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malereadermaniac · 4 months ago

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Camp Buddy x Male Reader NSFW alphabets

Top!Characters x Bottom!Reader Characters: Keitaro, Hiro, Yoichi, Natsumi, Taiga, Seto, Aiden, Yoshinori, Naoto, Lloyd, Darius Each character will have 3-4 letters of the alphabet assigned to them (everyone having the letter K, and it being based off of the cannon camp buddy journal) Word count: 9.2k Nsfw / MDNI ~ amab m!reader / FDNI Kind of a 2k special?

Keitaro

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Keitaro doesn't have a specific kink that gets him going, if anything, his favourite thing to do during sex is to pleasure you; and if that means participating in any and all of your kinks, he sure as hell will do just that! So really his specialty is having a 'blank slate' or such an open mind - which really is endearing, it makes you feel so comfortable to suggest something new that you'd be into; and it's so hot when Keitaro not only shows interest in your kinks but also clearly enjoys them. This innocent man is willing to go from handcuffing you and fucking you until you're overstimulated to letting you get all dominant and ride him to high heaven! Being so flexible in his power dynamics and his fetishes allows Keitaro to enjoy whatever you throw his way, and it makes the sex so fucking good.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Again, due to the brunette's more flexible nature, he'll enjoy anything to do with cum; but that doesn't mean he doesn't have his favourite scenarios. For example, when it comes to his own orgasms, Keitaro really likes the tightness of cumming inside of you; his moans becoming sluttier and his arms wrapping around you to keep your hot, sweaty body against his as Keitaro shoots his thick, pearly white load inside of you, your warm, tight fucking hole clenching around his perfect dick. When you blow him, Keitaro definitely prefers cumming inside of your mouth; its that warmth and that tightness again that really does it for him, Keitaro is usually unable to let go of your hair as he forces you to take him all the way when he lets his hot jizz flow down your clenching throat. On the other hand, when it comes to your own spunk, Keitaro has such a fixation on tasting you... This man will be fucking you until you shoot your load all over your stomach and chest, then he'll slow his pace down to a soft rut into you as he bends down and runs his warm, wet tongue up your body; lapping up all of your cum onto his tongue and playing with it inside of his mouth, giving you a cute smile as he swallows and mumbles 'tasty as always'. And you can imagine that Keitaro's little fixation on your taste increases ten-fold when he's sucking you off or eating you out~

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Once again his open-mindedness really helps Keitaro and you when it comes to where you both fuck! You both prefer the standard bedroom of course, nothing beats the comfort of messing about in your own sheets knowing that there won't be any interruption and that the two of you can get as messy and as loud as you want. Yet, you and Keitaro aren't opposed to some public play, your boyfriend turning out to be quite the tease when at dinner with friends by running his hand up your thigh and eventually just straight-up using your crotch as a stress-toy! Fucking in public bathrooms isn't uncommon for you two, you just can't help yourselves! Oh and back when you both met at camp? Poor Natsumi caught the two of you fucking IN THE OCEAN after swimming up to you both because he though you two were getting swept away by the tide... BUT IN YOUR DEFENSE- giving a blowjob underwater isn't something you can do everyday, and Keitaro had never felt so fucking good in his life (although the poor man was worried that you wouldn't be able to breathe).

Hiro

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Foodplay is Hiro's main thing. The man's a cook, what else would you expect? The ginger not only likes to cook for you and watch you enjoy his tasty meals, but when it comes to fucking, Hiro is so into getting messy; and you aren't against it as long as he cleans up afterwards! Hiro's favourite thing to do is definitely to whip up some frosting on the more liquid side and use a spatula to drip it up his naked, muscular body - the white cream contrasting your boyfriend's tan skin very nicely. Then the ginger will entice you to come and lick him clean, his dick twitching at every swipe of your tongue across his abs or his biceps, his pits or even his face; Hiro going feral whenever you smoothly go from licking sweet cream off of his cheeks to kissing him. Hiro also gets going from the praises that fall from your mouth as you enjoy the sweet taste of whatever he's glazed his body in, relishing your praise of his cooking or baking skills by calling the food tasty and calling him sexy. This man is also totally into getting you covered in some food too and worshiping your body along the way. Hiro's favourite sexual experience ever being with you one year on his birthday, one of the presents you gave him being the permission for Hiro to decorate you like a cake and do whatever he wanted to; and of course this horny fucker took you up on that! You has dollops of whipped cream on your nipples with candied cherries acting as the buds, chocolote drizzle down your belly and straweberries on either side of your dick n balls - you looked quite pretty, and god damn you tasted good too! Hiro started by plucking a cherry from your nipples with his teeth (looking hot as fuck while doing so) and then licking down your torso for the chocolate and so on - to summaries, that night went on for a while and a lot of whipped cream had been licked off of your body while Hiro was fucking you, so much whipped cream that four canisters were in the bin the next morning!

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Let's be real here, of fucking course HIRO AKIBA is a goofy motherfucker in bed! Yeah there are serious moments where the man wants to really prove or show his love for you, and in those moments he'll tone down the giggles and touch you more, softly caressing you or holding onto your body as his pace is more slow and romantic; praise is typical in these moments from Hiro. However, usually, your boyfriend is so unserious during sex, he wants to have fun after all! Enjoy the moment with you ya know? Cracking jokes is typical, always timed perfectly and never made awkward; Hiro can always get a laugh out of you, in fact he's developed the perfect formula to allow him to hear your perfect little giggles and chuckles when he's balls deep! Hiro will start with a compliment of you, and then use some fuckass metaphor or comparison which always makes you laugh: "Your so perfect... ya know... hah.... you're the only thing I ever think about" Hiro would pant in between thrusts "Oh yeah?" you would return, too tired to and horny to match his charisma "Oh for sure... Well maybe I think about food more but Ya know!" "Oh shut up... hah" you would laugh and moan at your stupid boyfriends funny remark

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

This man needs to chill the hell out... Because the way that Hiro can go, and is willing to go (!), until he physically collapses!?! It's worrisome that your boyfriend's brain gets completely overridden by his libido and all common sense and survival goes out the window... Hiro will be in literal pain, his thighs searing in pain and his dick stinging from cumming so many times and he will STILL go for another round if you're up for it! Typically, the two of you can go for a solid 3 rounds; sometimes 4 because your lovable boyfriend's only shortfall is that he barely lasts 10 minuets once he's inside of you (He can't help it! you just feel too good!). But on nights when the two of you are blind-sighted by your infatuation and desperation for one another, Hiro can make up to 9 rounds (shooting literal blanks) before his body literally gives out - but the sleep afterwards is astronomical, I'm talking 15h of sleep, naked and next to the man he loves. Not exactly healthy but that's why the two of you only do something like that extremely rarely.

Yoichi

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

As is common knowledge, most guys who display and value their strength during their daily lives usually have the fattest desire to be fucking dominated - and Yoichi is no different! This hunk has a fat bondage kink to begin with (we're talking latex, ballgags, rope, handcuffs, the whole lot) and to mix that with being told what to do and/or being used as some sort of sex toy by his handsome, sexy boyfriend? Yoichi was a) In love & b) Hard as a rock! It's not like the wolfboy wants to participate in shit like this all the time (it's more of a guilty pleasure than his favourite scenario, this man still loves to be in control!) but Yoichi enjoys it when he gets to be more of a subtop and let you put in some of the work for once! Yoichi fucking loves it when you get him naked, handcuff him to a chair and suck his dick until he cries; his begs for you to stop and his slutty whines egging you one and making your dick hard, and the ego boost you get when you follow Yoichi's request to stop, and the man whines 'nooo' from the loss of pleasure, is great too. Your hunky boyfriend is also suuuuper into having you use his dick like a dildo, he gets so hard watching you tie ropes around his wrists and ankles as you tie Yoichi to the bed, and JESUS when you ride him like that? The man finds it so fucking hard not to cum! The way you use him like some sex toy whilst he can't even reach out to touch you? It shoots his puffed up ego down so fucking good. Oh! And when you two get freaky with it in this way, Puppyplay is a big thing for Yoichi! Fucking hell, the way you talk down to him and praise him in a such a patronising manner makes the man leak gallons of precum from his twitching cock! He loves is when you put a whole leash around his neck and a god damn muzzle on him, a fluffly, long wolf tail buttplug in his ass which you tug on as he fucks you roughly - it's the perfect combination, makes Yoichi cum so damn quick!

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

As you can expect from your rugged and rough boyfriend, this bitch does not shave. Anywhere. It wasn't until you came along that he even started to put effort into his appearance! The two of you wax together as little evening dates, waxing each other in a very domestic manner - but it really is unfair, cause you only get to wax Yoichi's chest n back and that man gets to see you writhe in pain waxing so much more!! But, unfortunately (so fucking fortunately), Yoichi never dares to touch his armpits or his pride and joy (his cock n balls); which leaves the man with very bushy, dark purple armpits and pubes, and we're talking a fucking forest downstairs... And Yoichi is not one to stray away from any form of dominance, so you best believe that your face is smushed into his hairy, sweaty pits a lot of the time, and that his musky pubes stuff your nose every single time you kindly give your boyfriend a blowjob. Yoichi likes to show this off too! Flexing his big, manly muscles in a tanktop so that his damp pit hair can make a tiny cameo; or even pulling his bottoms and the waistband of his boxers just a tinge lower so his bush n happy trail are on full display. This man loves to tease you with his sexy body hair, you can't complain though, it gets you going every time!

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Now whilst Yoichi isn't the most sentimental guy out there, he can't deny the fact that he is absolutely smitten by you; so he does show his romantic side more than his 'though guy' act would like him to. Obviously, when your horny boyfriend wants to either let out some stress or sexual frustration, or he just wants to fuck, you two will be less 'rose petals and wine' about it and just go feral on each other; as in, Yoichi absolutely abuses your prostate with his massive, thick cock as his huge body envelopes yours, his bite marks on your neck and yours on his. But when Yoichi feels the need to express his love for you, he takes it seriously - the man wants you to know that he fuckin adores you! The woldboy would light some candles for mood lighting and spray himself with your favourite cologne of his, he'd be all up on you once you enter the room and immediately talk to you in such a sexy way: "Thought we could take it slower today, what d'ya think, cutie" And when it's a more 'spur of the moment' thing, Yoichi gets more intimate by slowing his pace down and toning down the roughness, lowering down to make out with you passionately as he gently fucks you in deep thrusts, rubbing his dickhead against your prostate and using his six-pack as a fucking washboard as he rubs your dick between your own stomach and his abs.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

This horny fucker can't function if he doesn't cum by 10am, and on average Yoichi cums twice a day - so if you aren't around to help him out, or just aren't in the mood, of course Yoichi will have a little time to himself. If you can't be asked to go through all the prep to bottom in the morning, Yoichi usually has to deal with morning wood by himself; which he isn't against, yeah he'd like to have sex with you but this man is surprisingly the king of consent (bare minimum guys don't forget!). Typically, Yoichi's favourite combo during masturbation is watching porn whilst smelling some of your clothing, it helps him to imagine you and him in whatever porno he's jerking it to. But sometimes the man will just go with his imagination, putting you and him the most filthy scenarios in his head as Yoichi closes his eyes and goes to fucking town with a fleshlight. And of course the man will jack off if you are so kind as to send him some certain types of pictures when you two are apart. The amount of times Yoichi has ran to the bathroom when helping out Yoshinori at camp so that he could jerk off to pictures and videos you'd sent him; his favourites being the ones with you in his clothing, using a dildo or just wanking whilst moaning his name, makes this man throb in his jeans within seconds!

Natsumi

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Something that really gets Natsumi in the mood, and gives him the confidence to show off, is underwear! With his lean, muscular figure and massive package, your handsome boyfriend is the ideal underwear model; he feels confident when modelling different briefs and boxers and jocks for you, liking the way you eye up his huge bulge and slowly get hard, Natsumi stiffening up himself. On the modelling side, Natsumi likes to try on many different types of underwear! Tight, latex speedos make all of the details of his dick visible, from his head, to his veins and the small size of them even shows off his pubes n happy trail! Jockstraps show off his muscular ass whilst still giving you a nice view of Natsumi's big dick, the fabric nice and loose allowing his balls to sag and make his bulge look even bigger. Your boyfriend's standard briefs fit him so well, the star pattern getting so sexily distorted from the size of his dick and the fabric being short enough to just tease his muscular upper-thighs. Oh and fucking hell when Natsumi models boxers he looks so damn hot, the loose fabric making his muscular body look leaner, and DAMN when he gives you a little peak of his massive cock by slipping it through the front hole?? So hot. This horny man also gets the hots for smelling underwear too! Just cause he seems innocent doesn't mean he can't get perverted! Natsumi gets so fucking turned on when he pushes his nose against your clothed bulge, smelling your natural scent drives him wild as he prepares to blow you. And yes, Natsumi is a little ashamed to admit that he has taken your worn underwear out of the wash basket to hold them to his face whilst jerking off.... A pervert in hiding I tell you!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Oh bless Natsumi's little heart - he's so good at aftercare! This man must be an angle sent from above, because the way he will fuck you silly with that massive dick, temporarily paralyzing you from the waist down, and then immediately run a bath and carry you to the bathroom bridal style? Ugh it just makes you fall even deeper in love with your charming boyfriend! Natsumi's standard routine is very complex and organised; what else would you expect? He starts by letting you both bask in the afterglow and get a breather before reluctantly leaving your side to run a hot bath. Then, you barely even register that Natsumi had left the bed by the time he's wiping your body clean of cum and sweat and then picking you up to take a bath with you; and this adorable man will sit behind you in the tub as he washes your hair and body as he kisses the few hickeys he'd left on you (because this man isn't biting you even if you beg.). By the end of the night, the two of you are in a freshly made bed and cuddling in very comfortable (yet ridiculous looking) positions under the covers.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Oh and after his whole aftercare routine, Natsumi usually falls asleep so quick; but not before he can watch you fall asleep in his arms, not before he can listen to you calmly breathing and take in the beauty you naturally exude as you peacefully sleep. Very rarely does Natsumi fall asleep straight away, but when he does you can't blame him; it's literally coded into his brain that he goes to sleep at 10pm sharp, so staying up till 12am or 1am to put in a lot of energy whilst fucking can get to him! When he wakes up all sticky and sees you in such a disheveled state the next morning, Natsumi can't stop apologising for the whole day, listening to you like a puppy in hopes to not upset you further (even though you weren't upset to begin with).

Taiga

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Your boyfriend has felt very powerless before when the whole camp hated him, so anything that makes him feel dominant and strong really gets Taiga going; and body worship really hits the mark. Taiga prefers you to praise and to focus on his body in the form of massages; your soft hands deeply pressing into your boyfriend's oiled up muscles, your gentle voice spewing out praises of his body being 'strong' and 'perfect', it gets this man hard within a couple of minuets. Taiga likes to have you on his body, your dick rubbing against his as you massage his fat pecs and your face hovering above his as Taiga focuses on your pretty face - lit candles and aphrodisiac body oil really add to the experience too, oh and when you move on to jerking Taiga off? This man is so shocked he doesn't cum instantly; your oiled up, hot hand feeling like heaven around his cock, and the sight of your semi-naked form servicing him is just such a hot view! When Taiga isn't getting a massage from you, he still likes to incorporate some sort of body worship when fucking you, and he even worships your body too! Praises are common from Taiga as he thrusts into you whilst also licking up to your jaw all the way from your abdomen, your muscles covered in bite marks and hickeys as Taiga praises your body and claims you in the process. When it comes to you worshiping Taiga's body during regular old sex, you love to tease your fiery boyfriend with kisses to his thighs as you call his dick massive and tasty while jerking it off with the spit on it from previous activities with your mouth. When he's balls deep inside of you, you like to hold Taiga's body close to yours with such a tight hold, pushing his muscles against your face as you stuff your face into his pecs or his biceps or his pits, praises and moans falling from your lips and into Taiga's ears, egging your boyfriend on to fuck you even harder.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Humiliation. We all know that men who have big egos during regular life really wanna get beaten down during sex. It's not something that Taiga thinks about often, he's very much a big fan of receiving body worship from you, but a small part of him can't help but send blood rushing down to his dick at the idea of you spewing nasty words his way whilst riding him, or whilst playing with his dick and denying Taiga any pleasure at all. Your boyfriend has caught himself masturbating to the thought of kneeling infront of you completely naked, and you sitting on a chair infront of him as you call him a 'gross pervert' or a 'dirty slut' whilst touching his hard, twitching dick with only your feet - giving him a sloppy footjob to tease your boyfriend as all he can do it kneel before you and take what he's given. Taiga would so be into you spitting on his face as you make out with him, or you riding him like some cheap dildo and ignoring his needs, or you just calling him names as your have him kneel above you on your lap - you still fully clothed whilst you jerk off Taiga with an inhumane amount of lube, the man fully naked and whimpering down to you. But he'd never confess any of this to you! Not unless you walk in on him as he jerks off to porn of it.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Pretty much just you existing and doing fuck all can get Taiga in the mood to dick you down. This man loves you so much and that love can translate to lust rather quickly! Taiga is down to fuck whenever and where ever with you, and he's got the balls to suggest it too. But specific things which gives Taiga the motivation to bed you may include: You talking to any guy other than Taiga for an extended period of time. This man is jealous, and if you give some other dick more attention than you give your perfect boyfriend, Taiga's gonna want to set you straight - and his way of doing so is via filthy, rough sex. Wearing specific types of clothing can also get Taiga going, such as when you wear any of Taiga's sweatshirts or hoodies, no matter if they're bigger on you or too small, the possessive undertone of the action riles your handsome boyfriend up so damn well! And being nice in general can really turn Taiga on; again, love turns to lust real quick with this man, and he's barely ever had people be nice towards him so if you act domestic with him by cooking him a meal or if you perform acts of basic human decency (like asking if you can make his day better?!) it gets Taiga hard real quick.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Taiga's a little bit of both to be fair! It's more of a 51:49 split for fast and rough:Slow and sensual, because Taiga loves to show off his dominant side during sex - but there's no doubt that this man just wants to communicate his love towards you during sex as well, so Taiga can be very sensual and take things slow if the moment is right. Your boyfriend really likes to wine & dine you on the weekends, so after a couple of glasses of your wine of choice and an expensive meal, Taiga and you can get very romantical with it; we're talking slow and deep thrusts while making out and 'I love you's' being said every second. The usual fast and rough pace is where the two of you fuck like animals; with Taiga absolutely enamoured by the way you look, the sounds you're making, the way you're biting and holding onto him, just you yourself making Taiga want to keep pushing through any exhaustion to keep pounding into you. Your loving boyfriend doesn't just want to feel you tightly and warmly grip around his dick with your hole, but he also wants to ensure that you're feeling immense pleasure too - so he makes sure to thrust his hips so rough and so deep that you can feel his dick make its way to your belly.

Seto

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Online sex is Seto's biggest turn on, he just has such a thing for feeling as if you're giving him a private cam-show! Your gamer boyfriend loves e-sex with you so much that he's invested in the two of you having separate gaming rooms; just so you both can get a more realistic experience! The brunette loves to hop onto a video chat with you on discord and start dirty talking as you strip for him, and very quickly are sex toys busted out. The call will usually just consist of the two of you watching each other pleasure yourselves with sex toys as you moan and dirty talk to each other; Seto's personal fave being when you use the cockring he'd gifted you as well as a dildo, he loves to be in control of you even if you aren't in the same room, and how better to do that than control your orgasms! Another kink of Seto's is also exhibition, but not in the standard way. This man loves to fuck you whilst he's on call with friends when playing a game, or when he's in a game lobbies voice chat; it gets Seto going so well. Your geeky boyfriend just loves the fact that those on the other end of the line keep asking if he's all good from the grunts and brief moans he accidentally lets out, oh and he loves to threaten you with the idea of his friends finding out that Seto was currently fucking you in a means to shut you up; Seto never actually tries to get you to be quiet though, he just likes to watch you try and keep your moans in as he lazily thrusts up into you!

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

As previously mentioned, when the two of you have online sex, toys are always brought out; Seto being partial to a fleshlight of his, and the man really liking when you use dildos of his size. But during regular sex, Seto is still a big fan of using toys! When it comes to using sex-toys on you, Seto fucking loves to use tiny bullet vibrators; this man will tape them to your nipples and keep them on a low vibe the entire time he's fucking you, oh and you will always have one tapes to your hard, throbbing dick on max speed whilst a cockring keeps you from cumming! Seto just loves to see the desperation on your face as he fucks you silly. By the time Seto has shot a couple of loads inside of you, his next favourite toy to use is a buttplug, a big one too! It doesn't hurt at all after all of Seto's loosening up of your hole, but damn does it press up against your walls so well, keeping your boyfriend's cum inside of you for a while; that is, until he wants to take it out in order to watch his spunk leak out of you. The toys that Seto likes used on himself are also pretty limitless, but he definitely has a fave - fleshlights. Whenever Seto takes on a more submissive role, his favourite thing you do is when you handcuff/tie him to a chair and torture the poor man with a fleshlight; using an ungodly amount of lube as you jerk off his dick with the tight toy, but you don't let your boyfriend until he's literally crying for it - it's just so hot, for the both of you!

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

This man is so unfair in bed! If you two are fucking whilst he's in a game, Seto will either have you cockwarm him for soooo long, until you're literally trembling with need for him - or (!) your smug boyfriend will fuck you into a pillow and tell you that if his friends can hear you in the game, he'll stop fucking you; evil I tell ya! When you two are going more vanilla, Seto will still tease you like hell; we're talking stopping fucking you if you're about to cum, and using cockrings to make you a cockdrunk mess as you beg to be allowed to cum! But all of that doesn't mean that Seto doesn't like to be teased himself! We've already established that the man likes to sub from time to time, and the way that you don't let that motherfucker cum for hours on end is quite funny; oh and when you finally let Seto cum, you aren't letting him go until he can't speak due to overstimulation.

Aiden

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

It shouldn't come as a shocker that Aiden has a fat exhibitionism kink; the man struts about with only an apron covering his dick and his ass fully out! You and your freaky boyfriend have partaken in public sex quite a lot due to this preference of Aiden's, you have no qualms about this though; as the thrill of there being a chance of being caught at any second in such a moment really gets you going too. The two of you have had sex not only in the camp kitchen (having almost been caught my many campers and scoutmasters), but also at the beach, in the forest, and even behind cabins! Aiden just gets such a thrill out of it, he wants to show off his body, your relationship, and the adrenaline pairs so well with the dopamine from fucking you! Musk n sweat is also something that Aiden is quite partial to - your boyfriend is locked up in that steamy kitchen all day, of course he'll get very sticky and musky real quick! Aiden finds it so hot when you smell his body and lick his tan muscles after a day of work, it's kinda like a body worship kink, but a tad bit more possessive once it comes to Aiden feeling like he's marking you with his scent. This kink goes vice versa too - your sexy man loves to smell your natural musk after a day out in the sun, Aiden fucking lives to press his nose into your crotch during foreplay, so he can fill his nose with your scent.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Aiden's favourite body part of his is either his arms or his ass. The himbo is so proud of his bulging biceps and triceps that he can't help but show them off, he even gets turned on by the way that you eye up his tan, muscular arms - the peak of his armpit hair as he flexes his arms like a gymbro really doing it for ya! Aiden is also incredibly proud of his ass; muscular yet still soft and plush, his tan skin accentuating the curve of his cheeks, it's a damn good ass. And most people can tell that the man likes his ass, cause Aiden is always showing it off! No matter if he's in a speedo or an apron, your boyfriend's cheeks always make a debut somehow. When it comes to Aiden favourite body part of yours, the man can't hide the fact that your thighs are his biggest turn on. Aiden loves the way that your thighs shape your body, he loves biting on the plump flesh between breathes as he blows you, he loves marking them with hickeys, and fuck does Aiden love gripping your thighs or smacking them as he fucks you! Even when you two are just relaxing, your cute boyfriend's head is either laying on your thighs or squished between them (and when the he's giving you such earth-shattering head that your thighs tighten around his head, it turns the green-haired hunk on so fucking much). An honorable mention to Aiden's second most favourite body part of yours: your mouth. He just can't get enough of how your warm, tight mouth feels around his cock, he loves the way your tongue looks and feels running up his body, and Aiden treats your lips like a drug from the way he gets so addicted to them when kissing you - the man usually turning a small peck into a full blown make out!

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Come on, Aiden is all about risk! We know that fucking in public is such a turn on for the man, but that doesn't mean any and all other risk is off of the table. Aiden is usually down to try whatever with you, anything new which you throw his way, Aiden will usually agree to; that's how you two figured out you were both soooo into costumes n role play (and yes, his 'Halloween costume' did infact lead to a 'god-worshiper' roleplay). Choking is something that the two of you have played around with, and the way that Aiden's veiny, tan hands felt around your throat was enough to add that kink to your regular repertoire! If Aiden has to set a limit, his usual would be anything that involves hurting you too much; yes, he's into choking if you're into choking, but even if you ask Aiden to slap you around or hit you, he'd say no. The furthest Aiden goes in the realm of impact play is spanking you whilst fucking or biting.

Yoshinori

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Yoshinori's biggest kink is shit to do with feet; more specifically, his boots. Maybe it's a domination thing, or maybe Yoshi just likes a show, but this man's dick throbs so much when he gets to watch you try to pleasure yourself on his expensive, dirty, leather boots. Yoshinori doesn't even have to move, he gets enough sexual satisfaction from watching you, fully naked, rub your hard, twitching dick against his boot and whine as the friction barely gets you a buzz. That's not to say that Yoshi doesn't like to put effort in himself, this man gets so turned on when he plays with your dick with his boot-covered foot, the rough material making you mewl, your sounds and the view going straight to your boyfriend's stiff cock. Outside of 'boot-play' Yoshi's little kink for feet still runs wild; the muscular scoutmaster getting so riled up whenever you worship his feet, whenever you press your nose against his clothed feet and get drunk off of the scent attached to his steaming socks, whenever you slowly strip his big feet of his damp socks and lick at the sole of his foot and at his toes (Yoshi's veiny, big feet juxtaposing your smaller head cause they're just that big!). Oh and when you two are fucking? Best believe that your hunk of a man has gotten carried away before from the pleasure of fucking you and positioned himself so that his foot was pushing your head into the bed as he kept on fucking you - the feeling of being so dominated sending shivers up your spine. When it comes to his minor foot-fetish towards you, Yoshi has quite the affinity for pushing your feet on either side of his face as he fucks you missionary, your soft soles against his cheeks as he gives you a goofy, satisfied smile with his eyes closed.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Yoshinori will give and take whatever you are happy with; he's got a very open mind when it comes to oral! Your boyfriend is happy to blow you until the cows come home, he gets his pleasure not only physically, but pleasuring you also gets this man going. The dirty blonde likes to start with long, slimy laps at your hard dick, covering your shaft with his warm, thick spit, and then he will take you into his mouth fully and give you some mind blowing head. Surprisingly, this man can take any size dick in that throat of his, and he puts that to good use; Yoshi usually makes you cum at least once during foreplay, and that is usually with you cumming down his throat within minuets! When you're giving your boyfriend head, he's very patient with you; Yoshinori knows that his dick is big and that it can be a lot to take at once, but damn, when you get that veiny, thick dick into your mouth? This man is a moaning mess, his big hands on each side of your head as his thick, manly fingers weave through your hair whilst you slobber all over his dick. Yoshi loves your blowjobs so, so much, and if it weren't so straining on you, he'd have you blow him much more than you already do (which is usually once per day!) Eating you out is another type of oral that Yoshi is super into; he just fucking loves makin you feel good! And the sounds you make whilst his hands are parting your cheeks and his hot, thick, wet tongue is rubbing against your walls, they're divine. Yoshi's oral skills are not to be messed around with, this man will have you whining, moaning and panting just from his tongue, and it gets him going so much - Yoshi just loves to satisfy you!

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Yoshinori is quite experienced; he'd dated a guy back in highschool, and during college he'd had sex with both Aiden and Goro at camp, so it's safe to say that the man knows what he's doing! The muscular man knows that he's quite intimidating due to his size (both body-wise and dick-wise), so when you both got together, he ensured to take his time and take it slow with you so that you don't feel rushed. He taught you and guided you if you were unsure or a little behind on certain positions or kinks; and it's safe to say that Yoshi got you up to speed real quick!

Naoto

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

One of your boyfriend's biggest little quirks is his thing for modeling. Naoto gets really turned on when he gets to model clothing for you, or when you're with him at a shoot in which he wears practically nothing; the hunk gets to show off his killer body and gets to watch your cute reactions to his suggestive poses, the man is winning at life! But when bringing modeling into the bedroom, Naoto likes to merge both worlds and to model whilst fucking you; and by that I mean, the man films it. Naoto gets egged on so, so much during sex with you when he grabs his phone from the nightstand and starts to record the two of you going at it. The muscular man gets so turned on from watching you through the phone as the camera shares its focus between his thick cock plowing into your tight hole, and your sweaty, exhausted body which looks heavenly as you lay on the bed and take your boyfriend's dick like a champ. Of course, Naoto has checked if you're okay with him filming your little escapades and you quickly agreed - not only does it add some more excitement and thrill to the moment, but the both of you then have a spankbank absolutely full of videos of you two. Videos of Naoto moaning your ear how good you feel, videos of the man flexing above you as he thrusts like a maniac, videos of your moans of his name, videos of Naoto's muscles and abs as he gives you a sexy little POV shot, and Naoto's personal favourites: videos of your fucked out body, begging for more as Naoto fucks you, cum oozing out of your soft cock. Those memories will stay with you both forever, and they can get quite cute and wholesome at times; like when Naoto catches the two of you taking a breather and kissing on camera, or brief I love you's or check-ins on how each other are feeling.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

When you proposed the idea of making a pretty penny by selling the aforementioned videos, Naoto definitely wasn't opposed - with the sole condition that the fact that you two are a loving couple being the forefront of your 'account'. Very quickly, the two of you garnered plenty of views and subscribers to your accounts, with most of your viewers being head-over-heels for the adorable, wholesome dynamic that you and Naoto have - and all of your viewers couldn't deny just how fucking hot the two of you were! Separately and together! Your chemistry with Naoto would subconsciously amp up when filming, the two of you would vocalise way more than before; because the camera can't catch the knowing looks that you two give to eachother, the looks which already say 'I love you' without it having to be said a hundred times. And you can't lie, the money which the two of you make is wild.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Other than the standard avoidance of actually hurting you during sex (and just not being a fan of scat), the main thing that Naoto just wouldn't do is anything surrounding his family/Natsumi (NOT IN AN INCEST WAY!). This goes from PDA to anything more risque, Naoto just gets really awkward around his family when it comes to this kind of stuff; he's had to share a room with Natsumi and has given the younger man shit for jerking off in the same room as him, so Naoto just feels weird kissing you infront of his brother. And whilst the two of you have of course visited Naoto's family home and stayed round, that man has never been so frigid than when sharing a bed with you at his parents house; he didn't want ANYTHING even remotely sexual to happen under his parents roof - which you can understand and allocate for, that's why you two fuck like rabbits before a trip to his parents!

Darius

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Size difference is Darius' main thing; he's just so into the fact that he's so huge to you, that he has the power to just lift you with ease, and that you're also so clearly into the fact that he's so much bigger than you, in all aspects. Ever since he was young, Darius had been tall, and after getting older n thinking of his physique, his massive muscles really added to the fact that he was fucking huge in comparison to almost anyone. Your taller boyfriend just loves the fact that you could literally hang from his dick as he fucks you and your feet would dangle rather than touch the ground. Darius is also super into the fact that he's so fucking built and strong that he can effortlessly hold you in his arms or manhandle you during bed; your poor body having been stretched into many different positions after many nights spent with the muscular man. Your dark-skinned boyfriend is also really into how his frame contrasts yours; how your body is smaller when laying on top of him, how your hands can barely grip his broad, defined shoulders, oh and how his dick is so much bigger than yours when he jerks his dick n yours together. Speaking of his dick, Darius gets such a high when he sees his dick make a fucking bulge in your abdomen when he fucks you, his big hands pressing against the spot to make your writhe in pleasure as you spew out moans; the fact that he's so big that he is visible inside of you just boosts his ego so much. His hands are another contributor towards your boyfriend's size kink - Darius is so into the fact that his hand completely covers your whenever he holds it. The muscular man loves how small your hands are against his when he intertwines your fingers as he fucks into you, and he's so into how much smaller your body looks in comparison to his hands when he holds you; his masculine, large hands making your waist look smaller, or your throat, or your dick, or your arms. And you have absolutely no complaints at how large Darius' hands are, his fingers work literal magic inside of you when he's prepping you for taking his huuuuge dick - his digits pressing against and curling into your prostate, the darker hunk milking your dick with a nonchalant smirk on his face as you moan like a whore infront of him.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

In contrast to you, Darius isn't the most vocal lover. It's not that the man doesn't make any noise at all, it's more that he's just a little quiet - or rather he tires to limit himself, hold his noises in. Darius is the kinda guy to grunt n groan your name into your ear, quietly letting you know that he feels good as he focuses on fucking you right, rather than moaning like a pornstar and sloppily fucking you. Small curses in the form of mumbles escape his lips from time to time, usually when he's putting it inside of you for the first time that day; your walls incredibly tight due to the large intrusion. The man's groans also make their way into your mouth when the two of you make out when fucking, Darius' sounds vibrating nicely against your own as your tongues dance together - oh and praises are quite common once the nonchalant hunk loses his little 'idgaf' attitude, his favourite's consisting of "Yeahhh good fuckin boy" and "So good... so pretty". The tables turn once Darius is close to cumming, his efforts to keep quiet getting thrown out the window due to the oncoming waves of pleasure - the red-head's jaw going slack as his hands' grip tightens on your hips, his biceps flexing as his hips thrust into you crazily, vulgar sounds and moans spewing out of his mouth like a tap left running.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

It's no secret that Darius is fucking PACKING; we're talkin 11inches long and 6inches thick (cannon btw)! The man also uses his dick skillfully; if he weren't as well endowed as he his, your boyfriend would still be able to rock your world every day n night. His dick is the same, dark colour as his skin, with his tip being slightly reddish - the whole shaft has small veins adorning it and his foreskin covers his whole head, the perfectly tight skin protecting Darius' thick tip, his dickhead resembling a mushroom when he's hard; his glands throbbing and ready to be inside of you. The giant's balls also really add to the appeal of his dick; your boyfriend's saggy, big balls hang beneath his dick like a pair of golfballs, and the sparse pubes which cover his nuts decorate Darius' balls nicely. When it comes to fitting his massive cock inside of you, Darius ensures to take his time with you; the first time you two did anything together resulted in many tears due to Darius' desperation to feel you, and your ability to walk was very much impaired for the next day. After a long time of practice with you, Darius now knows your body like the back of his hand, and ergo he knows how to work your body to take his dick; the man will finger you for ages and make sure to ease in slowly, he knows exactly how deep he gets when he sees the bulge in your belly, and Darius will only push your head when you're sucking him off if you give him the go ahead.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Mating press. Need I say more? Yes I do. Your boyfriend's size kink is reflected in all aspects of his life, mainly in small, subconscious manners, but during sex, he very consciously chooses positions which show off the difference in size between the two of you. The fact that Darius can bend your body over into such a meek position as he drills his dick into you ruthlessly really turns him on; it's such a display of power, and it shows off how fucking massive your muscular, dark-skinned boyfriend is in comparison to you, due to the fact that you're almost bent literally in half. The position also really turns you on as well! The way that Darius' rough hands feel on the back of your thighs as he pushes your knees to your chest, the way that the man's handsome, sharp face dangles above you as he fucks you with a sexy smirk on his face, and the way that his dick reaches so deep inside of you and grazes you prostate every millisecond, it's all just too good!

Lloyd

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

CW: piss!!!!

Musk n sweat are definitely some of Lloyd's kinks; the man really gets the hots for when you get high off of his natural, manly scent and worship his body, it makes him feel domianant. He loves it when you sniff his hairy, damp pits after a workout or when you lick his muscles clean of sweat - the man liking the way that your face looks as your tongue rolls over his abs or biceps - and Lloyd gets so fucking turned on when you deepthroat him and all you can inhale is the smell of his musky, thick pubes. Oh and this short-king most certainly enjoys worshiping your body, your natural scent is ingrained into his brain! Lloyd fucking loves to smell you, he finds some weird comfort in the smell that fills the room as the two of you fuck like animals, and he sure as hell gets hard when he sees you after you've gone for a run; your tank top absolutely drenched and your underwear n socks sticking to you uncomfortably. Your boyfriend also most definitely jerks off to the smell of your clothing or your underwear, he loves to fist at his cock whilst the only thing he can smell is his perfect boyfriend! But one Lloyd's biggest kinks ever has to watersports - controversial I know! There's just something about dirtying you, claiming you with his piss that really turns your boyfriend on; the perverted man is soooo into you letting him cover you in his piss, in his scent as you jerk off below him; it makes him feel dominant, it makes him feel possessive, it makes Lloyd want to fuck you so damn bad! And the man very much loves it when you participate too; you don't have anything against Lloyd's thing for watersports, but you rarely piss too. This nasty man fucking loves it when you've been fucking for so long, and you've came so many times that all of your boyfriend's rough thrusts into your prostate force you to piss yourself as he fucks you; it happened on accident once, and Lloyd has never been so turned on (BJ Alex ref lol).

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Surprisingly, Lloyd's libido isn't insanely high! Sure, the man will want to have sex with you at least once a week, but he's not desperate to fuck you every second of every day. The two of you average around three times a week, but Lloyd will almost always ask for a second round; to which you always oblige. If Lloyd is particularly stressed due to work, or if he had a shit day, sex is almost guaranteed; you help the man relax, can ya blame him? And also, if you look especially attractive that day, Lloyd is firstly eating you out like a starved man, and then fucking his dick in between them tight walls.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Lloyd has no opinion on quickies. He's not against them at all, if you're horny but have limited time, Lloyd is happy to suck you off real quick and vice versa! However, the short man can't deny that if you are going to do anything, he prefers to take his time with it; Lloyd just really likes to take things slow and enjoy the time he has with you! This man will slowly trail down your body with kisses and mark you and smell you before even whipping your dick out to give you a bj normally, during a quickie he just sucks you off - your boyfriend likes to cherish you, not rush you!

PHEW! That was so god damn long wtaf, I didn't expect it to take this long to write but I'm so happy with the way this turned out! Hope you guys enjoyed too!

I'd also like to thank you all for 2000 followers! I have always and will always primarily write for myself (to provide what I can't find), but it means a lot that so many people enjoy my writing as well! Thank you so, so much for all of the engagement, the male reader community on tumblr is so great - love you all!

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luxurychristmaspudding · 6 months ago

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On Call | Masterlist

frankie morales x f!reader

summary: there are many things frankie morales used to laugh at in romcoms. falling in love with the girl next door, the babysitter, your best friend. and then he met you.

pairing: neighbour!frankie x f!babysitter!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. dual pov. best buds to lovers, idiots in love, reader is good with kids. a little canon divergent. reader and frankie are both bi and have same sex exes. mentions of experiencing biphobia and heartbreak. talk of dead/absent parents. frankie fixin' stuff, competency kink, makin' a man some lunch (in a neighbourly way). mutual pining, f&m masturbation, drinking and smoking. tooth rotting fluff and then eventual devious post-bedtime activity (smut).

reader is a teacher and has hair, but she is otherwise a blank slate :)

an: howdy, y'all. in an effort to write something like a normal length fic, i've split this one shot in three lol. excited for you to meet these guys <3

pt i - arizona

pt ii - on call

pt iii - mi amigo

pt iv - you and i

epilogue - birthday

extras

weightless

super graphic ultra modern girl

the immortals

frankie and bug’s whisky night playlist

frankie grey sweats drabble

read on ao3

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fanfiction #triple frontier #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic

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ronjunnie · 7 months ago

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RENJUN FIC RECOMMENDATIONS

SERIES

arcane @neonacity

case oasis @neonc1tylights

we met in online class @neoculturetravesty

ONESHOTS

blondes are done with fun (m) (31k) @rrxnjun

eine kleine (27.6k) @radiorenjun

the trojan horse (m) (19.6k) @lattaeyongs

dr_magic2303 (18.3k) @starlightkun

huang renjun's envy (17.5k) @misfitneo

sour tangerine (15.3k) @wincore

service call (m) (14.4k) @angelicmark

my boyfriend wants to be abducted by aliens (14k) @choerrypuffs

Running From The Dark (m) (12.8k) @jenonctcity

art of innocence (m) (11.8k) @jenonctcity

portrait of a blank slate (m) (5.8k) @rrxnjun

dirty laundry (m) @onyourhyuck

the element of power (5.4k) @choerrypuffs

beat you at your own game (3.5k) @cafelattaes

bad habits (m) @onyourhyuck

lip tint (1.4k) @lov--vey

pint (0.7k) @kyufessions

TIMESTAMPS

2:34 am @daydreamingyuta

3:01 pm @kkaebsongtypo

3:40 am (m) @be-my-sunrise

3:49 am @writemekpop

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thewintersoldierdisaster · 1 month ago

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a/n: hope this scratches the fluff itch, anon 🥰 not much to say except i was hoping the opener would’ve gone in a different way while i was writing this whoops

word count: 1.5k

tw: implied oral (f and m receiving)

summary: the night before the season opener, you and andrei spend some quality time together

The night before the first game of the season always has a Christmas Eve sort of feeling. There’s giddy childish excitement for a new season, the blank slate of the standings. A whole eighty two games of possibility. Eighty two games to get it right.

There’s anxiety for a new season, the blank slate of the standings. Eighty two games to get it wrong.

If you’re feeling that level of jittery, anxious excitement, you can only imagine how Andrei’s feeling. He’s quiet though, getting in his workout and puttering around the house to burn off some of his nervous energy.

You’d cooked dinner together - chicken, pasta, and vegetables that are the staple of his diet during the season. Elena had been over too, keeping Andrei occupied during the day since there was no practice, and joining you for dinner and a movie before heading up to her room for the night.

None of you had really watched the movie, some Russian thriller that Andrei’s seen a million times and you were only half understanding from the speed of the dialogue. Andrei’s arm had been wrapped around your shoulders and his fingers had been tapping out a nonsense pattern on your upper arm, so clearly distracted by the start of the season.

It’s just around nine and the TV is playing one of the Hangover movies, the channel chosen at random. You’ve got your legs draped over Andrei’s lap and the hand that isn’t over your shoulder is resting on your shin, his thumb stroking back and forth.

“Ready for bed?” You ask, studying his side profile and the tense set of his jaw. Andrei’s eyes flicker down to look at you and you can see the fire of impending competition burning in the warm brown.

“Mhm,” he hums, fingers dancing over your shoulder and against your neck. They tickle lightly and your lips curl up in a smile. “No, I don’t know, solnyshka.”

His face twitches into a strangled looking smile and you tap at his thigh with your toes. The muscle doesn’t give and you tamp down the urge to sit on him. This is not about you.

“Tired, but wired, right?” You say quietly and Andrei nods. You smooth your hand over his side and press out the wrinkles on his shirt, just feeling his side rise and fall with his breathing. “Want to talk about it?”

Andrei shrugs and you let a little, amused huff escape your nose. “You’re so Russian,” you murmur fondly. Tapping his side, you swing your legs off his lap and say, “let’s go to bed and I’ll rub your back and tell you all about my boring day so you can get a good night’s sleep.”

“I’m not tired, not enough to sleep,” Andrei protests, still sitting on the couch. You stand in between his legs with your hands on your hips and raise your eyebrow at him.

“Okay, that’s fine. We don’t have to sleep yet, but doing the same thing we’re doing down here except cozy in bed is my vote,” you lean in and rest your hands on his thighs. “You can join me or sit down here with your thoughts.”

His gaze drops from your face to look down your shirt and you grin when he smirks a little, his hands reaching for your hips. “I’ll join you,” he replies, standing in one quick move and hauling you over his shoulder in a fireman carry that has you shrieking at the sudden flip in perspective. His laugh vibrates through your body and you brace your hands on his lower back to keep from bouncing too much.

“Caveman,” you grumble, delighted. Andrei’s arms are secure around your thighs and he gives them a little squeeze, trying his best to keep you from being too jostled as he climbs the stairs to the second floor.

“Had to do it,” he counters. “You were in perfect position.”

“What other positions do you want me in?” You tease, knowing Andrei could go either way on pre-game sex. Sometimes he needs it, other times he’s superstitious about his on-ice performance. You’re not sure what to expect tonight.

You get flipped right side up, landing on the bed with a soft ‘oof’ and a little bounce. Andrei smiles at you from the foot of the bed, reaching for your ankle and tugging you gently until your ass is at the edge of the bed. He lifts your foot and presses a kiss to the inside of your ankle. “Just…stay there. Need to relax and I want to kiss you,” he says, adjusting himself in his shorts with his other hand. You nod and melt back into the mattress, savoring the way he kisses his way up your leg.

You hadn’t had many boyfriends before Andrei, but none of them would’ve ever eaten you out as a form of relaxation. Now, he falls to his knees and buries his face between your legs, stopping any thoughts you might have before they form.

After he makes you come, you drag him up onto the bed so you can wrap your mouth around his cock and take care of him too. Once you’re both showered and in pajamas, you can see the slope of Andrei’s shoulders relax, tension seeping from his frame.

“Sleepy?” You murmur, curling up against his side, one leg thrown over his. Your body is tucked up under his arm, cheek resting on his chest. Andrei’s hand is warm where it rests on your side, his breathing steady and rhythmic.

“More than before, yes,” he answers with a faint huff of laughter.

“Good,” you chirp, dipping your hand under his shirt and letting your palm splay over his stomach. He’s so warm and solid, the sparse hair under his belly button tickling your fingers. “That was the plan.”

Andrei hums and you trace your fingers over his skin, lazily lines and nonsense patterns. His body relaxes further as you trail up the center of his chest, tapping lightly at the hard bone of his sternum before dragging your fingers over his nipples and back down again.

He’s quiet for so long you think he’s fallen asleep, but then his chest hitches and his voice vibrates through your body. “Big season, solnyshka,” he murmurs.

“No bigger than the rest of them,” you reply softly, afraid that he’ll clam up again.

“Feels important,” he tightens his arm around you, holding you closer. “One year older, I’m veteran now. After my knee, injuries last year…” he trails off.

You keep tracing over his stomach and press a kiss to his chest. He’s feeling the pressure to have to perform at a higher level, to reach a next level now that he’s fully healthy. It makes sense to you, his worries and the pressure, but you also want to make sure he’s still having fun.

“You’re going to take the ice tomorrow and you’re going to have fun and be spectacular, Drei,” you prop you chin on his pec so you can look into his eyes as you speak. You want him to see how serious you are. “I can’t wait to see you back in your element.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up, lip curling back to expose his missing tooth. His hand smooths over your hip and cups your ass, fingers flexing absently.

“I am glad you’ll be there,” he says. “I play better when you watch.”

Your mouth starts to form a denial, to say that it isn’t true, but Andrei leans up and captures the words right out of your mouth with a sweet kiss. His tongue traces your lower lip and you shift to straddle his thigh, your chest pressed against his. Your hand is trapped between your bodies and starts to go numb while you kiss lazily, rolling your hips absently against Andrei’s. His cock twitches against your thigh, but neither of you make a move to go any further.

“I know,” Andrei says, slightly breathless and through swollen lips, when you break apart, “you don’t wear jersey usually, but tomorrow will you? I want to see my name on your back.”

His request is quiet and a little shy and you’re nodding before he’s even finished his sentence.

“Anything for you, Drei,” you grin, pressing a kiss to the point of his chin. “Should I wear any other lucky clothing? Hat? Socks? Bra and panties?

His eyes twinkle and he massages your ass with both hands. “I am sure you will think of something, solnyshka,” he replies, smiling.

“I have a few ideas,” you tease, rolling off of his chest and tucking yourself back up against his side. “You’ll just have to see tomorrow.”

Andrei shifts and his lips land on the crown of your head, lingering. Heat radiates off of his body and you feel your eyes drifting shut, finally sleepy. You hope the Sandman is hitting Andrei with some sleep dust too.

After all, it’s Christmas morning tomorrow.

#andrei svechnikov #andrei svechnikov x reader #andrei svechnikov x you #andrei svechnikov fic #nhl fic

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veroniquesboutique · 5 months ago

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A Pain Like Home - Tsukishima Kei x Reader

Back-to-back smutty fics? I've hit my stride!

Total transparency, this idea came to me while perusing a few smut prompt posts. One of the prompts literally possessed my body, and I had to get the words out as fast as possible. I conceived of the idea, wrote it, and edited it in a matter of a day and a half, which is way faster than these things usually go.

You and Tsukishima Kei broke up months ago as your life fell into a downward spiral. However, every time you go searching for home, you inexplicably end up right back in his arms.

Hope you enjoy!

Title: A Pain Like Home

Rating: Explicit

Warnings:

AFAB!Reader, Female Reader, Explicit PV Sex, fingering, m-handjob, couch sex, unprotected sex, crying during sex, chest/body shots, baby used once as pet name, ANGST, ex sex, college au, mention of parent death, mention of injury, Y/N has chronic pain, super brief mention of suicidal ideation, Tsuki is kind of a dick in this one, but then again so are you

Characters & ships: ex!Tsukishima Kei x Reader

Word count: 4.6k words

A/N: This Y/N really tiptoes a line between reader insert and OC. She has a lot more backstory than my usual reader fics have. If you'd prefer more of a blank slate (and don't need to know the backstory of how you and Tsuki have found yourself in this situation to enjoy the explicit angst), then feel free to skip the italicized part. If you're here for the angst, though, I'd highly recommend it.

18+ Minors DNI!

More explicit below the cut

“You always end up back here.”

You jump, startled, at the sound of Kei Tsukkishima’s voice echoing through the gymnasium. It was late - later than usual - and the lights had been dimmed, so you weren’t expecting anyone when you slipped your key into the door’s lock. Your college’s gym feels more like home than any other place, and sometimes, on nights like this one, you needed to feel like you were home. On nights like this one, you broke into the gym.

It was about 50/50 on if you ran into your ex, Tsukki.

On this evening, the net was still up following the men’s team practice, and Tsukki was on the far side of the gym away from you. You could stay split like this, share the court half and half, and everyone could be happy.

“I could say the same for you,” You toss the comment at him, unbothered and unprovoked, just as you toss your gym bag to the ground out of the way and pick up the first wayward volleyball you see. You press your fingers into it, bounce it off the floor a few times, and then lob it into the air and strike it down hard and fast on your own side of the court. It hits the ground with a loud smack and bounces into the bleachers, wildly pinballing around, but you’re too distracted in picking up your next ball to pay too much attention. “I could set for you, if you want,” Tsukki half-heartedly spikes his own volleyball, but his attention is on you as you whip every ounce of fury and burning hurt into your shoulder and through the ball as it ricochets from your hand and into the rafters.

“I don’t need a setter.”

“No, you don’t,” He observes another ball whiz through the air, “But it could make this practice meaningful instead of you just hitting balls because you feel like it.”

You glare at him, squeezing the volleyball you have between your hands, knowing the way that this goes every single time.

Still, you were the one who chose to come home.

“Fine.” You duck under the net to join him on his side and pass him the volleyball with too much force that he diffuses easily under his taped finger tips. He bounces it once before sending it up in the air, and you, too, jump through the air to strike it down with a hard smack. It hits the floor with speed and precision, and despite the surprise gently caressing Tsukki’s face in the bend of his eyebrows or the twitch of his mouth, you roll your neck, shake it off, and get in position to hit another one. A pain shoots up through your leg, but you swallow it down, ignore it, push through it.

“You’ve been practicing.”

“Sometimes.”

“You’re being short. And I don’t just mean your height-”

“Just set the next one, Kei.”

He puffs out an annoyed sigh, but still he nods and sends another into the air. You jump again, smack, and fall. The ball nearly causes the air to crack with it’s intensity. That one hurt just a little, and you’re left rubbing the sting out of your palm as Tsukki traverses the gym, collecting the rogue balls to keep setting to you.

“Is it the same old problems?”

“You don’t get to know that anymore.”

Tsukki tosses another in the air, and you smack it down. He tosses again, you smack again. Toss, smack. Toss, smack. Toss, smack. By the time he runs out of balls again, your heart feels nearly as numb as your hands. You try to walk through the pain wrecking havoc in your body, but each step is a stumble instead of a stride. He starts to collect the balls again but stops by the net and turns back to you as you lean your body forward, hands on your knees and gasping for air.

“Look, you can say it’s not my place, but it is. You come in here fuming all the time when you have the power to change the circumstances you’re in-”

“-if I wanted your advice I’d ask-”

“You spend all this time trying to make other people fucking happy, acting like you have no choice, but you’re not powerless. You’re not some fucking damsel in distress. Make a goddamned decision for once.”

“I did when I left you.”

He scoffs out a disbelieving laugh. “What, to hop over to bench warmer Fuckface McGee to chase something to fill the void in you? I don’t even know the guy’s name, but it’s not like it matters because you’ve slept through the entire volleyball team roster. You just happened to start with me.”

You stare at him, his face twisted in annoyed anger and your own features throbbing with sick-of-his-shit disbelief. “Go to hell, Kei.”

“That was the plan. I was getting ready to head back home when you walked in.” He drops the ball in his hand, grabs his bag from the sideline, and beelines to the exit. His hand is on the door when he turns back to you. “Are you coming?”

It takes less time than usual for you to grab your own bag and fall in step behind him.

————————

Your relationship with Kei was many things. Strange, a little toxic, the longest relationship you’d ever been in, full of a deep love you didn’t quite understand.

You were recruited by your college’s volleyball team when you, as captain, took your high school volleyball team all the way to win nationals for the first and still only time in your school’s history. In every news outlet reporting on the triumph, the success was attributed to you, and you had offers from all over the nation swarm in and drown you in a decision-making process that still gives you anxiety sweats just thinking about it. At the end of the day, your goal was to make the national team, and in order to do that, you had to go to the best school with the best team that was offering you a spot, even though that college was hours away from your family and the life you had spent 18 long years building for yourself.

You packed your bags, said goodbye to your family, and moved across the country to go to school. It’s a huge, urban university, swimming with hundreds or thousands of faces you’ll never see more than once when passing on the street.

Before you even checked into your dorm, you found your way to the gym, a beautiful, state-of-the-art fancy schmancy thing. You walked in the doors, following the sound of squeaking shoes and bouncing balls, and when you walked in to see the men’s team practicing on the court, it felt just like home. A beautiful, blond boy with a baby face and triple taped fingers was up to serve, and this was the first time you met Tsukkishima.

He nearly hit you with his spike.

“Watch it!” He yelled, shooing you out of the way with a dismissive wave, and thus, it was hate at first sight between the two of you.

Your university was looking to switch things up that year, however, following a string of embarrassing losses the season before, and they decided to name freshman for their captains on both the men’s and women’s team. You found yourself with a new captain’s jacket, and unfortunately, on the men’s side, so did Tsukkishima.

The goal of the switch up was to keep the teams on their toes, get fresh ideas that hadn’t been brainwashed by years of already being on the team, and keep new talent consistently striving for better. What ended up happening was just that, but at the same time, you and Tsukki were completely isolated from the rest of the team, being rejected as the favorites who unfairly were given spots way above their league. In hindsight, you understand why your teammates hated you, but in the moment, it hurt more than you imagined it would. All you had wanted was to help them get better, and it felt like no one understood that image except for Tsukki.

It didn’t help that you saw him nearly all the time. He was always at practice, he went to every media event both of you had to be at as captains, he lived in the same dorm as you and found the same study spots you thought you had claimed in secret for yourself, he even had the same major as you. He was in your face near constantly, and the unending ribbing and competition and forced, disgruntled companionship turned hate to tolerance, tolerance to like, and like to love.

He asked you out to the spring carnival your freshman year. It shocked you how easy the word yes slipped from your lips.

And from there you two started your two year long relationship. It was easy being with Kei. Even as overbearing and sometimes rude as he was, you two existed on the same wavelength. You had the same goals, the same interests, the same emotional bursts and flairs, and the same understanding as the other snapped. You never had to explain yourself to him; after every twist and turn, he was waiting for you with open arms when you were ready, and you did the same for him.

He was the one who was there when your father unexpectedly passed towards the end of your sophomore year of college. He was the one who stayed with you for weeks, never going back to his own place so you didn’t have to ever be alone. He was the one who made the trip back home with you, silently waiting and watching as you helped with preparation because he knew what you needed the most was just his presence and not his big mouth or overbearing nature. He was the one who took over both practices when you simply couldn’t get yourself out of bed and across campus to the gym. He was the one there ready to receive you and bring you back to the world when you picked yourself up and kept going.

He was also the one who was there when you lost everything your junior year. It was during the quarter final game at a nation wide tournament in the fall of the volleyball season. You fell hard and at exactly the wrong angle, snapped your leg in three places, and tore tendons from your knee to your toes. You were taken out in a stretcher, and the minute Kei heard, he left his own team’s quarter final game to ride with you to the hospital. He didn’t even think twice.

Your team lost without you. His team won without him. It’s unclear which truth hurt more.

You were given the worst news an athlete could hear. Weeks later, he stood next to you in the gym as you wobbled in your boot and in your words and officially resigned as captain and stepped away from the team. As your dream of making the national team died, so did your will, and you found yourself in the same blurry nothingness you were in when your father passed, but this time it felt like nothing could bring you out. Even as Tsukki tried and tried and tried to reach you, it was dark and painful and drowning where you were.

You broke up with him a week before your two year anniversary.

Since then, you’ve flunked most of your classes, nearly dropped out of school, get out of bed only to go to physical therapy, watched your ex-team have an incredibly underwhelming fall season without you for your senior year, and bounced from dick to dick of every boy you have ever met. Unfortunately, that’s pretty much only the men’s volleyball team. All of this has isolated Tsukki even more from his teammates, and now he’s alone, quiet except for the angry outburst, and hated more than ever.

He was there the first night you broke into the gym in the midst of a panic attack. You had been ready to find a way to the roof of the building when you walked in, sobbing and crazed, to see Tsukki alone with a volleyball in hand.

He talked you down. You went home with him.

That’s just how it’s been ever since.

————————

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” You mutter, following him up the stairs of his apartment building as he unlocks the door and holds it open for you. You instinctively find the elevator, pressing the specific number code that calls the elevator to the first floor that you have memorized like it’s nothing.

“You don’t usually talk to the stray cats you bring home.”

“You’re such a dick.”

He just hums in response, staring away from you as the elevator door opens and you both step inside. The ride up to his apartment is quiet and cold. He leans against the wall furthest from you, scrolling though an app noncommittally with an awkward hand in his pocket. You watch him the whole way up, and he doesn’t look at you once.

You follow him out of the elevator and into his apartment. You sit on his sofa with a comfortable ease on the side that you naturally think of as your side. You watch him as he glides through the kitchen, filling up two glasses with ice and sparkling water - your favorite flavor that you forced him to start liking while you were together. You accept the glass as he hands you one and sits on the other side of the couch, a huge gap between you. You wait as he pulls his phone out again, another app on his screen.

You’re always the one to make the first move.

Setting the drink down on the table, you close the gap between you two, hesitantly pressing your side against his and leaning into him. After a reluctant moment, he wraps an arm around your shoulders, which you take as an invitation. You take the glass and the phone from his hands, place it on the coffee table, and in one fell swoop, swing your leg over his lap to straddle him.

With a soft gentle caress, you brush your fingers over his cheeks and press your forehead to his. His eyes were always your favorite, the light honey brown tint sparkled in the moonlight, and it made your stomach flutter with butterflies. He was the first one to lean up and in, tilting your head with his nose until his lips touched yours. You sit like this, softly kissing, pulling away for just small gasps and pants of air, for long enough that the automatic light in the kitchen shutters off.

Practiced and with ease, you run your hands back through his hair, pulling at the soft, fluffy strands as they thread through your fingers. He moans softly into your mouth, his own hands finding your waist and puling you closer to him. You can feel the hot rigid length in his lap, and as you slowly grind against him, he rewards you by pressing his fingertips into your lower back, his palms cupping your waist like they were made to sit there.

His eyelashes finally flutter closed, and you watch his face freeze with pleasure, his jaw locked open with your lips suctioned to his lower lip. Your own nails scratch against his scalp, and he shivers beneath your touch. It’s nearly painful the need that has built between you two when you finally slide off him and peel your pants off. He slides out of his own pants, and when he looks back at you to pull you back onto his lap, you can’t help the embarrassment at the intricate brace on your knee. You drop your hands to hide the appliance, but he bats your hand out of the way and pulls you back to straddle him again.

“You act like I’ve never seen you naked,” He whispers, his hand finding its way between your legs. His nimble, strong fingers find the absolute wet mess you’ve made, and both of your roll your eyes back in a moan as a single finger glides across your slick slit.

“I’m afraid-” You moan, cutting yourself off as he pushes the fabric of your underwear out of the way and circles your clit with his fingertip.

“Of?”

“Judgment.” You think for a second as a shiver runs down your back from the stimulation between your legs. “Rejection.”

He brings his other hand to your arm, gripping your flesh and brushing softly against your skin to bring goosebumps to the surface.

“Me? Judge?” He smiles up at you as he presses against your clit again. You moan lewdly, nearly falling forward at the shock of pleasure. “I’d never.”

You scoff out a laugh before reaching a hand to move his own underwear out of the way. His cock springs forward, bouncing softly against his stomach, as you bring your hand to between your legs to meet his. You interlock your fingers with his as they slide against you, back and forth, teasing your clit to your entrance, and you both moan loudly at the feeling. In the moonlight, you can see the glistening pre-cum on his tip, and it makes you nearly vibrate with need. Thankfully, Tsukki can read your body language like it’s his native tongue, and he guides your fingers to dip into you. Both of your hands push into you, and you groan as you settle onto your hands. Rocking your hips back and forth, you throw your head back with pleasure.

“Like a fucking angel,” He mutters, leaning forward to press his lips against your collarbones and bite. Wet pleasure drips from you onto your palm, and when it feels like enough, you pull your fingers from yourself and suddenly grip Tsukki’s needy length. Your wetness and his pre-cum mix to make it slick and easy for your hand to stroke up and down. His body freezes in response, all of his muscles twitching with every pass of your hand.

His fingers curl deep inside you, and with each of your strokes, your rock your hips against his fingers. He’s deep enough inside you that he presses into that sweet spot, and his fingers find it with familiar ease every time you shift your hips.

“Kiss me,” You whisper into the night, and he shakes himself free enough for his lips to find yours. Your tongues press against each other, your hot breath billowing down each other’s necks, and each other’s hands milking pleasure out of your body. He tastes like knowing each other’s bodies like the back of your own hands.

You could’ve finished like this, in each other’s hands, if it wasn’t for the sudden shooting pain that radiates from your knee where you are kneeling in his lap. You flinch, taking the weight off it, and Tsukki supports you by grabbing your other hip with his free hand.

“Are you okay?”

“My leg,” You grunt out, moving your hands to grip the back of the couch as the pain fires even worse through your whole leg. He rubs at your hip, staring up at you to gauge your pain on your face, and when he sees you bite your lip and furrow your brow, he picks you up off his lap and deposits you on your back on the couch. Having your weight off your knee lightens the pain, and soon he has your brace off your leg and is massaging your joint with his hands.

He learned how to when you first hurt your leg, and he’s so comfortable that it feels second nature for him. It feels absolutely humiliating for you.

“Please stop,” You whisper, letting your leg fall, your foot hitting the floor, and you take his collar and pull his shirt over his head. Your nails gently drag against his chest, and he leans forward, catching himself by landing his hands on either side of your head.

“Does it hurt?”

You groan at the question, shimmying enough out of your shirt and bra that your chest was on display for Tsukki, but he maintains concerned eye contact with you.

“I just want you to fuck me like you did before,” You whisper, shifting your hips closer to his still protruding length.

He studies your face for a long time, but the desire in his chest must have won out, because he’s finally shirking off his boxers and settling himself between your thighs. He kisses you a few more times, soft and measured, before his tip presses against your entrance, and he sinks deep into you, bottoming out in your wet, hot, squishy insides.

You arch your back at the feeling of being so full of him, and his head drops to your neck, teeth grazing and sucking at the skin, and your arms wrap around his back to grip him as the feeling overwhelms you. Your stomach flops, and your brain swims. You drown in the smell of him, his cologne, his shampoo, his sweat and musk, and it smells, it feels, it overwhelms like home.

His thrusts into you feel deeper with each rock of his hips, and it sends shocks of nearly painful pleasure from your head to your toes. He’s groaning in your ear, and it’s a sweet song you miss like a lullaby you desperately want to remember when you’re lying alone in your own room at your own apartment. When his fingers find and tease your clit again, he moves in just the way you like that makes your toes curl, and that feels like the last straw.

Tears well in your eyes and drip down the sides of your face. With a sniffle, Tsukki finally brings his eyes back to your face, and when he sees your tears, he sighs softly with care. He shifts to his knees, pulling you just barely onto his lap, and he wraps his arms all the way around your body, his fingers gripping behind and around your shoulders so that your bodies are fully pressed against each other.

He shushes you softly in your ear. “I got you,” He whispers, squeezing his fingers into your skin, “I got you.”

His kindness makes the pain in your chest worst. “Please don’t stop,” You nearly sob, dropping your head into the crook of his neck. “Please keep going.”

Tsukki hesitates, but your begs and the needy rocking of your hips convinces him to slowly continue fucking into you. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“Then fuck it out of me, Kei,” You writhe against him, and after the internal struggle behind his eyes, he lays you on your back, grabs the back of your good leg, grips the arm of the couch behind you, and pounds his cock deep into you. It’s so sudden that it makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. You choke on your tongue, nails digging into any flesh on Tsukki’s body that you can find. “Oh God, yes, fuck,” You groan into his ear.

“You feel so good,” He grunts back, placing his hand on your cheek and your thumb on your lips. With tears still falling down the side of your face, you suck his thumb into our mouth and tongue against the skin.

“S-so deep,” You hiccup out as he lays into you, his cock pumping in and out. Your hand snakes down between the two of you, and you rub against your clit. You clench against his cock, and both of you moan out sweetly at the feeling.

“I got you," He mumbles again, bringing his forehead to yours to keep eye contact. "Can you cum for me, baby?” He asks, and you shiver at his words, moving your fingers faster and harder to get to where you want. You nod, your hair sticking to your face in the tears. He groans, his hips starting to stutter. “Then cum, baby, cum.”

You pant and groan and whimper and suddenly you’re cumming around his cock, your body short-circuiting with the feeling of your orgasm. For these few moments, nothing in your body hurts. The physical pain, the emotional pain, it’s silenced in the pleasurable waves rolling through your body. You arch your back and press your body against Tsukki, his warm pants and moans stinging your skin with electricity.

Even though you wrap your good leg around Tsukki’s waist, like you would when you were together, he pulls out and finishes across your stomach and chest. He strokes himself through it, the sweat glistening on his forehead in the moonlight as his cum paints your skin. You close your eyes, letting the sticky wet feeling cover you.

It takes a few moments of panting before he falls back to a seated position on the couch. You can feel the aching pain return to your knee, and before you grab anything to wipe yourself clean, you reach down for your brace.

“Let me help you,” He sounds vaguely annoyed with the whole thing, but his fingers are still gentle as they pull the brace on and into position.

“Thank you.” Your voice is small, the tears finally slowing. You rub your hands down your face, and then you search for something to clean yourself off with. Tsukki throws you his shirt, not even glancing your way.

“I hate it when you cry on me like that.”

“I thought you liked my misery.”

“Only when I’m causing it.” His smirk is half-hearted. He folds his leg underneath him, his other leg bending for him to place his chin on as he stared out the window.

You reach for your drink on the coffee table as you wipe away the leftover Tsukki on your body. You find your sweatshirt on the ground and throw it over your head, and now you two are sitting on opposite ends of the couch, just like before with just a few less clothes.

“Why do you do this for me if you don’t even like me?” You ask in a small voice, taking a sip of the drink in your hand, and he finally turns to look at you. His face shocked in disbelief.

“If I don’t even like you? Are you dense? I’m in love with you. I’m so madly in love with you that it hurts me every single day. You’re the one who broke up with me, so I should be asking you that question. Why do you come to me?”

Because you know he’ll understand you. You know you’ll be seen. You know he cares about you. You’d never actually answer that, though, because it’ll make you seem the callous bitch that he’s supposed to be.

“I don’t do it on purpose. You’re always in the gym.” The answer feels incomplete. “I like you, Kei.”

He watches your face as you refuse to meet his eyes. It takes a while before he stands, the hot anger radiating off of him, and he cleans up the space piece by piece. When he takes your empty glass to the sink he finally speaks.

“If we liked each other, we wouldn’t keep doing this.”

You watch him move from the kitchen to his bedroom door, but he hesitates before leaving you to the silence and darkness of his living room. He sighs, annoyed. “Are you staying the night.”

“I shouldn’t,” You spit back quickly, but you don’t get up to leave, and he doesn’t disappear to his bedroom. You two stare at each other for a long time, much too long. Finally he opens the door.

“Your pajamas are in the second drawer of my dresser,” then he squints his eyes at you, “but you should shower first. My sheets are clean.”

He disappears, leaving the door open behind him.

It takes you less time than usual to follow him in.

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thetriumphantpanda · 1 year ago

Text

I'll Crawl Home To Her | Marcus Pike

Fic Summary | Marcus Pike had been the man of your dreams until a promotion tore your away from him. Four years later, a wedding brings you back together, but it the bubble you've built over this one weekend going to crash and burn just like it did before?

Pairing | Marcus Pike x Bridesmaid F!Reader

Fic Warnings | Explicit. Exes to Lovers, themes of second chance love, references to food and alcohol, descriptions of a wedding, Marcus Pike being a dirty talking menace, talk of contraception, unprotected PiV sex, creampie, semi-public sex, oral sex (F), overstimulation if you squint, allusions to oral sex (M) and mentions of a facial cumshot, mutual pining, flirting, two idiots in love, a touch of angst, basically two idiots who never got over each other have a lot of sex over a weekend.

Word Count | 7.9K (I can only apologise lmfao)

Authors Note | So, two weekends ago I was a bridesmaid and spent the entire time messaging @undercoverpena about how I wished Marcus Pike would whisk me away to the bathroom, tell me how pretty I was and give me a good time.... and this is what's come of this. Entirely self-indulgent but we love that for me sometimes. If you enjoy this, please consider commenting or reblogging - I'd love to know what you think of it! And if you'd like to support me further, you can donate to my Ko-Fi.

Moodboard is for aesthetic purposes only - reader is a blank slate. Although if you're interested in the dress I chose for her - it's this.

Divider by the amazing @saradika

Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs for writing updates.

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi.

“I’m sorry, Mike,” Marcus is still out of breath as he clutches the champagne flute in his hand, chest heaving as his sucks in air to his lungs, “I didn’t mean to be so late.”

“Marcus, buddy, it’s fine,” His friend puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder, he knows Marcus gets anxious when things outside of his control happen, like the delay to his flight from D.C. to London, and then the delay in getting from London to the wedding venue, “You’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

Marcus nods, chugging down half the champagne in one go, hoping it’ll calm his anxiety a little. He had cursed Mike and Cassie for choosing to have their wedding in England, but Mike’s family, most of them ageing now and unable to make the long trip to D.C. had insisted on it. As he looks around the large reception room, he muses internally to himself that it was beautiful. A huge room, semi-decorated for tomorrow’s reception and dinner. It’s a smaller affair tonight, immediate family and friends for the rehearsal dinner, but he can imagine that tomorrow, once all is said and done, it’ll be the perfect backdrop for their wedding.

“Where’s Cassie?” Marcus asks, looking around the room, finding a distinct lack of the bride and the bridal party Mike hadn’t shut up about over the last few months.

“She’s just sorting the last of the decorations for the ceremony room,” Mike explains, waving a hand to the waitress currently doing the round with a refilled tray of champagne, “She’ll be here soon.” He finished with a wink, which, although is odd, Marcus doesn’t question, just picks up another glass of champagne and stands talking to his friend and whoever is milling around offering their congratulations.

There’s a flurry of conversation that has Marcus turning around a few minutes later, he can see Cassie and her mother, who are pulled to the side by someone from the venue holding up two different types of ribbon, asking which one they want to drape around the columns and which one to tie around the chair backs. It’s not Cassie that Marcus is interested in though, it’s the bridesmaid that follows behind her.

He can feel his throat constrict, a small pit opening in his stomach that’s somewhere between the feeling of dread and excitement. He can feel the palms of his hands starting to get clammy, so he drains his glass and sets it down on the nearest table to avoid an accident. Then, he thinks he might actually pass out when you finally look at him, eyes searching his face and then the glimmer of recognition that you know exactly who he is, remember exactly the last time you’d seen him, and exactly what had happened when you had.

Your leg is bouncing underneath the dining table, food somewhat eaten regardless of the fact that it’s your favourite. You’ve dug half-moon shapes into the palms of your hands and bitten the inside of your mouth enough to taste blood.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” It’s Marcus, sitting across from you, plate cleared, completely oblivious as to what’s about to come.

“I got offered a promotion.” You tell him simply, running one hand up and down your opposite arm in an attempt to soothe yourself.

“Darling!” He exclaims, “That’s amazing!” He doesn’t move to get up, but reaches his hand out, palm up for you to take, which you do, letting his hand softly clasp yours in his own, “Why are you so upset then?”

Taking a deep breath in, biting your bottom lip, you decide it’s best to rip the band-aid off sooner rather than later, “It’s not here, Marcus,” You sigh, “The job is in D.C.”

The smile, the light of his eyes, everything on his face that had just seconds ago been showing joy, had faltered. Much like you imagine your face would have when you’d been offered the job. A significant pay rise, governmental opportunities, bigger clients, a shot at being a proper lawyer for once, but with the caveat that you had to uproot your comfortable Austin life for D.C. and with it, Marcus Pike.

“I don’t have to go,” You follow up with, “I haven’t accepted yet, I’ve got some time to think.”

You feel him squeeze your hand, his other palm coming out to rest on your wrist, slowly tracing the blue veins he can see there, “Look at me,” He asks softly, which you do, the tears that had been forming in your own eyes starting to spill down your cheeks when you find Marcus’ eyes glassed over too, “Baby, this is such an amazing opportunity, you can’t say no because of me.”

Because that’s what you would be doing. Marcus, brilliant, funny, intelligent Marcus, wouldn’t be able to follow you to D.C. There had been some talk about his work in the Art Crimes team with the higher ups, people who were impressed at his success rate, people who wanted to keep him here, send him off to California even. He was at too much of a crossroads to be able to follow you to D.C.

“I don’t want to lose you though,” You sniff, free hand coming to wipe away some of the tears that are falling from your eyes, “I love you.”

Marcus hums, finally pushes himself off his chair, letting the legs scrape across his kitchen floor, until he’s sat right in front of you, knees touching, his palms on the tops of your thighs, warm and soothing, “I love you too,” He says, bringing one hand up to cup your cheek, making sure you’re looking at him, “But this is what you’ve wanted, you’ve been working so hard baby and I’m not going to let you stay here just because of me.”

It’s killing you inside, because you want so badly to ask him to follow you. To drop everything and come to D.C. You’ve been together two years, you’re comfortable together, he makes you so happy, you’ve talked about moving in together, starting a life together, but you know deep down you’re asking him to do something unfair.

“So, I guess your stance on long-distance relationships hasn’t changed?” You ask, tone soft and sad, tears falling down your cheeks.

You watch him as his own tears fall, his hands clutching your own so tightly as he gives you a soft smile, “Baby, I wish I could say yes, I wish I could drop it all and follow you, or promise you we’d talk on the phone every day and see each other every weekend, but you know we can’t do it.”

Biting at your lip, you nod, because you know he’s right. You’re a lawyer, you barely have free time as it is - weekends more often than not spent sat on the couch with him, tapping away at your laptop whilst he looks over case files. It would never work.

Marcus leans forward, presses a kiss to your forehead, then pulls you into a hug. You clutch your hands to his back, inhaling the smell of him on his shirt , watching the light blue turn darker as it catches your tears.

“When do you go?” He asks quietly into the crook of your neck, soft kiss placed to the skin right after.

“A few weeks, probably.”

“Well, let’s enjoy them while we still can, hey?” You nod silently, “And maybe one day, we’ll find each other again.”

“And maybe one day, we’ll find each other again.”

Those words still echo in your ears four year later, like they have at various different points since you last saw Marcus Pike. Leaving had been hard. He’d helped you pack everything up, driven you to the airport, kissed you before security and promised he wouldn’t forget you. You’d text a for a few weeks before life dragged you in one direction and him in another. No-one had quite been able to live up to him either. Sure, you’d tried dating, seen people for a few months before deciding they weren’t quite the man who had almost been able to give you everything you ever wanted.

And now here he is, standing in front of you, pale as a ghost as if he’s about to keel over and have a heart attack. You want to run to him, to fling yourself into his arms and make sure he’s real. You want to press your lips to his, let him kiss you like he always used to, to clutch you to his body and whisper sweet things into your ear, but you have no idea what he’s been doing these past four years - for all you know, you could get closer and find a wedding band across his left finger.

It’s a blessing when Cassie’s hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you over to the side.

“Do you prefer the dusky rose or the blush pink?” She asks, holding up two ribbons that look identical to your eye.

You want to tell her does it really matter, they both look exactly the same. You want to tear your wrist away from her and go to Marcus, but instead you settle for a warm smile and “It’s your wedding Cass, you choose what you want.”

And when you turn around, looking back over to Mike, Marcus Pike is nowhere to be found. Like he was a mirage. A figment of your hopeful imagination. Something conjured up after your mother had set you down at the airport and said, “Bridesmaid’s always get lucky at weddings, you might find your own husband.”

When everyone is called to sit down for the rehearsal dinner, you jump at the opportunity to let Cassie sit down and eat, whilst you get pulled away by the staff to advise on which candles to use for the ceremony room and where exactly to place the flower arch for the best photos tomorrow. When you make it back, everyone is standing, milling around, getting drinks from the bar, which you decide you desperately need.

“A negroni, please.” You ask for after taking a few seconds to peruse the cocktail menu set out. The stronger the better.

“I see your tastes haven’t changed in the last few years.”

You’re pretty sure that if there was a mirror in front of you, the look of shock on your face would be comical, as Marcus Pike sidles up to the bar next to you. Up close, he’s just as handsome as he always had been, except now, he’s got a beard and more fine lines in the corners of his eyes, which means he’s been happy, smiling, whilst you’ve been gone. It makes your heart swell that he’s been happy.

“I wonder if yours have.” You counter, tilting your head towards the bartender who is waiting for him to order.

“Just a beer for now.” He smiles, but at you, not the bartender.

“That’ll be a no then.”

There’s a moment of silence between the both of you as you sip the cocktail given to you, and Marcus takes a swig of his beer. His left hand is wrapped around the bottle, no sign of the wedding ring you were convinced you’d find. You want to say something, anything, but when you go to open your mouth, he beats you to it.

“You look well.”

You can’t help but chuckle. Of all the things he could have chosen to say to you, you hadn't thought it would be that.

“So do you.” You compliment back.

There’s another silence, the two of you just looking at each other. You’re soaking him up, committing him to memory to replace the old Marcus you knew so well.

“Are you here alone?” You ask, playing with the glass in your hand.

You watch as he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, ��Are you?”

“I asked you first, Agent Pike.”

He tilts his head towards his shoulder in a movement that says he’ll give you that one, “I’m here alone.”

You can’t help but smile a little, biting at your bottom lip to try and hide how pleased you are, “So am I.”

Looking up at him through your lashes, you notice the exact moment those brown eyes that you’re so used to getting lost in darken, watching you as you sip your drink, tip of your tongue jutting out to catch a drop from your bottom lip.

“Is your room completely over the top?” You ask, watching as he swallows deeply, “Because mine is, I’d love to know what the honeymoon suite must be like.”

“Depends what you mean by completely over the top?” He quirks an eyebrow.

“Do you want me to show you?”

He doesn’t even respond. He sets his half-finished beer down on the bar, takes your almost-empty negroni from your hand and does the same. Then he’s taking hold of your hand, lacing your fingers together like he always did, dragging you out of the room. You turn to find Cassie and Mike, looking at you both as you have to jog to keep up with Marcus’ pace. Both of them are winking, smiling, and Mike even throws a thumbs up your way. You can feel heat rising on your cheeks as you turn your head away from them.

“Which floor?” Marcus asks then you reach the grand staircase in the lobby.

“Second.”

He doesn’t let go of your hand, but takes the stairs two at a time, meaning by the time you reach the second floor, you’re out of breath from running behind him, trying to keep up.

“Which room?”

It’s your turn to lead him now, stepping in front of him to walk down the hallway to room 212. You fish the keycard from the back pocket of your jeans, wasting no time in pushing the door open when the tiny light turns green.

It’s dark inside, but you don’t care. Marcus Pike pins you against the wall, his thigh between your legs, both hands on your waist, and then his lips are on yours. The way he kisses hasn’t changed a bit. His mouth slants over yours, softly at first, but when you open your lips against his, hands clutching at the collar of his shirt, it’s just like you remember from all those years ago. He tastes the same, mint from the gum he always chews, the tang of the beer on his tongue, and that distinct taste that’s just him.

He swallows a groan from you as your pitch your hips down, denim rubbing on denim as he devours your mouth. His hands on your waist trail down just a little, finding the top of your jeans, floating under your shirt just a little to touch the bare skin underneath. His hands are warm and strong as they start guiding you to move against his thigh as his tongue works against yours.

Marcus pulls away from your mouth just as a particularly breathy moan leaves your mouth. It makes you both stop. Stand still. Eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room as you both realise exactly what’s happening. You know you should stop, talk about what’s clearly about to happen, but when did talking ever help anything.

“Don’t think about it,” Marcus sighs, leaning down to trail kisses along your jaw, “We talk after.”

“We talk after.” You say, mainly to the room more than anything else.

Your hands are still clutching at his shirt when his fingers find the button on your jeans. Still as adept at it as he’d always been, he pops the button open and pulls down the zipper, letting his hand trail down, settling across the lace of your underwear, cupping your pussy, letting his fingers trace along skin through lace.

A hiss leaves your mouth as you work your body in time with the slow, teasing movements of Marcus’ hand, “You’ve changed,” You manage to breathe out, your hand coming to the back of his neck to pull his mouth nearer to yours, “When you were desperate for me you’d never tease.”

You can feel his lips smile against the skin of your neck where he’s tracing wet kisses along the skin, hand still feather-light between your legs, “I’ve learnt to be more patient, honey.”

“And if I asked you not to?”

“In all the years I knew you, never once did you beg for it.” He pulls back, your eyes now accustomed to the dark, able to see him better, his voice is low, “Unless you’ve changed, you’ll have to put up with it.”

You grasp his cheeks in your palms, his hand still teasing you, pull his attention to you fully, “Marcus Pike, I swear to all that is holy that if you do not spread me out on my bed and fuck me in the next five minutes, I will die.”

He makes a ‘tsk’ sound, his head shaking in your hands, “That’s not begging for it honey,” He coos, “You gotta ask nicely for it.”

You let out a grumble of frustration, but you have to admit, this new version of the man you knew so well before is enticing. You can feel the way wetness is settling between your thighs, you’re sure if he dipped his fingers down he’d have some smart comment about how soaked you were for him already.

So you swallow your pride, you know it’ll be worth it in the end, “Please.”

“Good girl.”

It all happens in a flurry. One moment you’re against the wall, the next your back is against the mattress, Marcus’ hips pressed to yours as his hands work to push your shirt up and off your body. Your back hits the mattress again and his mouth is on you almost instantly, his lips trailing down your sternum, between the valley of your breasts. Pushing himself back on his knees, he brings his hands to the cups of your bra, pulling them down. Your nipples pebbling against the cold of the air.

His lips are back on you almost immediately, nipple enveloped into the warmth of his mouth, tip of his tongue flicking at it, making your back arch off the bed, pressing further into his mouth. Your hand comes to tangle in the curls at the back of his head, anchoring him to your body. As his mouth works across your chest, you can’t quite believe what’s happening to you. The man of your dreams, the person you always thought you were destined for, back, right here between your thighs, the bulge in the front of his jeans all too familiar to you.

Head tipped back in pleasure, you breathe out into the air, “I can’t believe you’re here.”

He tears off your breast with a wet pop, looking up at you through his lashes, mouth kissing down your body, across the soft of your tummy, he taps at your sides, lifting your hips up to drag your jeans and underwear down your legs, flung behind him and forgotten when you plant the flat of your feet onto the bed and let your knees fall open.

Marcus isn’t a religious man, he never has been, but knelt between your thighs, hands flying to rid himself of his clothes, watching as you gingerly trail your hand between your thighs, eyes on him as you play with your clit, he thinks he might have to start believing. As he stands to take the last of his clothes off, standing at the foot of the bed, naked with his cock in his hand, watching your face, he thanks the Lord for whatever mischief they had to concoct to get you back here with him.

He crawls back up your body, kissing from ankle to thigh, settling himself between your thighs, cock sliding through your slick folds as he lays his body down against yours, one of his hands slipping under your neck, cradling the back of your head, the other cupping your cheek, moving your face to look right into his eyes. He’s so fucking close to you, lips barely a hairs breadth from your own.

“I have to be inside you,” He pants against your mouth, “I promise I'll spend hours between your thighs later baby, but I have to be inside you.”

He doesn’t give you any time to respond, just shifts his hips a little, sinking himself into your aching cunt. You arch up into him, moaning against his mouth as he stills. The hand clutching at your cheek trails down your neck, thumb flicking against your nipple as it travels to rest on your hip.

“Stop squirming,” He pleads, “Please.. Just stay still a minute.”

He feels so right, nestled inside your pussy. The weight of his body pressed against yours takes you right back to all the nights before, locked away in his Austin apartment in the dead of night, making each other feel good, making promises at the height of your combined pleasure to each other that never materialised. You can feel tears settle in your eyes as he starts moving, pulling himself out of you slowly, pushing back in even slower.

Marcus leans down, kissing the salty tears from your cheeks, shushing you, “Don’t cry baby,” He whispers into your ear, “I’ve got you now.”

Your hands are clutching at his shoulders, nails digging small, half-moon shapes into his skin there. He feels just as incredible moving inside you as he always did, but there’s something settling in your tummy, the feeling that you knew so well with him, that you’ve only really known with yourself since.

“I can feel you baby,” Marcus groans into your ear as the thrusts of his cock get a little faster, a little harder, “Clenching all perfectly around me,” He takes hold of one of your wrists, dragging it between the both of you, resting it right where you need it, “I won’t last baby,” He admits, “Touch yourself and we’ll do it together?”

So you do, you rub tight, precise circles over your clit as Marcus pushes himself up, takes your thighs in his palms, pushing your legs back as far as he can. The change in angle makes you cry out as he really starts fucking you now. The only sounds in the room are the slapping of his skin against yours, your whimpers and his groans. You can feel the tightening coil across your abdomen, breath hitching in your throat, you’re so fucking close to coming undone on him.

“Marcus,” You whine, “I’m gonna-” You trail off as he shifts a little more, pressing your legs further back, cock hitting that unholy sweet spot inside you, “Gonna come.”

“Go on baby,” He encourages, “I’ll be right behind you.”

And that’s how it ends. Eyes shut so tightly you can feel tears pooling at the corners, cunt clenching around his cock as you cry out his name. It’s so familiar, the way it feels, the way he sounds, like no time has passed at all and you’re exactly the same as you’d both been four years ago. He’s pounding into you as your body convulses underneath, thighs shaking and toes curling as his hips start to stutter.

“Where?” He manages to choke out, his tone reminiscent of all those times before when he was holding on, teetering on the edge, wanting to know what you wanted.

“I’m s-safe,” You manage to choke out, head reeling from your own orgasm, “The pill.”

He doesn’t need to hear anymore, finally giving in, knowing you’ve fallen apart for him, he’s groaning your name into the dark, you can feel him spilling into you, claiming you, marking you as his own in a way only the two of you could ever understand. He lets go of your thighs, letting your legs drop back into comfort as he slowly drags himself from you, collapsing onto the bed next to you.

There’s a few moments of silence. Your arm is draped across your face, chest rising and falling as you try to suck in enough air to calm your breathing, Marcus doing the same across the bed. You roll over, putting yourself on your side so you can look at him. He’s led on his back, head turned to look at you in the dull light of the room - the moonlight through the window the only thing illuminating the two of you. He reaches out, traces your face with his hand.

“I can't believe you’re real.” He speaks softly, rolling over to face you, pulling your warm body to his.

“I know we said we’d talk after,” You whisper, hand trailing over his waist to rest across his back, “But can we just stay like this for a while?” It’s a soft plead, you don’t want to be reminded that this was probably a bad idea, you want to hold this man in front of you and forget that in a few short days it’ll all be over, he’ll go back to wherever he is now, and you’ll go back to D.C. lonelier than ever.

“I’ll stay here as long as you’ll let me, honey.”

Marcus, against his better judgement, stays with you all night. You don’t talk. You curl up into his side, settle against his body as he wraps his arms around you. It’s inevitable that he casts his mind back to how things used to be. To the history you share with each other. He still, to this day, hasn’t stopped thinking about you, about what would have been if you’d stayed. Would you be married? Probably, he thinks. He’d thought of it often towards the end, before your promotion. Stopped outside jewellery shops, tried to imagine which kind of ring you’d want – he’d even slipped one of your rings onto his own finger, figuring out where it stopped so he could pick the right size when the time came. Would you have children? He isn’t sure, neither of you had ever spoken about it, you’d never expressed a want to have them, but he’s certain if you’d have asked, he’d have given them to you.

He falls asleep, waking up hours later, darkness still pervading. He turns on his side, spooning his front to your back. You’re half-awake when you press yourself back into him, bring your hand up to clutch at his head as he slips inside you once more, his hand holding your thigh up. He breathes into your ear, whispers filth to you as he rocks his hips against you. When you feel his teeth trail over your shoulder, he chuckles when you tell him off.

“I can’t walk down the aisle with bruises on my shoulders, Marcus.”

It’s soft, and he tips you over the edge, feeling you clench around him as his fingers trace circles over your clit, following just behind you, filling you up once more. He doesn’t pull away from you, just settles your thigh back down, resting himself inside of you as you both fall back to sleep.

Then, he’s awake before your alarm. He wakes you with a kiss to your forehead, tells you to go back to sleep when you protest and try and coax him back to the warmth of your sheets. He has to shower he says, has to help Mike get ready, but he’ll be waiting for you, watching you all day. Marcus smiles, really smiles, when you curl over back onto your side, soft breaths and mumbles as you fall back to sleep, and as he walks to his own room and stands waiting for the shower to warm, there’s a feeling of content that spreads through him – should he have fucked you last night? Probably not. Should he have encouraged you to talk more? Probably yes. He knows he’s got his cards hidden, he’s not letting on that this might not have to just exist here, but he’ll keep that to himself for just a little longer.

“So,” Cassie smirks from her place in the make-up chair, artist flitting around her, pressing all number of products into her face, “You and the groomsman?”

“Shut up,” You mutter to her, trying not to scratch at your face, make-up already settling uncomfortably across your skin, “A momentary lapse of judgement.”

She hums, and then moves her focus back to the make-up artist who is tilting her face to put on some blush, “You don’t have to lie to me, you know,” She says to you as you pass her a mimosa, “I know that was Marcus. The Marcus.”

There’s a moment where you feel like a deer in headlights, like you’ve been caught being up to no good, even though you know that’s not the case. Then you turn slowly to her, eyebrow raised, and see her smirking, much to the chagrin of the make-up artist who urgently wants to get her lipstick on her so she can move onto the final bridesmaid.

“He’s Mike’s friend, they went to school together, see each other quite often these days – apparently he always talks about a girl from Austin, no-one could ever compare, he’s tried moving on, done this, done that, but always came back to thinking about the one who got away,” She stops talking to take a drink, “Which sounded oddly familiar to someone else I know.”

She’s not wrong really – Cassie had been a lifeline when you’d moved to D.C. a work colleague turned best friend, who has been the shoulder to cry on whenever dates had gone badly, or even when they’d been good, but you just couldn’t get Marcus Pike off your brain. She told you, like most good friends would, that it would take time, you’d find someone right for you, someone who would take your mind right off Marcus, but it never happened.

“You did this on purpose!” You accuse, but its friendly, because really, her and her soon-to-be husband have only done what you had always wanted to do yourself, pick up the phone, no matter how long it has been and tell the man you still loved him.

“Of course we did,” She chuckles, “Don’t think about it too much,” She adds, “Just enjoy this today and most of all, behave yourself.”

When Cassie walks down the aisle, it’s not her that Marcus is looking at – it’s you. He hadn’t thought it possible for him to find you more beautiful than he had before, but in your dark green dress, slit cut into the fabric to show off one of your legs as you walk, dress cut perfectly to sit on all the curves of your body that he always did love, he can’t deny you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He spends the entire ceremony making eyes at you, smirking when you meet his gaze. He wants to tell you how lovely you look, lean down and plant a kiss to your lips in front of everyone, but he doesn’t get a chance until cocktail hour, once you’ve had your pictures taken and Cassie has insisted on you finally having a drink and enjoying your day instead of flapping about whether she needs anything from you.

“Has anyone told you how beautiful you look today?” He asks, hand settling on your waist as you lean against the bar waiting for your drink.

“Funnily enough, it’s not me most people have been looking at.” You quip back, taking the margarita from the bartender when it’s handed to you.

“I’ve been looking at you.”

“I know,” You smirk, “Pretty sure I ruined my panties stood at the top of the aisle.”

“Because the ceremony moved you so much?”

“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about your face between my thighs, actually.”

He looks exactly like he always used to when you flirt with him like this. Eyes low and dark, mouth slightly ajar like he can’t quite believe you’ve just been so forward. He’s not thinking straight anymore, and much like he had done last night, he grips around your wrist and starts dragging you from the reception room, this time there are considerably more people so you manage to slip out unnoticed.

Instead of heading up the stairs, taking you to your room or his, he turns left down a hallway, tearing open the door to one of the bathrooms. It’s a single stall, lock clicking behind him. You press your back against the wall, setting your drink down on the sink.

Marcus takes three steps towards you, hand slipping around your waist, pulling you flush against his body, lips so close that you can feel his breath on your skin.

“Do you know how sinful you’ve looked all day?” He asks, “Walking around looking all innocent, but I know you’ve been begging to get fucked all day, haven’t you?” You whine at him in response, trying to chase his mouth as he pulls back, “Don’t think I didn’t see you rubbing your thighs together during the ceremony.”

“It’s only because you wouldn’t stop looking at me.”

His hand finds the skin of your thigh, the slit of your dress making it easy for him to trail up to the hem of your panties.

“If I put my fingers on you,” He breathes, “Will you be wet?”

“Why don’t you find out?” You cock your head to the side, biting your lip as you look at him, his hand pulling your panties to the side, thick fingers slipping between your folds.

“Baby,” He moans, finally taking your bottom lip between his, nipping your skin with his teeth a little before he pulls away, fingers slipping inside you, pulling a groan from your throat, “Soaked for me?”

“Always, Marcus.”

He drags his fingers from you, spins you around, and reaches down to bring your palms up to rest against the wall in front you. He puts his hands on your hips, dragging your ass backwards until you can feel him through his trousers. His hands shuck your dress up to your waist and instead of tearing your panties off, he pushes them to the side. You look over your shoulder at him, as much as you can, and watch as he undoes his belt, pulls the zipper of his trousers down and reaches in, pulling his cock out. His trousers are pushed down just enough to let him free himself, and you don’t think you’ve seen such a beautiful sight in your life, than Marcus Pike with his fist around his cock, running his hand up and down himself as he moves to nudge the head of his cock at your soaked core.

Unlike last night, he isn’t gentle when he pushes into you. He’s buried inside your cunt in seconds, setting a pace that punches the air from your lungs. You know that even though you’re locked in here, away from the party, there’s still every chance someone is going to walk past, try the door handle, and hear exactly what’s going on in here, so you’re trying your best to keep the noise to a minimum.

“Needed you so badly, baby,” Marcus chokes out behind you, hands gripping your hips hard enough that you’re sure you’ll have his fingerprints embedded onto your skin, “Always so pretty for me, aren’t you?”

He’s hitting that sweet spot inside you, over and over again, and you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from crying out. You feel one of his hands trail up your spine through the material of your dress, coming to rest with a grip around the nape of your neck, his fingers itching to slide up into your hair and grip it.

“You can’t,” You plead, “Don’t mess my hair up.”

“I won’t baby.” He pants out from behind you, trailing his hand down just a little so he’s not tempted to take a fistful of it to pull you back, arch you into him even more.

It’s fast and it’s hard, everything Marcus never really used to be. He liked to take his time, spread you out and have you crying for him before he slipped inside you, slowly, watching every contort of pleasure on your face. You think you like this new version of him, the one so desperate to have you he couldn’t make it up the stairs, couldn’t even pull your panties down your legs.

“Marcus,” You moan out, “Please.”

“What’s that, baby?” He asked, mouth right by your ear, “You begging for something?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“What do you want?”

“Make me come?”

You think maybe he might try and tease you some more, but mercifully he takes the hand he’s got resting on your hip and snakes it down your body, letting his fingers find your clit - he had always been good at that. He drags the gathered slick where he can, cock still moving into you, pulling whimpers and moans whenever you feel his skin slap against yours, circles your clit quickly with the pad of his finger. You can feel your walls tightening around him, your thighs starting to shake as he continues doing exactly what he’s doing.

It’s no secret to either of you that making you come always took time. He’d never shamed you for it, always been more than happy to do whatever it took, for as long as it took, to get you there. But the mix of desperation for him, elation that he’s waltzed right back into your life, and the fact he’s fucking you in a public bathroom, have that coil tightening inside you quicker than ever.

“Can feel you getting tight around me baby,” He groans into your ear, “You gonna let go for me?”

You don’t have time to tell him yes. The tight coil snaps inside you, your eyes closed so tightly you’re sure the make-up around your eyes is dragging down your cheeks on tears. You can keep your voice down now as you flutter around his cock, you cry out his name, feeling his hands holding onto your hips to keep you steady as your legs threaten to fall out from underneath you.

You’re only half aware of him speaking into your ear, telling you he’s close. You can feel him start to pull himself out of you, so you reach behind you quickly, fingernails digging into the part of his thigh you can reach to keep him inside you.

“I swear to god if you get cum on my dress Pike, I’ll kill you.”

He lets out a deep, throaty chuckle behind you, slams himself back into you, “You just want an excuse for me to come inside you, don’t you?” He hisses into your ear, teeth nipping at the skin behind your ear, “You just have to ask nicely for it.”

“Please, Marcus, please.”

Never one to deny you, he does, having held out as long as he could, he thrusts once, twice and then he’s moaning your name into your ear. You can feel him spilling inside of you, filling you up, then you can feel him dripping down your thigh when Marcus starts pulling away from you, not quite quick enough to put your panties back on. He tells you to keep still, fumbling behind him for some paper he can use to clean your thighs up.

He speaks to you as he lets the material of your dress fall back down over your legs, “Walking around full of me for the rest of the night.” He coos as you turn around, reaching out to pull his mouth to yours in a chaste kiss.

You stay like that for a moment, both attempting to fix the others clothes. Marcus brings his thumb to his mouth, letting his tongue jut out to wet it, before he drags it under your eye, getting rid of the worst of the black marks he’s caused.

You reach behind him, unlock the door, but take hold of his hand as you push the door open. Thankfully there’s no-one waiting outside to use the bathroom as you drag him back down towards the party.

It’s late. Or early depending on how you look at it. Marcus had dragged you from the dance floor at midnight, walked you slowly up to his room instead of yours. He’d helped you out of your dress, let you shower and wash yourself clean, then, before you could put your robe on and insist on going to sleep, he’d taken your hand, led you to the chair near the balcony doors and he’d made good on his promise of last night to spend hours with his face between your legs.

“I can’t,” You whine, Marcus hand’s pinning your legs open, his tongue flicking against your clit, “It’s too much.”

He pulls off you just enough to speak, “Believe in yourself baby,” He says, sinking two fingers into you, curling them upwards, “I know you can, just one more for me.”

Your whole body feels like its on fire. You’ve lost count of the amount of times he’s made you come tonight. There had been a small reprieve when you’d begged to suck his cock, Marcus obliging, painting your face and your tongue, before he settled right back to his knees. It’s almost as if he thinks if he stops you’ll disappear.

Your fingers are tangled in his hair, battling between tugging his face closer and pulling it away as he sucks your clit into his mouth, the added pressure along with the flicking of his tongue setting your skin on fire even more than before. Your hair is sticking to your forehead and the back of your neck, rivulets of sweat gathering at various points across your body as Marcus tips you over the edge once more.

Your mouth drops open in a silent scream, body feeling boneless as your whole body convulses at his touch. Almost like he knows, he pulls himself away from you gently, knowing that any more would be too much, saving you the need to beg him to stop. He presses soft kisses to the skin of your tummy, kissing up your body until he’s sitting up on his knees, kissing into your mouth, letting you taste yourself on him.

Marcus clambers to his feet, takes hold of your hand and pulls you to your feet, guiding you over to the bed to settle you under the sheets, the air peppering your sweaty skin with goosebumps. It’s a sad realisation that you have to go home tomorrow, that the bubble you’ve caught yourself up in over the past few days is about to burst. You think this might break your heart even more than the first time around.

“What are we going to do?” You ask against the skin of his chest as he pulls you into him.

“What do you mean?” He asks back, kiss pressed lightly to your forehead.

“With us, after this?” Your fingers are tracing over his skin, trying to map the feeling of him before he leaves.

“Well, I thought maybe we could go for dinner sometime?”

You look up at him, face contorted in confusion, “You’re going to come all the way from Austin to take me for dinner?”

“No baby,” He chuckles a little, “I don’t live in Austin anymore, I live in D.C.”

You push yourself up in bed, one hand on the mattress to keep yourself upright, looking down at Marcus, who reaches up to cup your cheek in his hand, thumb rubbing soft lines across your skin, “Since when?”

“Two years?” He offers, “I would have-” He trails off a little, “I would have told you but I wasn’t in a great place when I first moved, had no idea what your life would have even looked like either, I didn’t just want to turn up out of the blue if you’d moved on, found someone else.”

Your hand comes up to clutch at the wrist of the arm cradling your face, “I’ve waited so long for you,” You sigh, “I tried, tried to find someone else, but none of them were ever you Marcus.”

“I tried too,” He admits, because Lord knows he did, and for what? “I promise I’ll tell you everything one day, but right now, I want to fall asleep with you right here.”

You settle back down in bed, curling up against his side, arm draped over his waist, “Where in the city do you live?” You ask, sleep starting to make your eyes heavy.

“I’m on 4th street, in Petworth.”

You can’t help but laugh, because of course he fucking does. Marcus Pike has been living four streets over from you for the past two fucking years.

“You’ve been living four streets over from me for two years, Marcus.”

He runs his hands up and down your spine, gently, soothing you, “Well, that’s convenient, isn’t it?” He asks softly, “I can be at your front door in five minutes.”

“You want to be my booty call, Marcus Pike?”

“If that’s what you want,” He speaks, “I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

“What are you doing Wednesday night?”

“Nothing, as far as I’m aware.”

“How about you take me on a first date?” You offer, “Let’s learn each other all over again and take things from there?”

Marcus colts your chin up to his face with a finger, leaning down and giving you the softest kiss you think you’ve ever received, “I would love nothing more.”

#Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike Smut #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x you #marcus pike fanfiction #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x F!reader #Marcus Pike fic #Marcus Pike fanfic #the mentalist #the mental illness is winning #the mentalist fanfic #the mentalist fanfiction #Pedro pascal #marcus pike fluff #Marcus Pike angst #Marcus Pike Pedro Pascal #Marcus Pike The mentalist

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freelancearsonist · 8 months ago

Text

in shades of gray and candlelight

➔ Marcus Pike x fem!Reader - 7.2k

➔ Nothing good starts in a getaway car, but you sure do have fun delaying the inevitable.

➔ Rated MA for artist!reader my beloved (reader is able-bodied, basic female anatomy and feminine pronouns used, reader is described as having hair that is long enough to be put up but otherwise she’s a blank slate), unprotected p in v sex, cum swallowing, creampie, semi-public sex acts, oral (r + m receiving), handjobs, fingering, very light switchy dom/sub dynamics, a couple spanks, pet names (sweetheart, pretty girl, baby, honey), heavy praise kink, light size kink, consent king!marcus, just like the song it does not end happily [please let me know if i missed any at all :)]

➔ this is my (first 😈) submission to @beskarandblasters Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge! i really did mean for this to be a drabble especially since i didn't know anything about marcus before receiving this prompt but he has my whole fucking heart and mind now 😩 thank you so much for the challenge lovely kel, and special thank u to my baby @fhatbhabie for betaing and screaming with me ily <3 (dividers by the amazing and talented @saradika-graphics)

You meet Marcus Pike on a Friday night and it’s obvious from the start that he’s going to change your life forever.

He looks a little disheveled when he enters the gallery–brown hair ruffled and standing up in places, tie loose, top shirt button undone. There’s an alluring five o’clock shadow burgeoning across his jaw and cheeks. He looks like he’s had a long day, and it’s only going to get longer. It’s all part of the plan, of course. He’s supposed to look like a standard blue collar worker, and he pulls it off with ease.

It’s the exhibition’s opening night, so it’s a little more packed than the gallery normally would be. It works in his favor–he’s able to collect a plastic cup of champagne from the refreshment table and blend seamlessly into the crowd.

His eyes are diligent as they scan the faces that come and go. He tries to commit them all to memory–the tall woman with the slight limp, the short guy wearing the Hawaiian patterned shirt. There’s dozens of people that pass by, and so many of them are forgettable. It’s exhibitions like these that make him dread undercover work.

The art on the walls isn’t exceptional, but it’s not bad. Nothing that seems worth stealing, that’s for sure. But his source is good, and his source said that this place was getting hit tonight. So he keeps his watchful eyes vigilant and pretends to sip the champagne in his hand.

Until he finds your exhibit.

There’s a depth to your art that he’s come to be familiar with–something he sees often in work of high value. Anyone can make abstract art, it’s as simple as flicking paint at a canvas. But few can charge it as emotionally as you have. To convey feeling and passion and heart through abstraction is a separate art form all its own, and it’s one you’ve mastered.

He’s seen original Rothko’s, Van Gogh’s, Kandinsky’s; he’s held their frames in his own two hands. But nothing’s ever made his breath hitch in his throat quite the way yours does.

He stands in front of a canvas simply labeled “Waves In Motion” with your name printed neatly underneath, brow creased with a concentration that seems a little unnecessary given the subject matter of the painting. It’s all shades of blue and violet, swirling together in a way that seems partly sensuous, partly violent. It makes the hair on the back of his neck prickle, and he takes a step closer. That’s when he notices it: a single dot of red paint right in the middle, a focal point of all the swirling cobalts. So small that he wouldn’t notice it if he wasn’t close; so small it could almost be interpreted as a mistake.

But he knows without having to ask that it’s not an answer. He wonders who that dot represents: you, the artist? Most likely.

Without meaning to, he smiles. It’s been a long time, years really, since a piece of art provoked such thought.

“Hi.”

The voice Marcus hears next to him is soft, dulcet. He doesn’t turn to the noise quickly–from the tone in that word alone he senses a hesitance, as if you’re a fawn that’s lost its mother and you’re bound to run if he makes any sudden movements.

And, truth be told, part of him thinks he might not be able to look away even if he tried right now. There’s something so beautiful about this painting–and underneath, something so ominous. There’s an air about the work that says he might unlock the secrets of the universe if he just keeps looking.

“Hi there.” He keeps his eyes trained on “Waves In Motion” as he responds–playing the game. He’s here to brush shoulders, after all; to be the right amount of forgettable yet memorable.

“This is my best, I think,” you murmur while taking a step closer. “It took the least time of all of them, surprisingly. But… I think when you know exactly what you’re trying to convey, it just comes to you easily.”

“These are yours?” There’s admiration in his eyes and an air of something akin to disbelief in his voice as he takes in the group of canvases proudly displayed on the plain white gallery walls.

And then he turns and lets himself take you in. More specifically the curling strand of hair that falls out of your updo to frame your face, the deeply plunging neckline of your dress, the way your calf muscles work even standing still in your high-heeled shoes. You’re a work of art in your own right; the most beautiful piece he’s seen in a long time.

“Yeah.” You duck your head–shyly, modestly–and he’s hooked. There’s one thing in this building that deserves awe and reverence more than your painting, and it’s you. “You know, you’re only the second person who’s come over tonight.”

“No way. They’re all just working their way back here,” he whispers before he can calculate a more articulate response.

But it works in his favor–your giggle is gorgeous, if a sound can be described that way. Sweet and syrupy, it seeps over him as if he’s standing under a cracked honeycomb. He hasn’t actually taken a drink of his champagne, and yet he can feel his nervous system tingling. You’re just that intoxicating.

“The gallery closes in half an hour,” you tell him–a little wistfully at that. “In my defense, I don’t have any family or friends in the area. I wasn’t really expecting anyone to show, not with so many other talented artists here.”

It seems so indignantly unfair to Marcus. That you’re shoved into the far back corner of the gallery, that people haven’t come in droves from all over the country to see your work.

“Where are you from?” He asks as his mind finally starts to clear from the haze it’s been in the past few minutes. With only half an hour left on the job, he allows himself a small sip of the drink that he’s been cradling all night.

“New York. This is actually only my second exhibition,” you explain, and you almost sound shy about it; as if you need to be embarrassed about being young and fresh-faced in the art industry, as if you aren’t the most talented artist Marcus has ever met in person.

He hums in response, eyes unconsciously dragging over you once more. “You came a long way for this.”

You smile so prettily up at him, and in that moment he sees something in your eyes. He can’t describe it–maybe it’s something akin to longing. Something incomplete, unexplored. It’s familiar; it’s the red dot from your painting. Solitary amidst the swirling, lost yet not hopeless.

And just like your painting, he finds himself wanting to get lost in your eyes.

“Well, it’s not every day a gallery wants to host you,” you say after another sip of your drink. “Plus, I’ve never been to Texas before, and I needed a change of scenery.”

There’s something so charming, so boyishly intoxicating about the smile he graces you with. “How are you liking it so far?”

“It’s hotter than I’m used to,” you say with a chuckle that he echoes. “And I haven’t been able to do any exploring yet, my flight only got in a couple hours before I had to be here.”

“That’s a shame,” he hums in a tone that reveals deeper meaning. “How long are you here for? Do you have any plans?”

“A week,” you murmur. Subconsciously he leans in closer, on the edge of his proverbial seat. To seal the deal, you lean in too. “And not a damned one.”

There’s no air between you and Marcus. You exist in a vacuum for this moment–unable to breathe, choking on anticipation. He’s so close, yet way too far away. You want to be consumed by him–for him to be swirling blue; and you, a single speck of red in his midst.

The moment shatters with an audible sound–a deep, penetrating voice. “He’s still not here, huh? I don’t think your boyfriend’s coming. If he even exists.” There’s something strange in the raspy voice that drawls these words–something strange enough to immediately put Marcus on the alert.

You flinch at the sudden intrusion into your vacuum, but you recover quickly. You have to, because this intrusive stranger is standing way too close and has way too much alcohol on his breath.

And then something strange happens–you worm your arm around Marcus’s waist and press yourself firmly into his side.

“Actually, he’s right here,” you say. There’s a quality to your voice that wasn’t there before when you were just talking to Marcus–it’s firm, clipped, bordering on hostile. “He just got held up at work. Isn’t that right, babe?”

Thankfully, Marcus has always been one to think quickly on his feet. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer, unconsciously moving an inch or two in front of you. Protecting without really meaning to. “I’m sorry, honey. I got here as soon as I could.”

The man–burly and balding, probably a good twenty years older than you–scoffs. “Unbelievable.”

“Is there a problem here?” Marcus draws up to his full height–towering a good few inches over this strange intruder.

Whoever this guy is, he’s not completely stupid. He senses this isn’t going to be a fight he’ll win, so he backs off. “Not at all, man. Just didn’t want little miss standing here all alone the whole night.”

“Thanks,” you say with bitter reprehension. You wind even closer to Marcus–closer than this sudden farce demands. “But we’re fine now.”

He nods once–curt and unhappy, but seemingly satisfied that he’s not going to get what he wants. “Have a good night, ma’am. Sir.”

Marcus takes a mental inventory of the man as he storms off, committing his physical description and his outfit to memory. He doesn’t look like a casual art viewer, and he doesn’t look like a collector. He’s exactly the type that Marcus came here to look out for.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as you step out of Marcus’s personal space. “He’s been hovering all night, asking me who I’m going home with and shit.”

“That’s the other guy who came over to talk to you?” It brings a deep frown to his face, a crease forming between his brows. It certainly raises a red flag–if the guy has any eye for value, of course he would be drawn to your exhibit. And if he has an eye for value, he could be the guy Marcus came for.

“Yeah.” You rub the back of your neck awkwardly and avert your gaze, as if you should be embarrassed for drawing that guy’s attention. “It’s not been the greatest night.”

Marcus hates that. He hates that you came all this way to be let down, that this is only your second exhibition and you’ve had such a bad experience with it. More than anything, he hates that he can still see the spark in your eyes when you look up at him, and he can tell that it’s dimmed.

“Gimme just a minute.”

He doesn’t mean to be so abrupt, but he wants to make it quick. He hustles to the single-stall men’s room and tugs the radio out of his inside jacket pocket to call in the man’s description. Then he turns it off, tucks it back into its concealed pocket, and goes over to the sink.

He thought he looked perfect for the part he had to play when he left his house to come here. Now, he’s too disheveled. He wets his fingertips and tries to tame the mess on top of his head; he re-buttons his shirt and tightens his tie. He looks flustered, and he’s not even surprised by it. You’ve got his heart pounding with anticipation in a way he doesn’t think it ever has before.

Butterflies fluttering on in his stomach, he emerges from the restroom to resume his position by your side.

Except you’re not by your exhibit anymore, and the crowd has thinned considerably. He checks his watch and realizes there’s only five minutes before the gallery closes for the night. Maybe you’ve decided to cut your losses and leave early.

He hates the way his gut twists with disappointment, but then he reminds himself that he didn’t come here for you. He’s working, and he needs to stay vigilant. No distractions, no complications.

“You’re still here.”

There’s a wave of relief that washes over him as he hears your voice, and this time he’s not too timid to turn towards you. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Thought I might’ve scared you off.” There’s a fresh cup of champagne in your hand and a hint of vulnerability in your voice, and it makes his heart pick up pace just the slightest bit. You duck your head–that shy, modest gesture again. “I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just done that without permission.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he tells you, more earnestly than he’s ever said anything in his life. “I didn’t mind at all, I swear. Just had to hit the head.”

You look so deeply into his eyes he almost wonders if you aren’t looking through him. But whatever you find, you must like it.

He clears his throat and tries to not show how thoroughly unraveled he is by your gaze. “I’m Marcus, by the way.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Marcus.” You pause for a moment, and he can tell that there’s something else lingering on the tip of your tongue–so he remains silent in hopes of drawing it out.

“Do you have someone to go home to?”

There it is–the invitation he was both dreading and hoping for. He should really lie. He’s here on a job, after all–he’s supposed to avoid complications, and some instinct tells him you’re going to be much more than a simple distraction. But he’s told you the truth so far, and he doesn’t want to stop now.

“No. No, I don’t.”

This is everything that Marcus has never even considered doing. It’s late, it’s dark, it’s a little chilly for spring in Austin. The alley is grimey and drafty–your hair blows in the breeze even as you kneel down before him.

All he can do is stand there, dumbstruck with his back up against the rough brick wall, and stare down at you.

He’s still breathless from the way you’ve been kissing him–all heat and passion, fire and brimstone. Your hands ran through his hair and undid the effort he put in while in the bathroom, and his hands clutched your waist in a futile attempt to ground himself. Your lips are so soft; he thinks he could kiss you forever and never get tired of it. He was certainly planning on finding out, until you dropped to your knees in front of him.

“You… you don’t have to–”

But the way you look up at him through your lashes makes his throat close up around whatever protest he was going to try.

“I want to,” you assure him–more of a purr than a spoken statement.

And this really isn’t the place. He shouldn’t let you do this here. But he’d be lying if he said the thought didn’t make him harden in his boring gray work slacks.

Marcus has never been about excitement. He’s always strayed to the comfortable and familiar–he falls into the sweet, caring companion role with grace and ease.

And tonight doesn’t have to be that different. If you’re going to suck his dick in a dark, dingey alley, he’ll let you. But he’s going to lay his jacket down on the ground so you don’t scrape up your knees first.

You keen at the thoughtful gesture and grace him with a grateful smile as your adept fingers work his belt open. He’s straining against the seam of his pants now, begging for the attention that your gaze promises him.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think you’re every bit as eager to get his trousers and boxers down as he is.

And Lord help him, he delights in the gasp you emit when his cock springs free from its confines.

“Fuck, Marcus.” Your lips actually part as you freeze for a moment, just taking him in. He’s thick, maybe an inch longer than average, swollen head peeking through uncut skin as if begging for your waiting mouth. He curves to the left just a little bit, and you can almost see his pulse thrumming through the prominent vein that runs along the length of him.

“S’not that impressive,” he mumbles, and you know that he knows that he’s full of shit.

Your fingers almost don’t wrap all the way around him, and suddenly you’re second-guessing this back alley stint, too. You want him in bed. You want him deep inside you, kissing your face as he fucks you, hands all over your body, thrusts hard yet slow. You want it languid, you want it desperate, you want it any way he’ll give it to you. You don’t want to blow him and say goodbye.

He calculates your hesitation as something other than pure unadulterated lust, and he lifts your chin gently with his index and middle fingers.

“Hey, we don’t have to–”

Again, you cut him off–this time, by dragging your tongue from the seam of his balls all the way along his length to swirl messily around his tip. You taste every heady inch of him and then moan at the salty foreshadowing on your tongue when you catch a droplet of precum leaking from his slit.

Your hand springs into action with a long, slow stroke along his cock, and then you sink your mouth around him and he moans. Without caution or pretense, like you’re not in an alley that anyone could walk down at any moment. It’s a little more high-pitched than he’d like for it to be and his head thumps back against the brick wall hard enough to hurt, and even still he’s never felt so overwhelmed with pleasure before in his life.

Your nose meets the neat patch of hair at his base and your free hand comes up to his hip, effectively pinning him against the wall when he tries to buck greedily even further into your mouth.

No one’s ever taken him so relentlessly before. You’re insistent, pressing onward even as you gag on his length, and it makes his balls tighten in a way he’s never felt before. It’s like you’re hungry for him; like you’re doing this more for your own pleasure than for his.

Marcus Pike has been a giver his whole life. Tonight, with you, he finally decides to take.

He’d be embarrassed about how fast he comes if you weren’t so eager for it. You moan around him and push yourself as deep as you can, throat working around him desperately not to choke on the size of him. Before he can warn you he’s spilling into your mouth, maybe more than he’s ever come before, thick and salty but undeniably sweet too. You allow yourself a moment to savor him as he pulses in your mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive head of him in a way that makes him shiver and whine.

He’s panting, nearly light-headed, when you finally pull off of him and press one last gentle kiss over his slit.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, because there’s nothing else to say.

You giggle, and he realizes with a strange wistfulness that he would do anything to keep this girl–a girl he’s just met, a girl who’s leaving to go back to her home on the other side of the country in just a week–smiling and laughing the way she is now.

“My hotel is only a couple blocks away,” you tell him as he helps you to your feet. “Would you like a nightcap?”

You pick up his jacket and dust the grime off it–it makes him chuckle. Everything about this encounter has flown in the face of what he’s used to.

He’s never felt so alive.

“I would love a nightcap.”

Your senses wake up slower than normal.

First it’s your eyes–they tune in on the bright mid-sunrise light streaming through the open balcony blinds on the far wall. It falls in slivers and shards over the rumpled white hotel-standard bedding–the second thing your senses tune into. Everything is so soft and light, but it’s a little cold too. Especially the other side of the bed; there’s no heat remaining there at all.

You push yourself up with a grunt and let the sheets fall away from your bare torso, tired eyes scanning around the room. You notice clothes scattered all over the floor while your ears wake up enough to hear water running in the bathroom, and you can’t help the involuntary smile that spreads over your face. He’s still here.

Marcus lets the too-hot water wash over him in scalding waves, muscles still a little sore after a long night tangled together with you.

He checked his phone first thing this morning, and the gallery was quiet all night. They think the suspect he radioed in was the guy they were looking for, but they weren’t able to apprehend him. The running theory is that he might’ve recognized Marcus and decided low-value art wasn’t worth the hassle, but one guess is as good as the next until they can bait and catch the guy.

It’s the weekend now, and Marcus is thanking his lucky stars. Not only does he have a successful mission to celebrate, but he has the most beautiful woman in the world to celebrate it with.

He emerges after a few minutes, wet hair messily scattered over his forehead and wide hips straining against a low-slung hotel towel. He’s a languid Saturday morning wet dream on two legs.

“G’morning,” he hums with a smile–he doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes dip down to hungrily take in your naked torso.

“Good morning, Marcus.”

He stalks towards you slowly, eyes darkening with each advancing step. It doesn’t take more than a second to realize he didn’t get his fill of your body last night, but you’re certainly not complaining.

He’s already starting to harden as he drops his towel and crawls over the foot of the bed, surging forward to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. If last night was desperation and passion, this morning is syrupy and sweet. He explores your mouth slowly, tongue sweeping between your lips and tracing every curve and ridge he can–almost like he’s trying to commit you to memory.

There are universes in the depths of his dark eyes. He may not say exactly what he’s thinking, but you can see it playing out in those baby browns of his. There’s something simmering underneath the surface–something more than just lust or desire.

Something dangerous.

You tug him closer and cup his face in your hands, enjoying the gentle scratch of morning stubble underneath your palms. He surges forward and presses you into the pillows as he settles himself comfortably between your spread legs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs through kisses scattered along the length of your jaw.

You know you probably look like you got run over by a bus–you toss and turn in your sleep, and it always leaves your hair a matted mess. And that’s not even mentioning the slight tremble in your thighs, left over from Marcus’s enthusiastic attention last night. But there’s so much sincerity in his voice; you don’t think he would waste his breath saying it if he didn’t mean it, and that fact alone makes your heart pound with desire.

There’s a syrupy slowness to the way he moves down your body, lips leaving behind heavy wet kisses as he works down your chest and over your stomach.

And it’s almost like he senses the protest working its way up your throat when you feel his hot breath on your thighs, because he looks up at you and there’s sternness in his gaze. You got your fill last night, and now it’s his turn.

“May I?” He looks up at you from the apex of your thighs with big, round puppy eyes that are impossible to refuse–so you nod eagerly and don’t even try.

If you were eager to have him in your mouth last night, he’s desperate.

There’s no hesitation, no build-up. It’s almost aggressive, the way he buries his face in your heat. He laps like a dog at a bowl, hips canting into the mattress involuntarily as your taste floods his mouth.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he growls into your sopping cunt. “You taste incredible.”

You keen at the praise and card your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly at the damp, spiky strands when his tongue laves heavily over your sensitive clit.

Marcus’s greedy hands grip underneath your thighs and push them as far as you can comfortably spread them. You’re still so sensitive after at least three orgasms last night–you lost count after a point–and it serves to wind your nerves tighter than they’ve ever been wound before.

One hand slides to the junction of your thigh and his thumb comes to take over the pressure on your clit as his tongue plunges between your soaked folds. It’s even more overwhelming like this, and there’s not a thing in the world that you want to do more than let him have his fun. Especially when that hand and his tongue switch spots–his lips seal and suck around your clit while he presses two achingly thick fingers into your waiting entrance.

It actually makes your muscles tighten and your back rise off the bed as he curls his fingers just right to find that spot that makes you fall apart for him.

He can tell you’re getting close–he’s already so intune with the way your muscles twitch, the change of pitch in your moans. You whine and cry for him the tighter he winds the rubberband, and he’s eager to make it snap.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he says over the overwhelming flutter of his fingers scissoring and curling inside you. “Let me have it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut so tightly as pleasure wracks through your body that you can see constellations. Large hands come to pin your thighs open as his tongue keeps working, lapping and gliding against your cunt with ease as a wave of arousal gushes from your entrance.

You’ve never been so wet in your life, and he’s just getting started.

He trails open-mouthed kisses up your body as you catch your breath–his slick-soaked lips coat your skin with your own arousal as he works his way up to allow you a taste of yourself.

The first wet lick of his tongue into your mouth makes you moan. It’s not the first time you’ve tasted your own slick–you’ve had a moment or two of curiosity–but it’s never been quite as enjoyable as it is on his tongue. It pairs so perfectly with the minty tang of toothpaste left on his breath and makes you hungry for more.

He moves fluidly under your direction as you push him onto his back and roll to straddle his lap all in one graceful movement. It’s perfect like this–he doesn’t have to support his weight so he can run his big meaty hands all over every inch of you, and you can kiss him as deep as you want while you grind down on his aching length.

“Shit, baby,” he pants against your lips. Those aforementioned beefy palms grasp hard at your asscheeks to guide your hips, pulling you into a slow, long grind that bumps the head of his cock against your clit deliciously.

Your pulse thrums with desperation until you’re seeing white–no more teasing, no more preamble. You take his girth in your hand and give him a firm stroke; if you had a little more presence of mind, you might be embarrassed at how wet his dick is simply from grinding against you for a few seconds.

“Go ahead, baby, take it when you’re ready.”

He gasps at the first press of his cockhead against your entrance, head flopping back against the pillows as his hands squeeze your asscheeks with bruising force.

“Shit, you’re tight,” he murmurs, throat working around a thick gulp. “You can take it baby, I know you can. Did so good for me last night.”

You think you would honestly do anything he asks of you so long as he just keeps talking like this.

It takes a moment for you to work your way down his length–he’s so mouth-wateringly thick and the curve of his cock hits the most delicious spot inside you that you didn’t even know existed.

“Atta girl,” he praises breathlessly as your hips settle flush against his. “Just sit there for a minute. So pretty on my dick.”

God, he makes your entire body flush with heat. He turns your blood to molten lava with his words, lighting every inch of skin on fire. You’ve never felt a sensation like this–so overwhelming yet so intoxicating.

You start with slow movements as his hands trace up and down your sides sweetly–it’s more like you’re grinding on him than anything else. His thumbs rub abstract little patterns into your skin as his hands work up to your tits; when he finally takes them in the palms of his hands and squeezes all pretense of soft, sweet morning-after sex flies out the window.

You drop down hard on his cock and it nearly punches the wind out of him.

“Yes!” He growls darkly. His eyes flash with something dangerous–it’s the only warning you get before his hand slaps the meat of your ass and grabs a greedy handful. “Just like that baby, use my fuckin’ dick.”

And maybe, if he was someone else, you wouldn’t be nearly as eager to follow instructions. But with Marcus, you’re nothing if not obedient.

Last night was exploration and discovery–hours into the early morning spent learning each other’s bodies, finding what makes the other squirm and whine and beg. This morning is in perfect juxtaposition to that sweet, soft, probing sex–you know what drives each other crazy now, and you each use it to your advantage. Aggressively.

He surges up to suck a pert nipple into his mouth as you set a hard pace on him, long fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to leave marks. He lands another sharp smack to your ass when your thighs start to shake–a reward for using his cock exactly how he asked.

”M-Marcus—”

”I know, sweetheart,” he purrs through a guttural moan. He cants his hips up to meet your thrusts at just the right moment—he hits something so devastatingly pleasurable that your vision prickles white around the edges. “I know, it’s so much, isn’t it? It’s okay, you can let go. Come for me.”

There’s a condescending note to his voice that only makes you squeeze harder around his cock, and within seconds you’re hurtling uncontrollably into ecstasy.

He fucks you through the telltale fluttering of your cunt even when your hips stop moving; strong hands hold you in place and work you through the ebbing waves of pleasure that wrack through your entire body.

”M’so close, honey,” he grunts with a particularly sharp thrust upward. One hand comes up to cradle your jaw in his hand, forcing your eyes to meet his. “Where do you want me?”

”I-inside,” you gasp. “Come inside me, Marcus.”

He fills you as soon as he has your instruction—hard thrusts punctuated by breathy moans as he pumps you full of his release.

There’s a long, silent moment where Marcus pulls your bare chest tightly against his own and you pant into the crook of his neck while trying desperately to even-out your breathing. His fingertips dance across your skin-feather-light, soothing.

The sun is higher in the sky now and meets your eyes with blinding rays through the balcony shutters when they finally open again.

”That was amazing, honey,” he murmurs into the crown of your head. He’s caught his own breath now, but he doesn’t make any attempt to let you go. “How’re you so perfect?”

”M’not perfect,” you mumble into his shoulder; but even to your own ears, it sounds half-hearted. The truth is, he’s so earnestly honest that you believe him.

He hums his dissent with a kiss pressed to your hairline. ”You are to me.”

And you so desperately want to believe him that you don’t even try to argue.

You bask in this warm, lovely afterglow for a few moments longer before Marcus gently taps your hip. ”Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get cleaned up and I’ll buy you breakfast.”

You pull off of his softened cock with a whine and try not to get worked up all over again at the feeling of his cum leaking down your thighs. ”Th-there’s a free continental breakfast downstairs.”

”Oh, then I’ll definitely pick up the tab,” he jokes with a smirk—all you want to do is kiss his goofy, stupidly handsome face.

He pulls you into the bathroom and starts the water running to fill the tub—he’s never really been a bath guy, but your legs are a little too shaky to endure a shower. He’s so attentive—from running a damp cloth between your legs to helping lower you into the water. He doesn’t complain in the slightest when you catch his hand and ask him to join you; he just shuffles you forward and slides in behind you like it’s a casual act that he performs with every hookup.

It’s intimate. That’s really the only way to describe it. You sit between his spread legs, back to his chest, head rested back against his shoulder while his fingers ghost idle paths over your skin. You don’t talk; you don’t really need to. Somehow, you fit together like souls who have known each other for years. Like all you’ve been missing is each other.

You drift off in his arms as he traces soap over all the curves and ridge of your body, the steady beat of his heart thumping in your ear.

It breaks his heart a little bit to wake you—the fact that you’re so comfortable with him, that you trust him with such vulnerability, makes his head spin a little bit. But the water’s turning cold, and the last thing he wants is for you to come down sick or something.

He rouses you with gentle, feathery kisses scattered over your rosy-scented shoulders and neck.

”Mmm… what time is it?” You grumble, pressing your sleep-addled face further into the crook of his neck.

”Just after noon,” he whispers into your hair after glancing up at the clock on the wall.

He can feel the way your mouth shifts into a pout. “Shit. We missed breakfast.”

The adorable downward tilt of your frown as you lift your dad to look at him makes his heart flutter. “Let’s go out, then. The first farmer’s market of the season is going on downtown. I’m sure we can find something good for brunch.”

”Kinda sounds like you’re asking me on a date,” you hum with a slight smirk dancing at your lips.

”Maybe I am.” His tone is light, his meaning clear—he knows this goes beyond a one-night stand, and there’s no harm done if you’re not wanting to cross this boundary. He’d understand not wanting to get too serious about someone who lives thousands of miles away from your home, of course. He’d never blame you.

You give him your best appraising look, staring deep into those constellation-filled brown eyes. ”You’re not sick of me yet?”

”I have a feeling I couldn’t get sick of you if I tried.” There’s nothing but sincerity in his tone, in his eyes. He genuinely wants to spend time with you, even if there’s nowhere for this to really go.

You hum thoughtfully. “I do love farmer’s markets.”

You’re with Marcus more often than not over the course of the next week.

He takes you sightseeing to some of his favorite spots around Austin, brings you to his favorite restaurants, shows you his favorite movies. But he multitasks—while teaching you about himself, he learns as much as he can about you and picks activities he knows you’ll love, too.

He’s a pragmatist; he knows your time together is short, and he wants to make himself unforgettable. If he never sees you again, he wants you to think about him every once in a while and look back on this time fondly.

You spend your days while Marcus is at work painting or drawing or lingering around the gallery, and you fall asleep in his arms every night. With shades of gray moonlight and candlelight cast over your hotel room, it almost feels like this could go on forever.

He tells you to wear something nice before he picks you up on the last night–he wants to celebrate in style, which starts with reservations at an up-scale restaurant.

He’s so achingly handsome. He’s in a matching gray suit over a white button-up, top two buttons undone and no tie to be seen. His face bears the slightest five o’clock shadow and your eyes gravitate to the curve of his lips–the instant smile that takes over his face when those gorgeous brown eyes of his land on you.

If you never see him again, this is exactly how you want to remember him.

“Wow,” he whispers reverently. “You look amazing.”

It’s not the most impressive dress you own, but he looks at you like you’re wearing something worth millions–like you’re worth millions.

You lean up and kiss him, and everything feels right. His hands rest on your waist and it’s so easy to pretend that you won’t be on the other side of the country twenty-four hours from now.

The restaurant is beautiful. Dimly lit and romantic, tables spaced enough to give you some privacy. He takes your hand on top of the table and holds it the entire meal. The conversation is light and airy–you’re both stubbornly dancing around what really needs to be said.

Dessert is cleared and the wine bottle is empty by the time Marcus finally works up the courage to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

“I don’t want you to go.”

You knew this would be coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier. You avert your gaze, instead focusing on his large hand wrapped around yours and the windshield wiper motion of his thumb tracing back and forth over your palm. No one’s touch has ever sent such electric tingles through your nervous system the way his does.

You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all.

“Look, I…” He takes a deep breath and straightens his spine a little bit, hand leaving yours to gently cup your chin. He forces you to look him in the eyes as he breaks your heart. “I think this could really be something, if we gave it a shot.”

You haven’t lied to him yet, and you don’t plan to start now. “I… I think it could, too. If I didn’t have to go back.”

“Don’t go back then.” There’s a firmness to his voice, but it couldn’t be any more obvious that he’s begging if he actually got down on his knees. “Stay here with me. We’ll figure this out. Just… don’t go.”

And here–with his earnest eyes on yours and his gentle, loving touch on your skin–it’s easy to pretend that it’s that simple.

He takes you back to your hotel room and sheds you easily out of your dress. As cliche as it sounds, it’s not just sex this time. Things that it’s too early to say are buried deep within every kiss, every thrust. He hooks your legs over his shoulders and looks deeply into your eyes while he fills you and you’ve never felt so overwhelmingly connected.

The thud of his heartbeat is insistent in your ear as you come down from your high–so calming, so heartbreaking. You lay on his chest while his breathing evens out and soak up these last few moments of bliss. And then, once you’re sure he’s sound asleep, you carefully worm out of his grip. There’s one more thing you have to do before you go back to New York.

Loud, insistent ringing pulls Marcus from the depths of sleep. He tries to ignore it and go back to sleep, but now that his senses are alert, the sound in combination with bright Saturday morning sunlight won’t allow him the luxury. He presses his face deeper into the pillow that he’s somehow wound himself around in his sleep, but that damned ringing won’t stop.

He sits up slowly and tries to rub the sleep from his eyes–and that’s when he notices the empty sheets next to him. Your side of the bed is long cold, and he knows. Before he even sees the note on the dresser and your room key next to it, he knows you’re gone.

He finds his trousers discarded halfway between the bed and the door and pulls his blaring phone out of the pocket.

“The gallery got hit sometime early this morning. They took everything. Every goddamn piece. You need to get here now.”

His body moves on autopilot as he pulls yesterday’s clothes back on, fingers numb to all sensation as they work to button his shirt. This can’t be happening. It can’t be you.

He notices the note on the dresser as he’s threading his belt through the loops of his trousers, and his gut twists with a sickening sense of foreboding.

I really did fall for you, Marcus. But nothing good starts in a getaway car.

He’s not sure if you knew who he was the whole time and this whole thing was calculated, or if you just got lucky. He doesn’t want to believe you’re that cunning and cruel. He wants to believe that this is just a misunderstanding, that you’re out for ice or something and you’ll walk back through the door at any moment.

But you don’t.

The note is enough of a confession for him. He’ll have the power of the FBI on his side to find you–and he will find you. What he’ll do when he does, he’s not sure. He guesses he’ll know when he sees you.

➔ Want to see more from me in the future? Follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post new fics!

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#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike smut #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike one shot #marcus pike x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #the mentalist one shot #cece writes

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fakeyellow · 1 year ago

Text

✧ STORY

When you reunite with a costar in a drama you once filmed together as children, sparks are bound to fly.

15 years ago, you and Lee Seol were cast as the childhood versions of the lead characters of “The Red Sleeve.” The historical drama reached record-breaking ratings and launched the two of you to stardom, albeit on very different paths.

When a new director decides to remake the drama in an attempt to surpass the original, they request both you and Lee Seol to join the cast. With the both of you returning to your roots, expectations are high. There’s no way you can fail… right?

✧ MC

At the age of 25, you’ve already had a stunning career. Starting from your roles in historical dramas as a child to now starring in romantic comedies, you have become a household name, fondly known as the "Nation’s First Love." Your only quirk? The rumour that you’ve dated most of your previous co-stars.

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

Choose from three personas/personalities to start with (although this will not limit your choices in the story)

The Loveable Sweetheart (bubbly, charming)

The (pretend) Loveable Sweetheart (sarcastic, mischievous)

The Demure Actress (reserved, elegant)

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

Note: The MC is not a blank slate and is gender-locked female. Given the setting of this story, the MC will need to have at least some Korean heritage.

✧ LOVE INTEREST

Lee Seol (gender selectable, f/m)

Lee is their last name and pronounced like the letter E.

At the age of 27, Lee Seol has built a name for themselves in the world of action and noir. They are the quintessential actor, renowned for their dedication to their craft, including performing their own stunts and often nailing scenes in just one take. With a flawless reputation to boot, it’s no wonder they’re one of the nation’s biggest stars.

You were once close with Lee Seol but the years have drifted you two apart. Will you be able to grow close enough to once again see what’s under that perfect facade?

Note: There will be significantly different plot lines for each gender, reflecting the different lenses women are viewed with and the conservative nature of the entertainment industry.

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

Appearance: 6'2" (m) or 5'11” (f). Lean, athletic build with piercing black eyes and a prominent jawline. Silky black hair that falls just over their face (m) or just below their shoulders (f)

✧ FEATURES

Star in a historical Korean drama based on “The Red Sleeve"

Choose how you want to be portrayed to the public and track your reputation via news articles and netizen comments

Get involved in Dispatch dating reports, interviews, the filming of behind-the-scenes footage, and more~

🫰🫰🫰��🫰

✧ LINKS

Demo (Complete Chapter 1 added 5/20/24)

#interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #choice game #twine game #promo post #interact-if #interactive game #interactive fiction wip #dating sim

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lalunanymph · 5 months ago

Text

sucker punch (m) — sae itoshi

in the pivotal moments leading up to the most significant fight of his career against his estranged younger brother, sae meets a girl who turns his entire world upside down

warnings:- underground fighter!sae, fem!reader, heiress!reader, reader is coded to be feminine (wears dresses, makeup, heels, etc), language, cursing, fights, mentions of blood, mentions of injuries, mentions of medication, sae's repressed emotions™, rin is down bad for his gf, arranged marriages (not between reader and sae ouch), heavy angst

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ masterlist ࿐ྂ

✯ chapter 4

The day of the fight brought a sleet of rain which caused a huge traffic backlog in Harajuku for close to an hour.

Sae arrived at the facility, soaking wet and scowling. His other teammates who were present in support of this momentous fight cheered the second he entered the room. Oliver was the one to shoo them away and get his starfighter ready for the night.

Suiting up his gloves and giving his shoulders a quick rub, Aiku flashed him a smile that was all teeth. “You ready, Sae?”

His bored scowl was the answer Oliver needed.

“Let’s crush this.”

Strangely, Sae’s heart was pounding behind his ribs. He had never felt this anxious for a fight, though his neutral expression gave nothing away as he strode over to the exit doors. On the other side of the door, he could physically taste the energy of the crowd; zinging on his tongue like sour lime, curdling his stomach and tantalising his bloodlust at the same time. Their chants, stomps, yells and thirst for violence fuelled him, that he almost forgot who he was facing.

Until they announced his little brother’s name.

“On the left side of the ring, standing at 6’2 with a wicked hook that will unlock anyone’s jaw—Blue Lock’s Itoshi Rin!”

The announcer dragged Rin’s name, and his brother’s flashing teal eyes were the first thing to captivate the crowd through the screen. The crowd cheered and jeered, depending on who they supported. A majority of them were neutral to Rin; they had only heard about his prowess but hadn’t seen it in the flesh yet.

“On my right, a 5 '11 machine with more hits than we can count—the one, the only—the Prodigy—U20’s Itoshi Sae!”

A similar pair of flashing teal eyes appeared on the screen. The crowd responded like a nest of snakes, writhing and hungry for two preys to feast on each other. Their murmurs of disbelief and awe were not hard to decipher.

Wait, they’re both brothers?

No fucking way.

Does this mean they have to kill each other?

Is this even legal?!

Sae could picture each of their curious, blank faces looking out at the scene before them; at two brothers who were slated to fight till the other was injured or dead.

He couldn’t rethink his decision; the bell had already rung.

Rin lunged at him first. Sae deflected, falling back, assessing his brother’s weakness. An opening he could dive into, or a faltering stance. Anything to make this fight quick.

A fast blur of fists rained around both of them. Sae got Rin in the stomach and he got his older brother right in the nose. Blood was pouring into his panting mouth, tasting of tangy grimness. Using a two step method perfected by The Prodigy himself, Rin executed a move that had his brother reeling. The hours each of them spent watching the replays of the other’s fights were put to the ultimate test.

There was also the intimate knowledge of their personalities. Sae knew how easily frustrated Rin could get. And Rin was familiar with how much his brother loved control.

A sweeping kick caught Sae off guard, his right knee faltering. Rin used the opportunity to drive his knee into his brother’s sternum, knocking him back a few steps.

The crowd moved like a wave. They booed and gasped, some cheered while others muttered behind their palms. The energy was infectious. Sae moved like a caged tiger prowling around the edges, ready to strike.

He caught Rin’s upper cheek with a flat blow, knocking his brother’s head back. Despite the younger Itoshi being the taller one, his height was at a disadvantage when Sae targeted his middle trunk. With his upper body compromised and lower one open to strikes, Sae jumped in to land his fists right onto Rin’s stomach over and over again. Till he fell to the ground; until blood coated his brother’s pale throat.

Someone in the crowd screamed. The roar that came after that was deafening.

Blurry teal eyes latched onto his older brother’s one and for a split second, Sae wasn’t in the ring with Rin anymore. They were both in a field, playing soccer together. The sun was shining hotly on the back of their necks and their laughter echoed through the trees and grass. Those same teal eyes were on a smaller, innocent face, shining with love and open admiration for his nii-chan. Sae wished they both had never left that field.

“Kill him!”

Their screams shattered the image of his younger brother in his mind, replacing it with the wounded, half-battered man before him.

Rin was fighting against unconsciousness, weakly driving his strikes into his brother’s chest. Sae felt like his chest would cave in from the blows, but he held on. He was going to win.

Then, some otherworldly force compelled him to raise his head.

Right in front of him, tears streaming down her face, was a dark-haired woman clutching her palms to her chest. It reminded him of the same motion you did the night Sae broke your heart.

Her sobs were both silent and loud with the piercing sounds of the crowd drowning her out. But, her eyes never left Rin. As if pulled by coincidence, she flitted her gaze to him. Sae almost crumpled at the look in her eyes.

Please, they seemed to scream. Please don’t hurt him.

Rin clutched onto his brother’s shoulders, trying to shake him off. Sae held on stubbornly.

She only cares for me, that’s why she begged me to drop out from the fight.

What if you were here, too? Would you cry for him the way Rin’s girlfriend was crying for him?

Would you openly and desperately beg his opponent with your wet eyes not to hurt him?

No, no… focus, Itoshi!

Sae snarled, landing one meaty punch into his brother’s face. Rin retaliated with a strike into his abdomen.

It’s not as if you would understand—you have no one you care for.

Sae felt her stare burn into his face. He wanted to scream at the unfairness of his entire life.

During his moment of weakness, Rin’s strike knocked his head back and he went tumbling backwards.

Gaining the upper hand, Rin straddled his brother’s lap, like they used to do when they were play-fighting as children. His strikes were not half-hearted or childish as before. They held weight, thundering echoes of his anger towards the older boy who left him behind like he didn’t mean anything.

Sae shielded his face, though it was nothing compared to the pure anger behind Rin’s pummeling.

The two brothers clobbered at each other for minutes, growing wearier and sustaining more injuries. In a fit of desperation, Sae grunted and used his elbow to drive it into Rin’s throat.

An alarm blared. Earning him a foul.

Eyes watering and coughing like a chainsmoker, Rin bared his teeth, the hard padding of his glove battering his brother’s cheek in revenge.

Blood coated his teeth, tasting of grim defeat. Above him, Rin’s broad shoulders blocked out the light of the ring, drenching him in darkness.

Sae wanted to close his eyes and never wake up again.

“Give up, nii-chan.”

Rin’s harsh whisper was followed by a box in his ears. Sae’s head spun around as if he was in a washing machine. However, he could never concede to his otouto’s wishes. His pride would never let him.

A clumsy strike right into Rin’s parted mouth caused a satisfying crunch to reverberate across the ring. Rin cursed and was knocked onto his sides, both brothers springing up onto their feet, unable to stay down.

The two of them were now heavily injured and Sae couldn’t breathe without the feeling of knives dragging through his lungs. Rin was clutching his chest, drawing in ragged breaths and wincing at every one of them.

They grasped at each other’s shoulders for the final showdown, a brutal boast of each other’s raw strength. Sae locked his muscles and core in place, praying that Rin would accept defeat so he wouldn’t have to hurt his brother anymore.

Nii-chan, you’re so strong and fast! Rin’s child-like laughter rang in his head. When I grow up, I want to be just like you.

Nimbly, Sae untucked his arm, the force of his elbow in Rin’s stomach knocking him to the ground. One more strike across his younger brother’s face and the lights went out.

Rin stumbled backwards, swaying on his feet. Fear sparked through Sae’s chest, dark and primal. If Rin managed to overcome that shot, there was no telling what he needed to do to put his brother temporarily onto the ground. One split second of agony danced across for an eternity.

Then, Rin folded onto his knees, collapsing to the ground. The crowd went berserk, screaming and chanting his name. Sae tuned them all out, taking one wobbly step towards his younger brother. Rin’s face was pale, the blood flecking his chin standing out like a child’s clumsy red painting.

A trilling voice announced his name as the winner, but all Sae heard was static. Someone thumped his back and tried to get him to stand so he could accept the winning title but Sae refused to get back onto his feet.

He stared at his brother, trailing one swollen eye onto the lacerations he left behind.

Realising he was protesting the fight and refusing to accept his winning title, the organisers had no choice but to end it here and now before the crowd could get testy at the lack of the drama they were promised; demanding for a refund. Out of the corner of his eye, Sae noticed his blown up expression on the screen, grim and sober.

A far cry from a man who was supposed to act like he won the fight of his life.

They had made him hurt his only brother.

Medics arrived on the scene, lifting his unconscious brother onto a stretcher. They helped him off the ring, despite his body protesting from every move.

Once in the safe cocoon of the medical tent, he switched—needing to make sure his brother was still breathing. With his blurry attention trailed on Rin’s limp body, Sae croaked hoarsely to the closest nurse, “Make sure he’s safe.”

She gave him a reassuring smile, nodding. “We will do our best, Sae-san. You should rest.”

The second those trusting words left her lips, Sae fell into a heap onto the hard bed and closed his eyes.

Someone called his name, but he was already out cold.

The next morning, he woke up in a hospital.

Sae blinked, and groggily turned his head to the side, surveying this new space. It was an upscale suite, one of the better ones Oliver had gotten him. Presumably funded by your priceless investment.

His entire suite was empty, and there was no one waiting for him to gain consciousness.

He had no idea how long he spent staring at the ceiling. The sunlight outside his window shifted higher, the shadows crawling across the beige panels. After a few minutes of silence, the door slid open.

A kindly looking nurse stepped in, her wrinkles deepened by her sympathetic smile. “You’re finally awake, Sae-san. Welcome back.”

“How long was I out?” he cringed at the roughness in his voice. The nurse tutted and fixed him a glass of water with a straw. She pressed a button to elevate half of his bed, giving him enough height to sip on his water safely.

“About 12 hours. We had to give you some stitches and fix your fractured ribs. Your otouto has a hard hit.”

Sae took a deeper breath, wincing at the sting in his sides. “Hmm.” Surveying the room with a bored gaze, he sighed. “When can I go home?”

“Impatient to see the world, huh?” the nurse joked. “Well, if you can be good for us and finish your medication, we can release you tomorrow itself.”

She abandoned Sae to his thoughts, the door left open by a crack.

A flurry of movement caught his eye, and Sae’s attention was taken by a young woman who rushed through the hallway. His position in the suite gave him a prime view of the pure panic on her expression. Something about her was familiar.

“... Itoshi Rin… where is he?”

Her voice carried over past his little voyeuristic crack, and he watched, mute with conflicting emotions as his brother’s girlfriend gave a teary nod, dashing towards the direction the nurse pointed her to. Straight to his injured brother.

The quiet in his suite seemed exacerbated.

Sae exhaled, the muted pain in his ribs kicking up a notch. It was accompanied by a deadened hum where his heart used to beat valiantly. The strange emptiness in him yawned wider, waiting to clamp him between its jaws.

Would you have rushed towards his room with tears in your eyes like she did?

Sae stared at the ceiling, numb and silent.

He guessed he would never know the answer to that.

An hour later, the door slid open again. This time, it was Aiku who walked in, his expression pinched and worried.

“Oi, fuckhead. Good to see you’re still alive.”

Sae couldn’t stop a sliver of happiness blooming in his chest at the sight of his oldest friend. Oliver sauntered to the chair beside his bed, pulling his leather jacket tighter across his broad chest. “Nearly gave us all a heart attack with your little fainting spell. You okay?”

“Yeah,” he rasped in a low tone. “Can’t wait to leave.”

“Yeah. You and I both.”

“Is Rin…?” Sae hesitated for a split second. Oliver’s dual-toned eyes landed on him struggling to articulate. “Is he okay?”

Oliver’s expression softened. “Yeah. He’s in a room down the hall. Thankfully, nothing’s broken though he suffered a mild concussion. Both of you have thick skulls.”

Sae mustered a limp twitch of his lips. “And our money?”

At the mention of the financial compensation U20 would get after this historic fight, Oliver quietened.

“Oi.”

Prompted by Sae’s bored frustration, he sighed. “I’ll tell you tomorrow when you’re better.” He stood up before the other man could voice out his displeasure. “You shouldn’t be stressing too much about the money. Just rest well.”

Sae held his tongue from an insult when Oliver brushed him aside. If there was one thing he didn’t like, it was to be kept in the dark from results he worked hard to achieve. But, he had learned to trust Oliver over the years; the reality probably had nothing much to do with him, anyway.

At least, that’s what he told himself when he ingested the drowsy medication and nodded off into another long sleep.

The noise of twenty over boys yelling his name would never get old to Sae.

As soon as he entered the gym, limping slightly from his injuries, they exploded in expressive thanks and well-wishes, stars in their eyes at the sight of such a legendary fighter. Sae let them swarm towards him, giving his hand for them to shake and nodding at every gesture of gratitude.

“C’mon guys, let’s give him some space to breathe,” Oliver chided, and the boys reluctantly let them both retreat into their private office.

Inside, the AC was pleasantly cooling, and Sae sat on the small sofa by the door, wincing at his injuries.

“What I’d tell’ya? The boys are tossing in their names for the next big match” Oliver mumbled proudly. “They idolise you, Sae.” Those words would’ve once made him secretly elated. Now, they don’t hold much meaning.

Ever since the fight with Rin, Sae felt like his senses were dipped in cotton, clogging his ears and mind to any sort of stimulant from his old life which would’ve once given him meaning.

He went quiet, his eyes trailing to a modest bouquet on Oliver’s desk.

“Didn’t know your side pieces gave you flowers,” Sae stated bluntly, and if anyone would listen in closely, they could detect a note of bitterness in his tone. “Or, is one of them getting real desperate for you to settle down with her?”

Clocking his attention onto the flowers, Oliver snorted. “Oh, shit. Yeah. Those aren’t for me.” Sae never expected him to utter his next words. “It’s for you.”

Gingerly, he picked up the simple bouquet, fingering a small card attached to the base. Sae unfurled it, his heartbeat kicking up a notch when he read through the simple letter.

Dear Sae,

I have paid off the remaining investments to Oliver and gave 30% more than was stipulated. I hope you can finally live the life you deserve—one with no more fighting, food in your belly, and happiness. Good luck in your future efforts. I will always root for you.

— Y/N

Sae turned the card around, the written words bleeding into his mind.

“Aiku… how much did Y/N give us?” He cut right into the heart of the matter, and Oliver made a sound of surprise in the back of his throat.

“Eh, how’d you know she paid us?” Sae pinned him with a glacial stare that had the other man scrambling to answer. “¥42,665,900. Enough to—”

“Buy us out from the next season,” he breathed.

“Yes,” Oliver mumbled. “She’s been a wonderful investor. I think you really got us a good deal, Sae. I’m glad you managed to sway her decision.”

But, Sae didn’t hear him. His thoughts were on a loop, going from ‘she saved my life’ to ‘I need to speak to her’ over and over again till he felt like he could implode.

“When did she give this bouquet?” His voice was harsh and hoarser.

Oliver straightened. “Yesterday. When you were still in the hospital. Though I think she sent her assistant to give it to me. I thought it was just from one of your admirers.”

Sae’s quiet stretched out for what seemed like hours. Oliver watched, fixated, as his aquamarine eyes broke into wonder, regret, admiration and deep sorrow. Whatever was going on in Sae’s mind would be a mystery even to his close friend; that was how the oldest Itoshi brother worked. You would never know what was under the surface until it came to light.

And Oliver was incredibly confused when Sae’s next words breached through the usual iciness of his demeanour.

“I need to find her,” his feverish voice broke through the loaded silence with the weight of a bullet. Sae scrambled to his feet, ignoring his fractured rib to fix his wide eyes on an unmoving Aiku. “Need to apologise. Flowers. I think she loves flowers, I need—she saved me. She fucking saved me, Aiku.”

“What?” Oliver stood up, too, his expression incredulous. “Sae, what do you mean?”

“She saved me,” he muttered, a man on a mission as he scrambled for a piece of paper and pen to write down his request at the florist. “She bought our next year out for me. I need to go back to her. I need her. I need…” he trailed off, sounding like a lunatic who was hinging on his last thread of sanity.

That thread was to find you again so he could apologise; so he could crawl back to you and bask in your kindness and love once more. Sae loved you. He needed you more than you ever needed him. Sae loved you.

“Sae, wait—”

“Fuck—the florist down the street is closed today.”

“Itoshi—”

“Maybe Dinya’s is open—”

“Sae, stop.”

This call of his name wasn’t done in exasperation. Aiku sounded like he was about to recount someone’s obituary to him. Sae froze in his uncharacteristically frenzied panic, waiting for his friend to break the ice.

Unable to look him in the eye, Oliver hesitantly plucked a newspaper scrap from his stack and passed it to the underground fighter. Without a second thought, Sae grabbed it, quickly drinking in the headline.

The chambers in his heart suddenly constricted. Pain flooded through him, potent and poisonous, rooting him to the spot. His shoulders slumped forward in defeat.

He couldn’t stop scrawling his desperate teal gaze over and over the same headline, despite how its contents and devastating meaning never changed.

A legacy made! 1978’s League of Underground Fighting Champion’s daughter, L/N Y/N, is set to marry his old rival’s son.

The piece of paper crumpled in his fist. Sae’s unflinching gaze never left the ground, his pupils pinpricks.

“I’m sorry,” Oliver finally said, breaking the fractured silence. “I didn’t know you two were close… I thought you were just on casual terms with her. I didn’t know you loved her or else… I would’ve said something. But… but, she’s engaged, Sae.”

It couldn’t be. Don’t tell me it’s too late to win her back.

A million questions raced through his mind:

Were you engaged before you two met? Who was this man you were about to marry? Why didn’t you break this news to him? Were you happy? Did you want this?

Did he even mean anything to you in the first place?

His injuries and heartbreak were catching up to him, rendering him dizzy and mute with disbelief.

He had to leave; had to make it right by you.

Whatever Aiku expected him to do, it wasn’t this.

Without another word, Sae raced out of the gym and into his car, his heart in his throat. Oliver chased after him, calling out his name, but he didn’t turn around and respond.

The idea of you belonging to another man, wrapped in his arms, bearing his children, growing old with someone other than him…

He felt like he could throw up. Nausea skirted around the edges of his consciousness and he was sweating bullets.

A legacy made.

What is legacy compared to history? You both knew each other inside and out; Sae and you were a perfect fit. And he was sorry he never told you this on the day that he lost you.

You would be in your office today, and as he rushed down the familiar hallways he used to frequent when you were still his, Sae couldn’t help the lump forming in the back of his throat. He hadn’t meant the words he threw in your face. He was scared and angry and alone. Even if you wouldn’t see him again—and honestly, he understood why you wouldn’t—he had to let you know how sorry he was. If he could fix what was already broken.

He would pour molten golden repentance in between the cracks he caused on your surface, instilling your good faith back in him like how that same liquid made smashed cups and bowls whole and beautiful again. Sae would do it all for you.

“Sir—!”

He breezed past your wide-eyed assistant, going straight for your door.

“Y/N,” he knocked on the wooden surface urgently. “It’s me. Sae. Please open up. I need to tell you something.”

There was no answer.

“I’m sorry Itoshi-san, but you can’t come in here anymore,” the red-faced older woman tried to argue, positioning herself beside him like an annoying mosquito that wouldn’t stop buzzing in his ear. “Your access has been revoked. You have—”

“Shut up,” he snarled, startling both herself and him. He didn't have time to think through his horrendous manners, going back to pounding on your door, the hollowing desperation growing with every second of your stretched silence.

“Y/N. I’m sorry,” he pressed his face to the wood, hoping his muffled voice would reach your end. “I’m sorry I said those things to you. I was… I was scared. I’m sorry. Can we please talk—?”

A lunatic. People would talk and call him a goddamn lunatic. But, Sae had no shred of logic left in him. For the first time in his life, he let his heart win over—and what his heart wanted was you.

“Y/N—”

Two strong pairs of arms hauled him from your door, your pesky secretary lingering fearfully by the doorway. Outside, a group of workers were gathered, watching the spectacle unfold. Humiliation should’ve been curdling down his spine, but Sae was helpless to not let it consume him. Sounds of phone calls and beeps went unanswered, the air saturated with his hoarse cries.

“Y/N! Just let me explain myself—”

The burly guards jerked him back when he tried to lunge towards your door, nearly popping his arm sockets out. His cracked rib protested and he cried out in pain.

“Careful!” your secretary cried in her high, reedy voice. “Miss Y/N said he’s injured after his fight—don’t hurt him!”

If he was in his right mind, Sae would seethe at your unfairness. How you wanted to not hurt him when you were doing the very thing that was breaking his heart.

But, his rationale was a million miles away, and he was stuck on a desperate loop of trying not to break down and wail for you. Aiku would have a fit if he saw him like this. His teammates would think he had lost his mind.

They threw him out into the street unceremoniously. Sae wrapped one arm around his torso and struggled to get back onto his feet, his instinct to never stay down pushing him up to try again.

He took one step forward, and the door to your office entrance slammed shut. People were stopping to stare, muttering behind their palms when they noticed a dishevelled man with his shirt untucked, shaking from head to toe.

He had no idea why he stood in front of the closed door, staring at his own reflection gazing hauntedly back at him. Eventually, something snapped in him, and Sae turned on his heel, racing as fast as his feet could take him back to his car. It was parked recklessly and he had gotten a ticket tacked to his window, the fucking cherry on top of this vile day.

It took all of his strength not to ram his car into a pole or drive off like a hellion. He took a few breaths, hoping no one would force him out of this yellow box and back to the road; praying for a moment of silence. Mourning for the blooming love he had destroyed with his bare hands and venomous words.

Sae didn’t know what was worse.

Finding out that you had moved on quickly without him… or, realising he never meant anything to you in the first place.

He couldn’t find an answer right here or now.

So, he picked up the remnants of his dignity and composure and drove off before your gossiping employees could pick apart the fact that he shamelessly waited right in front of your door for minutes on end; hoping it would open.

It was enough humiliation and heartbreak for the day.

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

#🦢 writes #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae #sae x you #sae x reader #blue lock #sae smut #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock smut #series: sucker punch #🥊 — bllk ufc verse

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 2 years ago

Note

So, reader is a huge softy that has many talents in various carework, for bots and kids. They are hired as the new Daycare Assistant/Handler and/or jack-of-all-trades for the Pizzaplex and the first interaction they have with any of the bots is respectful and kind. Reader has no judgement on them for not being human and considers them just as much a person as anyone else.

This includes every Staff bot they meet. They call them by their serial code (Hey there, M-1056!) or a nickname if they know them well enough. They help any Staff bot they see when the bot can't do it by themselves, with prior consent ofc. Getting magnets unstuck to them, helping clean up with them, even helping Map-bot with handing out maps. So, when some parent that isn't listed on the pickup list starts yelling at the reader and getting aggressive towards the increasingly uncomfortable Reader, the Staff bots are...displeased. Their AI isn't as developed as the glamrocks or the daycare attendant, but that is their friend. Their honorary handler. So, imagine the shock when some of the staff bots did their best to push the aggressive parent back from Reader and get Reader to safety. Security flashlight beams into their eyes, mop tripping them over, the works. After everything, the Reader is just so happy because "I didn't expect to gain such good friends!"

You can add whatever other bots that react to it happening in front of them/told to them later, but I'd like Sun's and Moon's reaction if you could. Thank you.

It was late in the evening when the Attendant needed some extra help cleaning up Superstar Daycare. But lucky for him, you were working tonight and provided him with some STAFF bots to assist.

You didn’t exactly program them to do that, but rather asked them politely. Of course it was their duty as janitors, guards, and many other things, though you still treated them as if you would the Glamrocks or any other advanced animatronic.

Your respect towards robots goes beyond the superstars of the Plex--that especially included the STAFF bots.

Because of this, you became the sort of “jack of all trades” handler. From helping a Glamrock get ready for a birthday party to assisting a Map Bot who’s passing out maps by elevator....you could do it all.

Sure, the STAFF bots didn’t have very eccentric personalities or voices, nor were they configured to have complex thoughts or emotional processes. But they all seemed to enjoy your presence--getting tasks done for you faster, saying “thank you” for helping them out of sticky situations, and more.

Some coworkers didn’t know why you cared so much about those “blank slate” bots, considering they replaced a majority of their friends and colleagues. Though nobody ever got on your case about it.

Even management noticed how you’ve kept them in tip-top shape, helping the company cut back on repair and/or replacement costs.

It turns out they needed you more than you needed them.

So you were quite content with your role.

In the daycare tonight, you had a few Mop Bots and a pair of Security Bots to sweep the place while you stayed at the security station, looking over the pickup list on the computer and finding only one child remained on it. She was with Sun, who would keep her entertained with a puppet show while waiting for her parent to arrive.

Soon enough, someone did and approached your desk.

“Hi, I’m here to pick up my daughter.”

Looking up, you smiled at them. “Good evening. May I just have your name, please?”

They told you exactly that, but much to your confusion..the name they gave didn’t match what was on the list. You checked the date and sure enough, it was today’s, so you were looking at the correct one.

“Ah, unfortunately I have a completely different name listed here.” You told them, seeing their slight frown.

“Really? I could’ve sworn I gave it to that stupid grinning robot...” Their eyes flickered to Sun. “Unless it glitched and changed it entirely.”

You noticed he was silent now, staring over at you both. While you didn’t take too kindly to this person calling him “stupid”, you stayed calm. “I can assure you that’s not possible. Our Daycare Attendant has the highest level of security and protects the data of all visitors-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah I don’t need you to explain it to me. Can I just get my kid over there?” They huffed, suddenly having a thin amount of patience. “It’s a school night and I got here late, so I’m kinda in a rush.”

“Sure thing, could you just confirm her name for me?”

And they did just that, too, but you were still adamant about releasing them to this person. Glitches that completely changed somebody’s name in the daycare’s database simply didn’t happen.

So you decided to ask them one more question to be sure. “And for safety reasons, may I also ask what school she goes to?”

They immediately looked at you with disgust, caught off-guard. “Why? Do you need to know every little thing about her? Does this place need her blood type, too?” They sneered.

“...no, but every parent is given a form to fill out, and they’re required to include their child’s school.” You pointed out. “I would assume you did that when you dropped her off today.”

“.....ohh, uh..I-I’m actually just a family friend.” They abruptly changed their entire story, looking a little nervous as they did so. “Her parents asked me to pick her up so I didn’t sign any form.”

You just stared at them like they were the dumbest person on the planet. Did they seriously think you’ll believe that?

As uncomfortable as you were, you tried to stay calm. “I’m sorry but your name isn’t listed anywhere on the child’s emergency contact list, so I can’t release her to-”

“God what is this, Fort Knox?!!” They suddenly snapped. “I didn’t drive all the way to this shitty place just for you to hold her hostage!! Just call her goddamn parents and they’ll be able to tell you!”

You flinched slightly. Even Sun and a few STAFF bots began looking back your way, though you did your best to get this guest out of here asap. You’ve rarely dealt with irate parents, so your nerves were getting worked up. “Hey, there’s no need to use that language in the daycar-”

“Sorry. It’s just....look, I get it,” they huffed. “This company has a history of kidnappings and shit, but you’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

“..and it’s for that exact reason that I can’t let you leave with her. You telling me you’re her parent, and then a family friend is just a little suspicious. You can’t be both-”

“Jesus..am I gonna have to snatch her from that robot myself?! I see why they replaced you all with those stupid machines..they wouldn’t give me all this crap!”

At this point, your hands were growing shaky as you reached for the security button. This person was clearly attempting a kidnapping, only getting angry because they got caught in a lie.

Meanwhile, Sun was extremely concerned over the aggressive guest, especially since the little girl didn’t seem to know that person at all. At that point, he was ready to let Moon take over so he could deal with this “parent” himself.

Though before any of that could happen, he noticed all the STAFF bots in the play area suddenly cease their duties, making their way over to you.

Now that they were more in-tune with human emotions, they could sense your discomfort and the guest’s growing hostilities. And seeing you being harassed was..displeasing to witness.

You were their friend. Their handler. You treated them all with the utmost respect.

You didn’t deserve anything less than that.

So they came to the rescue, as a Security Bot tapped the guest on the shoulder and spoke in a rather annoyed monotone voice. “Hello, friend. Profanity and aggression towards staff are against our rules-”

“Don’t touch me you-!!”

But as the stranger turned around to scream at the bot next, they were met with a bright light shining directly in their eyes. They yelled in slight pain, going completely blind for a moment as they backed away from your desk.

Then a Mop Bot positioned themselves behind them and “accidentally” stuck out their broom too far, making them trip and fall onto the mat, sending some party canister crashing down.

“OW! Son of a--what’s wrong with your damn robots?!” They shouted in panic, getting up and rubbing their eyes right as two more Security Bots took them by the arms. “HEY! Let go!! This is j-just a misunderstanding, alright?! I-I didn’t mean to shout at your employee!”

They looked to you, hoping you could give them another chance. But you simply smiled and waved as they were forcefully escorted out of the daycare.

Only when the large doors slammed shut did you breathe a sigh of relief.

‘Thank god that’s over..’

“Are you alright, [y/n]?”

Looking to the Security Bot now standing by you, you smiled and nodded. You couldn’t believe they came to your defense so quickly--without even being ordered to. “I am now. Thank you, S-0032.”

“Head of security has been notified. This guest will be permanently banned. Effective immediately.”

“Amazing..I’ve never seen them be so..protective before.”

You saw Moon jump onto the desk, gazing down at you curiously. But his smile seemed a lot bigger now. “I got a mess to clean up..but I’ll let you slide. Just this once.” He wagged a finger at the bot, before leaping away to attend to other matters.

In the meantime, you just laughed, seeing a Mop Bot approach you as well. “I didn’t expect to gain such good friends. That was a great one, M0-1056.”

“Always happy to help, [y/n].” They nodded respectfully.

Even though neither of them could smile, you had a feeling they would be if it were possible.

#clanask #anonymous #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy's x reader #fnaf sb x reader #fnaf security breach x reader #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf staff bots #platonic

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luxurychristmaspudding · 3 months ago

Text

You and I | On Call

part iv

summary: frankie has one last question.

pairing: neighbour!frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. dual pov. idiots in love, reader is good with kids. reader and frankie are both bi and have same sex exes. fluff, drinking. praise kink. the boys (minus tom). SMUT! fingering, oral (f&m receiving), unprotected p in v. cum kink? creampie. frankie retains the title of pek 👑

reader is a teacher, has hair, and can be lifted by frankie (he's a big strong boy, don't worry about it) but she is otherwise a blank slate.

wc: 10.8k

an: well, here we are gang. thank you for joining me and for all your sweet words. i've been so awful with reblogging your kindness on this little thing because of how busy i was when i wrote most of it, but i want you to know i appreciate it so much. i've loved sharing these two with you - it's been a privilege <3

shoutout to @jolapeno for helping me with the chapter name, and for very gently reminding me that 20k chapters probably should be split 😉 love you <3

dividers from the glorious @saradika-graphics

series masterlist | main masterlist

When he wakes, it’s well past twelve.

Nine hours which he imagines he probably needed, but really it puts him two hours behind.

He showers and dresses in a rush, running out the door to his truck, but still taking the time to register that your curtains have remained closed. It makes him smile, knowing you’re likely still tucked up in bed, your stories about the night before resting before they make their way to him.

He practically sprints around the supermarket, grabbing anything that even vaguely crosses his mind as something he might need. Meat, bread, salads of sorts, sauces, soft drinks, beers. He picks up your favourite dessert just in case, and then hauls the bags back to the truck, keeping a nervous eye on the time as his fingers tap against the steering wheel.

Will and Benny are already there when he gets home. Grinning, leaning against Will’s car as he pulls into the driveway.

There’s a sharp pull of joy in his chest even as Will laughs out a ‘You’re late, Fish’, pounding his back as he pulls him into a hug.

‘Can’t be late to my own fuckin’ house.’ He grumbles back, pulling Benny in in the same way.

‘Can, and you are.’ The younger man laughs.

‘Thought you might be out with your lady.’ Will teases, and Frankie flushes right to the tips of his ears.

‘She’s still asleep.’ He says without thinking, a smile pulling at his lips. It’s comical, really, the way the two men freeze and look at each other. ‘Help me with these bags, will you?’

The brothers remain unmoving, staring at him with some degree of bewilderment.

‘Still asleep?’

Frankie sighs, a little exasperated.

‘Yeah. She was out last night.’

Will’s eyes wander to Frankie’s bedroom window just as Benny’s mouth begins to form a question. The realisation dawns quickly.

‘Not in my bed,’ he scowls, ‘Next door.’

‘Oh.’

He turns his back on them, heading to his front door, arms laden with groceries. A nervous, giddy feeling swirls in his stomach.

‘Had us going for a minute there, Fish.’ Will calls after him. Frankie bites his lip against the memories of you in your living room, the desperate kisses you’ve shared since. He feels like a teenager, on the verge of spilling secrets like he’s at a sleepover.

He hums instead, flicking a glance over his shoulder to see Benny grab more stuff from the back of the truck. He grunts and grimaces under the weight, shooting a look at Frankie.

‘What do you have in here? Are we feeding the five thousand?’

Will laughs, loading his own hands with bags, tutting at his little brother.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be the athlete here?’

Benny drops one bag just to give him the finger.

‘This is my rest day, motherfucker.’

He groans again as he picks the bag back up, Frankie laughing along with Will.

‘Lift with your knees, not with your back!’ He shouts.

‘Quit telling me what to do, asshole!’ Benny hollers, the older men still chuckling as he shoulders the front door open.

Santiago arrives not too long after, setting up the last of the food - the salads out on the table, more beers in the fridge. They’ve all clocked Frankie checking his watch, checking his phone, your text that you’d be over in the next five minutes burning a fucking hole in his pocket.

He’s nervous. And they can tell.

He has the distinct impression he’s being cornered when they all turn to look at him at the same time as he fiddles with the burner on the grill. It feels ridiculous - this desire for everything to be perfect. You’ve seen him in all of his less-than-perfect moments, have never shied away. But this - today - feels different.

Pope leads the offence.

‘How’s your girl then, Fish?’

Frankie’s heart drops low in his chest before thumping hard behind his ribs, a hand coming up to try and wipe the sudden smile from his lips. He tries a gruff tone, failing miserably as soon as he speaks.

‘She’s not my girl.’

Will whistles lowly, smirking.

‘Still? We gonna have to smush you together like Barbies?’

Benny snorts, and Frankie shoots him a look which immediately makes him straighten and soften.

‘We won’t. They won’t. Scout’s honour.’

Santi takes a pull from his beer, a glint in his eye.

‘No progress at all?’ He probes.

Frankie takes a deep breath, eyes lowered to the floor before finding the deep brown of his best friend.

‘We’re… seeing each other.’ He murmurs, this time unable to hide his smile, hand scratching at the back of his head.

Silence. Quiet that puts Frankie even more on edge as he watches his friends exchange looks, as a slow smile tilts the corners of Benny’s lips.

‘Well - that’s an improvement.’ Will grins.

‘A marked improvement.’ Santi agrees.

‘So you told her how you feel?’ Benny asks, eyebrows raised.

Frankie sucks air through his teeth, clears his throat. His face grows warm, fingers twitch a little.

‘Not quite -’

Will barks a laugh.

‘Morales, you dog.’ Followed by the deep rumbles of amusement from the other two men.

‘Oh, the tried and true manoeuvre - the Catfish Canoodle.’ Benny snickers.

‘The Morales Marathon.’ Will adds, tilting his bottle to him. Pope is next, grinning lasciviously.

‘The good old Five Finger Fish Fu-’

‘Frankie?’ You call from inside the kitchen, ‘I have beers, but there’s no room in the fridge -’

You pop your head round the backdoor, beaming immediately when you catch sight of the men in the garden.

‘Oh! Hi,’ you say brightly, emerging fully. Frankie’s heart stutters. You’re wearing that sundress he remembers - hasn’t been able to forget - from when he mowed your lawn weeks ago. Gorgeous, the way it drapes over your curves, the way it lets your skin glisten in the afternoon light. He feels his shoulders drop, his whole body relax. Feels the way he goes a little weak at the knees, knows he’ll be looking lovesick in front of the boys. And he doesn’t care.

‘Sorry I’m a little late,’ you say, hopping down the porch steps towards them, ‘I wish I had a good excuse, but I just - don’t.’

Benny laughs, moving with Will and Santi to greet you. Frankie just about catches the look Santiago throws him, a sweet holy shit, brother.

‘Ah, the elusive neighbour. We were starting to think he’d made you up.’ Pope says, matching your smile. You giggle, arms outstretched as he reaches you.

‘Funny,’ you smirk, ‘I was thinking of not turning up just to prove you right.’

He laughs as he releases you, Benny sweeping you into his arms and planting a kiss on your cheek.

‘Even more beautiful than he said you were,’ he says, and Frankie watches your eyebrows shoot up as you fix him with an oh, really? look. His heart drops to his stomach, neck grinding in an effort to shake his head before a shit-eating grin splits across your face.

‘I had no idea he was so - complimentary - behind my back.’ You laugh against Will’s shoulder as he spins you around.

‘Oh, he is,’ he chuckles, placing you gently down with your back to Frankie. Frankie glowers at him half-heartedly as Will winks back, and the dark-haired man raises a finger, mouthing at him to shut - the fuck - up. ‘Feels like we’ve known you for ages.’ Will continues.

You turn, planting your hands on your hips, cocking your head at Frankie.

‘Just can’t stop talking about me, huh, Fish?’ You tease, and Frankie huffs as he pulls you in for a lingering hug, wondering if it’s too much to kiss you in front of his friends.

‘Guess not.’ He whispers into your ear.

You’re biting your lip as you pull away from him, hands lingering on his shoulders as his stall on your waist.

Will clears his throat.

‘You gonna introduce us then, Morales?’

Frankie rolls his eyes at him as he turns you around, hands at your hips, pointing a finger at each friend.

‘William Miller,’ he says, as Will pulls a face - just Will is fine - ‘Benjamin Miller,’ - Benny, please - ‘And Santiago Garcia.’

‘I’m only Santiago when I’m in trouble,’ Which is most of the time, Benny laughs. ‘Santi is much better.’

You grin as you give them your name, and Will nudges your arm with his elbow.

‘I thought we were on Bug terms.’

You laugh, batting his arm.

‘You can call me Bug if you really want to.’

Benny shrugs, squinting his baby blues at you.

‘Maybe,’ he grins, ‘But your name suits you. It’s pretty. I like it.’

Frankie rolls his eyes again, squeezing your waist against the flicker of possessiveness that rises in his gut. It’s nothing more than teasing, kindness - something they’ve almost always extended to partners welcomed into the fold. But he’s not blind - they’re a handsome group, and he wants you to himself.

‘You gotta stop that,’ you giggle, ‘Before I wanna hang out with you guys all the time.’

Will throws a gentle arm around your shoulder, leaning back to wink at Frankie.

‘Hear that, Fish?’ He chuckles, ‘She’s in.’

He groans.

‘It’s not too late to back out,’ he murmurs lowly in your ear, ‘Though we’ve got a fuckton of food.’

His heart leaps as he feels your fingers reach for his, tangling briefly before squeezing.

‘I’m stayin’,’ you promise, as Will moves around you to turn the grill on. ‘You guys put on a hell of a spread, anyway.’

From behind, Will claps a hand on Frankie’s shoulder, shunting the younger man forward a little.

‘That would all be Fish. Must be a special occasion.’ He smirks, and Frankie looks up to the heavens to try and stop his wish for the ground to swallow him up.

‘Sure is,’ you smile, ‘Feelin’ pretty lucky to be meeting you guys.’

‘Pleasure's all ours, kid.’ He grins.

Frankie smiles softly at you, brown eyes filled with something warm.

‘Want a drink?’ He asks.

You smack your lips, hand grabbing at your throat.

‘Please, Fish,’ you gasp, ‘I’m parched.’

The screen door has barely shut behind you before he has you backed against his kitchen counter again, stealing kisses like you’re about to get caught.

His lips are slow, sweet, hands so lazy, so indulgent in the way they hold you you’re not sure it’s really happening, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He crowds you a little closer, licking into your mouth as he fists the skirt of your dress, palming at your ass. You barely manage to catch your breath before he’s mouthing at your neck, nipping at the skin there as you huff against him.

‘Good time last night?’ he breathes against your shoulder. You nod, eyes shut tight.

‘Yes,’ you gasp, ‘Really good time.’

‘Good,’ he murmurs, ‘I’m glad.’

You moan softly as he grips your hips, pulling you up against his thigh. There’s a thrill to it, knowing the boys are just outside. It makes your blood run hotter. Dangerously hot - no-turning-back hot.

‘Should get back outside. Before they wonder where we’ve gone.’

‘Don’t care,’ Frankie rasps, tugging at your dress again, ‘This fucking dress drives me insane.’

You nip at his bottom lip as his mouth meets yours again.

‘You’re driving me fucking insane,’ you gasp, lips tipping upwards, ‘In your kitchen, humping your leg like a dog in heat -’

He groans against you, forehead knocking against yours as he breathes heavily.

His eyes are almost black, palms warm and rough as they cradle your cheeks.

‘Once they leave,’ he whispers, ‘We’re spending a week in my bedroom. Or yours. I don’t care which.’

A whimper slips up your throat, mouth pressed hotly against his again as you start to count how many hours until it might be acceptable to drag him away. One hand slips from your cheek to your waist, inching up until he can squeeze at your breast, running a thumb over your nipple. You shudder, whole body ignited.

‘Fuck.’ He breathes.

‘Frankie -’

‘Hey! Lover boy,’ Pope whistles from behind the screen door. You leap apart at the sound of his footsteps on the porch. ‘Hope you’re decent in there, I’m coming in -’

Santi appears, grinning widely as he pushes his way into the kitchen. He shields the side of his face facing you with a hand. ‘I’m not looking,’ he says, ‘But we’re gonna get grilling.’

‘We’re not naked, Pope.’ Frankie says, bemused. You giggle as Santi drops his hand.

‘Thank God,’ he sighs, before fixing you with a look, ‘I’ve seen enough of this man’s ass to last me a lifetime.’

He’d hoped it would be easy, knew that they’d love you. But he’s never seen these three men take to someone the way they have you.

He smiles as you stand with Will at the grill, watches the brotherly affection develop in real time. The soft smack of your palm against the older man’s shoulder, snorts of laughter, whispered jokes and more serious stories swapped. Frankie relaxes into it more and more, gazing at you over Benny’s shoulder.

When he brings more food over to cook, Will stays stood by his side as you take his place with Benny and Santiago. The three of you huddled around the crackling firepit, hooting with laughter. He catches his own name a few times, turns to find you watching him with shining eyes as Pope and the younger Miller brother no doubt regale you with embarrassing stories from his youth. Things he hasn’t thought to tell you, things he may well have forgotten. And you fill a chair so easily, so effortlessly, it’s like you’ve always been there.

Clinks of cheersing bottles, conspiratorial shoulder bumps, lowered heads and loud exclamations and giggles. He feels like he’s in a fucking coming of age movie.

‘She’s a keeper, brother,’ Will murmurs to him over the lip of his beer bottle. He turns to him, a little surprised, but Will looks so at ease, so content with his little smile, that he knows there’s no bullshit there. ‘Fuckin’ funny. And smart as hell.’

Frankie hums, busying himself with flipping a burger. His hands are a little shaky - even after everything that’s happened over the last week, there’s still something that’s keeping him unsteady. The rock of a world turned on its axis, the deep want of willing this to work - because he loves you. So fucking much.

‘Don’t go all shy on me now, Fish.’ Will says, turning with him so his back is to you.

‘’M not.’ Frankie says, softly. Will sucks a breath through his teeth, squinting up at the sun just over the roofline of your house.

‘Do you remember what I was like when I first met Charlotte?’

Frankie looks at him - the beard, the hair pulled back, the clear blue of his eyes. He nods.

‘And the way you wound me up? How I was always looking for her, always checking for her? And at the end of the night, you asked when I was buying the ring?’

Frankie chuckles at the memory, the comment made stood at the bar with his best friend, manifesting the future he’d have. The ring that now sits on Charlotte’s finger, the wedding planned for the end of the year.

‘I do.’

Will looks back at him, teeth exposed with his smile. Teasing, full of humour, but it’s genuine, not goading.

‘When are you buying the ring, Frankie?’

Blood rushes to his head so fast he feels dizzy, so fast he has to put the tongs down. He scoffs, the way it sounds out loud so outlandish, but something pierces deep through his chest at how clearly Will sees through him.

Because he’s thought about it.

He shakes his head, swallowing roughly. There’s nothing he can say. Anything like not even my girlfriend yet would sound like a denial. But admitting it, that secret thought, even to Will, feels insane.

He’s still grinning at him.

‘I know it when I see it, Fish,’ Will continues, ‘And I know what you’re thinking.’ He pauses, shrugs. ‘Bring her to the wedding. She might catch the bouquet.’

He can’t move. Can’t turn to look at you, he’s sure his cheeks are burning so brightly. Can’t even twist his head when Benny calls,

‘Are you done grilling over there? We’re starving.’

He can’t stop thinking about it. Can't stop his whirring brain as the five of you eat, passing sauces and salads. Can’t stop thinking about a future, a life with you as you sit across the table from him, meeting his eye, chatting, laughing. Can’t stop the thoughts from ploughing through him as your foot catches his under the table, can hardly swallow his burger against the words lumping in his throat. Can’t stop the pounding of his heart when he catches you gazing at him halfway through a story, chin cupped in your hand, looking at him like he hung the moon and stars - can’t stop wondering whether you’ve ever pictured the same.

He’s barely snapped out of it when the plates are stacked and carried through to the kitchen, bits of salad and smudges of sauce halfway cleared up before you pile outside again, Will and Santi jostling over the chair free from the smoke of the firepit. You walk with him and Benny, the younger man listening to you talk with such interest, such fondness already, that Frankie wonders whether he’s too young to have a heart attack.

He’s only pulled from the conversation by the crack of broken furniture, the three of you stopping short and quiet as Will wheezes, sprawled on the ground atop the remnants of the coveted chair. He holds a hand up in the air, craning his neck at Frankie.

‘His fault,’ he croaks, pointing at Santi, who holds his palms up in surrender.

‘Not my fault that he’s so heavy.’

You trap a giggle between your teeth and bottom lip as Frankie and Benny start to laugh, Will scrambling to his feet with the help of Frankie’s outstretched hand.

‘Santiago.’ Benny snickers, and your bright eyes find Frankie’s.

‘Well. Now you are in trouble.’

Frankie grins, fixing Santi with a faux stern look.

‘In so much trouble you’re gonna have to sit on the floor.’ He chuckles, and Pope pouts.

‘My knees will never recover, Fish, and you know that.’

He shrugs, settling into a chair at the same time as Benny and Will. You stay standing, warring silently with yourself before you gesture to the empty seat for Santi to take.

‘It’s yours,’ you smile, nervous as you turn to Frankie. ‘Is this seat taken?’ You ask, looking pointedly at his lap.

His eyes blow wide for a second, breath caught in his chest. Unsure, for a moment, of your meaning, ready to give the chair up for you. You raise an eyebrow, palm lowering gently onto his shoulder.

‘No.’ He rasps, blissfully unaware of Will’s smirk.

‘Good.’ You say, lowering yourself onto his thighs, an arm around his shoulders, his around your back, hand at your hip. He swings your legs over his without thinking, and you settle, limbs tense at first, before shuffling a little to get comfortable.

To their credit, the boys don’t make it a thing. They continue the conversation as normal as the two of you join in, wrapped up together, crowing with laughter as your bodies vibrate against each other.

You hold each other closer as the evening wears on. Head resting against his chest, nuzzled against the fabric of his t-shirt. Laundry detergent, light scent of cologne, the warmth of his skin. His hands are broad and calloused where they cradle you, so easily - never a limb falling slack, never goosebumps that go unsoothed. He rubs his thumb against your thigh in soft semi-circles, leans his cheek against the top of your head, breathing in your shampoo.

Lets himself be warmed by the pressure of your body against his, willfully ignores his cock when it twitches hopefully as you shift. Which is hard, as you begin to shift more and more the later it gets, the hotter you burn above him. And as hard as you try, you just can’t keep still. Can’t stop trying to find relief for the ache in your core, the wetness pooling in your underwear.

He finally grips your hips against a particularly wicked wriggle, head dipping to growl in your ear.

‘Stop, baby. Please.’ And it works for a moment - only a moment - as you’re frozen by the flashbacks of him unravelling beneath you eight days ago. Eight days too long.

As though he’s read the shift in atmosphere, Will stands and stretches.

‘I’m heading in,’ he says, rolling his head on his shoulders. ‘The spare room calls.’

You stand, reluctantly, and Frankie is quick to readjust himself as inconspicuously as possible. Will gives you a sweeping hug, kissing just before your ear as you say a muffled see you tomorrow into his shoulder. Frankie takes his outstretched hand, pulling him into a back-clapping embrace of sorts, and when he pulls away he’s surprised to see Benny and Pope also bidding you goodnight. He checks his watch.

It’s not even eleven.

His eyes twitch from you to the boys as he works out whether you’re heading back to yours, too.

Santi catches the look, slapping a hand onto his shoulder as he whispers a do not come back into this house, pendejo. He looks over your shoulder at Benny as Will makes you giggle again, and is met with the firm waggle of a finger.

Stay, he mouths.

Fuck you, Frankie mouths back, watching their backs retreat into his house.

The backyard falls quiet, only the snap of logs in the fire, the buzzing of insects, and the rush of blood in his ears to be heard.

You turn, facing him in the dark, half your face lit by the dying embers of the fire pit.

‘Are you - are you tired?’ He asks softly, afraid of disturbing the hushed moment.

‘No,’ you whisper, ‘Are you?’

He shakes his head, swallowing thickly.

‘No.’

You nod, gentle smile pulling at your lips.

‘Good.’

You step towards him, slowly, like something out of a dream. Glowing in the low light, sparkling with something divine.

You cup his cheeks with both hands, press your body in a firm line against his, hoping to convey exactly what you mean through the touch. Affection, of course, love, adoration - everything you’ve been planning on giving him over the last week, but now, more pressingly - want. Pure, unadulterated want.

You tip your head to slant your mouth against his, hot, heavy, teeth clashing at the initial meeting, breath mingling, tongues licking into each others’ mouths. You tug at the back of his neck, hand buried in the soft curls there, yanking his head back a little to open his mouth up to you. You let go. Lips suckling at his tongue, teeth nibbling at the pillow of his lower lip. Further. Pecking at the scruff of his jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his neck. Nipping, raising red on his skin, before soothing it with a tortuously slow lick of your tongue.

Your breathing is so heavy, hands so feverish, you lose the sense of where you end and he begins. Feel fingers scrabbling for purchase, bruising grips, on you and him. One scorching palm runs the length of your dress down to the top of your thigh, grabbing at the flesh there. You shift your stance, moaning into his mouth, finding that hand with your own, moving it closer to that burning place between your legs. Frankie follows your lead.

You press his hand up, and his knuckles graze along the sodden fabric of your panties, lips falling away from his as you whine and he groans. You’re soaked, wetter still as he runs the length of his fingers up and down the material clinging to your pussy, feeling the bite of your teeth as you try to muffle yourself against his collarbone.

He shushes you, coos at you, pressing a particularly firm stroke against your cunt that makes your legs shake as he asks you -

‘You gonna let me feel it, baby?’

You gasp against his mouth, nodding feverishly. He chuckles, slowing the pace of his kiss so he can really focus on how soft, how warm and wet you are as he pulls your panties to the side with deft fingers, slicking them up before swirling them around your clit. A stuttered breath escapes you, cutting off into a loud, unabashed moan as he slowly, slowly fucks his fingers into you. He sinks right down to the bottom knuckle, kisses forgotten as he breathes raggedly against your cheek, feeling you clench and whimper around him. He curls them slightly, and your knees practically buckle, stomach contracting, hands grasping at his shirt.

‘Frankie,’ you plead, almost losing your train of thought as he plants a kiss just behind your ear. ‘Take me to bed.’

He pumps his fingers, once, runs his thumb softly over your clit before withdrawing them altogether, mouth slanted firmly against yours, stifling your whine. You stumble a little, pulling at the collar of his shirt for him to move with you before pausing briefly, watching as he brings his fingers to his lips. He slips them deep inside, groaning around them, eyelids fluttering as he takes in the taste of you. Your breathing is heavy as he slips them from his mouth, offering them to you. You take them willingly, bobbing your head to feel how thick and heavy his fingers are on your tongue, the taste of your slick diluted with his spit making your mouth water. He stares as you flick the muscle between and around his digits, brow furrowed, eyes dark, before he retracts them. You frown at him, and he licks into your mouth with such ferocity you’re quick to forget your disappointment.

‘Yours. Now.’ He murmurs, and then you’re grinning, running. Sprinting over his lawn, hopping the fence on unsteady legs, striding towards your porch. You slam up the steps, glancing behind you only once to watch him follow you. Giddy with want, warm all over, soaking wet, you can't help but look for him.

For the first time since you moved next door, Frankie willingly hops the fence.

He catches up to you before you can get the front door open, clutching your hip, turning the handle with the other. He backs you into the hallway, kicking the door shut behind him, shoes toed off blindly. There’s no reprieve from his lips, no other thought than his hands on your body, guiding you into your living room, hips bumping into furniture, deaf to the clatter of objects falling - not a single fuck given over what - one hand - whose, you’re not sure - flying out to flick a lamp on before he’s crushing you against the sofa.

Calves to the furniture, you fall, and he follows you - two hands braced either side of your head before returning to their homes on your cheek, your waist, your breasts. Palming at the flesh there, kneading, thumbing over your nipples. You’re gasping, rolling your hips in hopes you’ll catch against something, because he’s everywhere, only to come up empty every time. He lowers both hands, tongue running strongly against yours. One shifts your hips, the other pressing against your panties again.

‘Let me taste you,’ he groans, voice hoarse, ‘Please, baby. I have to - let me taste you.’

You nod fiercely, tugging on his curls again, mumbling a fuck, Frankie, yes, before he pulls away. His lips are spit-slick, swollen, cheeks flushed. Breathing haggard, eyes blown, curls frayed. He looks almost how he did a week ago.

He holds your gaze for a moment, searching again, letting the question float through the air. You nod, softly, and he begins his descent.

His lips are wet against your skin, leaving shining marks as he presses them to your clavicles, your breastbone, closing them around your covered nipples. He mouths at them, tongue dampening the fabric of your dress, warming, cooling, the fabric sticking to you in a way that makes your back arch. He works one with his fingers while his mouth is occupied, teasing them into peaks as you whimper and buck your hips beneath him. He watches you darkly, eyes heavy lidded, eyelashes almost fanned against his cheeks. And you ache. Ache so badly, so unforgivably. You can feel how wet you are - panties soaked, dampness all the way down into the cleft of your ass, smudging along the tops of your thighs. He waits until you whine again, louder, higher pitched, nails scraping in his curls, against his scalp - please Frankie, please - before he moves lower. More kisses pressed to your covered stomach, lower, lower, large hands pushing up the hem of your skirt, tracing every bit of skin they can find. He shifts on his knees to get closer as you lift your hips so he can shove your skirt all the way up, lips parting, eyebrows furrowing in a desperate look of need as he fixes his eyes to your clothed core, as you buck again at the look in his eyes, breathing heavily. His palms come together at the very tops of your thighs, thumbs brushing along the hem of your panties either side of your pussy. You huff again, hands leaving their clutch of the sofa to bury back into his curls, tugging him forwards.

He groans, deep in his throat, easily led. Presses his nose to your clothed cunt, inhales deeply, grinds the tip just against your throbbing clit. You whimper, tugging once more, and he nuzzles your bud again, mumbling something into your heat.

‘Frankie -’ you gasp, ‘Frankie - if you don’t fuckin’ - touch me in the next thirty seconds, I’m gonna cry.’

‘I am touchin’ you,’ he growls against your hip, head tilted to look up at you. His hot breath on your skin has your flesh breaking out in goosebumps. You shake your head, frustration burning behind your eyes.

‘I want - your tongue -’ you pant, ‘Want to feel your mouth, Frankie.’

He groans, thumbs digging under the waistband of your panties to rip them down your legs, eyes never leaving your core as he reveals you - glistening, messy, wet, drooling for him. He splits his fingers into a V, spreading your lips as you keen and mewl above him.

‘You want me here?’ He rasps.

‘Yes,’ you breathe, ‘I fucking do.’

He finds it in himself to show you mercy.

The first stroke of his tongue is strong, wide. As though he’s trying to take as much of you in as possible in the first go - licking deep and long to taste your slick, tracing the dip of your hole, ending with a final swirl around your clit. Your chest shudders, eyes squeeze shut, hands tense in his hair.

‘Okay, baby?’ He asks, so soft.

You lick your lips.

‘Yeah.’

He pushes your at knees to spread your thighs wider apart.

‘Look at me.’ He says, and you crack your eyes open to watch as he manhandles your legs onto his shoulders, tilting his head as he considers, pushing them back towards your chest in order to find the best angle to eat you from. Fuck.

He’s not gentle, and he isn’t taking his time.

The week you’ve waited, the months building up to this, do not mean you have the patience to make this last any longer than he’s already teased you for. He eats you like he’s starved, like he’s never tasted anything like the heaven between your legs. Long, firm strokes of his tongue, flicking at your swollen clit, watching as your head tilts forward, heavy, unable to tear your eyes from him. Chest heaving, something about the way you’re still wrapped in that fucking dress making him leak steadily in his jeans, cock straining against the zipper. He’s barely spared a thought for it so far, caught up in the way you look, the way you feel, smell, taste. He moves his grip from one of your knees to palm himself roughly, and you moan, watching him.

Your lips part, and he knows, knows that you’re going to beg him to fuck you before the words even leave your mouth. And he will.

He just needs this first.

‘You’re gonna come in my mouth,’ he rumbles, stroking your clit with his thumb, levelling you with a dark, stern stare, ‘And then we can do anything you want. Just need to taste you like this first.’

He watches the pulse of your cunt, the gush of slick that escapes you at his words. Coos at you, so pretty, baby, before leaning back in.

Closing his lips around your pearl, sucking, flicking, tracing shapes - tracing the letters of his name against you - watching as you buck and cry and moan. You’re so fucking beautiful, leaking around him, wetting his chin, his lips, his cheeks. He can only taste you, only smell you. And it’s fucking divine.

Diving in as you bury your hands in his hair again, pulling his mouth closer, reeling in the soft plush of his lips, warm wet of his tongue, the sharp nip of his teeth against your skin. He lets you use him, lets you grind against his face, winding your hips against him. He holds his mouth open, tongue lapping where he can, mumbling against your skin. Blissed out, pussy drunk.

Yes, yes, fuck. Fuck, baby - use me. Use me, just like that. Take what you need, Bug. Taste so good, feel so fucking good.

His eyes dart from your cunt to your face - this beautiful mess you’re making, the fucked out, glassy look you watch him with. Mouth dropped open, brow scrunched in ecstasy, broken little pants and moans, cries of his name. He stretches an arm, a hand above his head, kneading at your breast, pinching your nipple, the other settling above your mound, thumb pulling back the hood of your clit. You shut your eyes quickly, your shout of fuck coming loud, a yelp.

He can taste how close you are, willing you to come with his eyes when you meet his gaze. His come, baby, is muffled, but it’s all you need.

You break, back arching, breasts heaving, pussy fluttering and clamping around his tongue, heat blasting through your belly, a rush of bright white feeling pouring from you. Your hips freeze, jerk, twitch against him, and he closes his eyes briefly, worried that if he watches you ride the high the whole way through he’ll come in his fucking pants again.

Your hands loosen in his hair, letting him lick and suck dazedly until he’s content. Nose pressed against you, inhaling, tasting as you whimper, thighs tightening a little around his head at the oversensitivity, and he backs away, pressing kisses to your thighs as your ragged breathing begins to ease into a more even rhythm.

He nips at your skin as you stare at him, something flooding your chest. You feel like you’re still riding that wave, feel like no one’s ever really eaten you like that, nobody’s ever really let you use them like that.

You bring a hand to his cheek, thumb tracing the glisten of you on his lips. He tilts his head into your palm, and you smile, mouth dry.

‘Where’d you learn to do that?’ You ask. It’s a dumb fucking thing to say, but you can think of nothing else that could quite explain the light-headed awe you’re feeling. He laughs, a deep rumble, real, into your thigh.

‘It’s a gift.’ He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your belly, shifting on his knees, adjusting himself. Your eyes soften, dropping to his hand.

He sees the question in your eyes again.

He leans forward, squatting, hands moving to the crease between your thighs and ass, before he stands, bringing you with him. You mouth at his neck as he stumbles to your stairs, taking them steadily, shouldering open your bedroom door through the darkness.

He drops you where he knows the mattress, your bed will be, separating himself from you only briefly. He yanks the curtains shut as your fingers flick on a dim light - you’ll be damned if you're not watching this.

He stops before you at the edge of the bed, between your legs. You reach out, looking up at him - sharp curve of his nose, chocolate of his curls illuminated by the light, the heat of his eyes, soft clench of his jaw, rough swallow of his throat. He reaches to stroke your hair, cupping the back of your head. You tug at the hem of his t-shirt, and he holds your hands, loosening them so he can pull it up over his head. And then he’s all golden tan, freckles. Stupidly broad shoulders, strong arms, muscle moving beneath the skin as he discards the garment on the floor. Curls of hair over his chest, down his softening stomach, down below the waistband of his jeans. The bulge straining against the denim there. You draw your hands down the lines of him, pausing only to trace the silvery mark of the scar on his abdomen. He sucks a sharp breath in at the tenderness, the intimacy, takes your fingers in his. Watches as you blink up at him, as you move to press your cheek against the heft of his cock, a kiss against his zipper. Hands making quick work of freeing him, tugging down the denim and his boxers. He steps out of them, bending only to pull his socks off, before he stills in front of you. His hard cock bobs against his stomach - you’re briefly distracted by his thighs, the delicious, smooth patches of skin where his hips meet his torso - but he is impossible to ignore. Thick, throbbing. Precum beading down the shaft, head flushed a heady, deep red, veins pulsing beneath the skin. Curved upwards, twitching beneath your gaze. You swallow thickly.

‘Holy shit.’

You don’t even realise you’d said it out loud until he laughs, a little bashful, a little proud. You look back up to him as you reach out, fingers wrapping around his base. Skin like silk, like gossamer, hot and strong. He hisses through his teeth, knees weak and hips bucking all at once. You pump once, twice, letting your breath fan over him.

‘So pretty,’ you murmur, ‘Prettiest cock I’ve ever seen.’

He flushes at your words, his retort dying in his throat when you wrap your lips around him, gently taking his head in your mouth, swirling your tongue in circles, dipping into his slit, teasing the skin on the underside. He watches, breath caught in his throat, head pounding as you dip forward, hands flat against his thighs, eyes fluttering blissfully as you take him deeper. Watches as he disappears inside your mouth, as he feels nothing but warm and wet, nothing but your tight swallow, your fluid grip at his base, the vibration of your hum, the glint in your eyes as you look up -

He retracts his hips reluctantly, sliding his cock from your throat. You try to follow, whining as you shift forward, still connected through a delicate line of spit and precum, stretching thin as he pulls you back with a firm hand in your hair. He breaks it with his fingers, letting his thumb catch the dribble of it against your chin. He offers the digit, and you obediently take it in your mouth to suck the mixture off. Your eyes are still wide, pleading. He smiles softly.

‘Not gonna last like that, baby,’ he mutters. ‘Wanna feel you this time.’

You pout, words slurred in your pleasure filled haze, eyes heavy lidded as you hold his gaze.

‘Wanna watch you come every way. Wanna make you come every way. Wanna - wanna taste it, wanna feel it, want you to cover me -’

‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ he grits, cock throbbing painfully at your words, head spinning. He never thought he’d hear you talk like that, cock drunk on the edge of your bed, mouth all sad without his dick in it. ‘Get this off.’ he hisses, tugging again at the hem of your dress, pulling it up as you hold up your arms. It comes easy, exposing your bare pussy, soft skin of your stomach, plush flesh of your breasts.

There's so much blood south of his brain Frankie thinks he might pass out.

He bends to kiss you, groping at your tits again, fingers swiping fleetingly between your legs to find you still soaked.

‘Perfect,’ he growls, ‘So fucking perfect.’

You whimper, backing up across your sheets. He follows, both knees dipping onto the mattress, tongue searching for yours, pecks and nips pressed to your forehead, cheeks, lips.

Your hands find purchase wherever they can, squeezing the tops of his arms, nails grazing the skin, grasping the meat of his hips, tracing the contours of his belly, squeezing and stroking his cock. A deep groan rumbles in his chest again, and he's breaking the kisses to divert and scoot back against your pillows. You crawl to him, eye contact only broken as his eyes flick over your shoulder, and he freezes, shivers. You smile wickedly, guessing at what he can see. You pause between his legs again, lowering your head to kiss at his base, cup his balls, arching your back a little more so he can really see the angle you’re exposed at in the mirror behind you.

He doesn’t know where to look. Where your mouth and hands are, teasing at his cock again, or where he can see your glistening pussy, tilted up, shining, ready.

He’s losing his fucking mind.

He reaches over, curling his body around yours to land a firm smack against your ass. You whimper at the contact, hot pant of air against his skin, eyes glassy again as he groans, watching the flesh ripple, watching the claim he has staked begin to form.

You move to kneel, coming face to face, your eyes wide, wanton, desperate.

‘Fuck me, Frankie,’ you whisper, pleading. ‘Please, fuck me -’

He shakes his head, kissing your temple.

‘Gotta get you ready first, bebita,’ he breathes, pulling you closer, moving your legs. ‘Come here for me, turn around. Come closer. Like this.’ He arranges you so you’re sat, cradled between his legs, your back to his front. He spreads your legs wide, hooks them with his ankles so you can’t close them. Runs his hands down your body, your eyes tracing his movements - every squeeze, every pinch, every circle he draws.

Your breath hitches as his hands travel lower, parting your folds again, feathering over your clit. You turn your head to speak directly into his ear.

‘Don’t tease, Morales.’ You purr. He chuckles, turning to peck at your lips.

‘I won’t, princesa.’

You cry out as he sinks two fingers inside your heat, making good on his promise. Your chin dips, but his spare hand comes up to cradle it gently, angling your head so you can watch him work you in the mirror. The two of you rendered speechless for a moment - just gasps, moans, the slick sounds of your cunt in the room. His dark eyes on yours over your shoulder, in the glass. The firm press, scissor, pulse, of his fingers inside you.

The silence is only broken by a ragged moan from you as he presses against that delicious, spongy spot tucked away inside you, and he chuckles in response.

‘Look at you, baby,’ he breathes in your ear, ‘So pretty. Been thinking about you like this all week.’

You moan as he curls his fingers at a particularly delicious angle, pressing the meat of his palm against your clit. Your hand closes around his wrist, keeping him there, pulling him away - a mix of both. The feel of him is too wonderful to be rid of, too much to take.

‘Longest fuckin’ week of my life.’ He growls, biting at your earlobe, flicking his wrist faster again, drawing a desperate cry from your lips. A pressure building, your pussy obscene in the quiet, so fucking wet, and you can hear Frankie thinking it, marvelling at how your body responds, how you leak and clench and writhe in his grip.

There’s that pressure building again, your breath heaving in your lungs, cunt getting slicker, tighter. Frankie coos in your ear, his other arm still banded around your middle. You hiccup, moan, arch your back against him.

‘Fuck,’ you murmur, ‘Fuck, close.’

He hums, tracing his nose along the fine skin of your neck.

‘Yeah?’ He says, voice cracking a little. ‘S’that good? Tell me. Tell me it’s good, baby.’

You whine again, thrashing your head against his shoulder, driving your hips down onto his fingers, pleading for more.

‘So good,’ you moan, ‘So fucking good, Frankie. You have no idea.’

You can feel him rutting against you - slowly - all velvet skin, wiry hair, sticky wetness. His mouth pressed to your shoulder, licking, nipping, kissing alternately, his fingers pressed deep inside you, other arm loosening around your middle, hand playing messily with your clit. His eyes in the mirror, trapping you there with him. Unashamed in their exploration of your body, greedy, watching your soaked cunt pull him in, the sopping sounds she makes as she tries to hold him there. You’re surprised at how hot it makes you feel, how wanted, how turned on. The streak of slick and sweat against your skin, Frankie's wet fingers that spread it there.

You whine again, skin burning, glistening with sweat. Tip your head back, onto his shoulder, to nip his skin impatiently between your teeth.

‘Frankie,’ you murmur, breath sweet against his ear, ‘Wanna come on your cock.’

‘Fuck,’ he rasps, ‘Is that what you want? You want my cock?’

You moan again, louder, drunk on the feeling between your legs, his continued movement.

‘Yes.’ You hiss, as he sucks a mark onto your neck.

‘Say it. Need to hear you say it.’

‘Want your cock. Need your cock, Francisco.’

You swear you see his eyes roll into the back of his head in the glass of the mirror, and then he’s moving fast, with precision.

He eases his fingers from your pussy, gentle, not a drop of hesitation. He pushes your hips until they rise, tilting your whole body forwards until you’re on your knees, hands pressed into the mattress. You feel like jelly, so loose and warm-limbed you’re sure you could be moulded into any shape he wished.

‘Good girl,’ he mumbles, pressing hot kisses against your shoulders, down your spine. ‘Good fucking girl.’

His hands are on your hips, ready to move you, but in a second, you’re turning to face him. He’s watching you, reverent, like he can’t believe you’re here, that he’s here. You place a knee on either side of his, one hand pulling at the curls at the nape of his neck, titling his head back so you can slant your mouth against his, licking between his lips as you lower yourself gently, rocking your soaked folds over his sensitive cock.

The movement knocks the air from his lungs, mouth stuttering against yours, unable to kiss you back. Feeling you on his fingers was one thing, but having you sliding against him like this is a whole nother. You giggle at him, and a whimper clears the back of his throat.

‘You okay, baby?’ You smirk, voice hoarse. He supposes it’s only fair, now you’ve got the upper hand. He lets you keep it, hands roving desperately, kneading and pulling at the flesh of your ass, mouth dipping to your nipple, letting you glide over him. Now processing how hard he is, how painfully his cock throbs.

He’s ready to be greedy, ready to find out how he fits inside you.

He pulls you up, closer, by the hips. Grips his cock firmly between your legs, swipes it between your folds, making sure to bump against your clit just to hear you whimper.

You brace your hands against his chest as you rest your leaking hole against him, the tip just breaching the tight ring of muscle. You whine, scratching fine lines into his skin.

He swallows - so handsome. Dark curls, dark eyes. Strong body, a body that feels like home, like someone who has always kept you safe, has always made you feel seen.

‘Look at me,’ he says, for the second time. You drag your eyes to him, stalling your movements. He waits until he knows your brain has caught up with your body. ‘Slowly.’

You nod, lowering yourself against the blunt head of his cock, clenching your teeth at the sweet stretch. He anchors you with one hand cupped to your cheek, the other firm at your ass, listening to your hiccuped moans, your shuddering breaths, releasing his through his teeth. You’re so warm, so wet, so tight.

And he fills you to the brim. Every inch you take a marvel, pressing against every nerve ending, every tender spot, like he was made for you. You settle when you reach his base, clit catching on the wiry hairs there, rocking slightly to feel him even better, letting your slick soak him, feeling yourself pull tight, loosen, ebb, flow.

You knock your forehead with his, finding his eyes. Bright, fiery, needy. You close the space between you, kissing him as you pant together. Feeling so full, so open, forgetting every worry, every niggling doubt. You rest your head in the crook between his neck and shoulder, shaking as you lift your hips, feeling the thick glide of him, clenching, releasing, dropping back down slowly, again, listening to the squelch of him moving inside you, desperate, needy little noises leaving your mouth. It’s intoxicating - the more you move, the louder you get, the louder he gets. Deep rumbles of praise, heavy grunts, hands soothing, pinching every inch of skin they can find. You grind a little more on the downwards movement this time, keening at the scrape against that bundle of nerves again, choking on your words.

‘God.’

‘That’s it, Bu- baby.’ He groans, and a huff of amusement leaves you at the slip.

‘What, am I not Bug anymore?’

It’s breathless, your tease, not your usual gnashing comeback. He groans, teeth grazing the bud of your nipple.

‘I am not using the nickname my daughter gave you when I’m inside you.’

You giggle at the thought, body clenching a little. Frankie moans, open mouthed, eyes squeezing shut, hands grasping at you.

‘Don’t laugh,’ he gasps, ‘Holy fuck, please don’t laugh. I’ll come.’

You hum, giving in, dragging your body up and down again, smooth, slow, letting the feeling, the warmth, the pressure, the ache begin to build again. You lean back a little, one hand on his thigh, one loose on his shoulder, and the change in angle has you crying out, cursing, Frankie watching your face before his eyes fall down your body - beautiful, glistening in the orange light. The curve of your waist, the quickening bounce of your tits, and then your cunt. Watches as he disappears inside you, watches as you stretch around him, watches the glisten of your wetness down his length, where it’s tacky at the bottom, staining the two of you where you’re connected. You reach back with your other hand, moving faster, leaning back further so he can really watch you fuck yourself onto him.

Your movements grow hungrier, a little more uncoordinated; stomach tensing, mouth hanging open, cut off, broken cries of his name, feeling yourself wind tighter, spill more onto his lap. He runs a large palm down your body, thumb finding your clit, catching it, rubbing firm circles. He feels you clench for real this time, whole body shuttering at the feeling, your hand clutching his.

‘Fuck, Frankie -’ you gasp, ‘Please, I’ll -’

You’re cut off as he changes his rhythm, his pressure, finding the pace that makes you moan with every breath, mouth stretching in a smile.

‘You’ll what, princesa?’

You whine, huffing, thighs burning, release so close you can almost taste it.

‘Motherfucker -’ you bite, no real venom.

‘Words, baby.’ He coos.

‘I’ll come,’ you pant, ‘Frankie - I - I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, please, gonna come, Frankie, Frankie, Frankie -’

You sob, loudly, euphoric as your orgasm shatters through you, body cramping, juddering. A gush of liquid between you, your pussy squeezing him tight, so tight -

‘Good girl, bebita, such a good fucking girl -’

And he’s flipping you, deftly, a hand protecting your skull, so you’re on your back, mind and body reeling as you continue to shudder, still calling out for him, nails carving pink half moons in his shoulders as you wrap your legs around his waist on instinct, the angle deepening, his body pressed flush to yours.

‘Fuck,’ he snarls, ‘Feel like heaven, baby, wanna watch you come every day, every hour, all the time -’ he’s babbling, he knows he is. But he’s caught up, entranced by how you look beneath him, his thrusts sloppy already, watching your eyes roll back, your chest heave, tits bounce. Lower again, where he’s fucking into you, soaked with your release. He winds a hand around the back of your neck, gently tilting your head to make you see what he’s seeing, to watch him fuck you.

You clench painfully around him, gasping - shit, Frankie, oh my God, so good, so good - your body rallying for another, senses overwhelmed, aflame with pleasure. He clutches your thigh, hitches your legs higher up his waist. Licks at your pulse point, sucks different mark there, leaning back to take you in again.

‘Look so pretty, bebita,’ he moans, ‘All fucked out on my cock like this.’

And it’s like a switch is flicked. Frankie sees it pass through your eyes, a wicked glimmer. The way the corners of your lips twitch, even as your eyelashes flutter at the sensation of him drawing his thick cock back out of you, even as your body whirs with a second orgasm.

‘Yeah, baby?’ you coo, ‘You like how I look taking your cock?’

He can’t say anything in reply, mouth only hanging open as you start to talk again.

‘Like how I look when I’m full of you? Wanna be full of you all the time, Frankie. Wanna feel you even when you’re not inside me like this. Wanna - fuck - wanna feel you dripping out of me -’

He groans roughly, almost animalistic.

‘Don’t say that.’ He grits.

You moan at his tone, fingers twisting through his hair, mind getting hazy as you flutter around him.

‘But I want it, Francisco,’ you rasp, ‘Want you to come inside me, want you to fuck me full of you -’

He bares his teeth a little, nipping at your bottom lip. Balls drawing up, heat at the base of his spine, faster, harder -

‘You want that?’

‘Please, Frankie.’

He moans again, sees stars when he closes his eyes, as your whimpers pitch higher.

‘Gonna come,’ you whisper, ‘Come, Frankie, please, come inside me -’

You’re not sure who’s first, you’re not sure who’s louder. A shout of your name, his name, ripping through the air, you clamping down around him, the jerk of him inside you as he paints your walls with his cum, fucking it into you as long as he can, the squelch, the sensitivity drawing out your highs.

He eases when it gets too much, rolling you onto your side, keeping you full until he softens enough to slip out, kissing all over your face. You share breath, teeth knocking against each other, tongues gliding along lips, whining as you feel him begin to drip out of you.

Fingers slipping against his damp skin, pulling him close, sharing whispered secrets, tugging him closer still when he starts to harden again against your thigh.

Hours slip by, the darkness behind the curtains blooming into something like daybreak. He tastes you again, fills you again, you make sure to take him in your mouth.

And when the first birds begin to sing, you are fast asleep in each others’ arms.

His fingers are tracing your shoulder, your face pressed to his chest, murmuring conversation in the light of the morning. Sun stretching through your clumsily closed curtains, rustle of the trees outside the window, cracked open for fresh air when the scent of sex was laying heavy in the room. Legs tangled together, further entwined in your sheets.

In a moment of quiet, Frankie speaks.

‘Your picture’s fallen over.’

Twisting your head, you look to what he’s pointing out and snort, burying your face in his warm skin.

‘What?’ He asks, amusement curling the word.

You pull a face.

‘It didn’t fall over. I turned it over.’ You admit.

A beat.

‘Why?’

You rest your chin on his pectoral, taking in the crease of confusion between his brows. You lean to kiss it away, because you can, now. Because you never have to think about it without doing it again.

You squeeze your lip between your teeth.

‘It’s uh - it’s a picture of me and Dad.’

He frowns again, eyes searching your face. You exhale.

‘I didn’t… I didn't want him to - see?’

He chuckles softly, pink dusting his cheeks as he swipes a hand across his jaw, thinking, remembering.

‘I didn’t see you do that -’

‘I did it before I came over.’

You cringe a little at the confession. Silly now that it’s happened, but still.

‘Before…?’

You nod. Mhm. A smile teases at his lips, eyes lighting with mischief.

‘But we didn’t - I mean - we didn’t plan it -’

‘I know,’ you groan, hiding your face again. ‘I just had a feeling.’

Frankie snorts, squeezing your hip.

‘Good feeling, baby.’

‘Asshole.’ You giggle, nipping his skin between your teeth.

He laughs again, shifting you in his arms so he can hold you properly.

‘Good job I didn’t try anything last week, then,’ he smiles, ‘Can’t have him thinking I’m not a gentleman -’

‘Frankie, you literally came in your pants -’

He gasps in mock offence, squeezing you tighter.

‘And so did you!’

You laugh, properly, against him, chests leaping against each other. You press your lips to his neck as he presses his to your hair.

‘Hell of a first kiss, though.’ He chuckles.

He feels you tense as your heart leaps in your ribs.

One last secret.

He loosens his grip, watching you, a flicker of worry cooling his joy. You chew your lip, brow furrowing, eyes flicking from somewhere in the middle distance to meet his.

‘What, baby?’ He whispers. You inhale deeply.

‘How much do you remember from Pride?’

He grimaces, relieved at your answering smile.

‘After eleven? Not a lot.’

You hum, pulling yourself from his arms. He lets you go reluctantly, watching as you stand. Your gorgeous body - gorgeous curves, the places he’s gotten to know so well over the last few hours, the marks that have begun to bloom after his lips and teeth.

You rummage around in a dresser draw, turning to face him with a single thin, glossy strip of paper in your hands. You step back towards him, eyes catching on the way he's sprawled out before you. Golden skin, broad shoulders, one hand behind his head, bicep flexed. One leg thrown out from beneath the covers, his modesty - or what’s left of it - barely hidden by your sheets. A flash of heat moves through you. You bite your lip.

‘Do you remember the photobooth?’

‘Mhm. A little.’

You nestle back down next to him, the slip of paper still clutched to your chest. Your eyes dart to his again.

‘Our first kiss wasn’t last week.’

‘What?’

His eyes are wide, mind whirring as you hold out the paper for him to take.

A series of five shots of the two of you. Laughing, close, and then with mouths pressed together, hungry. The last one messy, still locked in a searing kiss, but he can see the drunk grins peeking through.

He exhales heavily.

‘We kissed at Pride?’ He asks, bewildered.

You nod, twisting your hands in your lap.

‘We did.’

He looks back at you, still confused. A little worried, a little disappointed.

‘I’m sorry,’ he breathes, ‘I don’t remember -’

You laugh, knocking his shoulder with yours.

‘Neither did I, baby.’ You say, kissing his curls.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

You suck a breath in through your teeth, shrug.

‘You didn’t remember, and I - I panicked. Didn’t know if it was just a thing for you or, you know, a thing.’

‘Like last week?’

You nod, sombre.

‘Like last week.’

He shakes his head.

‘You’re my favourite idiot, you know that?’

You scoff, brightening.

‘Dick. I had no idea -’

‘I love you.’

The simplicity of it takes your breath away. Winds you, catches you right in the chest, battering against your heart.

His eyes are shining, and the truth of it is there. Has always been there. Somehow, you just never saw it before.

I love you.

The weeks of wanting, of worrying. Of denying, of lying awake thinking about it -

‘I love you, too.’

His eyes crease at the corners, mouth lifting, tongue peeking from between his teeth.

‘Yeah?’ He breathes.

‘Yeah.’ You whisper. He swallows.

‘Think a part of me always has.’

There’s a prickle in his throat, heat behind his eyes. He wonders when it happened for you.

Wonders whether you had him from that first glimpse from Lucia’s room, from searching for bugs in your yard. Your tenderness with his daughter, the laughter in your eyes. From those moments you curled into his side on his sofa, when he’d come home, so relieved to find you in his house.

Knows, for sure, you’d had him long before his realisation on his porch, sand still between your toes.

He clears his throat, tangling your fingers.

‘That mean I get to call you mine, now?’

You smile, eyes watery. Hey, neighbour. I’m Frankie - from across the way. His curls in the sunshine, water balloons over fences. His broad back to you as he cooked dinner, the warmth of his arm around your shoulders. His gentle hands as you cried, phone calls through kitchen windows.

‘Please.’ You whisper.

The lightness in his beam is infectious, a tear spilling over as he kisses you and kisses you. Mine. Mine. Palms skating over skin, tangled in hair, an endless moment in morning sunshine. Your heart swells impossibly, stitched together, glued together by this man in your bed. You don’t know when he did it. But he holds it now, whole, fixing something you know your Dad never wanted to break.

‘Thank you.’ You rasp against his lips, chin wobbling. He doesn't ask what for. He knows, just by the look in your eyes. He shakes his head minutely, voice thick, quiet.

‘My honour.’

He holds you close, bodies melded together. You never want to let go, the tightness in your chest easing again as he makes you laugh, as you say it again, outloud, breathless. Mine. The whispers only broken by rumbles of noise outside, voices -

Deep voices in his backyard you can hear even from here. You groan into each others’ mouths, the sound dissolving into a laugh.

‘They’ll be wanting breakfast.’ You giggle quietly.

‘They can cook,’ he mumbles against your lips, ‘I’ve got mine right here.’

He squeezes your ass, dragging your hips against his thigh. Still wet, leaking from the two of you, something heating in his chest at the thought.

You hum, not helping the case by kissing down his chest.

‘Should really say goodbye at least.’

He grunts as you nibble at his belly, neither acquiescing or disagreeing.

‘And then,’ you continue, ‘I remember something about you keeping me in bed for a week?’

You pause, looking up at him. He curls a hand around your cheek, so tender.

‘Me too.’ He whispers.

You grin as you clamber back up his body, planting a firm kiss against his lips.

‘Couple of hours,’ you promise yourself, ‘And then I have you all to myself.’

He chuckles against your lips, an eyebrow lifting, repeating your words from a week ago - a lifetime ago - back to you.

‘We’ve got the whole summer, Bug.’

You giggle, wiggling your eyebrows.

‘Plenty of time for a ride in the sky, then, too.’ You grin, nudging him.

He presses a long, sweet kiss to your mouth.

‘I’d take you to the moon if I could.’

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

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wannab-urs · 10 months ago

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The Peg That Middle Aged Man Campaign 2024 | Masterlist

Hello and welcome to the PMAMC 2024, a Pedro Pascal Character Fanfiction Event!!!!

Thank you so much to everyone who participated and to everyone who interacted with these amazing fics. I had an absolute blast running this little event!

NOTE: Warnings are provided, please read them. Some of these are pure fluff, some are angsty, and some have potentially triggering elements. All fics are tagged appropriately and you are responsible for your own content consumption. MDNI | 18+

AO3 Link | PMAMC 2023 | #PMAMC 2024

Comandante Veracruz

The Bet by @flightlessangelwings Warnings: smut (18+ ONLY!), pegging, anal, switching, oral (f receiving), overstim, slight roughness, established relationship and safe words, praise, no use of y/n Word count: 2.7k

Dave York

Use Me by @theywhowriteandknowthings Warnings: Reader is a blank slate, no race, age, or other descriptive factors (reader can hold Dave up on the bed). Mentions of M!Masturbation; F!Masturbation; pet names (good girl, Sweetheart); Sub/Dom dynamics; Soft!Dom Dave; face riding; Swiping that nose like an Amex; a little bit of Switch action; derogation (Dave calls reader a slut, reader likes it); degradation kink; praise kink(if you squint?); use of "Sir" for Dave; anal play; use of butt plugs; lots of lube (it's necessary folks!); harness play; strap-on use; pegging; anal penetration with a dildo; food consumption (snacks); food mention (takeout food); aftercare; bathing; they're sappy married idiots in love. Word Count: 5.8k

Dieter Bravo

I'll Try Anything Once by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin Warnings: Oral sex M and F receiving, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, unprotected PIV sex, pegging, cumplay, cum swapping, cum swallowing Word Count: 2.5k

Din Djarin

Beautiful Release by @prolix-yuy Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, IT'S PEGGING DIN TIME! Anal sex (m receiving), rough sex, sex toys, fingering (m receiving), handjob, frottage, blowjob, swallowing, cumshot, mentions of oral sex (f receiving), mild dubcon (Reader isn't aware of Din's mental state and stops the session to re-negotiate boundaries), painful sex, sex as self-flagellation, hurt/comfort. Word Count: 4.1k

Ezra

Aquamarine by @for-a-longlongtime Warnings: Established relationship (f/m) plus third (hello, younger!BennyMiller from Triple Frontier!AU), dirty talk, brief masturbation (f and m), fingering (f and m receiving), rimming, anal sex, oral on a strap on, pegging, dildo is referred to as "your cock/dick" repeatedly. Some spit use (no kink).

Frankie Morales

On One Knee, On Two Knees by @beskarandblasters Warnings: f!reader, y’all get engaged, anal fingering, handjob, pegging, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names, Frankie is a Good Boy™, no use of y/n Word Count: 1.6k

Jack "Whiskey" Daniels

Trussed Up by @wannab-urs Warnings: PEGGING!!! Smut, sex club stuff, dominatrix!reader, dom!reader, sub!Jack, BDSM stuff, everyone is up to date on their STD checks and birth control and such, brief mention of shibari, mommy kink!whiskey but he calls reader “Momma” and also ma’am, reader calls Jack baby, baby boy, and cowboy, rope bunny!Jack, bondage, hog tie (modified), butt plug, spanking, fingering (m receiving), begging, lots of check ins, several uses of “good boy,” hand job (more so just teasing tbh), riding the cowboy, brief little gentle bite, unprotected PiV (but it’s about as safe as it can get… still don’t do that), creampie, aftercare, cuddling, unprofessional amounts of caring about your client. Word Count: 2.5k

Javi Gutierrez

On the First Date by @max--phillips Warnings: Pegging, obviously. Also, first dates, potentially embarrassing scenario gone very right, oral sex (reader receiving), strap on blowjob, Javi's just excited to be there, and of course some softness thrown in for fun. Word Count: 2.1k

Javier Peña

Pop Goes the Javi by @morallyinept Warnings: Pegging/rimming/anal fingering/anal penetration, M receiving/fingering F receiving/all the glorious butt stuff with Javi's pert lil' butt 🍑 Javi being a drooling mess. Word Count: 4.5k

Marcus Moreno

Same Time Next Week by @magpiepills Warnings: smut. pegging, anal, tit job, hand job, pussy job, sumata, prostate stimulation, anal fingering, sex work, coming untouched, praise kink, slight sub/dom vibes, subspace kind of, erotic massage, pining?? In my fic?? writer knows nothing about massages, many liberties taken. Word Count: 4.5k

Marcus Pike

Give and Take by @agentmarcuspike Warnings: pegging, use of a strap-on, reader doesn't have a penis, anal fingering, rimming, showering together, established romantic relationship (2+ years), lots of lube, wet wet wet (not the group), sweet sappy romance, cum play (?), coming untouched, pet names (baby, darling, good boy), begging a lil bit Word Count: 2.2k

Max Phillips

The Gift of Your Grave by @gasolinerainbowpuddles Warnings: POV switching, questionable consent if you squint due to inherent power imbalance, Max is serving cunt with side of a soft boi, pegging, butt stuff, angst, fluff, discussions about drug use/sobriety/coping mechanisms, my personal supernatural lore that exists bc I say it does, Frankie lacks confidence in himself until he embraces his super power sub status, using a dick like a pacifier (we’ve all been there), very loose workings of a dom/sub dynamic but mostly reward/punishment concepts and orgasm control Word Count: 8.1k

Maxwell Lord

Stiff by @idolatrybarbie Warnings: takes place in the 80s, fem!OC with no physical descriptions, gambling (pls don't), alcohol and references to it, descriptions of fake gore and blood, reader smokes, references to domestic violence and abuse, smut - pegging, anal fingering, come eating, praise. Word Count: 4.9k

No-outbreak Joel

Will You Show Me? by @eupheme Warnings: switch!joel and switch!reader, poly relationship, use of alcohol, light sub/dom elements, sex toys, references to threesomes, sexual photos, oral sex, anal play, pegging, joel teaches you what to do

Oberyn Martell

My Way by @lincolndjarin Warnings: five seconds of plot to build up to a whole lot of porn, pegging (obvi), medieval strap on, glass toys, fingering, oberyn sucks the strap, allusions to other partners, referring to a dildo as a cock, multiple orgasms, overstimulation if you squint, premature ejaculation?? idk he cums fast bc i'm a sucker for that, cum play, reader has brief penis envy idk if that's the term but yeah, spit as lube bc its the olden days or whatever, anal sex, soft & loving sex, sort of a gentle dom vibe from reader, they're married <3 <3 <3, aftercare, i didn't really edit this as much as i should have (i'm sleepy) so apologies in advance

Pero Tovar

The Mercenary and his Witch by @nerdieforpedro Warnings: slight misogyny (11th century people it would be weird if there wasn’t), mentions of whorehouses (it’s work - respect it), threat of violence, fingering (male and female), edging and teasing, biting, a sweet Pero?, ass play (with fingers), oral sex (female and male receiving), mentions of food (a Nerdie fic staple), pegging, cum massage and eating, aftercare Word Count: 4.8k

Post-outbreak Joel

A Bad Deal by @jksprincess10 Warnings: NON CON, DDDNE dark!reader, drugging someone without their knowledge, non consensual pegging, lots of degrading, slight somnophilia, pegging without prep, reader is crazy as fuck, mentions of blood, unprotected p in v, dom!reader, toxic relationship

Pre-outbreak Joel

Ripe by @hier--soir Warnings: pre-outbreak, set in the early 2000s, early thirties joel my lover boyy, bisexual reader, established relationship, that one shit stirring friend, brief alcohol consumption and piv sex at the onset, brief masturbation [m] in the bath, a little ass eating and fingering, a little spitting, pegging, dirty talk, praise, dildo is described as "your cock" multiple times, reach around hand job you will always be famous, they talk each other through it, the word hole is used 11 times but it feels like 100, also they're in love okay bye. Word Count: 5.3k

EXTRAS

-- here's all the fics that weren't included in the main event, but are just as delicious --

SNL Characters

Game Over by @magpiepills Mario x Princess Peach!Reader Warnings: pegging, anal fingering, dirty talk, drinking, flirting, butt plugs, use and abuse of video game imagery, crack fic, probably cringe. No use of y/n, reader is princess peach, but her hair, skin and body type aren’t described.

A Table for Two by @gasolinerainbowpuddles and @joelsgreys Mrs. Claudia Flores x the Italian Waiter x Lisa from Temecula Warnings: cracfkic, pegging, bad Italian accents, lots of culinary euphemisms, tiny font Spanish/Italian translations

Marcus Pike

Whatta Man by @atinylittlepain Warnings: this is smut, pegging, rimming, sucking and fucking, sex work, lowkey sugardaddy!marcus, sweet shy marcus getting his world rocked, and then pancakes and a blackberry and a black american express card so ya know, the works.

Ezra

Prospecting by @marisferasiop Warnings: Peg that space rat! pegging, anal fingering, anal toying, rim job, mildly degrading language, lil bit of overstim, cum as lube, cum eating, Ezra being a soft baby

Frankie Morales

My Boys by @flightlessangelwings Warnings: mmf threesome, established relationship, pegging, anal, fingering, oral (m receiving, hint at f receiving), soft dom reader, sub!Frankie, praise, pet names (babe, baby), fluff, feelings, no use of y/n

#pmamc 2024 #pmamc 2024 masterlist #pmamc masterlist #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #masterlist #pedrostories

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kupkate04 · 5 months ago

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A Hapless Endearment || Creepypasta x F. Reader || Ch. 1 - To Grandmother's House We Go

—Quick author's note—

I'm sure you all know the drill by now, but for those of you who don't, here it is:

Y/n = Your name

L/n = Last name

N/n = Nickname

H/c = Hair color

E/c = Eye color

F/c = Favorite color

B/m = Birth month

S/t = Skin tone

B/s = Body shape

B/c = Blush color

L/c = Lip color

H/l = Hair length

Also, I try to leave Y/n up to interpretation as much as I can, although some things will still be assumed about her, whether that be the kind of food she likes or her style of clothing, etc. It's difficult for me to fully write for a character who's a "blank slate", just thought you should know! Enjoy reading~

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

She exudes an inaudible sigh, propping her jaw in her palm and gazing through the somewhat smudged surface of the glass. Trees and houses of varying sizes whiz by, blurring together and composing an evanescent of greens, browns, whites, and yellows. The sun sits high on its invisible throne above. Its warm, golden rays break through an army of fluffy clouds, capturing the atmosphere in a brilliant, cheery radiance.

Struggling to imagine the clouds morphing into fun, inspiring shapes due to her current lack of concentration, she frowns, letting her discouraged eyes fall. The engine hums, the AC whirs, and wheels scrape the asphalt below, bringing the passengers closer to their destination. They've halted a few times to allow everyone a chance to stretch their legs and collect themselves, which has been Y/n's saving grace. Still, after ten hours of riding, her muscles are stiff and she is more than eager to be free from the confinement of this chatter-brimmed bus. Nestled in her lap is a backpack, and below the seat, directly behind her legs, lies her duffel bag; both have been stuffed with an assortment of clothes and other items she deemed imperative to bring along.

Headphones have been diligently positioned over her ears, the tunes that flood from which manage to block out most of the incessant noise surrounding her–including the ungodly snores of the man to her left. She fiddles with the wire, twirling it absentmindedly around her finger as she stares at the window frame, her mind wandering aimlessly amidst a blanket of fog. Languidly glimpsing to the side reveals her seating buddy has his head resting on the back of the bench, eyes closed and mouth hanging wide open. It's a wonder he hasn't caught a fly in there yet.

Ah, well. At least he doesn't stink.

She lets the dirty glass support her temple, her eyes threatening to seal shut. She's barely seized a wink of sleep throughout the course of this little road trip and her body is beginning to feel the full effects of it. Pondering momentarily how much longer it will be until they reach the station, a fleeting peek at her phone screen informs her of the time: 6:44 in the evening. The bus left at 6:30, so there shouldn't be much time remaining. Gosh, she can't wait to stand again. She's not even sure she remembers what her feet feel like.

She succumbs to the temptation to yawn quietly, giving her drooping eyes a reprieve. She thinks about what she's going to do when the bus parks and she saunters through the folding doors to reunite with her grandparents. It's been so many years since she saw them last. She was...nine?

Memories of her childhood have grown faint, but she can recall how happy she always was around them; how much boundless joy they brought her simply by existing. They were never neglectful, impatient, or spiteful, no–only caring and affectionate and overflowing with love. She's missed having that kind of positive influence in her life. It's been hovering in the distance for so long, just out of reach. Taunting her.

But now it doesn't matter, because she's coming back. She's finally going to see them again.

It's unfortunate that it took seven years to convince her father to let her return. He's so swaddled in his needless resentment and self-pity that it's blinded him. She doesn't understand how he could care so little–be so detached from the two people who raised him with every ounce of adoration they possessed because of some silly disagreement a few years prior.

She isn't certain what transpired exactly; all she knows is the vague comments she was told by her mother. It was likely an argument based around the roads he was traversing to make an income, as it seems highly in-character for him to get offended by something so trivial. Knowing him, he blew their moral concerns out of proportion, pitched a hissy fit, and vowed never to speak to them again, dragging his daughter and wife into the crossfire.

It was that reason and that reason alone why Y/n had to wait until she was sixteen to pay dear Nana and Pops a visit. He only relented because she wouldn't stop bothering him about it for two weeks straight after she found out both her parents would be out of the country during the summer for their jobs. She didn't want to be stuck at home for three months without any friends to spend time with, and she didn't want to go back to camp either, so traveling to Alabama for a summer vacation seemed like the only logical solution. They dropped her off with some money on their way to the airport, she bought a ticket, boarded the elongated vehicle, and that was that.

Her father had been less than enthused on the matter, and she recalls his torpid, irked expression reflecting in the rear-view mirror of the car as they pulled up to the bus stop. Her mother, on the other hand, was rather indifferent; far too invested in whatever messages lit up the screen of her phone to concern herself with domestic conflict. Y/n could only imagine which one of her flings she was texting this time, as situations involving her work certainly never gained her attention so fiercely.

A melancholic indignancy bubbles up within the girl's chest at the countless encounters she's had with her mom as of late that involved puny excuses, middle-of-the-night departures, and poorly-disguised secrets. She's never outright confirmed it, but her behavior is undeniably suspicious. She smiles more at her phone than she does when she's ever with her husband, and her 'husband' in question doesn't even seem to notice—or, if he does, simply doesn't care. Y/n hates it. Her family is falling apart at the seams and she's powerless to stop it.

A bitter sensation grabs at her tongue and she desires to spit the foul taste out, though only swallows and chews the inside of her cheek, attempting to rid herself of the disconcerting concept. She searches the hollows of her mind for something, anything lighthearted; a memory that contains laughter, joy, fondness. However, she finds nothing. She’s unable to remember a delightful moment between herself and her parents that took place recently. A time when her father outwardly expressed happiness or her mother was shamelessly candid.

It's a distressing realization to approach, that her family hasn’t acted as a true family since she was twelve years old; only still a child when her clinquant life slowly came crashing down before her. She isn’t sure the exact minute that it happened, nor does she have a specific reason as to why it happened. All she knows is that her parents steadily grew more and more distant, drawing themselves out of her sight until the feeling of inevitable abandonment seeped in.

She tried to communicate with them, collapse their walls and get them to allow their only child back in, though each time without fail, they forced themselves farther back into the cold, bitter darkness and left her desperate, longing for their love and affection. It became apparent she was getting nowhere with them, so after many fruitless attempts, she threw her hands up in surrender.

The example they set was not a good one, yet she couldn't help but subconsciously follow their lead. She grew emotionally drained, jaded—bordering depressed, even. Suddenly, maintaining any relationships outside of her home became a chore; a nearly impossible task that needed more energy than what she was willing to sacrifice. The more her friends noticed her inner turmoil, the more they tried to help, and the more she pushed them away. After all, if her parents didn't care, why should she?

She would get over this miserable hump eventually, and she would do it alone. Cutting contact with her dearest companions was an easier feat than one would expect, as it was accidental and gradual and she always affirmed herself with the fact that it wasn't permanent. She could always get in touch later. But weeks passed, and then months, and she made no effort to do that. At some point, she convinced herself that they wouldn't take her back now anyway. It had been too long, and she had treated them coldly. She wouldn't want to be friends with her, either—there was too much drama and emotional baggage.

It feels as if the person she once was fades from reality a little more every passing day, becoming invisible among people and society as a whole, including herself. Somewhere in the back of her troubled mind lays her positive outlook on life, and it's been locked in a box with the key thrown away.

Now sixteen years of age, she still struggles with these ill-fated circumstances and her dilapidated mental state but has learned to drive a vast majority of it into the chasms of her brain, leaving her an empty, aggrieved husk.

She blinks, reemerging from her thoughts of deep disdain as she registers the large vehicle she sits in turn off the main stretch of road and park in front of a building—the Fairfield bus station. She's here.

Despite the otherwise displeasing series of events that lead up to this, she feels a glint of excitement, pausing her music and gingerly removing her headphones, being careful not to tangle the wire as she unplugs it from the MP3 Player and wraps them around the f/c object. She then takes hold of her backpack, still open from where she retrieved the source of entertainment, and shoves them inside, zipping it closed after finishing.

Eagerly, she bends over to reach below the seat and lift up her dufflebag in preparation before glancing out the window, e/c irises gleaming in the rays of sun. The bus brakes, the door is slid open, and several of the passengers rise. She isn't far behind, throwing her bags over her shoulder and squeezing past the man's broad legs, being careful not to thwack him upside the head with her luggage as she does so. He's barely disturbed, stirring for a few seconds before drifting off back to the realm of dreams. Merging into the middle aisle, she tries to control her rapidly-beating heart as she treads to the exit, being mindful of the people surrounding her in every feasible direction.

How will Nana and Pops react to seeing her again, after all this time? Will they still love her? She has changed in significant ways, and not necessarily for the better, either. Surely that won't deter them, right? Of course not. I'm one of their only grandchildren. They won't stop caring about me just cause I've grown up.

Though her pep-talk does little to soothe a new wave of anxieties that wash over her like an angry tsunami.

Oh gosh. What if it's super awkward?

She maneuvers down the stairs and makes distance between herself and the mode of transportation, scanning the crowd to locate the elderly pair her thoughts center around. A whirl of nervousness penetrates her stomach, her brows knitting together subtly.

What if they've changed? What if they're just like Dad?

But as she meets the warm brown eyes of Nana from afar and notices the giant, surprised smile stretching across her features, all doubt withers away, and she offers a meek wave. The lady bumps the arm of the hefty man sitting next to her to gather his attention before she springs to her feet and sprints to greet Y/n, her expression contorted into one of pure bliss. A small grin tugs at Y/n's face, and she stands idle, taking into account Nana's appearance as she hurries forward.

She’s adorning a floral dress, patterned with tiny petaled flowers of all different shapes and a skirt that drapes down to her shins. Her shoes are simple beige sandals, and her grey, fine hair is tied back into a Chinese-inspired bun. Her eyes are kind and welcoming, though sunken with age and life experience, and the wrinkles that crease her forehead and cheeks only clue Y/n in on how old she must be getting, now.

"Y/n!" Nana calls out, voice brimmed with exhilaration as she dodges other pedestrians before reaching out and enveloping the h/c in a tight embrace, her frail arms wrapping around her frame and reeling her in as close as she can. Her actions almost knock both of them to the ground, but Y/n balances herself before she can stumble and reciprocates the gesture.

"Hi, Nana," she says, tone more genial than it's been in a long time. A pleasant scent wafts up into her nose; a peaceful aroma, a mixture of strawberries and cinnamon. She hugs back with her free arm soon after, squeezing her grandmother’s scrawny torso with as little force as required so she doesn’t somehow injure her.

Pops joins his wife with a notably calmer pace and snakes his arms around the two smaller individuals, his slightly yellowed teeth apparent through his beam. A stout man of classic tastes, he wears a 1950s fedora, a baby blue collared shirt, and suspenders. His hold is strong and secure and Y/n feels an almost overwhelming sense of comfort slam into her without warning. She chuckles—a soft, elated sound—and her chest is flooded with gleeful fuzziness. It's certainly an odd, foreign type of feeling, but she accepts it nonetheless. "Welcome home, kiddo."

"We've missed you so much," Nana chirps, pulling away after what has to be a solid two minutes and prompting Pops to do the same. Her wrinkled hands grasp her shoulders before sliding up to cup her face, gently tilting it upward to get a better look. A stunned expression crawls across her attributes before it’s replaced by a wider—if it’s even viable—smile. “Oh, you’ve grown so much!” She turns her head. “Phil, do you see her?”

“Aye. I sure do,” he says with a proud nod of his head. “She’s just as pretty as she was the last time she visited.” Blush dusts itself along the apples of her cheeks and she averts her line of sight, embarrassed. He chuckles. “Just as bashful, too.”

“Leave her alone.” She pivots again to face her, excitement dancing in her faded brown eyes. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear before giving her another hug. “We’ve missed you, sweetie. It’s been too long.” Y/n nods timidly, not accustomed to being so doted on. Behind her, the wheels of the bus grind against the asphalt as it leaves shortly after the doors close, and she twists her head around just in time to see it drive away, leaving her there for the summer. There's no other place she'd rather be, and their presence is only confirming those feelings. "We have so much catching up to do! I haven’t seen you since you were a little girl.” She looks back at the old woman and feels her squeeze her arm. “How old are you now? Fifteen?”

“She looks more grown-up than that,” Phil comments, and Y/n shrugs, biting her lip.

“Uh, I...turned sixteen in B/m.”

“My word!” Nana exclaims, cupping a hand to her mouth to emphasize. “You’re practically an adult, already!”

“Only a few years older than that darned cat of yours, Farrah,” he says, and Y/n’s eyes light up at the mention of the familiar feline.

“Marshmallow?” she questions, astonished enthusiasm coursing through her, once again. “He’s still alive?”

“Why, yes, he is,” Farrah laughs as if amused by her inquiry. “Getting on up there, though. I’m a little shocked to know you remember him.”

“Of course I remember him,” she says, the volume of her voice increasing with glee. “He’s my little buddy. I wonder if he still remembers me...”

“I’m sure he does,” Phil says. “He was always followin’ you around. Probably cause you spoiled him all the time with leftovers.” The corners of her mouth pull upward and she rubs the back of her neck.

“Well...he needs to be spoiled. Too sweet not to be spoiled.”

“Very true.” Farrah smiles.

“And yet I can’t even have a dog in the house,” he grumbles playfully. “You cat lovers don’t make any sense.”

“We don’t have to ‘make sense’,” Farrah says. “Cats are gorgeous, wholesome creatures, and they deserve to be treated as such.”

“Sure, sure.” He waves her off. “You treat that cat better than you do me.”

“Well, you’re not covered in angelic fur and lay on my lap to cuddle, now do you?” She raises a thin eyebrow, and he scoffs.

“I can lay in your lap if that’s what you want.”

“No, thank you.”

“Well, c’mon woman, make up your mind!”

“My mind is made up! Now, come on, dear.” She tugs Y/n to her and begins walking toward the grey-blue Toyota Corolla that sits motionless in the parking lot, and the teenager follows, readjusting the bags hanging on her shoulder.

“You want me to carry those for you?” Phil asks, and she glances over at him, her eyes widening, taken off-guard by the abrupt offer. But she collects her bearings rather quickly and shakes her head with a grateful smile.

“N-no thanks, Pops. I got it.”

“Whatcha got in those things? They look heavy.”

“Um...clothes and stuff,” she replies quietly as they reach the 2007 vehicle, Nana shuffling into the passenger's seat and Pops opening the back door for her. She tosses her luggage to the opposite side and climbs in, smiling up at him to signal that she's done. He nods in acknowledgement and shuts the door, soon claiming the area behind the steering wheel and cranking the engine. The interior of the car smells like lavender, thanks to the cardboard air freshener swaying below the rear-view mirror, and the beige-toned leather lining the seats is torn in various places, no doubt because of how many years it has under its belt.

"You got any'a that modern technology that kids use nowadays?"

The air conditioning blasts through the vents to cool the space as he puts the car in reverse to back out of the lot before shifting the gear, navigating between other automobiles, and driving onto the highway. Y/n clicks her buckle into place and twiddles her thumbs, jerking her shoulders up lightly, though she knows he won't be able to see it. "I—I mean, I have a cellphone, if that's what you're asking..."

"A cellphone, huh?" He eyes her in the mirror and she shrinks away meekly, unsure of how to react to the sincere attention. "We have one of those. Don't really know how to work it though."

"You sure do know your way around Solitaire for someone who doesn't know how a phone works." Nana's light jab makes him scoff playfully as he stares through the windshield observantly.

"You know what, Little Miss Sassypants? Yeah, I do. That app is the only reason I ever even pick it up."

"And when you do, you're playing it for three hours straight."

"It's enjoyable!" Huffing, he shoots her a glare of faux annoyance. "Don't act like you ain't got things that you spend hours at a time doing."

"My hobbies are productive, as opposed to yours, so that excludes me from this discussion."

"That sounds like code for 'I know I'm losing so I'm gonna back out now before I'm called out on it'."

"False." She flattens out her skirt and narrows her eyes at him. "I don't speak in code, dear."

He laughs gruffly at that sentence, plainly not buying her words. "Keep thinkin' that, sweetheart."

The frisky banter has Y/n failing to suppress a grin, having forgotten how well her grandparents get along, and why they've stayed married for almost sixty years. If only Mom and Dad had that kind of chemistry. Maybe then their home wouldn't be so void of love and life every waking moment.

"So how was the trip, Y/n?" Nana twists around to the best of her ability to catch a glimpse of her granddaughter, seeming to completely brush the mini argument aside and spare Y/n her undivided recognition, eyes touching base with her own.

"It was okay," she mumbles, voice just loud enough for them to understand her. "I'm ready to stop riding for a while, though."

"I'm sure. You traveled a long way. I'm glad you stayed safe."

Pops decides to contribute to the conversation. "How's your dad doin'?"

Her face scrunches up faintly as she racks her brain for a suitable answer that won't draw any concerned feedback. "Uh... He's busy. Him and Mom both."

"Figured that much. Probably why they're leaving the country in the first place, huh?"

Her gaze drops to her knees. "Yeah..."

"Do they do that often?" Nana asks, her tone curious. "Take trips for their job?"

"That's like, forty percent of what they do..." She registers the car turning left sharply, onto a dirt road that leads into a capacious patch of forestry. They pass a faded blue and white sign, and the letters in bold printed across its surface reveals: Oneiric Lane, half a mile.

Wow, almost there already.

"But, um...it's usually not so far away," she continues her previous statement as they drive over gravel and rocks in their path, making the ride a little bumpy. "Not usually for such a long time, either."

"They still workin' for the same company?" Pops says. If Y/n were to listen extra closely, she'd be able to detect the tiniest hint of enmity masked within his voice. She blows a bubble into her cheek.

"Yeah, but it got sold to another corporate body a couple years ago and they changed a lot of things. So both of them have been on duty a lot more since then."

"I bet that's been stressful."

"It's..." She could speak the truth, but the truth would dampen the mood, so she goes for a lighter alternative. "It's fine. They don't mind some extra work. Just means more money in the bank."

Pops mutters something under his breath, but Y/n can't decipher it. She can only assume it isn't anything particularly nice, based on the conversation that elicited it.

Before she can dwell on it for too extensive of a period, a familiar, Victorian-style cottage becomes visible, and a ghost of a smile sweeps across her features as she perks up. Around the house lies a white picket fence, fringed with beautiful flowers of all different colors, their stems having grown tall and coiled themselves around each individual post, giving it an engagingly untamed appearance.

At the gate, about ten feet from the front door perches an intricate white arch made of wicker and intertwined with more vibrant plants, and the house itself is a muted shade of cyan, with an ornate wooden roof that sparkles like tiny crystals in the glittery stream of sun. The window frames are white, their shutters open to allow optical access inside of the home, and stained glass roses rim the transparent pane.

The whole architecture makes it look as if the words from a book of fairy tales crept out of its pages and sprung into existence, staying hidden between the trees until someone comes across it. It takes her breath away, and she stares in awe, waiting anxiously for Pops to guide the Toyota off the road so she can jump out and get re-acquainted with it all.

I forgot how incredible this place was... She unbuckles, practically leaning against the glass in building anticipation as the car comes to a stop in their driveway, a few feet from the gate and underneath a willow tree. She extends her hand hastily to grasp the door handle and swings it open, the early summer breeze caressing her skin as she hops out, the bottom of her shoes making contact with vivid green grass. She steals a big whiff of the unpolluted air, natural scents swirling through her nostrils as she drags her belongings out of the car and slings them over her shoulder once again.

Nana copies her movements and Pops isn't too far behind her. She gives her an encouraging pat on the back, then motions for her to trail after her as she moves toward the arched gateway, unlatching it to grant her entrance. "Wait till you see the dinner I'm whipping up, Y/n," Nana says as they walk along a neat path of polished stones and white marble. "You still like pineapple casserole, right?"

"Yes," Y/n says with no hesitation, the very image of the dish making her mouth water. Although she hadn't had the privilege of eating it in years, one thing she can remember clearly is how delicious it was—then again, everything Nana cooks is delicious, so maybe that point is moot. On either side of the orderly pathway are two rows of tulips, comprising pink, white, red, and violent, perfectly maintained. It astounds her how her grandparents can keep the garden so alluring while also making sure the house is in tip-top shape. They surely tidied up before she arrived, but they're also the kind of people who like a neat living space, so she doubts they had to do much.

"I'm so happy to hear that!" She claps cheerfully as they reach the painted oak door, and both females make room for Pops as he conquers the porch stairs and wrenches the screen toward him, the creaking of its old and unoiled hinges evoking a sound similar to a screech. He rifles around in his pocket, pulls out the keys, and unlocks the entrance, holding it open as his wife and granddaughter stride through.

Y/n examines the property in wonder. Along the floor lies a hand-knitted rug, shaped like a rectangle with additional ruffles at its edges. On her left is a vacant doorway to the living room, with a vintage floral-patterned sofa resting against the wall, and next to it, facing the front door are two chairs; one matching the couch and the other a darker, less feminine material. A frosted glass coffee table sits in front of them, and beneath it is a hickory plank floor.

Past the living area is a small dining room, with a wooden table and four chairs slid neatly on every side, and behind that is an antique China cabinet with double doors and several drawers, all of which are transparent and hold various cups, platters, and knick-knacks that have been collected over the years. Straight ahead is a linear staircase; she remembers it leading up to the bedrooms and the second bathroom. To her right is a kitchen, with a white, ceramic-tiled floor, a long countertop that curls around the edges of the room; the refrigerator and the oven both fit snugly.

Hanging overhead is an oven light and cabinets with crystal knobs, and in the center is an island, with a vase of lemon yellow roses, a casserole dish, and a couple of pots.

The fragrance of honeysuckle crawls into her nose, as well as the smell of a currently-cooking turkey, mixing and creating a rainstorm of nostalgia. She almost cries from raw mirth. I really missed it here...

“Make yourself comfortable, dear,” Farrah chirps from behind her, giving her a few moments to get used to her new—but amicable—surroundings. “If you need me, I'll be finishing up dinner.” Y/n gives a soft hum in response, stepping farther inside and allowing herself to succumb to the wave of memories that bombard her.

Her eyes sweep over everything in reverence as she comes to a halt in front of the staircase, glimpsing back at her grandmother with a sheepish demeanor and parting her lips. “Um...am I staying in Aunt Darcy's old room? Or somewhere else?” A flash of realization shimmers in Farrah’s eyes before she steps forward and nods her head.

Farrah nods as Pops shuts the door, blocking the bright sunlight and capturing the area in a bit more darkness. “Yes, that's where you can sleep, store your things, anything. Of course, your dad's room is available too, but I didn't figure you'd want to stay somewhere with all those ugly band posters."

She breathes a quiet laugh. “Y-yeah, Aunt Darcy’s room will be fine." She spins on her heel and begins her small trek up the dozen or so stairs. The concept of being in her father’s childhood bedroom doesn’t sit right in her stomach. “Thank you, Nana.”

“Are you sure you don’t need any help with your bags?” she questions from below, her soft voice echoing upward and easily extending to Y/n’s ears. “They look awfully heavy.”

“No, it’s okay, I got ‘em,” she reassures, attaining the top step and taking a moment to pilot the somewhat narrow space before her. On the floor is a thin white rug that stretches the length of the hallway; to her immediate right is a small, polished table that supports a dainty-looking bouquet of petunias in a glass vase. On her left is a door that's been left ajar, divulging a bit of the interior and reminding her that this is indeed where she’s going.

She uses her free hand to push it open, lighting up when she wanders inside. The walls are a pristine, rosy pink, with a floor crafted out of ash wood planks that complements the design and hues nicely. On the opposite side of the room is a bed, made as a sort of cubbyhole into the wall and at a direct angle next to a window. Built into the wall are two bookshelves, both on either side of the bed and filled with colorful books of assorted sizes.

Beneath the mattress is a long drawer which she recalls to be a trundle bed. Attached to the ceiling above is a set of turquoise sheers, slid to either side of the sleeping niche, and loosely tied to the wall with some twine. In one corner, next to the other window, hangs a basket swing, with two pink pillows placed inside to cushion it. To her right is a closet, the door shut and a shoe organizer clinging to its top edge. Inside the pouches are several pairs of footwear, each separated and easily discernible.

A white, fluffy rug lays spread across the floor, underneath a clothes hamper, a small, cushioned bench, and a cotton bean bag chair. A chipped desk sits pressed against the wall, with several drawers inside and a stool of the same color pushed neatly beneath it. A reading lamp stands atop the surface, along with a couple of minuscule baskets to hold diverse writing tools; a notebook and binder stacked onto each other, a glass paperweight, and a mirror.

She releases an inaudible sigh, the corners of her lips quirking up into a content smile as she walks further inside, depositing her bags on the bed and doing a double-take of her temporary bedroom. A giddy sensation arises within her chest; one she hasn’t experienced in far too long. She turns her head and gazes through the open window, viewing the yard of green grass and colorful flowers below and admiring how the sun’s stunning yellow beams peer down through the towering trees.

She unzips her duffle bag and removes a pile of clothes from the main compartment, busying herself over the course of the next thirty minutes. The walk-in closet isn't huge but still larger than she remembered, meaning there's plenty of space to store all of her clothing pieces. She takes note of the fact that a vast majority of her aunt's stuff is no longer here, and she presumes Nana removed them to create space or Darcy herself came by and collected everything. Y/n hangs a good half of her items and keeps the rest folded, stuffing them into the shelf of drawers across from the door. She refrains from unpacking her art supplies and other accessories just yet, as it would feel weird and wrong to get so comfortable here after so little time.

After throwing her—now empty—bag into the corner, her stomach rumbles and she concludes that the last thing she ate was a honey bun, and that was hours ago. Yearning to ease her mild sense of famine, she pivots, leaves the room, and descends the stairs, once again being swathed by the pleasant smell of food, only this time, it's much more intense.

Farrah sends Y/n an affectionate smile as she turns off the oven and waves her in. “Hi, sweetie. Are you settling in okay?” The teenager nods, letting the smell lure her, and steps inside.

“Yes, ma'am. I had forgotten how nice this house was.” The woman chuckles in response, grabbing one of the three plates on the counter and passing it to her. She takes it in her hands and shoots her a look of gratitude.

"It isn't as clean as I would like it to be, but oh well. I'm too old to dust away every little cobweb." She sighs in disbelief, eyes twinkling. "Maybe I should hire a maid."

"That might be a good idea. You don't wanna overdo yourself." Nana occupies herself with making a plate of food for her husband, listening to Y/n talk and humming along. "But, uh...while I'm here, I'd be happy to help you with anything you have to get done."

"How sweet of you to offer, N/n." She grins as she scoops a spoonful of mashed potatoes onto the dish. "I'll keep that in mind. Now, please—eat something. It's all ready."

"Thanks for this, Nana." She finds her way around the woman and gets a serving of everything—potatoes, turkey, rolls, pineapple casserole. The thought of indulging herself makes her want to melt. "It smells delicious."

"Oh, you're so welcome, dear." She pours a glass of milk for Pops and offers a toothy smile. "I hardly ever get to cook for anyone besides your grandfather and myself. This is an honor."

Y/n feels compelled to hug her again, but ultimately resists the urge, not wishing to take a chance on spilling the food being held in both sets of hands. Tears threaten to rim her eyes, her grip tightening on the plate. Such displays of selflessness is a stranger to her, but she cherishes every second of it. "I love you, Nana."

She fails to see the way Farrah's heart swells at her words, her face contorting into one of deep adoration. "Oh, I love you too, Y/n—me and Phil both. So much. And we're so happy you wanted to come visit us."

After a short exchange of smiles, Nana departs and Y/n finishes gathering her meal, fetching a bottle of water from the fridge and heading into the dining room, noticing Pops already sitting at the table, silently awaiting his own share of food. She lowers herself into the chair opposite him, the steam from the hot meal floating up into her face and making her eager to taste it.

“Hello, young lady,” he greets, and she meets his copper-brown eyes. “This house treatin' you okay?”

“Yes, sir,” she replies with a slight dip of her head.

“Is it cozy enough for ya? I know you’re used to all those fancy items and rich city life, so I’m sorry if it doesn’t meet your expectations.” Her eyes widen almost a comical amount and she stares at him as if he’d attempted to behead her. Taking a scoop of mashed potatoes with her spoon, she swiftly shakes her head before taking a bite.

“No, Pops, it does. The country’s amazing.” She brushes a strand of h/c hair behind her ear and swallows the flavorful vegetable. “City life isn’t that good. Honestly, I’d rather be here than in some hundred-thousand-dollar penthouse.” A large, satisfied smile takes residence on his wrinkled features and his eyes crinkle up before he laughs blissfully.

“You hear this, Farrah?” He regards the said woman as she enters the dining room, taking her rightful seat to the side of her spouse and passing his plate to him. “This girl hasn’t been tainted yet. We should keep her here, make sure she stays that way.”

A kind grin etches across her lips, though she dismisses him. “I don’t think her parents would approve of that, Phil.”

“No, they wouldn’t care,” Y/n murmurs in response, noticing the pitying looks being thrown her way, and she eats a forkful of casserole to fill the somewhat tense silence that’s fallen over the table. She keeps her eyes trained on the platter in front of her, suddenly finding it much more interesting.

“I’m sure that’s not true, sweetie.” Farrah’s voice is tender and reaffirming. Y/n only shrugs.

“They'd probably forget I was here at all, after a while. Too caught up in their own lives to really remember something like that.” Her tone drops within each word, embarrassment creeping up into her mind and flushing her cheeks a pale tone of b/c. Phil shakes his head disapprovingly while Farrah just watches her with sympathy.

“That’s shameful,” he starts, his voice flooded with disdain. “You're their daughter. How could they just forget about you?"

“I...I don't know. They just can, and have gotten pretty great at it, too.”

“When did all this start, sweetheart?” the old woman questions, sipping her drink.

“A few years ago, I guess...” It’s silent for several moments and Y/n wishes she wouldn’t have even interjected at all. Perhaps she just feels that she can tell them anything. Way to ruin the mood, genius.

“Hun, they’re not...abusing you, or anything, right?” The teenager can sense the reluctance in her words as if she’s afraid to hear the answer, and Y/n is quick to shoot her inquiry down.

“N-no, Nana, don’t worry. Nothing like that.” She releases an audible huff of air, relieved.

“Don't they spend time with you or anything?” Phil asks, leaning forward and facing her with agitation. She scours her brain for a coherent reply.

“Uh...no, not—not really.” She glances up briefly to meet his eyes, trying to shroud the hurt found in her own. “They hardly even talk to me. They don’t even talk to each other anymore. Dad’s always too busy and Mom is...” She swallows, probably a little too hard, and subconsciously taps her foot against the floor; a nervous habit she's taken to whenever her anxiety levels rise.

Her mind flashes with images of her mother sneaking out in the dead of the night. When asked about it, she'd snap at her, insist it was for 'business', and leave it at that. She remembers that one time she borrowed her phone to email her teacher, since hers had stopped working the previous day, and instead got notified of a message, received from a man with an unknown name. Initially, she believed it was a coworker or friend, but the contents of said 'message' involved raunchy flirting and, upon opening his contact, these advances were heavily reciprocated, and he wasn't the only one. It made her sick to her stomach. Sure, she was aware that Mom and Dad weren't exactly at a healthy place in their marriage, but she never thought one of them would actively cheat on the other. Those actions were guaranteed to ruin a family, yet her mother didn't seem to care in the least.

Her foot makes a soft thump noise each time it collides with the floor, though her mind blocks it out as she tries to draw herself back into reality. “Uhh... Keeping secrets.” Phil and Farah share a glance.

“What kind of secrets, darlin’?” her grandfather asks, and her grip tightens on the fork in her hand. Does she really want to say this?

“I—I think, well, uhm... She’s cheating on Dad.” She doesn’t look up to see the startled expressions on their faces, afraid that they’ll judge her and her parents. “I mean, the way she's been acting, texting people all the time, sneaking out of the house, e-especially at night, and I’ve caught her before but she just got mad and said it was ‘business-related’.” She brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Plus, Mom and Dad haven’t gone on a date in forever. And I don’t know, it’s just...worrying.”

“Sweetie,” Farah starts, and Y/n internally winces at the strict tone that her voice adopted, “that kind of behavior is unacceptable.” She shakes her head in agreement, taking another bite of her food though finding that her appetite is steadily decreasing. “We need to talk to them about this.”

“No,” she interjects, finally meeting Farrah’s eyes with frightened e/c ones. “They can’t know I told you all of this. They—they’ll hate me.”

“If this is true, something needs to be done,” Phil says, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in distaste. “You don’t need to be in a house with two people that are so unstable. We could call them and you could stay with us.” Although the thought of living in a house with her loving grandparents sounds fantastic, she refuses by shaking her head again and speaking in a tremulous voice.

“N-no, it’s alright. I can deal with it.” Although her parents don’t seem to care about her anymore, she would most definitely shatter whatever remnants of a relationship they still have between the three of them if they were to find out what she told Farrah and Phil, and she doesn’t want that. She doesn’t want her parents to despise her; that would be a horrid feeling. And she wants to avoid experiencing it.

The rest of the dinner goes by at a leisurely pace for the girl, with her grandparents attempting to talk about more lighthearted subjects to cheer her up, and it moderately works. They ask her about school, her friends, whether she’s in a relationship yet, to which she responds with valid answers: “It’s good”, “I don’t have friends”, and “No”. It makes itself more apparent to them with every reply she isn’t living a normal, decent life. But they figure it’d be best not to pry too much. After all, she’s here for a break, not to be harassed with questions and pity.

She stands with her plate and bottle of water in her hand after swallowing the final bite, pushes the chair back under the table with her foot, and walks past Farrah and toward the kitchen, feeling full and tired. Her gaze shifts to the window, perceiving the orange and pink mixture in the sky through the leaves of the trees, signifying that the sun is setting below the horizon and darkness will soon replace its blaze of light.

“Marshmallow is probably waiting outside if you wanna let him in for the night,” the woman hollers from the dining room as Y/n discards her dishes in the sink and rinses them off under warm water. Thinking about seeing the furry feline after such a long time causes her heart to skip in excitement, and she nods, knowing Farrah won’t bear witness to it.

“Okay, Nana.” She finishes washing the porcelain and silverware and props them in the plastic drainer resting on the counter-top before walking a little quicker than normal, unlocking the front door and nudging it open, being welcomed by a cooler evening gust of wind.

She glances around the small porch and can’t help but smile when she lays her eyes on the white and grey cat sitting on an old chair, swiping his paw over his face to clean himself. He peers up at her curiously, and she approaches at a gradual pace to avoid scaring him.

“Marshmallow? You remember me?” She sticks her hand out and lets him sniff her fingers before fondly rubbing his head. “It’s Y/n. I haven’t been back for a while.”

He stands and lets out a small meow, rubbing against her palm and enjoying the affection he’s receiving. She moves forward and wraps her arms around him, deeming it safe enough, and lifts him to bring him inside. He bumps his head against her neck and she can hear distinctive purring; a sound she hasn’t heard in years.

“Aww,” she coos, unable to stop herself from coddling the furry creature. “I missed you, too, little buddy.” She turns, walks back into the house, and shuts the door behind her, nearly colliding with Farrah as she goes into the kitchen, holding two plates and a glass with a few droplets of liquid remaining.

She takes notice of Y/n and grins at the sight. “Ah, see? We told you he’d remember you.” The girl scratches Marshmallow under his chin, eliciting another meow of content from his mouth. His tail swishes and bumps her on the arm, making her chuckle.

“Yeah. He’s just as soft as I remember, too. And cuddly.” As she says this, she hugs him closer to her chest, and Farrah smiles warmly as she places the plates in the sink. “Do you need help cleaning up?”

“No, thank you, hun.” She parts her lips to object, but Farrah shakes her head. “You just spend some time with the fur baby. Finish settling in.” Y/n feels Marshmallow struggle against her hold, so she crouches and loosens her grip, allowing him to jump down and sprint to some area on the first floor, presumably his food bowl.

“Are you sure? You know I don't mind.”

“I can’t believe you’re the spawn of my son,” she says, chuckling and wiping down the surface of a saucer. “It’ll be fine, sweetie. I’ve got it covered for now. You go and relax.” Y/n figures that as stubborn as she is, her grandmother is much more so and it won’t do her any good to argue about it. Emitting a sigh, she grabs her water bottle from where she laid it on the island in the center of the kitchen and hesitantly ambles toward the staircase.

“Okay...but, tell me if you need help?”

“Stop worrying. You’re the guest here.” Without another word, she heads up to her temporary bedroom, unaware that she’s being followed by a certain feline, and sets her bottle on the desk before grabbing her backpack to move it off her bed. As she twists around to walk to the desk, she stumbles over Marshmallow, who's rubbing against her leg, and just barely catches her balance before falling on the poor cat.

It takes a short moment to calm herself and get over the unexpected adrenaline rush that swamps her system, but once she does, she scoffs. “Trying to trip me already?” She reaches down and scratches his head, and he momentarily stands on his hind feet as a response. “Silly cat.”

Marshmallow finds a bed on the cozy-looking beanbag as she finds a place for her bag and goes to sleep rather swiftly, his body curled in around itself as his shoulders gently rise and fall with each breath he takes. She strokes his cheek tenderly with her index finger, admiring the ivory and light grey fur that graces his small frame. She can barely remember the last time she pet an animal of any kind because it was so long ago, and many grim things have happened since then.

Sitting on the bed, her eyes drift out the window, where the sun has almost completely vanished and a full, bright moon now replaces it, dozens of stars beginning to litter the sky, all surrounding the miraculous white orb. I never get a view like this from the city.

She can’t help her entrancement of the scenery and feels a trace of disappointment that she hasn’t seen more of it. All because of her selfish parents. She leans her head against the windowpane and surveys it, blended emotions making her feel conflicted. But she assures herself that it will be fine. She will be fine. Everything will work out in the end.

Yeah. There's nothing to worry about.

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