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luxurychristmaspudding · 9 months

Text

Pickup Truck

summary: frankie hates your boyfriend. in fact, everybody does. but he’s willing to give him a chance. you’re his best friend, after all. until frankie discovers something he can never forgive.

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+. MDNI. this fic contains allusions to, but no descriptions of, domestic abuse. please do not proceed if you know this will upset you.

frankie's pov. no lady and no baby for our boy. drinking, violence (against pos bf), angst, lots of hurt, allusions to dv. comfort, fluff. frankie to the rescue. unprotected p in v (wrap it irl!). oral, f receiving. creampie. bad spanish (again). kings of leon references. happy ending, of course.

wc: 9.8k

an: whew, this was an emotional one to write. but i hope a good love comes to all of you in time, no matter where you are at the moment. and if you already have it, may it always keep you safe. lovely divider from @saradika.

Frankie really doesn’t like your boyfriend.

Scratch that. Nobody does.

Nobody really knows where you found him, either. A sweet, smart girl like you, moved back to your small town from your big city life, and it looks like you picked up the very first guy who sidled up to you in a grimy bar.

Which, if you’re really honest, is exactly what happened. Because he was nice at first. Real nice. He was charming and sweet and interested - he bought you drinks all night and didn’t push to come in when he walked you home. You went for dinner a few times, and sure, he could be a little rude to the waitstaff, but it was only because he was so focused on you. He bought you flowers and took you for rides, and sure, sometimes he’d come home far too drunk after seeing his friends and get a little too close, a little too loud, but he always apologised.

And sure, he sometimes made you cry, but he always made it up to you. Sweet promises, small gifts. And he'd never laid a finger on you.

Not until last week, anyway.

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know who to turn to. The thought of it makes you so sick you have to lock yourself in the bathroom at work. How did this happen? How did it turn so sour?

And how do you get out?

Walk you home to see

Where you're livin' around

And I know this place

Frankie walks you home from the bonfire. He always does.

It’s his favourite moment of the night.

He gets to have you all to himself. Gets to watch your cheeks cool in the night air, watch as the blush from the heat of the fire subsides. Your giddy, wide eyes, your tipsy babbling about stories which had been swapped over the flames, picking out particularly scandalous details for you two to giggle about before doubling over into breathless laughter over something Benny had said.

He likes to hold your elbow, your hand, as you catch him in your amusement, gripping onto his bicep. He loves to lose himself in this little pocket of time with you.

He loves the sparkle of the stars, the glow of the streetlights as they light your features.

Frankie loves you.

And he’s so glad you’ve moved back from your life in the big city to come and be around your real friends again. So glad that you’ve all found your way back to each other. Tonight has left him with such a mellow tingle in his bones that he finds he can’t stop smiling at you, looking at you, on your walk home.

Bonfire nights have always been your monthly hangout, a time when you can be sure you’ll get the whole gang together. There used to be more of you through highschool, and still a fair few during college. It dipped when the boys joined the forces, when people moved further east and further north. But eventually Frankie, Benny, Santi, and Will had come back. Jessa, your other best friend, had returned too. A few others coming and going - Lily, Marcus, Maggie - also back and forth from their new homes to their old ones. And then eventually folk had just… settled.

Frankie felt like he was one of the last, like he was maybe the one finding it the hardest, retired to a life of civvy duties. Unable to hold down a girlfriend, struggling to stick at a job, sofa surfing around friends’ places. He was still flying whenever he could, but then this coke allegation happened, and it was like the world was finally swept from under him.

You were the first person he had called, the first person to talk him down from his panic, that debilitating squeeze around his heart when he thought about the future. The first person who made him feel like it would be okay.

So of course his joy when you had come back had been immeasurable. Maybe this time, he’d thought.

And then you’d met Tanner.

He’s pulled from his thoughts as you drag your hand out of his, skipping a little further up the dark street until you reach a corner. Frankie watches as you spin on the spot in the quiet neighbourhood, gesturing down the pathway before you.

‘This is me.’ You say.

But you don’t turn to keep walking. You watch him, a small, excited smile on your lips. Like you’re waiting for him to work it out.

Frankie drags his eyes from you, away from thoughts of your new boyfriend, to look up and down the street you’ve led him to, and for a second he is pulled beneath the ebbing flow of memory, towed with the riptide of things forgotten.

This is his grandmother’s street. Was his grandmother’s street.

The cracked concrete, the peeling paint of the porches. The weeds, the flowers, the smell.

He breathes your name like you’re the only thing tethering him to the now.

Breathes your name through the bright, sunny flashes of his childhood. His mama bringing him here with his brother, his papa swinging him by his legs in the flower-riddled front garden. Cartoons in the ripe heat of the afternoons, him and his cousins stuffing their faces with Guagitas and Frugele until they’d made themselves sick while the younger siblings napped in the sunbeams of the bedroom next door. Cycling over on his bike after school to sit at her kitchen table to do his homework, letting her fuss over him - his height, his friends, his grades, girls -

A skinnier, younger Frankie stopping by his abuela’s house with you to pick up her up for his nineteenth birthday party, along with her homemade tamales, her chiles rellenos, and specially made pumpkin sopaipillas for later on. The way you had chatted to her, natural, easy going, how you had made her laugh, her eyes sparkle. How, when you had taken some of the plates to the car, his abuela had pinched his cheek. I like her, she’d said, Será tuya algún día, mm, mijo? And Frankie had flushed bright red, batting her arms away as she chuckled at him. He had hidden in the back bedroom when you came in from outside, and listened a little longer to your conversation as he waited for the heat of his face to die down. When he reemerged, you had helped his grandmother into her shoes, her cardigan, and kept ahold of her arm until she got into Frankie’s beat up old car. At the end of the night, his abuela had kissed both your cheeks several times, rocked you back and forth in a hug, and clapped her hands as she said how she looked forward to seeing you again.

When you came home from college every summer, you’d have tea with her in her garden. She always asked Frankie about you, about how you are doing. When he told her you were coming home, she’d been so excited. Quizás este sea el momento? She’d said to him, squeezing his hand. He’d smiled, his heart quietly full of hope. Tal vez, abuela, he’d said.

When he called you two weeks later, his voice weak from crying, to tell you that she’d passed, you had been heartbroken. And it seemed like her wish, the red thread she’d seen between the two of you, had been snipped, too.

Pour yourself on me

And you know I'm the one

That you won't forget

Frankie likes to listen to you talk, because he’s never much been one for talking.

He supposes you just bring it out of him, though. Because here on this street, in the moonlight, he tells you more about his grandmother. You spend hours walking up and down the pavement as he recounts every story he can remember; him and his brother, his parents, aunts and uncles, cousins. Birthdays, weddings, funerals. The street comes alive with the ghosts of people, the spectres of feelings. You and Frankie talk of growing up. Of falling in love. Of each other.

Your small, well-loved house is half way down the street, four up from his abuela’s. It does something strange to his heart to have two of his favourite people, who loved each other in their own ways, so close but so far away.

Your fingers hold his wrist as he shows you a scar on his palm from eating shit on his bike when he was eight, and when he looks up, your eyes are shining under the streetlights. There is a glint of moon in your teeth, and a shocking want so clear on your face, but when he meets your eye there is suddenly hesitation, a realisation, a shuttering. Frankie stops his story. There is a moment, and then it slips away like sand.

You shiver, chilled all of a sudden, and wrap your arms around yourself. Frankie tries not to look too hard at the goose bumps blossoming on your bare skin, tries to fight off the urge to kiss the little raises until you’re warm again under his touch.

‘Cold?’ he asks, and you smile back up at him. God, his heart.

‘As a hole,’ you giggle, and he feels himself smile goofily back at you. ‘We gotta warm up.’ You say, and then freeze.

It takes Frankie a little while longer to hear the inadvertent invitation in your words.

Boyfriend. Boyfriend.

You both stand on the porch, frozen, like some great frost has swept over the land. If Frankie squints, he can imagine the glitter of your eyeshadow, now fallen, dusted on your cheeks, is a collective of tiny constellations of ice.

Your body is wracked with a shiver again, but when Frankie looks you in the eye, you’re burning up from the inside. He swallows.

If he could only make the steps towards you. If he could only will his heavy feet to move, if he could summon his nerves to do exactly what his brain says, he would already be in front of you. He would have your face in his hands, be able to look into your eyes to see that deep, hidden want again, and kiss you. Again and again and again, and he wouldn’t stop, because things like that shitty boyfriend of yours wouldn’t matter anymore.

No. The whole world would be glitter and stars and constellations of ice crystals.

And then you blink, smile softly, and wish him a goodnight.

When he can finally lift his foot to move, your door is already closed.

And in your denim eyes

I see that something's awry

And I see you’re weak

You don’t see Frankie for a while after that, always finding a way to brush off his attempts to hang out.

At first he doesn’t worry too much about it. You’ve just moved back - you have a new job, a new place, new friends to get to know. Tanner.

Frankie finds other things to do. He gets business cards made up for the flying school he’ll be setting up next month. He pilots people across the state, sometimes across the country. He sees the boys for drinks, even sees Jessa for a coffee. He starts to worry when they say their texts have gone mostly unanswered, and they haven’t seen you either.

It must be why he turns up on your front step one day, a six pack in hand.

You open the door on the second ring of the doorbell, and Frankie finds himself rendered speechless. You look… different.

Tired and wary, a little thinner. And when he gets you chatting, you say you haven’t really been anywhere, done anything. You’ve been settling in, getting used to it. You have two beers each, but you seem on edge, like you’re waiting for a knock on the door. And then Frankie asks about Tanner, and your eyes linger on the entryway a little longer.

‘Yeah,’ you say, ‘He’s okay.’

Frankie’s jaw twitches, his stomach clenching uncomfortably.

‘Just okay?’ He asks.

Because you should be excited. You should be gushing and giddy and falling in love. But you’re not.

‘Yeah,’ you shrug. ‘He’s good.’

There’s something in your eyes. Something which shrinks away, skitters back. Something drained, something sapped of life, of energy. Hurt, maybe. Fear, perhaps.

When Frankie thinks back now, he knows he should have pressed you harder. Maybe should have taken you to his, made you talk a little more for a little longer. Away from Tanner, the threat of his presence. But he didn’t. He didn’t.

And he hates himself for it.

When he comes around

I see you're fixin' to shine

And my face won't speak

When Frankie next sees you, you’ve had a hair cut, and there are deep, dark bags under your eyes. Both of these things worry him equally.

Your beautiful hair that you’d been growing out since you were young, hair that you swore you’d never cut shorter than it was in seventh grade, when your mum had to chop it into a bob after you got gum caught in it. And here it is now, much shorter.

Jessa says she likes it, and you give her a watery smile, a weak thank you. She asks where you had it done, when. She asks if you like it, and you shrug. You say you’re trying something new. You say Tanner likes it.

Over your shoulder, Frankie exchanges a look with Santi.

You’re quiet the whole time you're at the bar. Far too quiet, so far from the bubbly conversation you usually hold, your loud cackle, your bent-double amusement. Your affection for your friends - the hands on knees, arms around shoulders, kisses pressed to cheeks. It’s hardly there.

Frankie offers to walk you home, but you wave him off kindly. Tanner’s picking me up, you say, he’s probably outside. Jessa frowns at you.

‘Are you sure, babe?’ She says. ‘It’s not even late yet.’

You smile and nod at her, gather your stuff to go. Jessa catches your arm.

‘We’re still on to go shopping Saturday, though - right?’

You smile at her, the first warm one you’ve mustered all night.

‘Of course,’ you say, ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

When you stand to leave, you hug everybody goodbye. Tightly, for longer than usual. Frankie doesn’t give you an option when he walks you out to Tanner’s car. The smug prick is hanging out the driver’s seat window. He watches Frankie as you walk up, hostile, threatening, arrogant, and somehow still ridiculous. And, Frankie thinks cruelly - ugly.

Frankie pulls you into his arms a few steps away from your boyfriend. He kisses your hair, and you sigh.

‘Have a good time on Saturday,’ he says softly. You twitch a smile at him.

‘Thank you, Frankie.’ You say before stepping back and walking to open the passenger door. As you climb in, Tanner winks at him.

‘Gettin’ a new one tomorrow,’ he says, stupid fucking grin on his face. ‘New car. Exciting stuff. Anyway, better get this one back,’ he says, squeezing your knee a little too hard. You don’t look at Frankie, something like humiliation colouring your cheeks. ‘See you around, Frank.’ Tanner says.

Frankie steps back from the car as it glides forwards, and he watches it disappear up the street.

Deep anger burns in him. And a kind of fear. It crawls over his skin, cooling the sides of his neck. His heart churns uncomfortably in his chest.

He tells your friends about it when he returns to the table. And they form a plan. Jessa texts you a time she’ll pick you up on Saturday. You say you’re excited again, you need some new clothes.

But Frankie knows Jessa won’t take you shopping.

No, she brings you here, to the beach, to the bonfire. To him, to Santi and Benny and Will. Because they’re worried.

So worried, they tell you.

They sit you down in one of the chairs around the fire, and they explain why they’re worried. They tell you they love you - so much - and they just need to know if you’re okay. Because they can help. They want to help, want you out of this, because he’s not good for you. The silence, the hair, the clothes you were going to buy. They tell you they hate the way he doesn’t let you speak, how he speaks to you. And you are so quiet through all of it, Frankie begins to get more worried. He speaks to you gently over the fire, but you can’t meet his eye. He tells you his worries, their love for you again. He swallows down his own confession, anything to make you see. How they don’t want you pushed closer to him, want you to be pulled closer to them instead.

But your eyes are so vacant, so far away, that Jessa leaves her deckchair next to you to sit on the burned up log closer to you on your other side. She takes your hands, and you finally, finally look at her. You open your mouth, and you say so quietly -

‘You’re right. You’re right.’

It feels like the biggest gulp of oxygen Frankie has ever taken. He feels lightheaded from the relief, from the knowledge. They were right, they were right, which is a terrible, terrible thing.

Will clears his throat, and Frankie looks at him to see similar thoughts flicking over his face like film reel. He licks his lips, opens his mouth, and -

Hate to be so emotional

I didn't aim to get physical

But when he pulled in and revved it up

I said, ‘You call that a pickup truck?’

And in the moonlight I throwed him down

Kickin', screamin' and rollin' around

A little piece of a bloody tooth

Just so you know I was thinking of you

Whatever Will is about to say is cut short by the sweep of headlights over the brush near the dunes.

A beat up old pickup truck bumps up the track and pulls up alongside Will’s Ranger. The driver’s side window slides down, and Tanner’s face emerges from the gloom. He revs the engine loudly, making you and Jessa jump. A sick feeling curls in Frankie’s stomach as he watches him, this piece of shit who’s been so busy crushing you down.

Tanner leaps out of the truck, and slams the door. Frankie looks over at you, visibly panicked on the other side of the fire. How the fuck did he find you?

‘Hey baby,’ Tanner says, sickly sweet as he strolls towards you, ducking to press a kiss to your unresponsive mouth. He turns to the rest of the group, eyes skating over Will and Ben until they land on Frankie. Tanner steps towards him, offers his hand.

‘Good to see you again, Frank,’ he says, ‘Told you I’d be getting a new ride.’

Frankie stares at his hand. He takes a deep swig of his beer, breathing deeply before looking Tanner in the eye, refusing to shake it.

‘I’m surprised to see you.’ He says to the dirty-haired man.

Tanner tries his best to appear unfazed, but there’s a glimmer of something hot behind his eyes.

‘’Course man, wanted to show off the new pickup.’ He says, grinning broadly. He looks around again, eyes falling hungrily on Jessa. She shifts uncomfortably on the log, rearranging her body so there’s less for him to look at. A deep heat begins to rise in Frankie’s chest.

He glances again at the ancient car that Tanner’s driven up in. The front bumper almost hanging off, the red paint aged and scratched, bumps caved in all up the sides, the roof sagging.

‘You call that a pickup truck?’ Frankie says lightly. Tanner narrows his eyes at him, angry, before he catches the sound of Santi’s laugh.

He whirls around to the other man and spits -

‘Who the fuck are you?’

Frankie almost laughs, too. Almost.

Pope spreads his hands. He looks up at him through his brows, a glint in his eyes that Frankie is violently familiar with. You must notice it, too, because you clear your throat and say -

‘Santi’s one of my friends.’

Tanner doesn’t even look at you. Just keeps staring at Pope.

The moment seems to last an eternity. Frankie feels like he’s watching everything through sludge, like he’s in someone else’s dream. His whole body is on edge, vibrating, ready to lunge - he’s just not sure at who. He looks between the two men before he catches your eye through the flames. The adrenaline in Frankie’s heart gutters at the look of panic in your eyes.

Please don’t let them do this. Please help me stop it.

Frankie glances back to Pope, and says, so softly only he can hear it -

‘Pope.’

And Santi immediately looks away, taking a swig of his beer.

Tanner stands there still, clearly baffled at Santi’s sudden lack of interest. Then he turns to the rest of the group like a petulant child, a toddler who has been ostensibly robbed of its favourite toy.

‘It’s a good truck,’ he says, before turning to you. ‘Ain’t it, baby?’

You hum your agreement as Tanner scoops a beer from the pile by Will’s chair, shucking off the top with his teeth. Jessa looks away, disgusted. He settles himself in the deckchair at your side.

‘Y’aint allowed to touch it, of course, sugar,’ he says to you, before laughing into his bottle. ‘Ruin everything you come into, anyway. Root of all my problems, ain’t ya?’ Tanner takes a pull of his beer. The group is silent around him. Around you. Tanner notices.

‘Boy, fun bunch you are.’

You look at him through your eyelashes.

‘Baby, that’s enough.’ You say as softly as possible, and Frankie cringes at the pet name.

Tanner looks at you sharply. Dark, furious. It’s in the pinch of his jaw, the anger at what you’ve said so obviously rolling around in his skull.

Frankie hates him for it. And he hates that he hates him for it. There are already so many things he hates him for, but he’s so fucking stupid it’s almost funny. Not your equal in any way. In kindness, in conversation or in intellect. And not even willing to try. To learn. For you. Just trying to dumb you down instead, squash you into smaller, more digestible bites to chew on.

When it comes down to it, Tanner has nothing smart to say back. He just pushes a short breath from his nostrils and mutters out a little -

‘Well, well, well.’

Then he flexes his fingers against the chair, and you flinch.

You flinch hard, your brows coming together, chin scrunching, waiting for the blow to land. And when it doesn’t, your eyes flicker open slowly. Hollow, bereft, drained and dim.

Tanner hasn’t noticed, but everyone else has.

The awful unveiling of your last secret.

Frankie forces the bile down his throat. His head swings forward to the ground of its own accord, a faint, resonant ringing in his ears. When he looks at his hands, they aren’t his own. In fact, he recognises no part of his body as the ringing gets louder, as he gently places his beer bottle on the floor. When his eyes leave the dirt, the mix of faces around the fire are all mirror reflections of each other. Horror, disgust, grief. Grief that this is what you hid from them, this is what they have taken too long to pull you from. The burning building splintering around you, your shell of a body immovable in the middle.

You won’t meet his eye. You won’t meet anyone’s eye as your hand shakes around your bottle. Jessa notices. She stares at your trembling fingers for too long, but she can hardly say anything. None of them can. Her eyes shine like beacons from her seat, wet with tears. Frankie sees her bottom lip quiver, her chin dimple. And then she swallows, swallows again, and reaches for your hand.

You flinch again, softer this time, and Frankie is sure everyone around the fire - everyone in the town, the world, must hear his heart crack. Because he feels it so keenly, so deeply, that it takes the air from his lungs. His breath is caught in his throat, and no matter how hard he tries to draw it, it seems impossible to claw it down. He’s drowning. He’s drowning right here in front of everybody, and it makes it all the worse to know that this is how you must feel. Every damn day.

Come on, he hears Jessa say, Let’s go and get another drink. And through the dark swirling of his mind he watches the two of you stand slowly and disappear towards the back of Frankie’s truck. He waits until Jessa has you hidden from view, her arms around your hunched back as you bring your hands to your face - crying - and that’s when the thread snaps.

Frankie gets to his feet, slowly.

Pope and Will watch him. Benny is still staring at Tanner.

Tanner looks up at him, chin jutted out, smirking as Frankie approaches.

He’s challenging him. He’s waiting for a war of words, for the shouting to begin, for the insults, the observations to fly.

He expected the wrong war from a soldier.

The first punch sprawls him out of his seat. It makes a satisfying cracking sound, and the first trickle of blood starts to bleed from behind his lip.

Then Frankie kicks him. He kicks him hard in the ribs, making sure he doesn’t have enough time to recover from the punch to deflect Frankie’s boot.

Tanner clutches at his abdomen, wheezing, gazing up at Frankie with bewildered eyes. Fucking coward.

Frankie grabs him by the front of his shirt, pulls him upwards. He has nothing to say to him, but the fury he feels, this deep, endless, swirling pit of rage, he lets him see. He lets it fill him from the soles of his feet all the way up through his eyes, and he lets it bleed out. He lets the blackness flood the ground. He lets Tanner watch it, lets it petrify him, and then Frankie swings again. Tanner takes it on his chin this time, his jaw snapping closed, and when it goes lax, a couple jagged bits of tooth fall out. Frankie grunts in satisfaction and swings again, again, until blood spouts from Tanner’s eyebrow and his cheek begins to bruise and swell. Frankie breathes deeply, in rhythm, doesn’t even feel it when Tanner manages to land a lucky punch to his eye socket. He plants a knee into the other man’s crotch, lands him an elbow to the back of his head when he keels over, and then shoves him to the ground. Frankie gets on the floor with him, raining blows down on Tanner’s body, his face. He’s methodical about it, a punch to each eye, the crack of the cunt’s nose, one to either side of his mouth, then bloodying up his jaw. He’s aware, somewhere, that Tanner is screaming. Strangled, gargling sounds trying to claw up his throat. And then he’s aware of two pairs of hands around each armpit, dragging him away, pulling him up. Will is saying something in his ear, that’s enough, Frankie, alright now, and Benny is speaking, too, panicked - you’ll kill him, Fish, come on man.

Frankie blinks, really looks at Tanner where he lays bleeding on the dirt. His eyes already swelling, a couple more teeth scattered on the ground next to him. His face different shades of red and purple, a mess of a man, and Frankie is pleased. He could keep going. He wants to see him bleed much, much more. Will and Benny keep their grip on him.

‘Leave,’ Frankie growls, low, without a quiver in his voice. ‘And don’t you ever come back. You ever look at her again, I’ll gouge out your fuckin’ eyes. You ever touch her again, I’ll break every bone in your body. I’ll make sure they don’t find anything left of you.’

Tanner doesn’t say anything, which must be the only smart thing he’s ever done in his life. But he still doesn’t move.

The four men watch him for a moment, the silence heavy, broken only by the crackle of wood and Tanner’s heavy, wet breaths.

Then Benny lets Frankie go, steps forward and picks the man up by his collar, swinging him around to the direction of his truck. He throws him down on the dirt.

‘Move,’ he spits. ‘Get out of here. And if you have the courage on the way, wrap your fucking truck around a telephone pole.’

Tanner finally has the good sense to crawl over to the vehicle. He hauls himself up the scarred body work before creaking open the driver’s door and slipping inside. The truck sputters to life, yellow bulbs flooding the bonfire site again before it quickly backs away, turns, and drives off. Frankie watches its blinking red brake lights until he’s sure the cunt is gone, and then he turns around.

You’re stood with Santi’s arms wrapped around you, back from the fire where Tanner’s blood is drying. Pope strokes your hair, squeezes you tightly as your body shudders. And Frankie can only stare.

Minutes might have passed. Hours. And Frankie is terrified. Terrified that he’s scared you, broken you, pushed you away. And then you turn your face on Pope’s chest, moving your head from shoulder to shoulder, and you’re looking at him. Eyes red-rimmed and raw, face flushed and damp, and it’s like Frankie’s trance breaks.

Frightened, he takes a step forward. He breathes your name.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, and you shake your head. Fuck. What has he done? What has he allowed himself to do? ‘I’m sorry, querida, please - I know, I know -’ but what does he know? He looks to Santi, pleading for help, and the man offers him a small smile as you step out of his arms.

Through a fog, you come towards him. Your chin wobbles. Your eyes swim. You’re a little wide-eyed, a little shocked. And something else, something beyond his reach.

You get to him, and your arms make their silken way around his middle as you begin to cry. Hot tears stain the front of his shirt, and he cradles you to him, holding your skull gently, enveloping your abdomen. A loud sob looses from your ribs.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’ You wrap your arms around him tighter, press your nose into his sternum.

‘I’m not scared of you, Frankie,’ you sob into his chest. He clutches at the back of your head, holds you even closer, strokes your hair. When you speak again your voice is higher, strained with your tears. ‘I could never be scared of you.’

The sting in Frankie’s throat becomes hot, burning. He doesn’t know whether to pull you impossibly closer or to push you away, to run as far as he can from your broken, heaving body in his arms. Because what he’s done should scare you. It should. He’d lost all control. The only thing he’d been able to see, to feel was his all-consuming, depthless fury. And Tanner’s face as it splintered, bloodied, swelled. And he’d wanted to keep going, until there was just pulp. No nerve endings, no teeth, no eyes, no mouth, no body that he could ever hurt you with again. He doesn’t want you to hurt any more.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers into your hair.

Trembling misery

And as cold as a hole

I hug your bones and skin

Frankie holds your hand the whole way home, the drive passing in a dazed silence.

You still don’t talk when you get to his place, when he unlocks the door, lets you in, and locks it behind him. You take his hand in the quiet cool of the house, lead him upstairs. He follows, slowly, sore, exhausted. Trying to process it all.

When you reach the landing, you turn on the bathroom light, and he trails behind you. He stands propped against the sink as you dig around in his medicine cabinet, finding wipes and bandages and anything else you think might be useful. You take Frankie’s hand again, examine his bruised, bleeding and swollen knuckles with solemn eyes. You are so gentle, twisting his hand in the light, inspecting. You look over it for a while, and Frankie watches you. When you reach for an antiseptic wipe, your hand is shaking.

Frankie winces silently when you start to dab at the blood on his knuckles, cleaning it away with minute swipes. You chase the dried rivulets of blood down his fingers, over his palm. The scar there from when he ate shit riding his bike.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. You ignore him, breathing shallowly as you inspect his hand, holding his wrist, cleaning blood which is no longer there.

‘Might be a hairline fracture or two,’ you say, distant. ‘I won’t bandage it, gonna let it dry out first. But you’ll need to rest it. And we’ll need to ice your eye.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says again, into your hair. You shake your head, and the light catches the different colours in every strand. Frankie’s throat tightens.

‘Please stop apologising.’ You whisper.

A shaky breath pushes itself from between Frankie’s lips.

‘No, querida,’ he says softly, ‘It wasn’t right. Shouldn’t have done it. And I shouldn’t have let you see -’ he swallows thickly, throat bobbing. He looks over your head at the white tiles behind you as your grip on his wrist tightens. You still don't look up at him. ‘But it’s not how you treat someone you love. Not how it should be. Should be protecting them, treating them right, loving them the way you love -’ him. He cuts himself off, because he realises as he says it he’s wrong. So wrong.

Right to be like you in your gentleness. In your care, your touch, your tenderness, your loving. But Tanner deserved none of those things. He didn’t deserve your faith, didn’t deserve your protection or your silence either. None of it.

He closes his eyes.

An image of you flickers through Frankie’s mind. Your fingers on his wrist as they are now, your eyes shining under the streetlights. The glint of your teeth, and the want so clear on your face, then the hesitation, the fear, the shuttering -

And if only he had kissed you then. If only you had taken him inside. He could have shown you what it was supposed to feel like. He could have saved you from the hurt, the fear which lay ahead.

There’s a splash of warmth on the pale skin of the underside of his forearm, and he opens his eyes again. You’re still hunched over his hand, but your movements have stilled. Frankie waits, confused, before another warm drop lands on his arm and you hiccup a sob out. He whispers out your name, and you turn your face up to him, devastated.

Frankie’s face crumples, and your grip on his wrist loosens enough for him to lift his hands to your face and cup your cheeks.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said it. I wasn’t thinking -’

‘You think I love him?’ You croak.

Frankie’s jaw works around his next sentence, his next thoughts. He tries to process what this means. That look in your eyes, your tears, your implication. His lips move, but no sound comes out.

‘I don’t love him, Frankie,’ you choke, ‘I don’t. Christ - I don’t think I ever did, I never could -’ you suck in a deep, stuttered breath. ‘I’ve never - never hated anyone more. I couldn’t stand him, couldn’t have him near me, couldn’t have him touch me -’ Frankie flinches at your words. ‘But I was so scared. And embarrassed. I didn’t know how to leave - I didn’t know how to tell anybody about what was going on. I was terrified of what he’d do. To me, to you guys, if he found out I’d spoken about it. And he made it so hard for me to see you, so hard for me to get away.’ You sob now, panic and relief forcing out your words. ‘I thought - wherever I go, he’ll find me. He’ll track me down, and he’ll bring me back - and somehow - somehow that was worse than if he tracked me down and - and - I don’t know, killed me or something -’

Frankie’s eyes shutter. He can’t even follow your thought, so awful is the image, the gaping emptiness. He pulls you close, he lets you cry. Curled into his chest, your body wracking with tears, shaking, tense and uncontrollable, the sounds you make rooting in his brain. They file themselves away in a box where very few things go. Deployment. Tom. The darkness after his investigation. You break and break in his arms, and it’s all he can do to hold the pieces of you together. To press kisses to your head, breathe in the smell of your hair, rub his hands over your back, cradle you like a child.

He doesn’t know how long the two of you stand there for. He waits until you stop sobbing, stop crying softly, stop hiccuping, stop sniffing. He waits for a few more minutes in the silence, too. And when he pulls away, he presses a long, sweet kiss to your forehead.

You blink up at him through red, swollen eyes.

‘You’re safe here.’ He says, and you nod.

‘I know. Thank you. For - everything.’ You say thickly. Frankie swallows, nods. You know it all anyway. Any time, for however long you need.

He pads downstairs to get you a glass of water, and while he’s pouring it, he can hear you blow your nose, wash your face. Somehow, they are the most perfect sounds in the world.

Crackling wood’s gone white

And my eye swole up now

I can see the light

Frankie gives you one of his sleep-stretched t-shirts and an old pair of shorts for you to wear to bed.

The clothes dwarf you a little, and he can’t wipe the small, thrilled smile from his face, even when he looks away. You look fucking adorable.

You giggle at him every time you see it, your little what? only making him smile harder. It stretches his mouth until it hurts and his cheeks start to cramp up, squishing his swollen eye. Stop he tries to say, but it comes out as an equally breathless huff of laughter - and that only makes you giggle more. So much so that he sweeps you up into his arms to stash you under the covers, and you laugh even harder as he tucks the sheets in tight around you, just like his mama used to do when she wanted him to stay put.

He looks down at you from the side of the bed, hands on his hips, and you laugh back at him - eyes shining, mouth open in wide hoots of delight, your hands coming up in a desperate attempt to contain yourself. He points a finger at you.

‘You need to calm down,’ he says, voice tight with bridled amusement. ‘It’s bedtime.’

But you cackle back at him, this glorious puddle of sunshine in his bed, only howls of laughter for a response. Unable to help himself, he returns your joy, turning off the bedside lamps to slip in beside you.

In the darkness, your snorts subside into ragged breaths, and you turn on your side to look at him. You study him as though you never want to forget a single line on his face; such warmth, such affection in your eyes that Frankie’s whole body swells and lifts.

You take his hand beneath the sheets and hold it between your faces, smiling softly at him.

The first and only girl he’s really ever loved. This brilliant, fierce, bright, intelligent woman damped down by the waste of fucking space who had bled by the fire. At the thought of it, Frankie feels his heart fall out of his chest, down through the floorboards, and plummet towards the middle of the earth.

And finally, he begins to cry.

He tries to stop it, he really does. It’s selfish, he thinks, so awful and selfish to cry in front of you when it’s you who should be wrapped in his arms, swept away by emotion again if you needed to be, safe and warm and unworried, never having to fret about anything again.

But he can’t stop it. It comes out in great shuddering breaths - pained, wracked sounds slipping past his lips, and he can’t help it. He tries to gather them in his hands to shove them back in his mouth, tries to scoop them in his arms and press them back into the caving ache of his chest, but he can’t.

When Frankie was a child, he saw his dad cry once. Only once, and exactly like this, after his father’s brother was killed in a car accident. He had seen it through a crack in his parents’ bedroom door, and it had hurt him. It had wounded him, as a child, to see his father break with such grief, such pain, such emptiness, and to know there was nothing he could do about it. And now, he is split into those two people - younger self, older self - as he thinks of you lying next to him on the bed. This person who he loves so much, who is now so full of the knowledge of the worst parts of living, wound up so tight within you that you let it settle, let it unfurl around your bones. He sees your hurt, your grief, your pain refracted around him tenfold, and he hurts with you. He sees you as the boy he once was, this poor creature looking in at a heart breaking, as he has unknowingly watched yours break for months.

And he’s so sorry, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop saying it.

But here you are, still, performing the ultimate act of kindness. Comfort.

He feels the mattress move as you slide closer to him, and then your hand is on his back, swooping in gentle movements. He feels the scrabble of your fingers under the ribs he has pressed into the bed, the pressure of your arm moving under him so you can hold him properly. Frankie sobs harder, but he opens his body to you. You press closer to him, burying your face in his neck, and he breathes you in as he cries. Your scent is here, you are here. And like you heard him, you whisper -

‘It’s okay, Frankie. It’s okay. ’M here. I’m safe.’ And this realisation allows a little more air, but it doesn’t make Frankie’s guilt, his shame any better. But you’re right, he knows it. And somewhere in his crying, this turns his gasps to tears of relief. Softly, you retract your arms from around him.

You take his hands away from his face, and kiss the palms. You kiss each fingertip, each bruised and cracked knuckle. You lean forward and press a kiss to each tear, each trail of saltwater on his face. And you are so beautiful in the moonlight. Soft and wide eyed. Safe. Kind, always kind, and full of understanding. Frankie sees now that you have been crying against him, too, your eyelashes cloyed with tears. Sees his thoughts in your eyes as though you have had each of them zip to you through the air. When you were a child, you saw your dad cry once. Only once, and exactly like this, after…

A smile breaks through your eyes, chasing away the remnants of tears, glazing down, softening your lips.

And Frankie doesn’t think this time. His feet don’t fail him. He doesn’t think of stars or glitter or constellations of ice crystals. He just kisses you. And kisses you and kisses you and kisses you. And he doesn’t stop, because nothing else matters anymore.

You’re safe. You’re warm. You’re in his bed.

You’re here.

You tip your head back, deepening the kiss, licking into Frankie’s mouth. He gives in so easily to you he’s almost ashamed. But then your fingers clutch at him, ball at the bottom of his shirt, tangle in the thick of his hair, and all his thoughts are forgotten. He feels you slip a soft, strong leg over his, pulling him forward. You groan against him, and Frankie’s cock twitches. You feel it, you must do, as you pull your body closer to him, tight against him. Frankie is so lightheaded he doesn’t know where his hands are, what they’re doing - and when he concentrates, he finds them skating over your back, squeezing the tension out of the back of your neck, gripping your hip.

He moans against you as you rock your hips over his thigh, as he feels the heat of your sex against his skin. He feels like he’s on fire.

You slip a hand under his sleep shorts and palm him, brushing his silken length with two fingers, feeling him grow harder, thicker against you. You take him in your hand, pump him once, twice with the perfect grip, the perfect speed, like you were made for him. He’s gasping against you, panting as you suck his lower lip into your mouth.

‘Baby,’ he groans, breathless, ‘We don’t have to. We really don’t -’

You look up at him through gorgeous, glazed eyes.

‘I want to,’ you say, ‘Do you?’

Dangerous, dangerous question.

Frankie tries to shake his head, look away, think of anything but the tight fist of your fingers around his cock.

‘I do,’ he says, ‘I do. But I don’t think - this is the right thing -’

You loosen your grip, draw away from him. His body aches with a shudder.

His eyes flick back to yours again - confused, hurt - fuck, he can’t do that to you, ever -

‘I - I don’t want to take advantage of it - of you,’ he says. Your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks as you look down the sheets towards your toes. His jaw tightens. ‘And - and I don’t want this to mean - different things for us. I don’t want it to ruin what we have.’ Frankie breathes out heavily through his nose. He has to tell you now. He has to. ‘I don’t want it to mean different things, because I love you. I always have. And if we do this, if I have you even just for a night, I - I’ll never recover from it.’ Tears spike in his eyes again. He tries to smile. ‘You’d ruin me. And I don’t think I’d ever forgive you for it.’

Your breath hitches in your throat, and Frankie watches as your eyes flit back up to his. They search his face, the dribble of his barely-shed tears, the slope of his sad smile. You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, running your thumb over his scraps of beard. He closes his eyes.

‘What you said earlier,’ you begin. Frankie swallows. He waits for the blow of rejection. ‘About me - about me loving him.’ He opens his eyes slowly to find yours, bright and clear. Something begs to bubble over in them. Something golden and warm. ‘You were wrong - obviously. And I couldn’t tell you truly why, because I was afraid. So afraid of pushing you away, even though I think that’s all I’ve ever done. I’ve never thought I was worth it, Frankie. I don’t deserve you. And I am terrified of how much I love you.’ You beam at him, eyes bubbling over with that thing - love - ‘I love you,’ you say simply, like it’s not the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

A stunned little laugh ripples up his throat, and you copy it. He grips your face in his hands, and kisses you again, again, again.

‘I love you,’ he says.

‘I love you, too,’ you giggle.

‘And you are,’ he presses to your lips, ‘You are absolutely worth it.’

He rolls over on top of you, and begins to kiss your jaw, nipping at the skin there, before moving down your throat. He kisses you with a hot, open mouth, sucking marks into the sensitive skin at your pulse point. Mine, he groans, and you whimper against him, rubbing your thighs together.

Frankie pushes your shirt up - his shirt - so he can bite at your chest, press kisses to every bit of exposed skin. Every single part of you that deserves to be loved, every single place which has so far been unknown to him. He sucks each nipple into his mouth, delighted when you keen beneath him, panting, please, please Frankie, before he sinks lower down, peeling his shorts away from you to expose your glistening cunt.

He groans, unable to take his eyes away from it as he leans forward, pressing his body into the mattress to lick a stripe from your asshole to your clit.

‘Frankie -’ you groan down at him as he begins to work at you, sucking and licking, nipping at your thigh before slipping his tongue into your hole, swiping and tasting everything you’re giving to him. He grinds himself into the mattress, hissing at the relief, the uncomfortable weight of his cock dragging below him.

‘Taste so good, baby,’ he tells you, and he doesn’t think he ever wants to taste, wants to smell anything else ever again. All he can do is eat at you, breathe you in, until you’re begging him -

‘Frankie, your fingers - please -’ And he flexes his hand at your hip before brushing a fingertip against your entrance and gasping at the pain.

You try to bear down towards him, but he rips his hand away, lifting his head towards you.

‘Can’t,’ he gasps, and you mewl, bucking your hips up to his face, desperate. ‘Hand’s fucked,’ he says, and you still your movements before beginning to laugh again. It’s loud and from your belly, and it's bizarre. But Frankie gets it. He gets it, and he giggles too. He doesn’t try to fuck his broken knuckles into you, but he does try to continue lathing you with his tongue. You’re making it pretty fucking difficult, though.

‘Stop laughing,’ he huffs against your clit, ‘I’m trying to make you come.’

‘Okay,’ you say, gasping for air, ‘Okay. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. You’re doing really well, by the way.’ But this only makes him laugh. He groans, leaning his forehead against your inner thigh. ‘This is impossible.’ He pouts.

‘Nooo,’ you cry, leaning up on your elbows to pout down at him. ‘Please, baby. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. I won’t laugh anymore.’

‘Promise?’ He says. You hold out your pinky to him.

‘Pinky promise.’ You say.

Frankie stretches his hand out to you and tries to extend his pinky. He winces at the sharp pain which shoots from the movement, and grunts at you, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

‘You bastard,’ he says, trying and failing to hold his smile, ‘You knew I wouldn’t be able to do that.’

‘Just keeping you on your toes,’ you grin, and then before you can make any more smart remarks, Frankie resumes his ministrations, lapping and tonguing at your clit, your hole, mouthing hot, wet kisses to your pussy. He shakes his head from side to side, running your bud in tight, hard little circles until you’re a moaning, whimpering mess beneath him. Your hips buck unconsciously, and Frankie hooks both his arms around your thighs to hold you down, flattening his hands against your belly to keep you firmly in place. He reaches up to twist at your nipples and you gasp.

‘God, Frankie, tongue feels so fucking good -’

He can feel you begin to pulse against his chin as your whines get higher in pitch, and he groans as you twist handfuls of his hair.

‘Come on, baby,’ he says, ‘Give it to me. Wanna see you come, querida. Wanna taste it. Come on my face.’

And you do, the sensation of it arching your back tight like a bow, a strangled moan cutting off into the ceiling.

‘Fuck, Frankie, fuck -’ as he drives you through it, nodding and murmuring against you as you try to wriggle free, squealing in protest until you manage to twist a leg and set a foot against his chest, pushing him off.

‘Fucking - hell -’ You pant, and Frankie grins down at you, smug.

‘Good?’ He asks, quirking an eyebrow.

‘Oh, fuck you, Morales.’ You laugh, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss, moaning when you taste yourself on him. Your tongue explores every part of his mouth, every crevice behind every tooth, like you can’t get enough of him. Like there'll never be enough of him. ‘Now fuck me.’ You whisper.

And Frankie does not need to be told twice.

He rips his shirt up and off his back, shucks his shorts down his legs, and squeezes himself tight as he can in his left hand. He ruts into his palm, thumb swiping to slick his heavy beads of precum down his length.

‘Ready?’ he asks, looking down to find you staring wide-eyed at his cock. It twitches under your gaze.

‘What?’ He says, and you shake your head in quiet disbelief and amusement. You lift your eyes back to his face, and they are so dark with arousal he almost melts into the mattress.

‘Nothing,’ you shrug. ‘Just somehow never believed Pope and the boys when they said it was like two coke cans put together.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Frankie laughs, his face pulling tight with a grin as he lines himself up at your entrance, swilling the head in your arousal.

‘I mean, what if it doesn’t fit?’ You babble, and he shakes his head.

‘It’ll fit, baby,’ he says. ‘We’ll make it fit.’ Then he sinks the first inch in, and just waits. He waits and watches you, watches as your mouth falls slack, all the smart things coming out your mouth grinding to a halt. He throbs at how tight you are around him, at how you clench already, trying to suck him in further. And fuck, you are so wet.

‘You okay, querida?’ He asks through gritted teeth.

You manage a nod, a broken whine escaping you.

‘Move Frankie, please baby -’ you beg, and he groans as he pushes further inside you, watching the obscene stretch of your pussy around him, the way it pulses, the way it gets wetter and warmer and tighter around him. When he bottoms out, he feels the hot rush of his orgasm leap towards him a little too quickly.

‘Fuck, baby,’ he breathes, closing his eyes just to make sure he doesn’t come right away. You squirm beneath him, canting your hips up, trying to fuck yourself. Frankie grips you, gritting his teeth. ‘Stay still,’ he hisses, flushing a little. ‘God, fuck, please - just for a minute.’ He opens his eyes to find you watching him, your bottom lip caught in your teeth. His eyes glaze down your body - his t-shirt bunched up around your chest, perfect tits, perfect belly, and your sweet, sopping cunt split open on his cock.

He groans again, slipping out, watching as he retreats, soaked by you, before pushing back in. A high pitched whine leaves your lips, and you twitch your hands up to play with your tits. Frankie doesn’t think he’s ever seen something more sexy in his life.

‘That’s right,’ he says, ‘Keep playing with yourself like that, gorgeous. Look at you.’

So you do, looking up at him with doe-eyes as he fucks into you, soft at first, letting you adjust before quickening his pace, readjusting his angle, feeling you leak around him. His balls slap against your ass loudly, and you keen up at him, eyes wide, begging for something as you tighten like a coil around him, something you can’t quite voice. But Frankie knows.

He swipes his thumb against your clit, and your eyes roll into the back of your head, your back arching again. He groans at the sight, and works the bundle of nerve endings in tight circles, faster and harder, harder and faster, until you’re gripping him so tight he thinks you might push him out.

‘Come baby, come,’ he pants, ‘Please, querida, need to feel you - need to feel you soak me. Need you to come for me, come on this cock, baby, please -’

And he groans, long and loud as you clench and pulse around him, milking him, pulling him impossible deeper - fuck, Frankie, oh my god, feels so fucking good - the delicious pressure at the base of his spine at breaking point as he fucks you through it, as he pants and gasps -

‘Come, Frankie,’ you plead, ‘Please - want you, need you -’ and he spills himself deep inside you, hips stuttering, eyes clamping shut, overwhelmed and short circuited. He’s never known it could feel like this - good to the end of every synapse - and he’s fucking it in with three long thrusts, pulling out slowly just to watch it dribble out of you as he twitches against his thigh. He thumbs your clit just to watch you seize and sigh against him, then sits back on his knees to look at you.

‘You are something else,’ he says in disbelief.

You smile lazily at him.

‘Ain’t so bad yourself, Morales,’ and he laughs, throwing himself down next to you, kissing anywhere he can. I love you, I love you, I love you. Safe.

You lay there for a while afterwards, just feeling each other, calming your ragged breathing. Eventually, Frankie rises from the bed to grab a washcloth, coming back and swiping between your legs tenderly, gently, before collapsing back into bed and pulling you into his chest.

He feels like he’s in space, and he tells you as much. He spills secrets like a child at a sleepover. He tells you about the glitter and the stars and the constellations of ice crystals. You match him with a galaxy of feeling spanning the time he’s known you. And he feels that this is a dream, this love which floats like a nebula within the bed. He tries to keep his eyes open for as long as possible, even as you sleep. And even when he does drift off, he dreams of you. He dreams of you sparkling with stardust, waiting for him with your arms open.

When he wakes the next morning, you’re still there. Safe, soft and warm against him, furled into his ribcage, heart beating against the hand that’s pressed against your chest.

Everything’s okay. That red thread still intact, after all.

When the sun rises, bloody and mild, it’s never been so sweet.

A little piece of a bloody tooth

Just so you know I was thinking of you

#pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #pickup truck #kings of leon #Spotify #pedro pascal x reader

2K notes · View notes

eunxhan · 8 months

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❝ Who knew getting dominated by some human would feel this good? ❞

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Ꮺ Anon Requested ⨾ hihi! The req you wrote was so good! /pos

Hua cheng and xielian my beloved hehe. Anyways! I'm so happy that you're in WHB! Can i req dom top male reader with the kings? I'm a sucker for domtop reader with a harem and i really love your writing style. But if you don't write harem then just choose one is fine! /pos gen

Ꮺ Eun Replies ⨾ Hello, Thank you i did my best with the requests ^^! This took me more than a couple of errors, I'm not used to writing NSFW as i easily get flustered by some.. I'll be making multiple parts of this because i quite enjoyed this. This took me the longest but i hope you do enjoy my work.

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Ꮺ Disclaimer — THIS IS NSFW, if you're underage i would recommend to stop reading if not then I'm not responsible for what you consume. English is not my main!

Reader & Genre ⨾ TOP!DOM!MALE!reader,

Words used ⨾ 11, 100+

Character ⨾ SATAN, MAMMON.

Links ⨾ My Navigation and Mandates

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He would likely be somewhat surprised and taken aback by a dominant male top. He's the King of Gehenna, he wouldn't accept this– oh he would.

Satan has been portrayed to be a very dominant and controlling person, so having someone else suddenly take the lead and control the situation would probably be quite unnerving for him.

Satan would likely try to put up a bit of a fight and push back against the Male but would likely find himself feeling a little overwhelmed and overwhelmed by the new dynamic. Both Men would fight over who's top and who's bottom. Actual wrestling on the bed.

Him being a very dominant and controlling figure, would likely be accustomed to always having the upper edge in conversations and interactions with others.

When presented with a dominant and controlling Lover, whom also has the means and power to physically overpower him, Satan's confidence and arrogance may suddenly start to waver and be shaken.

Satan would likely try to maintain his composure and act as if he's still in control and everything is fine. However, after hours of convincing and reassurance, Satan would likely come to accept the dominance of the reader, though it would probably take some time for him to fully adjust to it.

Satan's pride and ego would likely get the better of him at first, making him reluctant to surrender control to you, but once he does adapt and surrender control, he would likely learn to enjoy and appreciate the new dynamic. Starting to become more vulnerable and submissive towards the dominant man, as he would begin to develop more trust and affection towards him.

Satan would feel somewhat embarrassed and shy when faced with the dominance and boldness of you. He'll be slightly taken aback by the reader's confidence and assertiveness, which would likely make him feel out of his comfort zone.

However, Satan would secretly feel giddy and excited by your aggressive control and dominance. Teasing the dominant man as if his back is not gonna get broken, please shut him up or... Be the reason why he's crying loud.

He's very eager to let go of his dominance and submit to you. He would likely give in to your dominance and allow you to take the lead, following your instructions and requests. Satan also take pleasure in being handled and used however you prefers, and would likely have no objections to being submissive and compliant to your dominance.

Kiss his confidence points which is his shoulders and arm muscles, you would feel him clenching on your length alongside hearing his soft whimper against your ear. If you happen to have heavy hands, slap him. Slap him as hard as you can and he's releasing all over the bed and on your stomach.

His eyes will be open, not wanting them to close as he wants to see your reactions and how you create your sounds. He likes seeing how pleased you are with him and his body. Keep your face close to him, if not he would cling his arms around your neck in keeping you close.

Feeling the way your hips moving harshly, creating loud and wet noises by both of your skins slapping each other, This man would be aroused and slightly surprised. Hearing how loud and abrupt the movements are, he was in heaven.. Well how you treat him feels like it.

He would likely feel a mix of pleasure and excitement, and would probably feel like doing more than just remaining still, such as moving his own hips to meet the movements of yours or grabbing your hips and assisting in your movements.

If you were to degrade and humiliate him, he would reply with louder moans and whimpers. Sometimes he would tease you back, denying your words but the way he's being a cock whore for you says the opposite.

"You're so much better when you're submissive and compliant." You whispered against his ear as you hold both of the King's horns harshly to keep the man in place. As much as Satan wants to reply he's struggling too much with the force of your movements and the pain of the slaps to reply properly. Satan would likely also feel reluctant to admit to himself that it feels good to give in to the dominance and be handled by the reader. "The way you obediently follow my commands and give in to my dominance is so hot." you groaned before slapping his ass, making Satan shiver under you. He couldn't even form his words as if he's speaking in gibberish. "Your pride and arrogance hold you back from experiencing even more pleasure." You continued degrading him, letting go of his horns and sneaking your arms around his torso. "Let go of them and let me take control of you, baby?" your voice wavering as you feel your end, your hips shaking the same way as Satan's. "'M..'M close! [_] close! Please! Keep using my body!" he pleaded, which you agreed to his plea. You always love cumming together, a few thrusts and both of you are letting out a moan as you cum inside and Satan on the sheets before falling. Being inside in a second before pulling out, watching it drip out of him.

"No one could dominate you as good as me, so why not just submit to me and enjoy being handled by a superior dominant top?" You teased, chuckling as you look at him. Completely destroyed, his hair a mess, his whole body filled with marks and bruises, the way the demon is shaking. Oh he would ask for another round even if he's completely beaten up.

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Mammon would likely be taken aback a little bit by the dominance and assertiveness of yours.

Mammon would likely feel quite embarrassed and flustered being in such a submissive position, as it is not something he is used to in his usual role in the group. He wouldn't say no, he would gladly agree to it. As long as he's feeling you all over, that's enough for him.

If you happen to prepare Mammon, he would likely feel some level of excitement and anticipation, especially if you were touching him. He's bigger in figure and taller than you, unless you're a titan. Of course his back is laying on the bed, seeing your face. Let him keep his hands on your ass, he likes it and he's been doing good.

You touching him in a way that he found pleasurable and was preparing him, Mammon would likely feel more relaxed and comfortable with the dominance of the Man. However, even if Mammon was being prepared and touched by his lover.

In bed, Mammon would likely be responsive and obedient to your instructions. He would likely let you take control and guide his movements in bed.

Mammon's usual dominating and commanding personality would likely take a backseat, allowing you to take charge. He would likely take delight in giving in to you and experiencing the pleasure of a dominant top's control.

As he's not much of a vocal man but you'll hear his groans and whines, the way his head rolls back is enough to know that he's enjoying you.

You could tie Mammon's hands and feet together in order to make him even more submissive and pliable. Of course it'll be gold, it makes him even more prettier for you. He loves feeling pretty for you.

You could tie him down and blindfolded him, taking control of his senses and heightening the feelings of dominance and submission. Lick his horns and he would come in a second, lick his nipples and he's moaning your name.

Use verbal commands to direct Mammon's movements during bed. He's so obedient for you, sometimes teasing you just to get a chuckle from you. Push and pull him into different positions, he likes being surprised especially blindfolded.

Touch and caress him, praise him by calling him a good boy. He's whimpering for you, he likes being touched and praised. Hold hands is a must every time you both feel like coming, you'll see him pouting after if you didn't.

When you kept praising Mammon while both their hips continued to move harshly, Mammon would likely feel an overwhelming mix of pleasure and embarassment. Enjoying the feeling of your praise and compliments. It would make him feel desired and valued, and boost his confidence and ego. On the other hand, he would feel embarrassed and shy about the fact that you kept calling him a "submissive puppy" and calling out his submissive behavior in bed.

Kissing and caressing Mammon while using your hands to hold Mammon's neck and face, forcing Mammon to look at you while you praise and encourage him.

" You're such a good boy, aren't you? Taking all these thrusts like a good boy that you are. " You grunted as your hands on his demon's inner thighs, forcing them to spread wide open. Watching Mammon's dick bounce as well as his thighs jiggle each thrust, "your.. Good boy" he mumbled along the way with his soft whines, trying to open his legs more to feel his Top. You above him chuckled, liking how obedient his submissive demon is. " You're such an obedient and compliant boy. " He replied back, one of your hand squeezing Mammon's tits. " Just keep following my commands and let me use your body however I like. " The demon moaned on your words, he loved hearing your voice. His hand goes on top of the yours which was on his tits, his eyes glistening as he pulls your hand to caress his cheek."Treasure.." he whined softly, hinting that he want you close which you did lean closer to kiss him. "c..cumming" he muffled between your lips, "come for me, baby" You ordered, moving your hand on his intertwined. Your hips moves drastically which made him cry out, his back arching before both of you released your essences. The demon wrapped his legs around your waist, not wanting you to pull out yet. "I want you inside longer.." he demanded, he likes feeling you inside. He can go hours or days even, you give him a peck kiss on the cheek as you listen to him.

Looking at him, he was drenched with sweat, saliva, and cum. His thighs were shaking a bit from how long they stretched for. You guys would be fighting over who's doing aftercare, he loves taking care of you and you being a gentleman would insist into taking care of him.

•◦✦────•◦ᘡᘞ •◦────✦◦•◦•

Ꮺ ⨾ I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING COPIED OR TRANSLATED.

#Eun.writes #Eun.asks #what in hell is bad #whb #whb satan #whb mammon #what in hell is bad satan #what in hell is bad mammon #whb x reader #whb x male reader #what in hell is bad x reader #what in hell is bad x male reader

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veritasss5 · 1 year

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10 advice that you need right now. | pick a card.

Disclaimer: this is a GENERAL READING, take what it resonates and leave behind what doesn’t. This is for fun and should never be taken seriously. This is for entertainment purposes. It is just for helping you to have a general idea about your situation. If it does help you fine I am very happy about it, if not then I am sorry that it wasn’t for you and move on.

Take a moment to relax your mind and choose with your intuition.

(All the art is found on pinterest, if you know the artists please comment their name so I can credit them)

Pile two art is from weibo @/咸鱼中下游

Pile 1 → Pile 2 → Pile 3

Pile 1

1. be happy and content with the things that you have right now. Some experiences happen once and not twice.

2. enjoy your time with friends, family, your lover, anyone that is welcoming you and accept you for who you are. Those moments are golden and they will be a warm memory for your future to remember.

3. clean your room. Having a clean and tidy space can help you to improve your mood. Cleaning your stuff can help you to find stuff to declutter that doesn’t serve you anymore.

4. compassion and kindness can be rewarding for you. Don’t let negative situations affect you, be always kind and compassionate to the right people. You just gave to the wrong people up until now.

5. you deserve a break and vacation. It’s time to visit somewhere that has water like rivers, lakes, ocean, etc.

6. you deserve to be free. Your freedom is one of your rights that can’t be sacrificed.

7. eat more fish. It gives you nutrients to feel energetic, and may boost your brain health.

8. time to look to the future and stop looking at the past. The future is now, the past is gone.

9. you have the right to feel your emotions without guilt. You can cry, be angry and shout. You are human, it’s fine to not be perfect.

10. fill your cup. A cup filled with pure intentions and emotions can help you to welcome the right people that will accept your offer. Be mindful to whom you give your time and energy.

Pile 2

1. choose one goal to focus on. Don’t try to get everything at once. Step by step. All things have their own time.

2. don’t overspend on things that can’t be useful for you. It’s time to spend and invest on things that can help you and have your best interest for your better future.

3. save money. Don’t compare yourself to the people that can’t be compared with.

4. dream big, but go catch on to your dream. Daydreaming and doing nothing can’t help you to achieve your greatness.

5. make your life interesting and aesthetically pleasing to motivate you. Yes, you have something interesting about your life, don’t say no.

6. leave behind everything that is harming you or stopping you to elevate yourself.

7. moon can be very significant for you. Cold night can be significant for you as a metaphor or literally.

8. you don’t need to talk and declare to people what you are going to do. Just do it in silence.

9. right now you have the power to be independent and leave everything behind you to start over from zero.

10. you are able to achieve anything that you desire, just believe in yourself and bet everything on you. You are the best investment.

Pile 3

1. someone betrayed you or disappointed your expectations. Don’t let this slip. Confront them. Better now than later.

2. misunderstandings will be bigger if you don’t clear them as soon as possible. It will look like you are searching for excuses if you don’t address them.

3. bad experience will help you to grow and let you be more mindful and careful of who you confide in and talk with.

4. don’t let bad experiences affect your future. It happened once. Alright, make sure to not fall for the same mistake. But remember there are still people out there that are worthy of your trust.

5. it is time to let go of toxic and negative thoughts and habits. Bad habits create a toxic cycle where it will be harder to break the longer you engage with.

6. you are someone powerful and beautiful. You need to find out your power.

7. there are lessons that will teach you to be confident and strong. Some situations happen because they want you to become better, not to harm you or curse you.

8. you are destined to be independent, charismatic and strong. Someone that can draw people’s attention with your charm and skills.

9. you are very very interesting to know, stop saying otherwise. Be proud of yourself and what you have achieved currently, small or big doesn’t make any difference.

10. trust your gut feelings, they are hardly wrong. Your feelings are valid to be listened to. Let the people hear your voice and see how strong you actually are.

#intuitive readings #tarot cards #tarot reading #free tarot reading #free tarot #free tarot readings #free intuitive readings #oracle reading #pick an image #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot pac #tarot tumblr #pick a card tarot #pick a pile tarot #pac reading #cartomancy #tarotonline

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fruityricecake · 16 days

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GENSHIN CHARACTERS AS DIFFERENT TYPES OF FILIPINO CLASSMATES

|| FIL AU || Venti, Kazuha, Xiao, Scaramouche, Heizou x reader (seperate)

a/n — i’m back after three whole years :)

hope this post finds my fellow fils :D

01. VENTI // MONDSTADT

Yung pabigat sa groupings // sipsip sa teacher :

“Ang ganda mo today, ma’am.”

Sipsip(1) sa kahit sinong teacher kahit di niya pa teacher.. just incase lang daw para bumawi sa missing requirements niya sa subjects. Siya yung type na magseen lang sa gc kapag nagchachat ka tungkol sa group project sabay go na go mag share ng post sa facebook.

Hindi kayo close pero nakakapagusap kayo kapag kailangan(groupings and more). Medyo may galit ka sakaniya dahil sa pagiging careless niya sa groupings and one time umabot siya sa point na pinaringgan mo siya buong araw tapos naguilty siya and nilibre ka niya kahit siya yung palaging nagpapalibre. :)

Pero despite how he takes his grades and everything, he’s actually a very good person. Siya yung palaging unang nagrereact kapag may kahit anong problema and he’s very good at cheering people up, one interaction na tumatak sayo is when he saw you having a mental breakdown and he came to check up on you.

It was way past classes and most students had already went home. You stayed at school since you were working on something related to an extra curricular and now it was time for you to go home, but you couldn’t help but feel absolutely awful due to the horrible day you had.

You were walking down the stairs, your bag as heavy as ever and your hands holding multiple different items related to your studies. Not to mention, your exams were coming up and you had multiple pending projects so the pressure kept building up. You weren’t only carrying the weight of the things you held, but also the weight of your pressure.

But then, you missed a step on the staircase making you trip and fall. Luckily, you were already close to the floor so you landed on the floor after the staircase and dropped all your things.

“Y/n? Okay ka lang?!” you heard a familiar voice reach out. Then you saw Venti beside you, staring at you with concern. Then, you couldn’t help what happened next. It was like you reached the end of your capacity and finally… you cried.

“huh… Y/n?” people were passing by as Venti stared at you, unaware of what to do. “hindi po ako yung nagpaiyak diyan hahah…….” people whispered to one another, thinking that it was Venti who made you cry. “Huy, ano ba nangyayari sayo?”

“Ikaw kasi eh! Bwiset ka, kung pinasa mo lang yung part mo sa project sana tapos na tayo, sana nabawasan na yung problema ko.. pero hindi! Seen ka lang nang seen, tatanggalin ko na pangalan mo sa listahan ng members, bahala ka dyan!”

After letting you continue your rant and allowing you to cry, he gave you a big hug and bought you ice cream as a peace offering before he said bye.

Safe to say that when you came home, you saw that he finally finished his part in your project along with a sorry message that he sent you under private messages.

02. KAZUHA // INAZUMA

Seatmate sa umaga, tutor sa hapon

“May notes ka sa chem?”

Green flag na pogi na may pake sa acads, musically inclined, na sobrang bait at mestizong chinito, san ka pa?!

Hindi kayo ganon kaclose pero naging magseatmate kayo nung third quarter and you consider each other friends. Madalas siya nanghihingi ng notes sa’yo (sus, paraparaan talaga) and in return, tinuturuan ka niya sa mga subject kung saan nahihirapan ka.

You don’t know why, but it just so happens na kapag si Kazuha nagtuturo sayo ng lesson, gets na gets mo agad. Pero minsan, kapag hirap na hirap and litong lito ka talaga sa lesson,willing siya magstay after class para lang turuan ka, and naging common practice niyo na ‘to for the whole third quarter.

Third quarter lang kayo naging super close and nung fourth quarter hindi na ulit kayo nagusap aw :( not until nung isang araw na nagkasakit ka and sinamahan ka niya sa clinic <3

You weakly coughed, feeling horrible as you bed rotted in your school clinic. You waited for your service to come pick you up and you tried to sleep while waiting but you physically couldn’t get yourself to sleep despite your lack of it.

Then, you heard three knocks, and quickly after the opening of the door. You didn’t even bother looking up, expecting it to be just another staff or a student you don’t know. But you quickly realized otherwise.

“Binaba ko lang bag mo, uwian na kasi.” You turned to see Kazuha. You nodded and observed him as he placed your bag on a nearby chair. He then started leaving right after. “bye y/n, magpagaling ka.”

“Dito ka lang.” You said, almost as a whisper.

But you figured it was loud enough for Kazuha to hear, seeing as he turned to look at you in question. “Wala akong magawa dito, samahan mo muna ako please.”

Surprisingly, he sat down. He sat down and waited for your service with you, and you both realized that you missed each other’s company as you comfortably talked to each other. And in the middle of the conversation, you cracked a joke about your old situation:

“Ikaw nga ‘di mo na ako mahal, hindi mo na ulit ako kinausap.” You joked, laughing at your own humor, but Kazuha paused and chuckled after a few seconds.

“Mahal pa rin kaya kita.”

To this day, you still don’t know if he meant what he said.

03. XIAO // LIYUE

Seatmate mong lowkey lang (katulad ng feelings niya para sayo na lowkey lang din)

“nakikinig nga ako, sabi mo (insert ten paragraph chika essay)”

Seatmate mo nung 1st-2nd quarter sa may likod ng classroom sa may bintana.

Polar opposites kayo kasi habang ikakamatay niyang magsalita, ikakamatay mo namang manahimik, and mostly ang conversation niyo lang consists of yappings mo and yung occasional na sagot niya ng “ah” “oo” “ok”.

Minsan habang nagsasalita ka nararamdaman mo na hindi na siya nakikinig kaya mananahimik ka nalang, pero he’ll assure you na he was actually listening(and if you didn’t believe him he would repeat everything you said word by word) and will ask you to continue talking.

Other than that, surprisingly similar din music taste niyo and madalas kayong nagsh-share ng earphones sa likod habang nagsosoundtrip. Hindi na kayo naging classmates next schoolyear pero madalas pa rin kayo magbatian sa hallways!

Palagi siyang lowkey and tahimik lang pero madalas niya naman pinaparamdam sa’yo na he cares about you through his small actions:

“Hindi ka bababa?” Xiao asked, watching as you hurriedly wrote down your answers on your notebook, cramming as usual.

“Hindi, tatapusin ko lang ‘to, next subject na pala!” You answered and he pulled out his notebook offering you the chance to copy his answers, but you shook your head. “Ok lang, kasalanan ko naman kasi tinulugan ko lang mga responsibilidad ko kagabi.”

“Hindi ka kakain?” He asked again, and your silence was enough to answer his question.

He sighed before keeping his notebook and leaving you to procrastinate. Soon after, he came back and placed the meal you always ordered on your table.

“Ano ‘to?” You asked, staring at him as he sat down next to you.

“Wag kang magpakagutom, kumain ka na habang nagawa.” He told you and you flashed him a bright smile and thanked him before resuming your homework.

04. SCARAMOUCHE // INAZUMA

si pet peeve (ft. fb bakbakan)

“anubayan pumasok nanaman pet peeve ko.”

Hindi mo alam kung ano bang ginawa mo sakaniya pero ever since day 1, puro masamang tingin lang binibigay niya sayo.

Favorite niyong magparinigan sa fb at sa personal kasi bitter kayo bakit ba

Considerate ka magcheck ng papel ng iba pero kapag sakaniya yung papel na chinechekan mo sinisigurado mo na lahat ng onting pagkakamali is mali, walang consider consider dito. <3

Palagi kayong nakikick sa classroom gcs niyo kasi palagi kayong nagaaway online sa gcs at madalas kayong mapagalitan ng class pres at ng mga teacher sa gc D:

Ang mindset niya: ok lang yung siya yung nanlalait sayo pero kapag iba na yung nanlait, he’s going to make sure na hindi na ulit magsasalita yung taong yun.

Y/N L/N : shout out sa pet peeve kong puro lait, di nalang magaral, di na tuloy ako mataasan sa test

You posted in facebook in annoyance after getting into a recent fight with said pet peeve. It only fueled your anger when a certain someone commented on your post.

SCARAMOUCHE : nahiya ka pa, di nalang ako minention.

SCARAMOUCHE : di raw mataasan sa test..? ikaw nga puro parinig sa facebook, di nalang magaral, hindi mo tuloy maidentify yung 3 point difference natin kanina sa AP kung saan mas mataas ako

Y/N L/N : sanaol yapper wala naman kwenta yung sinasabi. chat mo nalang ako kapag nataasan mo na ako sa math boi

SCARAMOUCHE : sus, imagine nagmamagaling sa math, tiklop naman pag lumabas na yung fractions

Your eyebrows furrowed as you groaned in frustration, you hated how you were losing to him!

SHIKANOIN HEIZOU : mga ate ko, uso ang pm

VENTI : shhh nakikichika pa ako, shush ka muna

You were typing your next hate reply when a facebook friend you never interacted with replied to your and scaramouche’s comment.

AJAX : hoy scara feeling ka nanaman, ‘kala mo di ka nireject nung grade 2

You quickly covered your mouth in shock, now you remember why Scaramouche hated you so much now. He was the boy you rejected in elementary!

05. HEIZOU // INAZUMA

kasabay mo pauwi na buraot to the max

“Hoy y/n, penge one-whole”

Sipsip(2) sa teacher and highkey bidabida sa recitation pero you respect him since marunong siya maglead and he gets along with everyone. Medyo makulit pero marunong siya magseryoso, he knows when the atmosphere is sensitive and he learns to adjust very well.

Hindi kayo close nung una pero nakasabay mo siya umuwi nung isang time na magkagrupo kayo sa project tapos madilim na and wala kang mahanap na kasabay pauwi. Tinanong mo siya kung saan siya nauwi bilang last resort and coincidentally same subd. lang pala kayo :O, turns out ok masaya naman pala siya kasama and palagi na kayong nagsabay pauwi.

Talagang mapapatanong kanalang kung studyante ba talaga siya kasi simula nung naging close kayo lahat nalang ng gamit hinihingi niya sayo. Yung partida ang layo layo ng upuan niya sayo pero kapag may test dumadalo pa siya sainyo para lang manghihingi ng onewhole, ballpen, correction, green ballpen, PAGKAIN, etc.

parang ikakamatay niyang dumaan ang isang araw na hindi ka niya binubulabog at inaaasar, pero ok lang kasi kapag napipikon ka na buong araw ka niyang susuyuin tapos lilibre ka na niya pamasahe pauwi :3

“Luh, y/n pikunin talaga.” He says, following you as you walked while ignoring him. You were about to exit school when the rain started pouring. “hoy y/n” He calls out, but you continue with the cold shoulder. “luh di talaga siya namamansin.”

He then hurriedly opened his umbrella and ran to your side, situating the umbrella over both of you as he matched your hurried pace in walking to keep you dry. “bakit badtrip ka nanaman?”

You immediately stopped walking in annoyance and stared at him eye to eye, that question was your last straw. “Nanaman? bakit? Ok Heizou, bakit nga ba? first, puro ka pambibwiset asar ka nang asar, wala kang tigil! Pangalawa, inubos mo yung one whole ko kanina hingi ka nang hingi ng bago, bumili ka na nga! naiinis na ako sayo amburaot mo pati pagkain hinihingi mo hindi ka ba pinapakain ng tama? tapos ballpen, anong klaseng studyante walang ballpen? oo Heizou, matalino na pogi ka nga pero wala kang ballpen! hindi ko ba alam kung bakit andaming nagkakagusto sayo, tapos ikaw naman makangiti ka kapag kinakausap ka ng mga—“

you continued yapping, but Heizou got the memo from the moment you suddenly switched the topic up. “Ah ok, so shortcut, nagseselos ka.”

“Bakit ako magseselos? eh hindi nga kita gusto.” You told him but he just chuckled.

“May sinabi ba akong may gusto ka sakin? assuming ka rin ata eh.” He joked. “Pero oo na, hindi ka na nagseselos, sabi mo yan eh. Pero fyi, wala akong pake dun and walang meaning yung pagngiti ko.” He reassures you.

Why did he even have to say that? you were acting weird, wala ka naman ding karapatan na magselos, but why was it when he said those words you felt relief?

“Tara na, libre nalang kita pamasahe.”