metal beast.

And they're dragging someone out, it's—

John.

His body is limp, the fight now left with the boys as they move him towards the medical team on standby, toward you. The kaleidoscope of colors that paint the world around you flicker, for a fleeting moment— a mere fraction of a second— like the flutter of a butterfly's wings.

Instinct takes over.

Time seems to stand still as you sprint to the ones carrying your soulmate and grab onto his vest— trembling fingers curling around the straps of it, pulling him urgently onto the ground with strength born out of desperation.

The gravel beneath him is hard, unforgiving. It digs into your unblemished knees painfully, a sharp pain that tethers you to reality. Grounding.

Focus.

You fumble around for a pulse, the sound of fabric tearing as you remove his scarf barely registering. Weakening by the second. Your focus is on the rise and fall of his chest, pointedly ignoring the blood bubbling on his lips, staining his mutton beard a vibrant red.

Clever fingers make quick work of the buckles on his vest and the velcro straps. You guide his head through the collar of it, every movement measured, and before it even hits the ground above him, the world drains of color. You look down at your shaky blood-slick hand— monochrome.

His lips, colorless. His hair, the color of rich earth, grey. Everything comes to a standstill. Your mind, once racing with urgency, settles into an empty silence. The type that robs you of your breath. It stretches for too long, a chasm that swallows your thoughts.

Until a violent nudge to your shoulder (ironically) pushes you past the paralysis of shock, and with both palms placed on his chest, you begin to fight for his life.

Your muscles burn with exertion, your forehead is beaded with sweat. Time seems to stretch thin, every second feeling like an eternity. You can feel panic start to bubble under your skin, fear furling like smoke around the edges of your consciousness, beginning to cloud your resolve.

"Take over, take over. I can't— I need—" you choke out, the words choppy due to the compressions. You need to breathe. You need to gather yourself. Immediately, another set of hands replace yours, continuing CPR, and you're jerking away from John, feeling hot tears roll down your cheeks.

You find yourself somewhere, still close enough to hear your colleagues, but far away enough to no longer smell the metallic tang of blood— although you can still taste it, like a penny on your tongue.

But there's no escaping the shades of grey, the somber world you're in. Not the tremors whispering through your anxious hands nor the vulnerability settling over your frayed nerves like a broken tooth, sharp and intrusive.

"I take it you're his other half," a rumbling voice says from behind you.

That in itself is a joke, you'd chuckle if you could. "No, that'd be his wife."

Heavy footsteps get closer and closer until the mountain of a man callsigned Ghost comes to stand in front of you whose stature demands a craned neck to meet his gaze. You pride yourself in not scuttling away from him, instead standing still. He makes you feel small— not just in size.

"You his soulmate?" Twisting the dagger in your chest, your heart.

"No. But he's mine." You look up at him then, only to see the same, colorless world mirrored back at you. He's got sunken eyes, like a corpse. Like the one whom you poured all of your strength into— both mental and physical.

There's no need to ask the imbecilic question of how he knew, knows. You practically shouted it from the rooftops with your panicked actions.

Mistake, so foolish of a mistake. Stupid, fucking girl. You'll get those pity stares, the grim looks. Treat you like some broken thing, a broken mirror barely pieced together, cracks still visible.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other.

"He'll come back. Stubborn, old man always does." His voice is rough as gravel as he attempts to give you some sliver of hope. Ghost gives you a small nod and an unprompted pat on your stiff shoulders and his mask bleeds white. The thin stripes on his UK patch a ruby red.

He must've noticed something change because he let out a deep, steadying breath and murmured, "Told ya. Even death doesn't want him."

No, but your treacherous heart does.

Tragic thing, that. Now to call his wife and tell her the bittersweet news.

[onelittlespiral]

Warning: Bear Attacks

As we move into the holiday season, we would like to issue our annual warning about bear attacks. With colder weather setting in, an increased number of bears will be driven indoors as they search for food, warmth, and mates. And bears are far more dangerous in confined spaces.

Take this specimen here for instance. At first glance, he seems like a kind, friendly, fuzzy man who would keep you warm through a cold winter night. Maybe not the most happening upstairs, but he means well. Would you believe that just this summer he looked more like this?

Young and cute, but certainly not the hairy beast we have seen him turn into this season. If you are going out this winter, be aware, and be alert for the warning signs and know what to do if a bear sets its sights on you. First, how do you identify a bear? There are a few common varieties, each with their own quirks:

You have the very standard Grizzly bear, warm and cuddly. Pronounced dad bod. Notice the expression, the signature bear smirk. This will be one of the earliest signs that a bear is on the hunt.

Of course you also have the muscle bears. Their signature muscles will be coated in a thick layer of fur, accentuating their size. Hair will peak out from beneath heavy biceps, and their tank tops give no doubt to the forest underneath. They will often infiltrate and train you up before attacking. They like their marks ready, bro.

Even the smaller, younger cubs present a danger this time of year. They may seem helpless, but let us assure you they are far more knowledgeable than they seem. They can cause some of the most drastic changes in age, hair, and temperament. Countless men soon find themselves caring for their cubs, foraging for them, and assuming responsibility as they age into papa bears for their sweet little cubs.

Now bears will all hunt in their own ways, but there are patterns to their behavior. First, bears tend to congregate together. If you notice one, be on alert for others. Second, beware of beer and whiskey drinks offered to you. These are the trademark drinks of several bear species. Third, monitor the air in a room. That many big, burly men will tend to warm a place up and start to sweat, and bear musk is among their most potent tools to pacify targets. And in greater numbers these effects can be amplified. Their fur traps the musk close to their skin, so the closer they get the more enraptured you will become. If you are subjected to a direct hit from, say, a bear’s pit, it may already to be too late.

In case you find yourself taken back to a bear’s den, all is not lost yet, but far more drastic measures may need to be taken. Continued exposure to them will accelerate any changes, so you must be quick and decisive. First, avoid any food they may offer you, no matter how starved you may suddenly feel yourself becoming. Feeding the insatiable new hunger will only awaken the bear that is growing inside of you. Second, avoid direct contact with their fur. They may appear warm and inviting, and their cuddles are indeed among the coziest in the world. But skin-to-fur contact encourages hair growth as your body grows a pelt of its own. Third, avoid getting under the covers with them. Their body heat will quickly begin to melt your wits and your body will begin sweating, creating a musk of its own to compliment. Take this young man for example:

He barely made it out from a cuddle session with a bear, but some drastic changes have already occurred. His 6 pack abs have begun their journey to a muscle gut. He can hardly go a day without shaving or a full beard will quickly cover his face. And the musk he now produces keeps him far hornier than he ever was before. The effect seems to be limited to just himself, for now. Can you believe he is only 21? Hasn’t been carded in months. He had to drop from his football team, no longer in the right shape for it. He now is much more suited to rugby. And he is one of the lucky ones. This one was not so lucky:

These two photos were taken mere days apart. He was, sadly, subjected to the final transformation: becoming a bear himself. After being taken to a den, accepting some greasy snacks, and cuddled into submission, this poor man was selected to be a bear’s mate. He was laid on his back, had his clothes removed, and the bear started massaging his legs and thighs. He ran his thick fingers over his hole and slowly worked his way inside to stretch him out for what was to come. It wasn’t long before his bear dick was pressed against him, and he felt the thick, veiny cock begin to slowly pump into his cavity. Once bears get started, it is nearly impossible to get them to stop. His thighs slapped against his target’s ass as his wild bush pressed against his hole. When a bear decides to breed, it is hot, steamy, and rough. Moans tend to erupt from victims as their body betrays them, fur pushing out from every follicle, minds consumed by thoughts of sex, food, and men. Their dicks tend to stretch to match that of their mate’s, growing thick as a beer can, and so sensitive. Any memories that conflict with the bear they are becoming are churned by a new, heavy sack. Testicles will swell to the size of golf balls under the effort. Their old lives leak out of their cocks as they are edged, molding beneath their captor until the bear is happy with their target. And then, the bear will come, pumping load after load deep into their new mate. The target’s belly bloats to contain it all, creating the signature bear gut that juts out over their new bodies. The effort will push any last memories out as their cock erupts. Both bears will quickly be exhausted, falling asleep in a sticky, smelly, sweaty heap. And then it’s over. We have yet to discover a way to revert any victims. Not that they would want to. They become enraptured with their new bodies, and begin to hunt on their own for new mates. It is said a bear has an insatiable appetite, and will change as many men as they can get their hands on in a winter season until they find the perfect mate for hibernation.

It is advised that men stay aware, stay alert, and stay away. Report any bear sightings immediately. And stay tuned for any further information.

[theplumsoldier]

sore loser

summary: the scales of your rivalry with joel miller tips in his favor as he calls out your mistake and you end up a loser. the classic "you hate your partner but fucks him anyway"

pairing: mean!joel miller x afab!reader

warnings: 18+ please and thank you, hate sex, rough vaginal sex, spitting, slapping, choking, fingering, squirting, sloppy/rough blow job, degradation, age-gap, begging, biting, mean!joel, forced orgasm & multiple orgasms, tasting joel's blood?? no aftercare please let me know if i missed anything!! (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)

You hated everything about him. You hated the way he looked, the way he spoke, and the way he walked. You hated how he was always confident, how he was always right, and the fact that he always knew which buttons to push. You hated how he was a better shooter than you, how he was better at finding supplies than you, and how he was better at tracking than you. You hated his salt-and-pepper beard, the curls in his hair, and his sun-kissed skin. You hated his brown eyes, his deep voice, and his large hands. You hated how he treated you like a child, how he called you "kid", and how he looked after you.

Most of all, right now, you hated that he shot the clicker before you managed to put a knife to its skull, how he made it look like you couldn't save yourself. He took the win and he got the point.

It was a game and you were losing this battle for dominance, and you hated losing to Joel Miller.

You had been biting your tongue so damn hard to keep yourself from stooping down on his level and the taste of blood lingered in your mouth for about 4 minutes before the last straw had been drawn.

Joel just couldn't stop himself from being an ass and work in yet another one of his snarky remarks.

"Get over yourself, Miller. I had it handled," you grumbled.

"Sure looked like it," he retorted sarcastically, making scattering noises as he dug through a crate in the warehouse.

The way he didn't even bother looking at you only made you more furious. "How the fuck do you think I survived this long on my own, huh? I've been—"

"Ask myself that every time I save your ass," he interrupted mockingly.

Your blood was boiling in your veins. He felt so fucking superior and it was driving you insane. You knew your worth, but for some reason, you had this crippling urge to prove yourself.

"Somebody needs to knock you off your fucking horse, Miller."

Joel chuckled grimly. "S'that right, sweetheart? Wanna give it a go?"

His infuriating words made you stand to your feet, and frankly, it excited Joel to see you acting like you might just do something about it.

With a groan he got up himself, easily towering over you. You swallowed harshly, jaw clenched.

Joel's face was set in a firm expression, dark eyes analyzing your face to predict your next move. It was a face-off.

There was a subtle smirk and you wanted to wipe it off so badly. This was entertaining to him—a challenge he joined, a game he played just for the kick of it.

You couldn't win a fight against him, you were smart enough to recognize that fact (at least for now). So you breathed out, your nervousness drawing out a shaky laugh.

"I hate you," you spat and turned around, sure you'd only dig a deeper hole for yourself if you looked at him any longer.

"That what you tell yourself when you dip your little fingers down between your legs?" he wondered aloud, not even testing the waters but diving head first into the lake of all your buttons that he planned to push: "Don't think I don't hear you moaning my name when you get off in the night."

Your eyes went wide and shame colored your cheeks pink. You hoped he wouldn't notice as your eyes shot daggers, completely dumbfounded, hoped your anger had already made your face red. You were at a loss for words, completely and utterly embarrassed.

The mixture of emotions compiled a message to your brain for you, and before you had a chance to regret it, you lashed out. Your hand stopped clenching and raised to deliver a well-deserved proper bitch-slap, but Joel caught your wrist. It all happened quickly, and it felt like you were watching on rather than being forced back against the wall, arms suspended against the cool and rough cement in his grasp.

Joel's head cocked, eyes blazing down at you. "You wanna try that again, sweetheart?"

The sudden close proximity made you involuntarily grind your hips forward.

"So that's what all this s'about, huh? You’ve been givin' me that bratty attitude 'cause ya got your panties in a twist?"

"Fuck you!" you snapped, the words seething through your grit teeth, leaving a bad aftertaste on your tongue.

"But that's what you want, innit sweetheart? Goin' around acting like I'm the devil's spawn, but really you just want a good fucking, yeah?"

You hated how he was always right.

Your arms strained in his grasp, writhing to get loose though the heat pooling between your legs protested. You enjoyed having him this close. You could smell him, see him.

"You're so fucking full of yourself, Miller," you snarled but had stopped trying to fight off his grip.

Joel chuckled down at you, tutting: "F’you wanna be full o' me, too, darlin', all you gotta do is ask nicely."

There was no fucking way he was actually offering to fuck you. It had to be a dream. A nightmare. But it wasn't. And he was offering exactly that, you realized as his head tilted. He was dead serious.

You knew it wasn't out of the good of his heart, so he must be wanting this, too. And if he needed it as much as you did, you were going to make him work for it.

You ground your hips into his again, this time very much on purpose.

"Tell me you don't want to bend me over right now, Miller," you leaned forward and whispered in his ear, letting your lips graze the soft flesh of his neck. His cock was hard against your cunt and he didn't do a thing to push you away. "Tell me you haven't just been dying to try out this tight pussy. An old man like you can't have had a proper fuck in ages."

He laughed. "Swallow your pride, sweetheart. You've never even been with a real man before, have ya? Always waltzin' around in your short skirts at the Byson, whoring yourself out for attention from those boys."

"Knew you'd been checking me out," you smirked, the movements of your hips now a consistent grind against him. "But you're right. And those boys can't help, they dunno how to handle me."

"I don't do charities, darlin'. F’you want me to fuck that shitty attitude out of ya, you're gonna have to prove yourself."

This time around, Joel pushed his clothed cock against your pussy and you knew what he wanted.

You wriggled your hands, inching closer to his face but never letting your skin touch. "Kinda difficult to get on my knees when you’re holding me like this, innit?"

Joel let go only to force you down on the ground, but you didn't protest. You had lost all filters, all of your arrogance as you were faced with his cock prodding at the zipper of his jeans.

Looking up as you eagerly undid his belt, you were pleased to see him inhaling deeply, proudly as he looked down on you. You pulled the zipper down, and your breath hitched as his cock saluted. He wasn't wearing underwear.

His cock was thicker than you had imagined, girthier than what you had felt while fingering yourself that night which he had so mockingly reminded you of. Long with a slight curve and a purple mushroom head unscathed. A drop of pre-cum covered the slit and you imagined it was crying for you.

"You gonna put that bratty little mouth to good use or do I gotta do that for you, too?"

Instinctively you glared up at him, giving him a look but it was washed away a second later as he took charge.

Grabbing a fistful of your hair, Joel forced you onto his cock, not giving you a second to wet your lips or spit on it. Harshly pushing you down on his cock, you found that it wasn't needed, there was plenty of saliva in your mouth to lubricate him. A whimper left you when his head hit the back of your mouth, your throat automatically constricting at the sudden intrusion. You felt your cunt mimic the reaction and clenched around nothing.

Joel was heavy in your mouth, the thickness making you worry the back row of your teeth would scrape him. If they did he didn't care, for when you looked up at him through teary eyes he was unconcerned.

He forcefully prodded against your throat, slipping in just enough to push further and you gagged.

Joel inhaled sharply. "S'a tight little throat you got there. Guess you haven't been whoring around as much as I thought," he chuckled, holding your face pressed firmly against him, your nose nuzzled in the patch of curls.

He held you there for a couple of seconds, allowing your throat to get adjusted despite acting seemingly careless about how you felt. A moment later he pulled you off by your hair, and you gasped hoarsely, blinking up at him through the tears slowly blurring your vision.

Hovering over you, Joel cupped your cheeks and lifted you slightly, bending down as he did. For a second you thought he was going to kiss you, but his fingers dug into your face, forcing your mouth open for him and he spat on your tongue, an obscene look on his face.

"Eyes on the price, sweetheart," he chuckled and landed you back on your knees.

With his hand holding you tightly by a makeshift ponytail, Joel pushed his cock back into your mouth and without warning, set a brutal pace sure to give you a headache. As slick gathered between your legs, a migraine was the least of your worries. You snaked a hand between your legs to relieve the tingling strain.

The breaths you were granted came in between the thrusts and you squeezed your eyes shut, feeling dizzy, prompting him to yank at your hair.

"Look at me," he grunted coarsely, voice going straight to your sex and you ground down hard on your hand, gasping for air. Joel admired your puffy lips, smeared with saliva, strings of drool connecting your mouth to the tip of his cock. "You look like a fuckin' mess, sweetheart. This what you been thinkin' about, hm? Been thinking 'bout acting like a little slut f'me, huh?"

His degrading words fueled your fire, both making you want to bite back at him and make him come down your throat. Opting for the latter, you tried to take him back in your mouth, wanting to put your adjusted throat to good use, but he yanked you back. A whimper left your lips and he slapped your cheek, forcing you to look at him.

"F'you know what's good for you, you'll answer when I ask you a question."

Wet and needy, you didn't hesitate. "Yes! Yes, Joel," you cried, one hand on his hip for purchase, the other hid between your legs, fervently toying with your clit. "Wanted you to treat me like a whore! Wa—wanted you to fuck me stupid!"

That's when he noticed your hand between your legs, eagerly seeking out friction. His brows connected in a crease of anger, and he had you on your wobbly legs one moment and hurled you onto a dirty surface the next.

"The fuck you think you're doin', huh? Touching yourself without permission?" Joel growled and for the first time his disappointment got to you.

He held you by your throat and you could feel the calluses in his palm scrape your skin.

"M'sorry—couldn't help myself," you babbled feverishly as he shoved a hand down your undone pants, feeling just what you had been so disrespectful to touch.

A guttural moan escaped him and you could have died just then, knowing you did that to him.

"Christ, sweetheart. You got this wet from chokin' on my cock, huh?" he mused absent-minded and you couldn't decide which you liked more; Joel calling you "sweetheart" or— "such a fuckin' slut.”

You were startled but thankful when he pulled down your jeans in one swift movement, exposing you to the cold air in the warehouse.

He didn't give you a warning before he plunged two fingers into your cunt, curling them against the velvety roof of your wet cave. Clawing onto his shoulder with a gasp of surprise, you instinctively tried to lift yourself and relieve the overwhelmingly intense feeling.

"Where you goin', sweetheart? This not what you wanted?" You desperately wanted to slap the grin off of his face, but he had you completely wrapped around his finger. Literally and figuratively. "Didn't you wanna be used like a little slut, hm?"

"Please," you begged, drawing the word out with a rugged moan and clutching to his shoulders. "Ff—uck!"

He fingered you at an unforgiving pace, three fingers and his palm slapping against your cunt each time. The squelches from your pussy resonated off the bare walls and if you hadn't been so focused on the pain mixing with pleasure, you would have been ashamed Joel was the one making you this wet.

"Joel!" you cried, tugging at the front of his shirt. "Plea-please! Need your cock!"

He choked you with his unoccupied hand, forcing your face inches from his. "Quit whinin' or I'll leave you 'ere," he threatened.

You looked up at him through hooded eyes, unable to comprehend your increasing lust for him from being this close. Joel's breath was hot on your face, breathing his air, you became dizzy from a mix of him and your impending orgasm.

"That's right, sweetheart, cream all o'er my fingers," he beckoned, feeling your contracting walls squeeze his fingers. Your legs were trembling, wanton moans spilling from your lips as Joel pulled an orgasm from you.

You incoherently begged him to fill you up, wanting nothing more than to milk his thick cock, but when he caught sight of your pleading eyes, he applied pressure to your clit instead. It was sore from the heel of his palm having slapped it repeatedly and it made you unable to come down from your high properly.

Your legs spasmed as his torturous fingers brutally skirted across your bundle of nerves. Before you could process what happened, a gush of pleasure sprayed from you.

Your cheeks flushed pink, realizing Joel had just made you squirt. You had never done that before, and you looked at him with an expression of surprise mixed with confusion. He looked proud.

Joel groaned as he stroked his throbbed cock, smearing the precum over the head while his other hand pushed down hard on your belly, holding you just at the edge of the table.

Stammering his name, your attempt at any sort of coherent sentence was foiled as he slid his girthy cock into your cunt.

Your eyes fluttered shut, walls clenching around him. You had never felt so full. "Joel—" you shuddered, gripping his bicep for purchase.

A string of curses left his lips, a crease knitting his brows together in concentration. "Fuckin' hell, sweetheart, s'a tight lil' hole ya got 'ere."

Joel wanted to take a moment just then, revel in the sweet clench of your pussy, catch his breath but he knew you would notice. As much as he had a hidden desire to ruin every other man for you and have you tail him like a lost puppy, he refused to acknowledge how overdue this was.

He didn't give you another second to adjust before he rocked his hips back and slammed his cock back into you. If you thought his fingers hit a spot, his cock fucking destroyed that.

You couldn't even form moans properly as his hips rutted at a bruising pace, expertly molding your cunt to fit him. His face contorted and he grumbled something under his breath, but you didn't care to ponder what as he filled you up. You were still dazed from the previous orgasms and it was like he wouldn't allow you to come down. Your ragged breaths, his grunts, and the wanton sounds of skin slapping filled your head as you soared around on cloud nine.

A large hand snuck under your shirt, the calluses on his palm rough against your skin but you loved the feeling as he squeezed your breast, thumb and index pinching your nipple.

Your knuckles turned pale from clutching down hard on his shoulders, fingernails clawing indents at the exposed skin on his neck and collar.

You hoped the crescents would outlast this moment, that Joel would curse at the sight the next time he looked in a mirror. You hoped he wouldn't be able to get this moment out of his head then, not ever, thinking back to this moment whenever he would see the scars you left on him.

A hiss escaped you and tore the thought of making your mark out of your mind. His deft fingers were rubbing your sore clit once again.

There was determination on his face and animalistic hunger in his dark eyes—he looked as if there was no getting through to him, like he was stuck in a world of his own.

Whether he insisted on drawing orgasm after orgasm out of you for your pleasure or his ego, you did not know. Joel always had something to prove—to himself or the people around him, it was another thing about him you didn't know. In this moment, as he chased every high for you, you didn't care either.

You hated him for making you feel this good. Hated him for making you moan in pleasure, hated him for making your legs shake uncontrollably. You wanted to taunt him, crack a spiteful comment about his age or something, let him know he wasn't doing as well as he thought—but he was. You could lie, but your body would betray you.

There was no snide comment left in you as Joel's hips pistoned into yours. It felt too good. He felt too good.

"S'too much," you gasped and held onto his shoulder, not pushing him away but not pulling him any closer either. "I can't."

The pressure on your clit was too much. The frantic rubbing, the harsh pads of his fingers, mixing pleasure with pain in the most unforgiving way. It hurt too good to want to stop him, though.

Joel surprised you, pressing his forehead against yours. His eyes were heavy, and his jaw was slack, the blissful expression ruined by a smug chuckle.

"You can. C'mon, sweetheart, I believe in you," he tutted like one would to a child riding a bike for the first time.

It spurred something inside you, the degradation. Your hooded, watery eyes caught sight of his plump lip through the blur and without a second thought, you lunged forward and bit it, your teeth piercing the soft skin.

It was the closest thing you would get to feeling them, you knew it, and you weren't about to beg for a taste.

A slap landed on your cheek, sharp and stinging, but he kept his hand there on the side of your face, cupping it in an almost endearing way.

Joel hissed at the taste of blood—surprised but not disgusted. The hand cupping your face in the sweetest way turned to force your mouth open, and you grinned bitterly when he spat on your tongue, tasting his blood.

His thrusts became more frantic, the pad of his thumb sloppily skipping over your clit as he draws your pleasure out. Forcing you to look into his eyes while you come around his cock, Joel's too far gone watching you to notice the way his balls tightened.

"Fuck—"

Slick with your juices Joel slips out of your clenching pussy, jerking his cock a few pumps as he hisses, strings of milky sperm decorating your abdomen.

Your heavy breaths hang in the room like thick syrup, bodies sticky, tension at a maximum as the lust turns back to hatred.

Joel moves from you with a grunt, a sly smirk on his lip as he moves his gaze from the mess on your stomach to your eyes. He leaves you to clean yourself up and tucks his softening cock into his pants, the zipper resounding comically loud through the silence. It reminds you of a secret between children, zipping your lips close as a solemn pledge.

It was over and it would never be brought up again. As you did your best to clean up, get back into your clothes, and comb your fingers through your hair, your eyes were trained on Joel's back—if eyes could kill and all that.

At once, you were back to hating one another. You hoped your nails had dug deep enough into his shoulder, hard enough to leave scars.

[rottingcorps3s]

older man!neighbor!price

aaaayyyoo??? my little thing i posted last night kinda popped off. here’s another one before i fall off again (10 whole reblogs?? you guys are so cute).

price is sliiiightly older in this. think like mid to late 40’s. older man, next door neighbor. i envision this in a timeline where he retired early. this is very house-wife, american pie dream kinda deal. what can i say (hawk screech). OBVIOUSLY, some puss eating. what’s the reverse of a munch? not the one who eats, but the one who is eaten? cause that’s me. there’s a decent amount of set up for this one, but its not too long.

Part 2

-

neighbor!price is the kind of person you see that makes you pick up your phone and call your friends to tell them about the ‘hot ass dilf’ that you just saw leave the house next to yours. you had been in and out of the house all day, cleaning and moving in the smaller pieces of furniture into the previously vacant home.

the sun was just setting when you decided to stop, your clothes slightly damp from the thin coat of sweat that covered your body. you had taken the chance to finally sit down for the first time today, your body giving in as you plopped down onto the wooden steps that lead up to the porch.

you saw a car in the distance slowly approaching, it didn’t catch your attention again until it turned into the driveway adjacent to your home. a few seconds after it parked, an older man stepped out.

“well helllloooo neighbor…” you mumbled to yourself, smirking before deciding to stand up and greet him. just a new neighbor doing their neighborly duties of introducing themselves °_°

he hadn’t been paying attention until he saw your shadow being casted on the ground next to him. he turned his head to look at you.

his eyes locked with yours, boring into your skull the longer you looked at him. his face was covered in blonde and white hair, his beard kept fairly short. he was built too, his biceps practically being the size of your head, his t-shirt leaving little to the imagination.

it had felt like minutes since you approached him, staring into his eyes as he waited for you to say something.

“he-i just moved-next door-neighbor!!” you struggled to get out, your mouth suddenly becoming dry now that you are face-to-face. he gave you a tight lipped smile, nodding his head once before extending his hand out.

“john.” he said simply, “i live next door.” he smirked, his tone dry, but kinda humorous? or maybe he was just making fun of your struggle to introduce yourself. (YEEESSSSS MAKE FUN OF ME MAKE ME FEEL INFERIOR….srry, need to control myself).

you said your goodbyes and didn’t even get through the front door before you were calling your friend.

-

the next few days were exhausting. the movers had finally shown up and you were finally able to sleep in your bed once again. your home was still filled with boxes upon boxes upon boxes but you were determined to finally take a night to relax.

god must’ve had the devil on speed dial that night, because NOTHING went right. what was supposed to be a quiet night in bed with a glass of wine, quickly turned into a disaster when you went to take a shower. you had opted for a bath the last few nights, enjoying the warmth on your achy muscles from unpacking.

you pulled the tab that would usually start the shower head; you didn’t even have time to process what happened before you were drenched in water. you let out a panicked scream, trying to backtrack and shut off the water. the shower head had come clean off and was now spraying water over the entire room.

you were frozen in place, unsure of what to do or who even to call. your body was moving faster than your brain, you were already out the front door and knocking on your neighbors door in a frenzy.

he was old…er. he looked like a dad! he definitely would know what to do!

price was puzzled by the scene in front of him when he opened the door. you were soaked beyond belief, your hair sticking to your forehead, your eyes wide like you were a deer in headlights.

“can you please help me!” you begged, your voice so soft and sweet, your lips pouting out every so slightly. “my-my fucking shower exploded, or something!”

he agreed, following behind you with a small tool bag in his hand. you left a trail of water behind you, your bare feet hitting the concrete of the sidewalk as you walked quickly back to your home. john would never admit it, but he was staring. the shirt you wore was soaked and clung tightly to your body. outlining your figure.

john was able to rectify the situation rather quickly, even teaching you a few things about homeownership whilst he did. he was able to find the water shut off valve in your basement, stopping the water from spraying and almost flooding your bathroom. he also reattached the shower head, making sure it would actually stay out this time.

you thanked him profusely, over and over and over again all the way back to his front door where you followed him. you said your goodbyes, not without saying thank you one more time.

but it just wasn’t enough. that man, your neighbor, a stranger, john. was considerate enough to go out of his way to help you. you had to make it up to him! so you did…

by baking!! obviously!! :)

chocolate chip cookies, of course. everyone likes a good cookie!

once they were done and cooked you wrapped them up in plastic wrap, a small note attached to the top.

a thank you note.

you dropped them off on his doorstep the next morning, leaving them there for him to find.

-

the next few months were pretty consistent. thankfully, no more shower head explosions. you had a few problems here and there, but nothing you couldn’t fix!!…or that john could fix for you…

you paid him in baked goods and hot meals. even going out of your way to find out his favorites. he didn’t mind, he enjoyed it, maybe a little too much.

you had been out of town for a few days, taking an extra long weekend to go out and have fun. john agreed he would keep an eye on your house while you were gone. making sure nothing or nobody messed with it.

he would’ve done it even if you didn’t ask him

when you returned home you made it a priority to make dinner for both yourself and john that night. a quick and yummy thank you.

you packed the food in a small container, sticking a little note to the top just explaining what you made and what was in it. you might’ve drawn a little heart or two on it as well, but i’ll never tell.

you were in a pale yellow sun dress, the bottom of the dress juuuuusst barely covering the top half of your thighs. you knocked on john’s door, box of food in hand with a smile on your face. the door swung open, but it wasn’t john.

it was another man. a black man with sharp features and short hair. “is john home, by chance?” you asked.

the man in front of you smiled widely, a sort of mischievous smile. a ‘i know something you don’t knooooow’.

he wasn’t given a chance to respond before the man was pulled back by his shoulder and john appeared in front of him. john was quick to shut the door, gently coaxing you to walk half way down the path in front of his house, away from the door. he had a look on his face, he seemed annoyed, not at you, but at the situation.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t know you had company.” you smiled apologetically, “i just wanted to say thank you.” you said, holding up the container of warm food.

john gave a tight lipped smile back, graciously accepting the food.

“don’t worry about it,” he mumbled, “thank you.”

you went on your merry way, scampering your way back up your steps and into your house. not without a quick wave before the door slammed shut.

john held his head in his hands, letting out a deep breath before turning to head back inside. he could see 3 separate breaks in the blinds from where 3 people were peeking through. the second he noticed it, they were gone. blinds completely back to normal.

he walked back inside, preparing for the comments that would be made by his guests.

“she’s prettier than you described, cap.” said a smug Gaz, Johnny nodding frantically in agreement.

“Might have to snatch her up myself, old man.” Johnny joked. his joke being met with a harsh slap to the back of his head from Ghost.

-

it had been a few days since you had seen john. you were used to having at least one daily encounter with him, but now he seemed like he was avoiding you. you didn’t stress about it too much, just assumed he was busy with…whatever he did in his free time.

you were half a bottle of wine down when you heard a knock on the door. you weren’t expecting any visitors so you had decided to drink a little more than you usually would.

you swung the door open, all precautions to the wind as you didn’t even check who it was.

it was john.

“oh-john,” you smiled sweetly, his name sounded like the texture of honey when you spoke it. he liked it. he liked it a lot.

“can i come in?” he asked bluntly. he didn’t really wait for you to answer, pushing his way in and standing next to you.

so close to you.

“is something wrong?” you asked, a worried expression on your face. your brows furrowed in slight frustration. concern.

he was quiet, his breathing shaky as he thought of what to say. he had no idea of how to beat around the bush, how to say what he wanted to say without it being too forward. but what’s wrong with a little honesty?

“i want you so badly.” he said in a quiet, deep voice. his eyes looking directly into yours, holding eye contact.

you weren’t sure if you heard him right at first, thinking that your mind was playing tricks on you. making you think he said something else but there’s no way he said that…right?

“r-right now?” you asked.

he was surprised by your question, not at all expecting that kind of response.

he nodded.

all it took was a small nod back at him before he jumped your bones. his hands were hot and heavy as they touched and saw new areas of skin. your shirt was bunched up by your collarbones before you knew it, his tongue quickly finding place on your nipples.

gaaaawwwddd, he’d play with them forever if he could. making sure to keep them taut and wet for the rest of eternity. leaving sloppy wet kisses and small bite marks behind.

you had made it to the couch at some point, time was a blur for the moment. your only focus on the way his hands ravished your body.

he would periodically make eye contact with you before doing certain things. making sure that it’s what you wanted and that you were enjoying it. he had started to shimmy your panties down before looking at you again even tho he did just moments ago. you nodded enthusiastically, desperately wanting him to touch you.

he knew once they were off that he wouldn’t be able to control himself. he was on his kees; he had set you on one of the arms on the couch, one leg hanging loosely over his shoulder already while he held the other one in place.

yes his knees were screaming at him for acting like he had the same body he did in his 20’s. no he didn’t really care how much it’ll hurt later.

the second your underwear was off your leg, he was going for it. he used his thumbs to spread you open slightly, admiring it before licking a looooooong, slow stripe up the middle, ending on your clit.

he’d be such a fucking tease. going all in and bringing you right to the top of your peak before pulling away or slowing down. you’d protest, desperation dripping from your words.

he’d get you to a point where all you could say was “please please please please”. he’d finally decide to cave, not stopping this time. it was almost too much for you to handle, your legs trembling and shaking.

he wouldn’t stop after either. you’d pull at his hair, letting out a cry as you tried to pry him off. but you were just sooooo weak from the last one :,( after the 4th or 5th, maybe 6th? you had lost count. he would finally let you go. making sure to give your pussy a small smack, enjoying the small squeal you let out a little too much.

and he’d make sure to fuck you silly too. turning you so that you would hang over the arm of the couch. he had to completely support you weight, which was fine with him. he’d ask for permission before even pulling his dick out; he’d use your own wetness as lube to stroke himself a few times before pushing in.

god he was sooo big, much bigger than any guy your own age.

he would 100000% talk you through your orgasms. you can’t remember a single thing he said, but you remember it being amazing.

once you were both done, he would take care of you. no doubt about it. he’d carry you to bed, bring you water, dress you in a new pair of pajamas and as long as you invited him, he would cuddle up next to you and hold you.

HUGE into pillow talk. would just talk about anything and would listen to whatever you said. nodding along with you.

the next time you cooked for him, it was extra delicious. and he’d be sure to tell you that when returning the container the next morning.

but not without updating you in his new favorite meal.

you.

-

SOMEBODY SEDATE ME. oh my fucking gaaaawwedddd

[vivian-pascal]

But Daddy I Love Him

dbf!joel x f!reader

summary: You've been seeing Joel for a while now, when your dad first introduced you to him, you knew you both could never get enough. But when your dad finds out, things take a turn.

warnings: piv (wrap it up), oral f!receiving, fluff, description of what reader wears, angst

authors note: hey folks! when i first heard this song on Taylor's new album I just KNEW I had to write about it! and this is the idea I had in mind, I hope you all enjoy!

(I definitely recommend listening to the song while reading!)

now I'm running with my dress unbuttoned

screaming "but daddy I love him!"

"I'm having his baby"

no I'm not but you should see your faces.

The warm, tingly feeling of his rough calloused hands sliding along the inside of your thigh making you whimper as his hand slowly makes it way between your legs.

The rough pull of his hair as he collides his drooling mouth with your clit. Licking and sucking like a feral animal devouring its meal.

"Joel." You moan when he inserts his tongue into your seeping cunt. Pushing deeper and deeper until your back arches off the bed.

"Yeah, just like that baby." The deep rumble of his voice vibrates along your pussy and only makes the sensation better. Licking and sucking your cunt until you simply can't hold it any longer and let go. The rush of your orgasm makes him physically eat up your whole pussy. Making sure there are no drops wasted.

Your back finally hitting the bed, he rises from between your legs and he already looks fucked. The dampness from your arousal has drenched his beard and face. His messy hair from all the pulling and tugging you've done only seems to have gotten worse.

He crawls up your body with a big grin and instantly meets your face with his lips. You moan into his mouth as he begins to undo his jeans. You giggle as the zipper gets stuck and decide to help him out.

You pull sharply on the zipper and it instantly goes down. He smiles at you as he removes his pants and his boxers. Your eyes widen at the size of him. You've imagined this moment for years and you've know that he'd be big, but you never knew that he'd be this big.

He crawls back up your body as your back hits the bed once more.

When you first met Joel, you were only a teenager with a wide range of imagination. He was handsome, had the sexiest voice you've ever heard, he was kind, etc. But one thing about him just didn't seem right.

Sometimes you would casually flirt with him because it was funny and only a joke. Well, not for you. He would laugh it off and tell you to stop and then you would. The amount of control he had over you was insane. More than your dad. You would physically do anything for Joel. Sometimes you noticed that some of your flirting did actually bother him.

Once, you two were in a store and the cashier had thought that Joel was your father. He laughed it off and told the lady that you weren't and you both left the store. But you couldn't leave it at that of course, so when you walked out, Joel asked you to wait in the car while he threw something out and you simply replied with "Yes, daddy."

That seemed to do a number for him. He stopped in his tracks as he watched you walk toward his truck. The car ride home was silent. You tried to make small talk with him but he'd only grunt in return.

Ever since that day, he's been off. So earlier today, you decided that should change. And now here you are, ass naked with Joel Miller.

His nose brushes against yours as he slowly pushes in. You both gasp at the intrusion. "You're so gorgeous darlin'." You moan as he slowly begins to move.

You run your nails alone his back as he kissed you along your jawline. His movements hit each spot inside you just right. Stretching you out perfectly.

His grunts only spur you on as he begins to speed up his thrusts. You moan as his tongue collides with yours. His hands moving down your fragile frame as he begins to circle your clit.

Running your hands along his arms, back, neck. You can feel every strong muscle working its hardest. You pull and tug his hair until he's grunting and panting in your mouth.

His fingers push down on your clit harder and you arch your back and moan aloud when your orgasm washes over you. His thrusts begin to go faster as his hips come to a stutter. You grin when you feel his hot seed seeping into you.

He lays his head on your shoulder as you look down at his exhausted state and kiss his forehead. He smiles softly and kisses your lips. You wrap your small arms along his head as he wraps his strong arms around your small body.

You both cuddle up and stay like that for a while. Yearning for each others love as the time passes by slowly.

Your rudely awaken to a slam of your bedroom door. You quickly sit up and cover yourself with your blanket. When you see who it is, your eyes begin to water as your heart stops. It's your dad.

Joel sits up and his eyes squint at the bright light. When he sees your father standing there, he freezes.

"What the fuck?" Your dad roars as he walks in. Joel begins to pick up his boxers as he quickly puts them on.

"Joel?" He looks up at your dad as he tries to grab his jeans. "You fucked my daughter?" He quickly puts on his pants, leaving them unbuttoned. Joel looks at you. His eyes softening when he sees that your crying.

"Fucking answer me!" He looks back at your dad and quickly nods. Your dad throws his hands in the air and grabs onto Joel's arm. Yanking him out of your room.

You quickly get out of bed and grab your dress, putting it on but not buttoning it up. "Dad! Where the fuck are you taking him?" You scream as you run after them. He throws Joel outside and pushes him.

"Joel, care to explain what the fuck you were doing?" Joel only puts his hands in front of him. "You can't even talk to your best bud huh? U wonder why that is, oh maybe because you were messing with my very young daughter." Joel shakes his head as he backs up.

"Now, we both had consent for this. I didn't force her into doin somethin she didn't wanna do." Your dad begins to laugh.

"As if that makes this any better Joel." Tears flood your face.

"Dad stop! He didn't do anything wrong. Please."

Your dad looks furious. He shakes his head and looks back at Joel. He looks at you with sad eyes and only nods to you as a reassurance that it's going to be okay.

"Go." You turn to face your dad as he looks at Joel." "What? Dad no. He can't just leave"

"Well that's what I'm telling him to do isn't it." You look at Joel as he slowly backs away to his truck. "Dad?" You begin to panic. You hear the truck door open and close.

He begins to back away and looks at your dad. His truck backs off the driveway and that's when you start to sprint after him. Holding your dress up as you begin running. Your bare feet hitting the rough pavement. Tears flying from your eyes. Screaming and crying as you see your Joel leaving you. Forever.

Your pace begins to slow as you realize that he's not coming back. Just disappearing into nothing. You stare at his truck as you hear your dads pants coming up behind you. He puts his hand on your back but your too distraught to take it off.

"But Daddy, I loved him."

tags!!

@morallyinept @mermaidgirl30 @rav3n-pascal22 @mountainsandmayhem @amyispxnk @pinkcrystal44 @guelyury @iamsherloocked @itsokbbygrl @heartpascalispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @brittmb115 @kotourasan123 @simplewanderer @tupelomiss @heartramen @sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts

[captainjamster]

Everything fucking sucks.

It just does. You're tired of it; tired of it sucking, tired of waiting for it to get better, tired of being tired.

Today has pushed you over the edge. Everything has been too much - there's no room to shove it aside and compartmentalize it anymore. A lingering defeat festers between your ribs, crowing pleasedly at each obstacle in your day and feasting on the dispair that grows with each set-back.

The weight that's been dragging down at your shoulders almost pulls you to the ground as you finally step through the doorway, letting your things drop to the floor.

John's head pops up from the couch at the sound, bleary eyed and clearing his throat as he finds its source. He sits up as his eyes land on you, shuffling your feet over to him, and it takes one look at your expression for him to hold his arms wide open.

You accept the gesture wordlessly, slotting yourself against him as his arms secure you to his chest.

"My sweet thing," his voice rumbles, deep with the remnants of rest, through his chest. "My poor little darlin."

You inhale against the crook of his neck, trying to find some centre in the musk of his sweat, sleep and laundry detergent. There's the sound of his heart, strong and steady; the cologne you got for him last anniversary, lingering against the brush of his beard; the warmth of his arms, muscles tense as he squeezes you just a bit closer than usual; and the misery pulling at your heart that just doesn't care.

The tightness that's been threatening to choke you all day finally takes hold, turning your attempt at steady breathing into a ragged gasp, and you can't hold back the tears bubbling at your waterline anymore.

Thick, heavy droplets catch on the dense brush of hair, seeping into the collar of his shirt.

"I know lamb, I got you," he murmurs, low and sweet against the shell of your ear. Stocky fingers find your scalp, parting trails through your hair as he strokes your head gently.

John doesn't push for answers or reasons. He anchors you, a constant in the waves of anger and sadness, humming softly between hushed reassurances. Any apologies are batted away with little noises of disapproval, kissing the crown of your head between promises of love and patience.

You stay there, floating between consciousness as sleep tugs at you in gentle waves. Everything might still suck, sure, and John can't magically make it all go away. But right now, it's easier to decide that maybe you can keep going for a bit longer, if it'll always be just the two of you.

[bridgeicesbeforeroadif]

Bridge Ices Before Road!

Links: DEMO-PATREON-FORUM

Updated 10/29/24

~Summary~

Was there anything that could get between you and a gold medal?

Well, yes. A lot of things. There’s your family, including your annoying younger sibling. Moving back home with them will be tough, but it allows you to focus on your gains. There are competitions to win, and you have to stay in peak condition all the while. You also have your mother breathing down your neck to make sure nothing jeopardizes your chances at success. Your father is more hands-off. He almost always has half of his mind on work, even when he’s at home.

Your coach will guide you through the ups and downs of skating, as they’ve never let you down before. They remind you of your father a bit, never able to fully turn off part of their brain that thinks about work. You hope they remember to relax, and let you do the same.

Your childhood friend-turned-rival is always one step ahead of you these days. They beat you out as part of the top couple in the pairs free skate last year, and since then you haven’t been able to top their performances. You used to be friends, but now there was a fire in their eyes when they looked at you. Will you be able to mend this friendship?

Even worse, you run into an old bully of yours (that you might secretly have had a crush on since forever ago) who has just been appointed the captain of the local hockey team. He plays at your local rink now, and that means you’ll be seeing each other more than you’d like.

You find a friend in a fellow skater who becomes something of a pen-pal to you. They reach out over social media, and there’s an instant connection. They’re a total sweetheart, and you can’t wait to meet them at the first event.

 Finding your place again in your old hometown might sound tough, but nothing is tougher than being an Olympic athlete. You have to juggle training along with all that, but you try not to let it get you down. After all, skating is your passion!

Don't let the creepy figure outside your bedroom at night get you down. If you ignore it, it will be fine. It was just your imagination... right? Draw the curtains, drink some warm milk, and put on some music to drown out the haunting song whistled into the gaps in your windows. Tonight, you escape into your dreams knowing all the exits are locked up tight and there's no way in. It's all in your head.

But remember, escaping isn’t always an option.

~Features~

Customize your MC! Name, sexuality, appearance, hair, eyes, clothing, and more! (MC is genderlocked female)

Find friendship or romance in the least likely places! Each route has its own ups and downs with tailored story-telling.

Get stalked by a really big fan. No, I mean like a REALLY big fan. They know things about you that no one else does! Will you get away? Or will you be unable to stop their villainous plot?

Win (or lose) against the best skaters in the country– and the world!

~Romance Options~

Dallas Doverman

 male/6’0/20yo

 The hockey team captain. He bullied you in elementary and middle school. You can select whether or not you had a crush on him. They certainly had one on you, and that’s why they picked on you so much, not that you knew. Nowadays, instead of helping his dad around at the skate rental and pulling your pigtails, he plays ice hockey with the big boys. He was the youngest on the team, but still made captain in such a short time.

Dallas is tall and broad. His straight black hair is longer on top and rests above his ears, trimmed short on the sides. He’s grown a lot and lost that old baby fat that clung to his cheeks. A dark beard forms on his face, but doesn’t fully block out his skin.

Vincenzo/Valentina Ciolfi

 selectable m or f/5’8 or 5’5/18yo

 They were once your friend. Then, you went to Boxcroft and they didn’t. It was a shock to everyone, V included.  They swore to get better and become your superior someday. You hadn’t expected it to affect your relationship, but it did. You drifted apart, their hostility ever-growing and there was nothing you could do about it. 

With dewy, caramel skin and shoulder-length golden brown and almost blonde locs kept in a low ponytail, V just screams “over it.” They did not care enough to do anything to their hair or pick out a nice outfit. They do that for competitions, and that’s enough.

Argo/Allegra Papandreou

 Selectable m or f/5’10 or 5’6/28yo

 Your coach. They were just like you, hailed as a prodigy until they graduated school, then they stopped being a rising star and became a plateauing one. You followed their career almost religiously, and always wondered what changed. They only started coaching for you. Before that, they worked in accounting, the business for which they got their degree. You couldn’t believe that was what happened to the Starchild of Skating in the 2010’s. They saw real talent in you at a young age and changed career paths. You hope you weren’t a mistake.

Dark brown hair falls in waves over Argo’s ears. Anita wears hers long, down to her waist. They are leanly muscled, but toned all over. Even after years of being out of the game, they had not let their body grow flabby or let it fall out of use. They look as ripped as they did in their teens when they stole the show at Nationals when they were your age.

Bernhard Wagner

 male/6’5/20yo

 Someone that will eventually face you at the Olympics, you think. He’s friendlier than a competitor has any right to be and reached out to you in your private messages on Blipsta. He always speaks in a really cute way, with all kinds of emojis. He complimented your technique and you got to talking. He made it so easy to open up to him.

You don’t know what Bernhard looks like, not really. He did tell you that he’s tall and has blonde hair, but you kind of expected that. You guess you just have to wait to meet him.

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐰 | 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞

Pairing Frank Castle x Reader [friends → lovers] 

Summary A fresh start with no more loose ends—that’s what you promised yourselves. But when a quick outing stretches longer than expected, dread creeps in and reveals how deeply you care for Frank when he’s finally back by your side [3.7k] 

A/N First time writing for Frank. Deeply appreciate Jon Bernthal’s embodiment of the character ♡

The rain hasn’t stopped by the time the van eases into the parking lot, where the water on the ground reflects the cherry-red motel sign shining against the night. It makes no difference to you—lips parted, head tilted against the passenger side window—until Frank gears into park and taps your thigh with two thick fingers. 

Your eyes flutter open to tiny droplets pattering on the outside of the cool glass. That’s when you notice how still the world has grown. No more potholes, smooth turns, or periodic swells of acceleration to pass other cars who thought they had all the time in the world. 

After cutting the engine, he runs a heavy hand down his face and tips his head back, disheveling the back of his dark hair against the headrest. It’s gotten longer. So has the coarser hair of his beard. He never asked for your opinion, nor had you mustered the courage to give it, but the look suited him, as if it was innately right. As he briefly closes his eyes, he misses the way you turn to study his profile, noting how the bridge of his nose catches the glow of the lights outside.

A satisfied hum escapes you as you stretch out your legs, drawing his attention back your way. He blinks observantly, eyebrows set in that eternal furrow that makes him hard to read. But you know he’s alright—content. There’s no other reason not to be. A couple hundred miles ago, he’d tied off one final loose end, and the world went silent for the first time in a while. It was over. No more living ghosts breathing down your necks. You and Pete Castiglione were free to start a new life, be whoever you wanted to be. That’s what you told yourselves. 

Clearing his throat, Frank shifts in his seat and reaches into the cup holder, tossing the room key into your lap. “Room 103. There’s two queens,” he tells you. “I’ll grab the bags.” The finality in his tone suggests he won’t entertain any alterations to the plan.   

You reach down to grab your crossbody. “Can I get this one, or is it too much?” You’re trying to be funny. He waves you off, mumbling under his breath, but there’s an undeniable flutter in his gut when you smile at him before hopping out of the van. 

He purses his lips when you break into an amusing little jog, eager to escape the rain and key into the room. A muted yellow fills the space as you flip on the lights. No sooner does he watch you peek through the curtains like a groundhog popping up from its burrow. It’s hard to make him out, but you swear you can see him chuckling from behind the windshield. 

It’s impressive how he manages to carry both your belongings in one trip. He hums in appreciation as you hold the door open for him. Rather than dumping everything in the main walkway, he trudges the extra few steps to where more space opens up, and a small bench rests beneath the full length mirror hanging on the wall. 

The air is thick, as it always seems to be at motels, but the citrus undertones suggest recent cleaning. You stake your claim on the bed closest to the bathroom, ready to settle in. The wrapper of a meal bar crinkles as you dig it out from your purse. 

Frank’s own mattress squeaks as he plops down onto the foot of the bed and lays back, tucking his hands behind his head. The movement makes the hem of his hoodie rise up just enough to reveal the light trail of dark hair leading down from his belly button. It’s not the most comfortable bed in the world, but you’d be back on the road in the morning headed for central Virginia. 

A modest house in the Blue Ridge Mountains awaited, courtesy of one of his buddies who lived further north in Quantico. Of all the other options, it seemed like a promising place to find your footing away from the endless bustle of New York City. 

“Frank?” He looks over at you. “Thanks.” For everything, you want to add. 

“No worries,” he says. A few moments pass of the rain slowing down outside. It’s a lulling sound that masks the quiet gurgle of your stomach. 

Eyes closed, Frank hears you begin to peel open the bar you’re holding. It’s one of the protein-packed ones that are supposed to taste like chocolate, but always end up too chalky. It’d been a while since the late lunch the two of you had. 

“I’ll go get you something hot.” He sits up. “Passed a few places coming in.” 

You can see how drained he is from driving. It’s in his voice, the slump of his shoulders. “This’ll tie me over for the night,” you insist.

He looks at you with partial belief. Frank was the type who could get caught up in the task at hand and go without eating, if it wasn’t for your reminders. Earlier, he’d brushed over his hunger, only to sit down across from you in that cramped diner booth and inhale his hamburger and fries as you watched with amusement sparkling in your eyes. That look often spurred him into a spiel about how he could get by on a handful of nuts every few hours if he really wanted. 

But there was no such talk this time around. The food was good and hearty, and he enjoyed sitting down and sharing a meal without having to look over his shoulder. There was also something special about the way the sunlight streaming through the windows caught your eyes. 

“Really, Frank. It’s been a long day,” you say as he stands and makes his way to the door. There was no stopping him when he made up his mind. “I can come with you.” That earns you a disapproving look, and you sigh your defeat. “Drive safe, okay?” 

“Yep.” 

The rain subsides shortly after he slips out the door. To avoid the risk of falling asleep, you decide to take a shower, considering yourself lucky that the warm water doesn’t run out after the first five minutes.

By the time you dry off, moisturize, and change into old pajamas, Frank hasn’t returned. When you peek out the window at the sound of an engine, it ends up being construction workers. Despite how much you try to will it away, a familiar sense of dread settles in your gut. It only roots deeper upon realizing that he’d left his BlackBerry behind on the bed. 

Time continues passing by. 

•••

Red and blue police lights appear blazing in the distance in a showy glow. Frank watches from the inside of a family-owned pizzeria, where beautiful candid pictures adorn the walls. The air is rich with the scent of parmesan and garlic, but his face is fixed in a scowl. There’s bruising beginning to develop on the apple of one cheek, and a thin bleeding slash on the other. A few chairs are overturned while tables are askew. 

Under different circumstances, maybe in a different life, he would’ve been able to appreciate the homey charm of the place without trouble finding a way to fall at his feet. The universe had deemed him as the only alter fit to handle it. 

The woman behind the counter, stout with a long ponytail, nearly collapses in relief as the wailing sirens draw nearer. Frank’s jaw ticks in irritation at the whole ordeal. Other customers who were once inside have either left or are now standing watch from the parking lot. 

Frank turns to look down at the two young men sitting on the floor with their backs against the wall. The masks have been ripped down from their faces, and it’s clear they’ve been roughed up. Despite feeling Frank’s gaze, they refuse to meet it. 

Off to side stands another employee who’s around the same age as the men on the ground. He’s holding a wad of napkins to his bloody nose and can’t keep his eyes from flitting to Frank with reverence and gratitude.  

“Hey,” Frank barks to the seated men. “When they bust up in here, you don’t run, you hear me? Cause I’m gonna be out there and you won’t even make it to the next lot over,” he says. “If you wanna come in here and be tough guys while your buddy’s trying to make a living and do better for himself, then you own it.” 

Their nostrils flare in frustration, but they don’t dare open their mouths. He can see the misplaced anger of his own youth coursing through them. 

“Whatever’s going on between you…you talk it out, yeah?” He looks between all of them. “One bad decision, and your folks will be crying and snotting in a courtroom while some guy with a gavel calls the shots.” 

As the police cars turn into the parking lot, Frank walks over to a table and picks up the carry out bag of food he’d ordered. 

“How do I get outta here?” 

Both the long-haired woman and the young employee point to the back hallway where the bathrooms are, watching him disappear as if he were never there at all. 

Frank makes it to his van as the police enter the pizzeria. In the rearview mirror, he can see the two men standing from the ground with their heads hanging low. Sighing, he pats down his pockets for his phone with the intent to call you. Nothing. All he can do is curse under his breath and start up the engine. 

The No Vacancy sign is switched on when he makes it back. He sees you staring out the window, but you slink back into the room as if the sight of his return was all you needed. A mix of guilt and frustration stir in his chest when you don’t let him in. He has to dig out the key and do it himself with his free hand, the carry out bag crinkling with his efforts. When he slips in and shuts the door behind himself, you’re standing a few yards away. There’s a palpable intensity as you study the afflictions on his face. 

Your body wants to fuss over him and push him away all at once—for leaving his phone, for scaring you, for coming back looking like he’d sought out yet another fight. Most of all, you feel foolish for believing that there was ever a chance at normalcy. There was no rewriting the curse that all the trouble in the world fell at Frank Castle’s feet so he could set things right. 

Unlike eight months ago, when you thought he was bad news, you can’t imagine losing him. You wouldn’t survive it. That magnitude of that fear cloaks itself in anger and puts a target on him when it’s the last thing he deserves. 

“What the hell, Frank? You can’t be serious right now.” 

Your piercing gaze is muddled with a myriad of emotions, and he can see them all. He stops the knee-jerk reaction that almost makes him raise his voice and go on about how he didn’t ask for anything that transpired within the past hour. How happenstance wasn’t within his control. How the whole idea of the two people like you finding a sense of normality was probably closer to a fairytale. 

He doesn’t get into it because he loves you. Even though neither of you have ever said it aloud. It was an unspoken truth, written between the lines of the fact that you worked each other’s nerves, but knew how to sooth them even more. Chasing after a fairytale would be worth it with you. 

“Let’s just eat, yeah? Can we do that?” 

He brushes past you to put the food on the small table. You track his movements, watching as he takes out a few small boxes. There’s wings, garlic knots, mozzarella sticks—a variety so you can take your pick and get your fill. It was never really too late for pizza, but he knew you would complain about the layers of cheese grease so close to bedtime. You’re not even sure you have an appetite anymore, but he motions for you to come sit and you can’t say no. Your eyes follow him as he goes to wash his hands, wishing you had it in you to scream. 

There’s only two chairs and your knees knock beneath the table when he sits down. As you nibble on a garlic knot, you stare at the dried blood on his cheek and the forming bruise. 

“Please tell me what happened.” Your tone is lighter than before.

Frank squints briefly then wrinkles his nose, gears turning in his head. Similar to when he walks into a new room, his gaze tracks around different points of your face, as if he’s trying to piece together what he wants to say as he assesses where you are. His thoughts are always written in his expressions even if they aren’t entirely clear. 

“It was nothing,” he says. 

“Nothing, Frank?” 

Nine times out of ten, him coming back to base camp bearing signs of a fight meant that he’d either taken care of everything or it was time to bounce—no in between. There’s no urgency that suggests the latter, so he must be telling the truth. The events of the night have pissed him off more than anything, like a side quest he couldn’t avoid. As much as he dreaded playing it over in his head for the sake of relaying it back to you, he can see that you need it. 

“Alright, look.” Frank waits for your attentive nod to continue. 

“It was a couple of kids. Came in all loud, making a scene,” he starts. “Long story short, they gang up on their buddy who works there.” Your eyes drift to his lips as he talks, watching the way he wets them every so often. “Everybody starts freaking out, some suit who looks like Mayor LaGaurdia calls the cops.” 

He shakes his head like it was all a big mess. “And I’m not about to sit there and watch this kid get the snot beat outta him, so I get up and do somethin’ about it.” The righteous indignation in his tone stirs an admiration within you. He notices the shift in the way you’re looking at him. 

“What?” 

You shake your head and bite your lower lip. “So you broke them apart?”

He nods. “One of ‘em got a lick in, pulled out a pocket knife,” he says. “Then I shook both their asses up and made ‘em sit ‘til the cops came.” 

“You pulled your punches.” 

“I pulled my punches,” he confirms.

This wasn’t the story you were expecting, but you’re grateful for it nonetheless. Frank breaking up fights and setting kids straight was something you could live with—better than dealing with crime rings, crooked feds, and personal vendettas. 

A wave of rowdy laughter soon erupts from somewhere in the distance. When you look down, you realize the two of you have made your way through more of the food than you were expecting. Frank wipes his hands off with a napkin and leans back in his chair, watching as you do the same. 

The silence is intimate. Frank’s knees are still pressed against yours. He looks like he wants to say one thing but changes his mind to another at the last minute. “I’m gonna go grab a shower, yeah?”  

“Yeah,” you mimic the quick, New York way he always clips the word onto the end of his sentences.  

He’s never minded your teasing. Every time he thinks he’s gotten away with masking his amusement, you always catch a tell that gives him away. This time, it’s the twitch of his nose as he stands up to throw his stuff away. You file it away in your memory. 

“Hey, Frank?” He looks over his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I was scared.” 

“I know.” 

Later, the lights around the mirror provide a Hollywood-esque glow as you stand at the sink brushing your teeth, one hand braced on the counter. The rest of the bathroom is sectioned off behind a door, so you feel the lingering steam from Frank's shower as he steps out in his sleep clothes, drying off his hair. The air smells like the complimentary soap, light and fresh. You absentmindedly shift to make room for him as he drapes the towel around his neck and leans close to the mirror to assess his face. 

Now that the blood is gone, the cut looks less imposing. Unphased that you’re bumping shoulders, he reaches for his own toothbrush. 

You’ve never paid any mind to how heavy-handed he is while he brushes, but it stands out now that you’re right beside him sharing the same sink. Perhaps it only appears that way, but you force yourself to bite back a teasing comment as you move on to floss. Frank just stares at you in the mirror with a soft, tired look in his eyes that makes your insides feel all fluttery. You’re sure he’s not even aware he’s doing it—or maybe he knows perfectly well. 

After he’s ditched the towel and the two of you are making your way to your respective beds, you bring a halt to his movements by wrapping your arms around him. It’s an awkward angle at first because you come at him partially from the side, partially from behind. But he adjusts himself so that your chests are pressed together as he wraps an arm around you—just the one initially, taken aback by your embrace. 

“Okay. Oh, boy,” he chuckles in that low way of his that playfully denotes trouble. 

You’re not sure why you made the move. As he adds his other arm, it occurs to you that there are too many motivations for there to be just one. Affection seldom looks like this between the two of you—maybe once every blue moon during notable partings or close calls. The seamless way you melt into him says otherwise. It’s as if relishing his warmth and the steady constant of his frame was all you were made for. The possibility doesn’t even offend you. You keep holding him and he keeps holding you. 

“You okay?” he asks after a while, smoothing his wide palm up your back. 

You nod before slowly pulling away. “Sorry, I’m just…” You touch a gentle finger to the center of his chest as he looks at you with that familiar furrow between his brows. “Glad you’re back.” Glad he’s still alive.

“Where else would I be, huh?” He taps your chin with his knuckle. “I walk out any door without you, best believe I’m making it back some way somehow.” 

You nod because you don’t trust your voice anymore.  

He gives your chin another affectionate tap. “Alright then. Bedtime.”

•••

A small sliver of light slips in through the slit in the curtains, casting itself onto the lower portion of Frank’s bed right over his feet. Even after staring at it for what feels like forever, you can’t bring yourself to close your eyes and surrender to the grasp of sleep. Yet the steady rise and fall of Frank’s chest continues on like some sort of miracle. You wish you were close enough to feel it for yourself, and when that pull doesn’t go away, you push the covers off and tiptoe over to his bed amid the dark.  

When the other side of his mattress dips, he thinks it’s one of those half-waking dreams until your leg brushes against his in your attempt to join him beneath the sheets. He immediately shifts to accommodate you, tugging more covers over to your side even though there’s already plenty. As he moves, you can smell the familiar scent of his skin and feel the weight of his proximity. 

“Thought you were—thought I was dreaming,” he rasps. 

With the way your heart has begun hammering in your ears, you’re surprised you can hear him. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, you’re okay, sweetheart.” His voice is thick, but not from tiredness this time. 

Both of you remain still after you’ve settled, scared that moving would shatter this sweet reality that had been woven together by fate. The warmth of his body calls out to you, but you don’t indulge even though you want to. That hesitation doesn’t last long. The moment he reaches out, you press yourself back against his chest. He lets his hand come to rest over your stomach as he tucks his nose into your head, breathing you in. When you relax further into him, his fingertips venture just beneath the hem of your shirt to grace the soft skin above your waistline. The gesture is achingly chaste. The two of you fall asleep just like that. 

Morning seems to come soon, sunlight spilling into the room around the closed curtains. The light is tender in the way it bathes the charming color palette of the room. Frank’s eyes flutter open to find that neither of you had shifted much during the night. You're further away, but his arm remains draped over your middle. He doesn’t know that you're awake—that you’ve been awake. 

The first thing your gaze fell on was the alarm clock nearing nine o’ clock. You’d slept in way longer than usual, especially for what was meant to be another day on the road. You can’t bring yourself to mind. 

It isn’t until Frank withdraws his arm that you finally allow yourself to shift. The sheets rustle in a tell-tale sign that he’s stretching, and you roll over in time to see him on his back with his arms extended, knuckles brushing against the headboard. You scoot closer, resting a hand on his chest after he lowers his arms and tucks the one furthest from you behind his head, bicep flexing. 

Neither of you say anything, but there’s a quiet sense of acknowledgement—of seeing and being seen. With a lone finger, you draw lazy shapes over his pecs through the fabric of his shirt as he slowly blinks down at your hand. And as Frank turns to press a kiss to your forehead, he reckons he could get used to mornings like these.  

-

♡ Thank you for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts.