#v: bad at retirement

[artifeast]

i hope the van explodes

[redbean-nom]

honestly echo is probably going to die heroically in the next two episodes. he's not with rex, gregor, and wolffe in rebels, he's not with the greater rebellion, and Echo Base exists.

what i'm more curious about is when cody gets his own heroic sacrifice. he's not with rex and he's not with obi wan, so unless he also fell in a sarlacc or got carbonited, he's definitely dead.

anyways, the last episode's title is The Cavalry Has Arrived. and who could be a more fitting "cavalry" than Cody?

[shadowglens]

(x)

[astrocassette]

LOVE Milo’s design omg!! Wondering, what would their Pokemon battle quotes be? Things like victory, defeat, their Pokemon landing a super effective hit, their Pokemon taking a super effective hit, Pokemon on low HP, Pokemon fainting, low HP victory, stuff like that?

WAH thank you!! most of their outfit comes directly from my own closet, ahah! (*^▽^*) that's what they were wearing when they got isekai-ed. :] they do end up with more outfits for other situations but i haven't decided on them yet

and OOOHH that's a good question!!

when talking to people, something funny with them is that you can definitely tell who they learned galarian around because of their word choice and occasional use of train metaphors. it also shows in how they approach battling: with cheer and encouragement towards their opponent!

challenged: oh!! you want to battle? cool, yeye, full steam ahead! do your best!

victory: [gasps, lights up] i... hahah! thank you, that was a great battle! let's do it again sometime!

defeat: ah! [sighs, smiling] bravo, that was very fun! thank you!

low hp victory: ...hoo! that was close! you and your team did a really good job! (internally making a deflating balloon squeak noise)

in battle, milo's not super wordy but they're definitely reactive. when things are going well there's lots of "yes!" and "WOO!!", when things are precarious their go-to is "you got this, bud!", and when things are going badly they'll hiss/wince in sympathy of heavy hits, and offer comfort and reassurances when calling their pokemon back.

outside of battle tho milo is definitely the kind to talk to their pokemon like people/pets. they don't really babytalk, but will make their noises back at them as "conversations" and sing silly songs to them when no one is around :]

[gladiatorcunt]

🍒🍦 ⸺ ᳂ cherry vanilla dr. pepper !!!

cw: afab reader, voyeurism, tashi and you make out while you get pounded, weird amalgamation of dehumanization/objectification/pet play, subby!art coded, spit roasting at the end, slight overstimulation, bizarre orgy vibes, mean dom!tashi to everyone but you <3, implied breeding/creampie kink, canon typical mind games, tashi sits in the cuck chair /j, implied romantic feelings but no mention of established romantic relationships, slight mxm, clit stimulation, one use of “mommy”

happy challengers day 🎾💚

consider commissioning me or leaving me a tip !

“Round 4 will be the last one, alright? Get ready, baby.”

You take deep breaths, clutching onto Patrick’s wrist. You lock eyes with Tashi, feeling syrupy sweet deep in your gut. She grins and unbuttons the top buttons of her shirt, leaving you three to your own devices for now.

The stretch of Patrick’s cock stings and burns a little but Art nipping at your hip bones helps distract you. Patrick pants against the nape of your neck, you feel so divinely tight he thinks he’s died and gone to heaven.

He keeps his voice low so Tashi can’t hear him, “Fuck-you feel incredible, i’d kill for this pussy, you know that.”

“Hook your arm around their neck, good boy.” Tashi instructs Patrick, leaning back in the hotel chair and palming her pussy at the sight in front of her.

“Yes, ma’am.” He swiftly calls back, acting like he hadn’t said anything to you at all.

Patrick has you in a headlock, pummeling his cock in and out of your pussy with reckless abandon. Art is beneath the two of you, suckling on your clit like it’s a nipple he’s trying to get milk out of. He licks where you’re stretched around Patrick, drawing groans from you both and a chuckle from Tashi.

“Be a good dog and lap them up, okay? I’d hate to have to take away your toy privileges.” She sneers, sliding her damp underwear to the side and stroking her slit.

The “toy” in the equation isn't you.

You’re dead to the world, eyes bulging out of their sockets and nails trying to rip the white sheet to shreds. Your head and tits rock back and forth with Patrick’s thrusts, already on the brink of your fourth orgasm. You try to scream that you can’t take anymore, but you wanna make Tashi proud so you shut up.

“ ‘s so good…” Art hums into your mound, pecking little kisses onto it here and there.

His sounds are muffled but the vibrations send your eyes to the back of your head. The chair in the corner of the room creaks as Tashi gets up, and the second you lift your head and open your eyes, she’s smiling down at you with all the warmth she doesn’t give the men pleasing you. This isn’t about them, it never was.

“Patrick’s so big, Tashi-he’s unggggh-he’s gonna kill me!” You whine, desperately pawing at her clothed breasts.

She coos and pulls her blouse up, bringing your hands to cup her tits and keeping them there, “Baby you know he’s not, this pussy can take a beating. I’d only give you the best toys.”

You nod wordlessly, pouting your lips. She gets the message and claims your lips in a searing kiss, luxuriating in the slick slide of your lips. She loves to make it messy, getting spit all over your mouths and letting it drip on the bed.

Art mewls and flicks your clit, trying to get your attention. You feel bad and try to pull away from Tashi, but she yanks you back into the kiss and bites your lip as a punishment. You hiccup into her mouth, startled when Patrick starts jackhammering into you.

Tashi typically has them alternate, but Art prefere to bury his face between your thighs and Patricks likes to play with fire by cumming inside your sore cunt. He doesn’t speak as much as Art does, but sometimes he holds Tashi stare as you two make out. They’ll have to retire from Tashi’s “employment” eventually, and they’ll be taking you with them when they do. All games of keep away end.

Patrick traces letters and shapes on the glistening skin of your sweaty back, sloppy hearts and ‘ I - L - O - V - E - Y - O - U ‘ s.

You gasp and wrench yourself back to breathe. Art flattens his tongue and licks broad stripes over your labia. He nuzzles his nose into you, stopping to pant and take in your smell. He may be delusional, but he’s convinced that every part of you is so sweet. He honest to God can’t get enough, he’d lie in a puddle at your feet if you wanted him too.

Sometimes you feel torn when you fall into bed with your lovers. You’re too soft to be like Tashi, but that exact softness is exactly why you can’t handle being away from her for too long. Maybe you’ve fallen under her spell just like all the rest, but she puts her career on the line to prove how special you are.

Patrick pulls you up to rest your back against your chest. You let your head fall onto his shoulder and you moan when he adjusts the angle of his thrusts to rub against your cervix repeatedly. He wasn’t like this when the evening started, Patrick only roughens you up when you’ve been thoroughly run through and can take it with a dopey smile and glazed eyes.

“Keep going, it’s okay- want it-want you.” You cry out to Patrick, reaching down to caress his hip.

He smiles and licks your cheek, complying with your request.

Art grins up at you with his eyes, mouthing ‘That’s my angel, only for us.’ into the flesh of your inner thigh. He moves to Patrick balls and takes them into his mouth, bobbing them up and down with his tongue. Patrick moans as Art laves his balls in saliva. Art lets them fall out of his mouth, curling his tongue around the inches peeking out of your pussy and hollowing his cheeks out.

“Shit! Stop, ‘m gonna cum!” Patrick hisses through his teeth.

He either empties another load into you or he just refuses to cum if your pussy’s not available, period.

“They’re so hungry for it, aren’t they? Well, can he? Can our dog cum inside you, baby?” Tashi tsks, cupping your cheeks and bringing your attention back to her.

“Yes, yes, yes! He can cum inside-please let him cum inside mommy-i need it so bad-wanna be stuffed full with it!” You whimper and arch your back, jutting your tits out.

Tashi laughs and leans down to suck one of your pert nipples into her mouth, bouncing your other breast in her hand. Tears spill from your waterline down to her freshly manicured nails. Art has since gone back to sucking the life out of your clit, and the little wink he sends you doesn’t help you hold back your impending orgasm.

Patrick thrusts a few more times and then you’re cumming in sync. You go brain dead and your body locks up in his arms. You’re out of it for a good few minutes, and when you have full awareness again you see Art kneeling in front of you. He holds his dick out for you to gawk at, slowly pumping himself for your amusement.

Patrick hasn’t pulled out of your pussy but he doesn’t fuck you again, he jostles his hips to find the most comfortable position for his softening cock to plug you up.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He huffs and pushes you back down on all fours.

“You need your mouth taken care of too.” Art whines and squeezes his cock around the base, beckoning you closer with a ‘come hither’ gesture.

Said man is tenderly and carefully bundling up your hair in his arm and casting it aside, giving him ample space on your back to pet. He rubs the pink tip of his cock along your jawline, he gives you a fresh coat of lip gloss via his precum as he slaps your plump lips with his cockhead.

“It’s kinda like sucking off a dildo attached to a mirror, don’t think too hard about it.” Tashi tells you, crouching down to suck the small divot in your back.

She sits back in the cheap black hotel chair, shrugging her blouse off and pinching her nipples.

You moan at the first taste of Art’s cock, longer than Patrick’s but with less heft to it. You peer out of the corner of your eye to see if Tashi’s still watching, and you feel silly when you realize that she always is.

“Doing good, baby, keep it up.”

But that’s the thing, they’re all watching you now. It’s not hard to be a pathetic bottom that needs to be coddled and tended to at all times. It’s never difficult to stroke the fire in someone’s ego, you’ve had an easier job of that than anything else.

You saw them all together on the court, you were there for lessons that didn’t work out. Who knows how long ago, it feels like a lifetime, but all it took was one look to recognize what was destined to be yours. You couldn’t give less of a fuck about Tennis in actuality, but you sure do love the players.

They all have hearts in their eyes as they watch you. Art with his dick deep down your throat, his legs are trembling as he tries to stop himself from fucking your face. Patrick, still making a forever home for himself in your guts, his eyes are so dark you have to repress a shiver. And Tashi, knuckles deep in her pussy, finger fucking herself to the pretty little show her baby puts on with their toys.

When the boys are asleep, you’ll bounce on her ribbed strap until you shatter all over again.

Now, Is it cheating to win a game when people don’t realize that you're playing?

- faetreides 2024. do not repost, translate, or put my works into ai

[writersdrug]

I need the bartender Simon having to escape upstairs for a few minutes just to control the monster in his pants just because of a more direct provocation from the reader

I was saving this ask and I think this is the perfect moment after Simon sees reader in his shirt, no?

Warnings: NSFW, masturbation, sex toy, pining, daydreaming about p in v sex

He doesn't dare go up to his room - even after the bar is closed, after you and Johnny are both gone, after his tasks are complete. His mind has been scrambled ever since you came down in his shirt, looking like you'd just woken up from having a nap in his bed. He knew that wasn't the case, but it was so easy to pretend. You made it easy, looking like wearing his shirt was just your typical Friday outfit. If he tried hard enough, sitting at the bar after hours, sipping on an Old Fashioned- he could imagine you were up there right now, lying stomach-first in his bed, wearing his shirt, with "LT RIELY" on your back - you weren't objective, he certainly doesn't think of you like that - but having his claim on you aroused the most primal part inside him. If only you could see what you've done. Did you even know it?

Price comes lumbering down the stairs. Simon doesn't bother to look at him; he sits at the bar, his Old Fashioned long gone, with an empty whiskey glass and the mostly-full bottle next to him. He was hoping to replace the thought of you with drinking, but he didn't have the stomach for it.

"I'm plannin' to see if Garrick wants to join the team." Price says, shrugging on his jacket. "I know he wanted to be his own man, but we could use him. Our girl's made this place quite popular."

Simon wants to spit out the words he'd just heard. Our girl. Whose girl? John's? Soap's? The entire pub? It was his name on your back. Not Price. Not MacTavish. He was the one you came to with all those receipts, numbers scribbled in the margins, trusting him to help you ward them off. Sure, you have fun with everyone, asking them all for help - but you go to him the most easily, whenever you need to feel safe. Bad customers, bad situations - you looked to him. Didn't that mean anything to Price?

He doesn't respond to his captain, choosing to stare at his empty glass instead. Price looks at him quizzically.

"Feelin' alright, there?"

Simon grunts. "Long day."

Price knows he's bullshitting him. He knows exactly what this is about. He sighs, pulling his beanie on and tucking the money pouch into his jacket. "If you want 'er, Simon, tell me to back off. Can't read your mind."

That has him pursing his lips, grip tight around the sides of his glass. He would have punched John, was he any other man. He knows exactly what Simon's thinking, yet he makes him work for it. Typical. His pride and his jealousy are fighting tooth and nail against each other, but he can barely say a word.

Price stands there a moment, waiting for Simon to speak - but he doesn't even spare the owner a glance. Bastard's always punishing himself... he thinks, sighing again.

"Bright and early tomorrow, lad." He says, heading towards the kitchen. "Lights off when you're done here." He knows Simon's capable of closing, but he repeats it every night regardless.

"Sir."

Price stops, halfway through the kitchen door. He looks at Simon, who's now staring directly back at him. There's a look in his face, something that reminds him of Ghost - the reason he became his right-hand man.

"Respectfully..." he says slowly. "Back off."

Price almost finds it comical. Like an animal staking its claim, staring at its rival - except they’re not rivals. The only reason Simon is bothering to play his captain's game, asking for permission to have what Price would happily hand over, is because he's his superior. Even if they're all retired from the SAS, no one ever really dropped the dynamics of the team.

He smiles, nodding his head once. "Understood." He says, shoving himself through the kitchen door. "But hurry up and say somethin' to 'er. I'm sick of you losing your mind during the rush."

With that, Simon hears him leave through the back door. He stays there for a moment, his mind reeling - he feels both satisfied and angry at the same time. It was a bit humiliating to tell Price to leave you for himself - you don't belong to him. But that was a problem he was going to fix. You had his name on your back-

For Christ’s sake, he’s got to give it a rest. You wore his shirt, that was all. You wore it – with no bra. Bare. Naked underneath the 141’s insignia, under his title.

And that damn bra is still in his room.

He can’t take it anymore. He unscrews the whiskey bottle and takes a few swigs, before slamming it back onto the bar top. He leaves the bottle and the glass there as he gets up, making his way across the floor, up the stairs, passing the office, and continuing up to his studio flat.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary. If you’d gone snooping, you either did a good job of hiding the evidence, or you didn’t really rifle through too much. His bed was untouched, his books and items where he had put them last – he goes into his drawers, checking to see if you had gone through anything other than his shirts. Considering everything is still where it should be, he assumed not. Though you did leave a mess in his shirt drawer – you’d been digging around in there until you found his old SAS shirt. Did you mean to do that? Were you looking for something with his name on it, just to drive him insane?

He goes back into his top drawer, muttering a curse as he pushes the contents aside. His cock is pulsing in his pants as he grabs his pocket pussy, slamming the drawer shut and heading towards his bed. He doesn't want to draw this one out - this is nothing more than a wank, just to get you out of his head. He sits at the foot of his bed and unbuttons his jeans, pulling his hard length out of his briefs – it bounces up and slaps against his abdomen, precum already smeared across the tip. He’s been hard for hours now, trying not to cum in his pants at the thought of your tits rubbing against the inside of his shirt. Do you have small, pebbly nipples? Or ones that are soft and pliant? He growls as he smears the tip of his cock against the lips of the toy, rubbing up and down the slit. He sighs, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. You’re there, rubbing your lips on his cock, your hand wrapped tightly around his shaft as you stare up at him, licking and kissing his tip like a good girl…

He scowls and opens his eyes, sitting upright – he sees your bra hanging off the back of his chair, and he nearly passes out form how quickly the blood rushes to his cock. Pink lace, delicate and kinda skimpy… and your shirt, crumpled on the seat of the chair. You’d forgotten to shove them into your bag before you left. Or did you do this on purpose?

He's reaching out before he realizes it, slowly standing up and heading towards the chair. He wants to grab your bra, rub his cock in it until he stains it with his thick cum – but something in the back of his mind keeps him from touching it. One, it’s purely you, and he doesn’t want to ruin that. Two, he’s trying to cum. Not to cum to you. He’s doing this to get rid of your image in his head.

So, he goes for the next best thing. He grabs your shirt and sits back down on the edge of the bed. He lines himself up with his fleshlight and brings your shirt to his face; no wonder the drinks had turned it translucent, it was the thinnest fabric he had ever felt. Practically skin.

He presses it against his face and inhales: the scent of you, sweet, floral and spicy, fills his mind. It makes it all to easy to imagine that you’re sinking down onto his cock, and not that he’s stuffed it as far as he can into the toy. He groans, his eyelids fluttering shut as he pumps his hips once, then again… the tightness of the fleshlight slides over him easily, offering no resistance with the precum acting as a lube while he grinds up into it, heat knotting in his gut. The waist of his jeans hugs his thighs as he slowly and steadily pulses towards the ceiling, taking deep breaths of your scent.

He feels like an animal. Dirty, cheap, and desperate. He has to remind himself that it’s not about you, it’s about having a good wank and getting you out of his head. He drops your shirt on his chest and uses his free hand to cup his balls, groaning as he massages them. The schlick of the fleshlight around his dick is loud, the sensation borderline painful as he quickly fucks into it, curses spilling past his lips as he slams the thing down to the base of his length, catching on the Jacob’s ladder piercing on the underside, then back to the tip.

He shouldn’t, but he lets his mind slip elsewhere. What would you be doing? Would you have your hands on his chest, lips parted in a moan as you drop your hips onto his thighs, your cunt dripping and squeezing around his member…? What are you doing now? Are you still wearing his shirt? Are you lying back on your bed, playing with your breasts under the fabric and using your other hand to toy with your pussy? What do you sound like? Are you saying his name, or can you make any sound at all?

He falls back against the bed. “Fuck fuck fuck-“ he mumbles. He’s caught himself in a trap here – he can’t allow himself to indulge in the thought of you, begging him to take your hips and buck up into you – but it’s impossible to get you out of his head. Even if he could, he doesn’t think he’d be able to cum without you. He squeezes his fist around the fleshlight, groaning loudly from the pain, trying to drown out the sounds of your moans in his head… you’re always there, ever present, leaning over him and whimpering in his ear, need you, Simon, wanna cum on your cock, want it inside-

It's all too much for him, but not enough. He turns himself over, climbing up to his knees on the bed. He props himself up on his forearm, holding the fleshlight with his other hand as he ruts into it, stuffing his cock in as far as it will go, until the lips are smashed against the base. He pants and groans, mouth hanging open as he hovers over the bed; over you, holding one of your thighs up, touching his forehead against yours, watching as you’re covered in a layer of sweat, tits bouncing with each violent thrust of his hips. Both wrists secured above your head with one of his meaty hands, whimpers and whines spilling from your mouth as you struggle to remain coherent. Your cunt swallows him greedily, hugs him tightly, pulses around him, coaxes him to pound into you harder and harder, your walls twitching as slick gushes around him, your fingers digging into the back of his hand as you cry out his name, “Simon, Simon, Simon”-

He hisses through his teeth as his balls seize up, his abdomen going taut and his dick twitching in the toy. He rips the fleshlight off and grabs your shirt without a second thought, wrapping it tight around his cock and pumping it. “Gonna cum, gonna cum- fuck- oh, fuck-!” He mumbles to no one as his orgasm is ripped from him, hips canting repeatedly as cum spurts into the fabric of your shirt, leaking out around his thighs as he thrusts into it, thighs aching from the exertion. He bites into his hand and growls as he continues rutting, fighting through the overstimulation to chase what remains of his high – but he soon collapses on the bed, huffing and groaning into the mattress.

His orgasm fades slowly, his heart ramming against his ribcage and the fog clearing from his head. Realization sinks in as he’s hyper-aware of your shirt, still wrapped around his dick, now soaked in his cum. He'd have to wash it, now. Filthy doesn’t even begin to describe how he feels, but he doesn’t find it in him to care anymore. He rolls onto his side, clutching your shirt in his hand. Fuck. One quick tug was all this was supposed to be, and now, he’s picturing you lying across from him. Face flushed, lips swollen and eyes hazy, smiling at him and panting. Telling him you love him. He’d say it back a million times. Listening as you breathe, as you talk about your silly little ideas for the pub, for redecorating his room… craving the moment where you drag yourself closer to him and snuggle into his chest for the rest of the night.

He hasn’t gotten rid of you, like he hoped for. He’s only made it more clear: he wants you. He wants his life to be threaded with yours, he wants to wake up next to you, he wants you to change his routine, to pick up his broken pieces and make a mosaic – and he wants to be there when you need someone, he wants to give you everything you want and more, whether that’s a life up in the clouds or down here, in his arms, in his small bed and lackluster apartment. You’d make it better; you’d make anything better.

He sighs, slowly sitting up and on the edge of the bed. Price was right – he’s got to hurry up and say something to you, or else he’ll be drowned in his obsession. You’d either agree to take this fucked-up giant on a date and end his misery, or you’d reject him, and he could force you from his thoughts and replace you with misery. It’s worked before.  

He pulls off his jeans and shirt and grabs the fleshlight, standing with a grunt and walking into his bathroom. He’s planning to clean the toy, but if he waits long enough, he might just be fucking it again in the shower.

[girlygguk]

BAD THINGS | JJK (Part 1)

summary getting jealous, sending mixed signals, simping for a gorgeous geek who has no idea what effect she has on him... it's just what jungkook does best. oh, and football. he's really good at football.

pairing jock fuckboy!jk x nerdy fuckgirl!reader

rating 18+ minors dni; smut, angst, fluff

genre f2l, fwb au, university au

word count 7.4k

content jk 20 | yn 20. down bad, simpy, jealous jk. he's kind of a himbo 😭. oc is a nerd but shes confident, a little slutty and a little bitchy. misunderstandings. mcs are (retired) hoes. they r both hopelessly & secretly(?) in love w each other. but one of them is just a littleee more obvious abt it... oc has dissociation as a defense mechanism baddd when she's hurt. football (soccer) jk. campus librarian yn. kth is oc's ex bf. the slightest bit of love triangle themes but like she's jk whipped cmawnn it's me 😭. cursing. kissing. short nsfw scene; dirty talk, p in v sex, almost getting caught

a/n so this is another draft dump LOLLL… i chopped off the end bc i wasn’t happy with it and decided to just turn this into a two-parter with an undetermined pt2 release date. so don’t read this if you’re not a fan of open or unresolved endings, baby!! not even the Lord himself knows when i’ll get back to her since i’ve got a lot in the works atm 😬 butttt i think this first part is seaux cute and it’s my blog so i’m posting it 💋 just like habits, here’s a sweet little treat - maybe a lil sumn sumn for you to pass some time with... <3 love you lots

now playing: bad things—mgk & camila cabello

“It smells like sex in here.”

Your roommate’s voice cuts through the quiet room, half-amused, half-accusing.

Looking up at her from under your warm covers, you respond casually, “Well, autoeroticism is a type of sex.”

Nari tilts her head, her lips pursing slightly as she processes your words. Then, closing the distance, she sits at the edge of your bed. The blanket shifts dangerously low, nearly exposing your bare chest. You bite the inside of your lip to suppress a laugh, quickly tugging it back up in time.

“Is that a nerdy way to say masturbation?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. “And did you really have to get fully naked? With the door unlocked? God, Y/nn, I’ll never get used to how comfortable you are with your sexuality.”

You giggle softly, leaning back into your pillow, lashes lowering as you gaze up at your pretty roommate. “I can teach you how to get comfortable with it if you want.”

Nari rolls her eyes, her lips curving into a sarcastic smile. She playfully smacks your thigh through the blanket, making you laugh. “I’m gay, but not gay enough to settle for a slut, sorry, baby.”

“Slut?” you echo, feigning offense with a dramatic gasp, your eyebrows shooting up in mock surprise. “It’s 2024, unnie… I don’t know if you can say that anymore.”

“Mmm,” she hums thoughtfully, her eyes sweeping over your barely-covered frame as she shakes her head. “It’s not even two o’clock, Y/nn. Like—” she cuts herself off with a chuckle and a shrug. “No, you know what? I’m not even surprised. Anyway, I came to ask if you needed anything from the supermarket. I would’ve texted, but I heard your voice through the door…” She pauses, realization dawning a beat too late. “Oh god. Those weren’t conversations. Fuck, sorry for interrupting.”

“It’s okay.” You smile, poking her lightly with your blanket-covered foot. “Wasn’t going that great anyway.” You shrug. “Strawberries, please? And some chocolate—the dippy kind.”

“Sure,” she nods, leaning down to plant a quick kiss on your sweaty cheek. You try to nuzzle into her affectionately, but she laughs, pushing your face back into the pillow. “‘Not that great?’ You’re sweating like a dog,” she teases as she stands to leave. “Be back soon. Love you.”

“Love you,” you echo, waving lightly as she shuts the door.

The second you hear the front door click shut, you exhale sharply, tossing the blanket off your overheated body.

“‘Not that great?’” Jungkook’s voice breaks the silence, mock offense lacing his tone as he steps out of your closet, his cock still hard and pressing against his stomach. You reach for your bra from the floor, pretending not to notice his pout. “Not exactly the review I usually get…”

You laugh halfheartedly, clipping your bra back on and scanning the floor for your panties. Jungkook frowns, shuffling back onto the bed, his warm chest brushing against your back as he watches you tug your panties up.

“Hey…” His voice softens when he realizes you're redressing. His hand gently rests against your side, only for it to be covered by your shirt as you pull it over your head.

“Y/nn? What—what’s wrong? You don’t wanna keep going? I’m—” His words falter as you stand to pull your jeans on, facing him with a look that leaves him unsure. His throat tightens, but he tries again, “Did you— I mean, I-I’m more than happy to keep going. It didn’t bother me that she almost caught us…”

You give him an amused smile, making his heart lurch, but you say nothing. Jungkook’s mouth goes dry as he watches you fasten the button of your jeans and walk over to your desk. Still silent, you put on your glasses, picking up your phone and swiping across the screen.

Jungkook sits on the bed, completely naked, his lips pursing as he watches you text without sparing him a glance. He opens his mouth to say something, but you’re already locking your phone, reaching for your jacket hanging on the back of your chair. His heart sinks as you walk toward the door without a word.

You twist the doorknob, then hum softly like you’ve forgotten something. “Could you lock the front door behind you, please?”

Jungkook’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. You tilt your head, faking confusion as you ask, “Is that going to be difficult for you…?”

Jungkook scoffs, shaking his head as he leans down to grab his briefs from under the bed. “You’re a real bitch, you know that, Y/n?” His tone is sharp as he tugs the underwear on.

Leaning against the door, you nod nonchalantly, watching him stuff his hardon back into his briefs. “Mhm, I’ve heard…”

Jungkook pulls his black tee over his head, still looking incredulous. “Why are you acting like this? Did you—did you, like, actually not enjoy it?”

Your stomach tightens as you catch the insecurity flicker in his eyes, his brows knitting together slightly as he zips up his jeans. You roll your eyes at yourself for feeling bad, knowing that's exactly why you’re in this position to begin with.

“It was good, Jungkook.” You blink at him, your voice lacking the enthusiasm he’s used to. Now fully dressed, he walks over to you, his shoulders drooping slightly.

You clear your throat and open the door wider, a gesture for him to leave. Jungkook hesitates, stopping just in front of you, his hand brushing your arm gently. But you pull away, and his heart sinks further.

“I have to go—”

Jungkook cuts you off with a frustrated huff. “Y/n, if I did something you didn’t like, you need to tell me. I told you before, if I get too rough, I want to know… I'm sorr—”

“You weren’t too rough,” you laugh humorlessly, shaking your head. “I’ll text you later, okay? I really have to go—”

“Seriously?” He snaps, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. “Where? To Taehyung’s?”

Your head tilts as you look up at him, unimpressed. “Why do you just assume I’m going to another guy's? I could have a study group—”

“Because I know when your study groups are,” he shoots back, glancing at his phone and then at you. “And because you said we had a couple hours. It’s only been forty-five minutes.”

“Can I explain later?” you sigh, exasperated. “This is taking so lon—”

“Holy shit,” Jungkook mutters under his breath, shaking his head, jaw clenched as he brushes past you toward the front door.

He shoves his feet into his shoes angrily, staring at you as you quietly close your bedroom door and follow him. There’s a softness to your movement, a quietness that almost makes his anger dissolve. Almost.

“I’m not going to keep doing this.” His voice holds a cold finality, one that makes your eyes drop to the floor. When you finally look up, there’s a slight glassiness in your gaze, and his throat tightens. “I’m not going to let you make me feel like this anymore.”

You stay silent, your eyes flicking between his before you nod slightly and slip on your sandals. Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands as you open the front door. You stand there, waiting for him to walk through.

Jungkook glances at the corridor, then back at you, and his resolve immediately fucking crumbles. His lips part, ready to take it all back. Tell you he didn’t mean it. That he doesn’t care how many times you push him away, ignore his texts, put your situationship on hold while you see where things could go with another guy that could offer you what he couldn't. He’d still come back.

He’ll always come back.

But his eyes flick to your phone as it dings, a message from your ex, Taehyung, flashing across the screen. You meet his gaze briefly before you flip the phone over, hiding the notification. But it’s too late. Jungkook already saw it.

He leaves without a word.

“Dunno. Been like two days or something. Don't remember, don't care.” Jungkook’s voice is flat, casual, but tension lingers behind his words as his thumbs flick over the controller, eyes locked on the screen.

He and Jimin are sprawled out on their dorm couch, Jungkook playing FIFA while his best friend scrolls through his phone.

Jimin doesn’t even look up, fingers tapping lazily as he scrolls. “Why do you still pretend like you don’t care around me? I’m like the last person you should lie to.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightens, eyes focused on the screen as his player sprints down the pitch. But everything feels off, like the game’s moving slower than it should. His shot misses the goal by a mile, and his teeth clench hard. “I’m not lying.”

Jimin rolls his eyes amusedly, still swiping through his Instagram feed. “Mm, sure, Jungkookie. I believe you.”

“I’m not,” Jungkook snaps, offended, his grip tightening on the controller. He flicks back to the main menu and loads into another match after getting absolutely thrashed in the last one. “She hasn’t texted me, I haven’t texted her. Whatever. She’s probably back with her ex or something. Couldn’t care less.”

The small sniff that follows is almost imperceptible, but Jimin catches it, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “Ah.” He hums, not even bothering to look up. “You’re trying to convince yourself, not me. I get it. No worries then.”

Jungkook’s fingers freeze over the controller, jaw locking as his eyes snap to Jimin. He’s burning holes into the side of the blonde’s head, and it takes everything in him not to hurl the controller across the room. Meanwhile, Jimin, lounging comfortably on the other end of the couch, continues scrolling, completely unbothered.

Jungkook exhales harshly through his nose, turning back to the screen. His chest tightens, frustration building, making every movement feel stiff and out of place. The new match starts, but he’s not in it. The ball slides past him, and when another easy goal slips through his fingers, his teeth grit harder.

He can’t focus. Not on the game, not on anything. Because all he can think about is you. How you brushed him off like it was nothing, how you acted like he didn’t matter. And the worst part? You still haven’t texted.

Not once.

He keeps telling himself it’s fine. That he doesn’t care. But the tightening in his chest, the ache in his stomach — it all says otherwise. You both get around, and it’s no secret. Jungkook can’t even remember the last time he even cared about hearing from someone after hooking up.

But you?

You have him wrapped around your finger so tight that he hasn’t eaten properly for the past forty-eight hours, meanwhile you haven’t even sent him a single fucking text.

It’s pathetic. He's pathetic. And it’s all your fault.

Jimin’s voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts, softer but still pointed. “You know,” he starts, glancing up from his phone, “if you really didn’t care, you wouldn’t be this upset, Jungkookie.”

Jungkook sighs heavily, dropping the controller to the side without even pausing the game, dragging a hand through his messy hair in frustration. "Yeah, I know, hyung. But I don’t even know why she’s mad in the first place. Things were fine. Good, actually. Like really fucking good."

‹ ‹ ‹

“Holy fuck!”

Your gasp fills the room as you clutch the back of your thighs, holding your bent legs up while Jungkook drives his cock deeper inside you. His hips snap against yours with his athlete precision, his thick length slamming into your g-spot with each thrust, ripping strangled, throaty moans from your throat.

“Yes baby,” you whimper, your voice cracking. "So goo—uh! uhh, uhhh, my godddd!"

Jungkook’s chest heaves, his teeth dragging over his lip ring as he watches you fall apart beneath him. “I know, baby, I fucking know,” he groans, his voice rough, the sound of your wet cunt sucking him in driving him wild. “Feels so fucking good. Always take me so well, Y/nn. Such a pretty little pussy. Made for me, ah? Fuucck.”

Your nails dig into your thighs as you spread your legs wider, needing him deeper. "Yessss, uh, love your big cock, Jungkookie. M-makes me feel fucking dumb. Godddd, I love it."

He groans, his pace quickening, eyes locked on the way you tremble under him, your eyes rolled back, expression completely fucked out. His lips part to tell you how fucking pretty you look when—

The sound of your roommate’s keys jingling in the front door freezes him.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, pulling out of you so fast it makes you wince. In a scramble, Jungkook jumps off the bed, grabbing his clothes and kicking them under the frame in a huff.

Your blanket is barely covering you when he dives toward your closet, slipping inside and shutting the door just as the front door swings open. Your heart sinks as you watch him disappear. You clear your throat, sitting up just in time for your best friend to step into the room.

› › ›

Jungkook leans back into the couch, arms crossed over his chest, scowling at nothing in particular. “See what I mean? We were good. Then, boom, she’s pissed.”

Jimin scoffs, still amused as he scrolls through his phone. “Are you fucking stupid?”

Jungkook turns to him, confusion written all over his face. “What?”

Jimin rolls his eyes, tossing his phone onto the coffee table and fixing his best friend with a deadpan stare. "You really don’t get it, do you?"

"Well, obviously fucking not, hyung. Can you stop talking in code and just tell me?”

The dim lights of the campus library flicker slightly as Jungkook pushes through the double doors, the sound of ice clinking against the sides of the drink in his hand echoing in the foyer. The space is mostly empty now, save for a few scattered students packing up their things, preparing to leave for the night.

His eyes immediately find you. You’re by the front counter, walking away from one of the tables, probably having just told the last few stragglers that the library is closing. For a moment, you don’t notice him, too absorbed in your task, your brows furrowed in concentration as you tidy up the space. But when he approaches the counter, heart lodged in his throat, your eyes finally land on him.

“Sorry, we’re closed for the n—” Your words falter as soon as you realize who’s standing before you. Jungkook, clad in a cozy hoodie, the hood pulled over his head, his big boba eyes skimming over your face. His expression softens as he blinks, shifting the drink in his hand.

“Hey,” he says quietly, placing the Dunkin’ cup on the counter in front of you before slipping his hands back into his pockets. “Can we please talk?”

Your eyes flicker from his face to the drink, lingering on the straw already placed in the cup, a chunk of the liquid missing. You wrap your fingers around the cup with an amused look, lifting it to take a sip of the caramel coffee.

Glancing at the time on the computer monitor beside you, you ignore the way him getting your order exactly right makes you feel and nod slightly. “Sure, but can it be quick? I’ve still got a bit of reshelving to do before I head off,” you hum, your gaze darting back to him.

“I’ll help?”

Jungkook’s gaze follows you as you step up onto the stool, reaching to place a book on the top shelf. He couldn’t tell you what the novel’s about, not even if you held a gun to his head. But he could tell you exactly what color panties you’re wearing, thanks to the perfect view your short skirt offers him every time you stretch up.

Baby blue, by the way.

Once the book is nestled between the others, you glance down at him, pushing your glasses back up your nose when they slip slightly. “Next one, please.”

He blinks, shaking off the haze clouding his brain, and hands you the last dusty book in his hands. His eyes trail over you, glued to the way you move as you place the book on the shelf, the scent of your coconut shampoo and vanilla-creme perfume making his head spin.

“You know, we’re almost finished, and you still haven’t done much talking,” you say lightly, your Docs clacking against the steps as you climb back down.

“You look so pretty today,” Jungkook blurts dumbly, his voice a little hoarse as he follows you down the aisle, pushing the book cart.

Your head tilts in amusement as you watch him get closer, his hood still tugged low over his hair. “Thank you, Jungkook. You look cute in your hoodie.”

“Y'still mad at me?” he asks with a cute little frown, pulling the cart to a stop before stepping around it to stand directly in front of you.

Your soft laugh hums through the quiet library as you shake your head. “Don’t think so.” You let him close the distance, his big hands ghosting over the sleeves of your sweater, sending shivers up your arms.

“Stop calling me Jungkook then,” he mutters, his lips brushing your ear as he leans down, resting his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent he’s been craving for days.

“Isn’t that your name?” you feign confusion, lifting your hands to pull his hoodie down, fingers threading through the soft strands of his hair that appear.

Jungkook nips lightly at your neck in warning, the gentle bite making you let out a soft breathy noise, and he swallows hard. “Kookie or Jungkookie,” he corrects, his voice barely above a whisper as he presses little kisses into your skin.

“Kook?” you hum, your teasing tone making his hands slide further down your waist.

“No,” he scoffs under his breath, his lips finding a particularly sensitive spot on your neck without even trying. “Tae calls me that.”

A laugh slips from your lips, but he’s not laughing. He pulls you closer, his lips lingering on your skin as he mumbles, “I’m so sorry, Y/nn.”

He leans back to meet your gaze, and the intensity in his eyes makes your stomach twist. “I didn’t hide because I was embarrassed of you, I swear. I just—”

“Whoa,” you mutter, your hands pressing gently against his chest as you push him back a little. “I didn’t say that. Why are you—”

“Jimin hyung told me,” he pouts, taking a step closer as you step back. “I didn’t understand why you were mad, but he explained it to me, and—”

“You’re telling people about what happens between us?” you snap, moving around him. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I was confused and losing my mind,” he rushes out, his voice tight with frustration. “You hadn’t texted me since that day, and I was going crazy—”

“You didn’t text me either,” you shoot back, shaking your head as you grab the last three books from the cart and climb the step stool. “We’re not together, Jungkook. You don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings.” You laugh bitterly. “And anyway, you didn’t—”

“Bullshit,” Jungkook frowns, stepping closer to the stool as you shove the books onto the shelf with more force than necessary. “You were pissed at me.”

You don’t reply, your hands gripping the books tightly as you try to shove them into place, but your frustration makes them impossible to slide in properly. Jungkook keeps talking, and your hands shake as you fumble with the last book.

Then, with one final shove, the book slams into place, but your shoe slips against the edge of the stool. Before you can even begin to fall, his strong hands are around your waist, lifting you off the steps and plopping you safely on the ground.

“Y'okay?” Jungkook asks, his voice soft as he steadies you. His hands linger on your waist, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

You don’t want to admit how flustered you feel, but his hands are so warm, so soft, and you don’t pull away. You just nod gently.

Jungkook leans in, his lips brushing your neck again as he mumbles, “You're usually private about your personal life, and I didn’t want you to worry about explaining anything to Nari that you didn't want to. Would never be embarrassed of you. Could never be."

Your heart softens at his words, and you can't control your body as it melts into him, your fingers curling into the back of his hoodie. His lips drag up the soft skin of your neck until they eventually find yours, and just like that, you forget why you were ever mad at the pretty fuck-boy in the first place.

His mouth moves hungrily against yours as he pushes you gently against the shelves and your breath catches, letting him lift you by your thighs until they're wrapped around his waist, his groin pressing right between your legs.

The kiss grows a little deeper, a little wetter, and your hands thread through his hair, tugging at the scalp and humming in delight when his groan vibrates against your lips. His tongue swipes against yours, his nose nudging up that your glasses lift and a soft moan slips from your lips, your own tongue trying to lick off all the caramel he stole from your drink.

Just as your hands slip under his hoodie, your phone starts buzzing in the cart. Jungkook pulls back, breathing heavily, his lips red and a little swollen as his long arm reaches for your phone. He hands it to you, letting your legs sink to the ground as he takes a quick peek at the screen.

His tongue flicks over his lipring in annoyance when he sees the name on the display. KTH.

You glance down at the phone in your hand, completely unbothered as you decline the call. Taehyung’s name disappears from the screen, and you lean up to press a soft kiss to Jungkook’s pouty lips before turning back to pack the stool into the now-empty cart.

Jungkook adjusts his hoodie slightly as he watches you push the cart back down the isle. He follows close behind, biting his lip to keep from breaking into a big fucking grin.

“Did you guys at least use a condom?”

“Shut up,” you laugh, nudging Jungkook’s side as the two of you make your way toward the library entrance. The lights flick off one by one behind you, your voice filling the quiet space. “I didn’t sleep with him.”

Jungkook has your bag slung over his shoulder, his pleased little smile plastered across his lips as he gives you a once-over. His tongue darts out to swipe over his bottom lip, unable to stop himself from staring.

You just look so sweet. Wrapped up in your white knitted sweater, smooth and soft legs disappearing under the hem of your little plaid skirt, hair falling imperfectly perfect over your shoulders. And those glasses. Those pretty fucking glasses perched on your pretty fucking nose. He doesn’t know why, but the sight of them makes his cock throb in his joggers. You just... do that to him.

Finally, you both reach the double doors. Jungkook pulls the keys from your bag, dropping them into your palm as he steps a little closer. The air between you stills for a moment, neither of you saying anything as he watches you carefully. His brow furrows slightly, his heart skipping a beat as you fidget with the keys in your hand, blinking up at him through those pretty eyes. He wonders what’s running through that brilliant mind of yours.

“I’m sorry, Kookie,” you say softly, your voice breaking the silence.

Jungkook frowns, shaking his head as he takes another step closer, the concern in his eyes clear. “Why?”

“You told me you wouldn’t let me ‘continue to make you feel this way,’ and I just—”

“No, Y/nn, I didn’t mean—”

“No, Jungkookie.” Your voice is firmer this time as you look up at him, your expression more serious. “You have every right to establish boundaries. If I make you feel confused or frustrated, you don’t have to put up with that.”

“I’d let you, like, spit on me and tell me I’m stupid, Y/nn,” he shrugs, flashing you a pretty grin. “Well, I am stupid, but still, I’d let you—”

“You are not stupid.” Your eyebrows pull together as you cross your arms, voice sharp with protectiveness. “Did someone call you stupid?”

Jungkook bites his lip, fighting to keep the smile off his face. “No, I’m just saying you could if you wanted to.”

“You’re such an idiot,” you huff, your arms falling to your sides as the keys jingle in your hand.

“Hey… you just—”

“Ah,” you murmur, giggling softly as you step closer, slipping your arms around his waist. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that. You’re the smartest boy,” you coo, tiptoeing up to press soft kisses under his jaw.

Jungkook’s lips purse as he bites back a smile, his heart swelling at your touch. He tilts his head down, his eyes locking onto your cute little pout, and with no resistance left in him, he lets his grin break free as he leans down to capture your lips with his.

A light groan escapes from his throat as your arms tighten around his waist, your soft, warm body pressing against his like it’s exactly where you belong. His hands slip up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers gently threading through your hair as his lips part against yours. His tongue slips through, finding yours effortlessly as the kiss deepens, his world melting away until it’s just you. Just the way it should be.

Until the weirdest thing happens.

It's almost as if the one person Jungkook least wanted to see on the entire planet had suddenly—

“Y/nn?”

Taehyung’s voice shatters the moment, and you immediately break away, furrowing your brows in confusion as you turn toward the sound. You’re still snug against Jungkook’s chest, his arms reluctant to let you go, tightening a little when he realizes who it is.

“Tae?” you blink, your hands dropping to Jungkook’s forearms, gently prying them loose as you glance up at him. His jaw is set tight and you wipe a bit of your lip gloss from the corner of his mouth. “One sec, Kookie. Lemme just—”

“Y/n…” Taehyung’s knock on the glass comes again, this time a little more impatient, and Jungkook's eyes roll to the back of his head.

“I’m coming,” you call out, slipping from Jungkook’s grasp and flicking the latch on the library door. The cold night air rushes in as Taehyung steps inside, a warm smile instantly spreading across his face as he spots you.

“Hey,” he greets, moving closer and wrapping his arms around you in a quick hug. You reciprocate, giving him a light pat on the back, but his hands slide down to rest around your waist, lingering in a way that makes Jungkook’s tongue poke the inside of his cheek.

Jungkook shifts his weight from one foot to the other, your bag slipping slightly down his arm as he stuffs his hands into his pockets, his narrowed gaze fixed on the back of Taehyung’s head.

“What’re you doing here?” you ask, stepping back from Taehyung’s hold, your brows knitting as you look up at him.

Taehyung sighs, letting his hands fall to his sides. “You weren’t answering my calls or texts for the past three days. I even went to your dorm and asked Nari what you were up to, but she told me you died and to go away, so… I’ve been trying all the places I thought you’d be.”

Jungkook’s brows shoot up, disbelief flickering across his face. The sheer guts it took for Taehyung to admit all that in front of him? And the fact that he was doing all that in the first place? He thought he was your biggest simp, but shit.

Then, as the words settle, a wave of relief washes over him. You haven’t talked to Taehyung in three days. So, you really weren’t texting him that night.

His heart soars.

You offer Taehyung a small smile. “I’ve just been really busy, sorry, Tae.”

Taehyung chuckles, shrugging lightly. “Yeah, seems like it…” His eyes flicker over to Jungkook, lingering on the bag hanging from his arm for just a second before he nods in acknowledgment. “Hey, Kook.”

The striker forces a tight-lipped smile, returning the goalie's nod. “Hey, Tae.”

The tension in the air is thick, making you clear your throat awkwardly. Being stuck in an empty room with the both of them? Fucking nightmare fuel.

You knew getting involved with two guys from the same sports team and friend group was a disaster waiting to happen. But in your defense, it wasn’t exactly the plan...

You’d already been hooking up with Jungkook casually for a while before Taehyung even entered the picture. In fact, the last time you had slept with Jungkook was right before a match that Taehyung had invited you to watch. You’d been texting with him for a while, and the plan was to go out to dinner after the game. Jungkook had never invited you to a game…

Anyway, not exactly your proudest moment.

It's just that when Jungkook had gotten all pouty and sad after you told him you wanted to see where things with Taehyung could go, and there were twenty minutes left before the game started…

It was a parting gift, okay?

Taehyung had been a great boyfriend, truly. Caring, funny, easy on the eyes — things had been going well. You weren’t even sure why you ended it after five months.

Maybe it had something to do with the way your stomach would twist every time you were out with the group, and Taehyung wasn’t the one making you laugh the hardest that night.

Maybe it had something to do with the way you’d sit in the bleachers, watching their games, but your eyes would somehow always drift to Jersey #1 instead of Jersey #30.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that a twenty-minute quickie with #1 had been more intense, more mind-numbing than anything you experienced during five months with #30.

But those were just theories, of course.

“Have you eaten?”

Taehyung’s voice cuts through your thoughts, and you blink, refocusing on him. “Hmm? Uh, no. But I was going to—”

“Hanjie’s is open late. Did you wanna grab something for dinner?” he suggests, his tone hopeful as he looks over at Jungkook and adds, “You down, Kook?”

Your brows furrow instantly at the worst idea you’ve ever heard. As your lips part to impolitely decline the invitation, Jungkook responds faster than you can.

“Yeah, I could eat.”

Your eyes snap to Jungkook, wide with horror. He’s holding Taehyung’s gaze, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips as he adjusts your bag on his shoulder. He glances at you, his head tilting slightly like he’s enjoying this far too much.

You narrow your eyes at him, disbelief written all over your face, before turning back to Taehyung. You’re about to put an end to this terrible plan, but Taehyung chimes in again, all smiles and casual energy. “Cool, let’s go.”

He pushes the door open, holding it for the two of you, looking back at you expectantly.

Your fists clench at your sides, and you stay rooted to the spot, but then Jungkook’s warm hand presses gently against the small of your back. “C’mon, know you’re hungry,” he murmurs, leaning down so only you can hear. “I’ll pay.”

You roll your eyes, but reluctantly step forward, letting him guide you into the cold night air. Taehyung happily lets the door swing shut behind you both, glancing back as Jungkook locks the double doors behind him with the keys you hadn’t even realized he’d slipped from your hands. He drops them back into your bag, pulling his hood back up over his head before stuffing his hands into his pants pockets.

You fall into step between the two football players, walking silently down the cold campus path toward Hanjie’s Sikdang. You hug your arms tighter across your chest, sending up a silent prayer that one of the street lamps overhead would give way and fall right on top of you.

You trail behind Taehyung and Jungkook, who are already making their way to a booth. They slide into opposite sides, both of them leaving an open space beside them, clearly expecting you to take a seat.

Your jaw clenches as you glance between the two options, your eyes drifting to a stool at the edge of the room. It's tempting, but dragging it all the way over to sit at the end of the table would make you look like a fucking freak, and so, with a resigned sigh, you walk toward the left side of the booth.

Jungkook bites back a smirk as you slide in next to him, promptly grabbing your bag to plop it on the other side of the seat, removing the barrier between you. His knee bumps yours under the table, and though you roll your eyes, you pick up your phone, pretending to check your notifications to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

Menus are passed around, and the three of you glance over them briefly. Taehyung orders a steak sandwich, while you and Jungkook opt for cheeseburgers and he gets fries for the table.

As the pretty waitress walks away, you steal a quick glance at Jungkook, curious if he noticed the way she blatantly flirted with him. But, to your surprise, he seems completely unfazed, swirling his straw in his drink with casual indifference. Hm. He definitely noticed.

Taehyung, ever the easygoing type, tries to break the silence by bringing up a lighthearted memory. From when the two of you were fucking dating.

"Y/nn always used to order iced tea on our dates," he chuckles, glancing at the drink both you and Jungkook just ordered. "Guess some things never change, huh?"

Your eyes flicker toward Jungkook, who already knows how much you love iced tea. He’s watched you order it countless times on group nights out, and sometimes, he’s even ordered it for you when you were running late or in the bathroom when the waiter came by. His lips pull into a tight smile as he takes a sip from his glass, clearly trying not to react to the comment.

"Yeah," Jungkook says, his voice casual but carrying a subtle edge. "I know."

The conversation drifts from small talk to more neutral topics, and soon the food arrives. You try to focus on your cheeseburger, nodding along as Taehyung chats about practice and classes, chiming in here and there. But somehow, the conversation keeps veering back to your shared past with him.

"Remember when you used to bring me snacks to practice? Gummies and pocky sticks?" Taehyung teases with a grin, leaning back in his seat as he takes a bite of his steak sandwich. "You were so good at taking care of me back then."

You laugh lightly, brushing it off with a nonchalant shrug. It's an old chapter of your life, one that no longer holds any weight. But beside you, Jungkook’s energy shifts. His body grows tense, his thigh pressing harder against yours as his grip on his burger tightens.

You glance over at him, your brows furrowing slightly. He’s clearly frustrated, and you just blink slowly. You didn’t care about Taehyung’s comments. Why should he?

"Yeah," Jungkook mutters, his voice low as he shoots Taehyung a tight smile. "I’m sure Y/nn’s still great at taking care of people."

There’s a sharpness to his words, a barely-veiled implication that makes you chew slower on your bite of the burger. You glance down at your plate, shaking your head subtly as discomfort creeps up on you. Taehyung, oblivious or unbothered to the underlying tension, laughs at Jungkook’s comment and nods along.

"Yeah, I’m sure she is," he agrees, his tone light and carefree.

You force a smile, but the entire situation feels like a cruel joke. You glance at the door, reconsidering your poor life choices. A free cheeseburger is definitely not worth the month’s supply of testosterone you’ve just inhaled in the past fifteen minutes.

"I'm tired," you say after another minute, setting down your half-eaten burger. Both boys glance up at you, Taehyung is the first to respond.

"Long day?" he asks softly, biting into a few fries.

You nod, reaching for a napkin to wipe the grease from your fingers. Jungkook’s gaze is heavy on the side of your face, and when you look up, you see him finish chewing before giving you a nod.

"Okay, let's go," he says, waiting for you to slide out of the booth.

You shake your head, gesturing toward the food still left on both their plates. “Finish eating, I’ll wait until you guys are done.”

Jungkook’s lips part, probably to insist, but Taehyung beats him to it. "I'm pretty much done... I can walk you back to your dorm if you want? It's getting dark out."

Your head turns to Taehyung, blinking at his unfairly gorgeous face before you smile appreciatively. "That's okay, Tae. It’s not far, I’ll be fine."

Jungkook looks down at his plate, his jaw working as his tongue runs along the inside of his cheek. Without a word, he picks up the last bite of his burger, shoves it into his mouth, and quickly chugs the rest of his iced tea. He swallows, then pats your thigh with finality. "C’mon, let’s go."

You glance up at him, noting the firm set of his expression as you grab your phone from the table. Jungkook reaches for your bag, sliding it off the booth as you both prepare to leave. Taehyung hums in surprise, stuffing a few more fries into his mouth before sliding out of the booth with a smile.

"Hey, no, if you’re still hungry, eat," you frown lightly, tilting your head at Taehyung. "We’ll wait."

Beside you, Jungkook’s hand tightens around your waist in protest, and you give him a pointed nudge in the ribs with your elbow. He exhales sharply through his nose, clearly annoyed but relenting.

Taehyung laughs through his mouthful, shaking his head before swallowing. "Nah, all good. I’m full now, let’s head out."

Jungkook’s hand slips from your waist momentarily as he tosses a few notes down for the bill and a tip before placing his arm back around you. Taehyung follows suit, placing his cut on top of Jungkook’s and tucking his wallet back into his pocket. He falls back into step with the two of you, still smiling as you guys leave the diner.

The walk back to the female dormitories isn’t long, the three of you strolling along the stony path under the soft glow of the streetlights.

Things are okay now, your stomach satiated and the fact that you're going to be tucked up in your bed soon easing your mind. Taehyung walks to your right, Jungkook to your left, the latter quiet, the former chatty. As the temperature drops even further, you can’t help the slight shiver that runs down your spine.

Taehyung notices immediately and stops his ramble. “Here,” he says, starting to shrug off his jacket, his voice as warm as ever. “You’re freezing. Take this.”

Normally, you would’ve accepted it without a second thought because 1. it's a cute boy offering you his jacket, and 2. why would you want to freeze to death?

But when you feel Jungkook tense slightly beside you, you pause. Suppressing the urge to roll your eyes, you gently rub your hand over Taehyung’s shoulder in thanks, offering him a small smile as you decline. “I’m fine, Tae, thanks though.”

As you glance over at Jungkook, you catch his eyes, narrowing yours as they shift up and down his hoodie. If he doesn’t want you to have Taehyung’s jacket so bad, he can offer you his own.

He holds your gaze, his lips quirking up in amusement as his tongue darts out to swipe over his lip. His hands easily drop to the hem of his hoodie, lifting it slightly to reveal his bare stomach with no shirt underneath.

You can barely suppress the laugh bubbling in your throat at the sight of his cute tummy after eating, but you keep your expression serious, raising a brow as if to say, Okay, and? Give it.

Jungkook tilts his head at you, his lips curving upwards, a breathy laugh escaping as he bites down on his lip ring. With a resigned shake of his head, he stops walking, both hands going to the hem of his hoodie as he starts pulling it off.

A snicker bursts out of you, and before he can expose himself any further, your hands fly out to stop him, tugging his hoodie back down. “Shameless,” you mutter, shaking your head, still laughing softly as you grab his arm and drag him along.

You fall back into step with Taehyung, who glanced back curiously at the two of you, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he shrugged his jacket back on. When you finally reach the steps of your dorm block, you climb up the first one, turning back to face them.

“Thanks for walking me home. Sorry I was a bummer at dinner.” You give a small, apologetic smile, your hands clutching the strap of your purse. “It was good, I’m just tired.”

Jungkook blinks, his eyes raking over you, hands shoved deep into his pants pockets as he remains quiet. Meanwhile, Taehyung shakes his head, his voice gentle. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. Love spending time with you, no matter how you’re feeling.”

Your heart tugs at his words, the familiar pang of guilt settling in your chest. You feel bad for ignoring his texts, but even worse because, as sweet as his words are, you wish they were coming from Jungkook instead.

God, you fucking suck.

“Thank you, Taehyungie.” You offer him a soft smile, setting your bag down on the step before stepping forward to wrap your arms around his neck.

He steps closer, his hands curling gently around your sides as he pulls you into a warm hug. His body relaxes slightly in your embrace, the sound of the nickname you'd always call him when you were together turning his limbs to jelly. Your hands rub gently across his back before you give him a light squeeze.

As you pull back, your eyes meet Jungkook’s. His expression is hard to read — his gaze on you, but not quite meeting yours. Taehyung’s hands reluctantly fall away from your waist, and he quickly wipes the disappointment from his face, replacing it with his signature bear-y grin.

You shift in your stance as Taehyung steps back, his eyes wandering around the dark, empty courtyard. A soft sigh lodges in your chest as the quiet stretches on, Jungkook continuing to stand there, his eyes still resting on you. Unmoving, silent.

After a long minute, Taehyung breaks the silence, his voice light but tinged with curiosity. “Ready to go, Kook?”

He glances at Jungkook, clearly surprised by his stillness, as if he expected him to have said goodbye to you properly by now — maybe with a hug or at least some words.

That makes two of you.

a/n ermm i know that dorms def do nott have seperate bedrooms at uni... 😭 i realized once i was on my final re-read and i was nawtt going back to re-edit it all 👄 so let's use our big imaginations for this one!! lemme know what u think? love youu <3

perm taglist: @elinaki92 @parapiop7 @photogenius-530 @crazy-eight17 @aalisiyahxstar @lovieku @apobangpogirlyyy @myjungkookthighs @whoa-jo @kooeuphoria @junecat18 @fr0ggieth1nk @joonwater

[mkarchin713]

Just imagine the chaos and possibility for multicrossovers.

Vampires fighting Batman and/or trying to seduce Brucie.

We’ve already seen Batman beat up Dracula in that The Batman movie. Whom else can Batman take down without his vampire opponent realizing Batman is a human, and if they do realize will they be willing to admit it.

….

Tangent

…

Vlad tries to get back at Brucie by possessing a real vampire and one that Brucie would trust implicitly, Brucie’s lover Batman.

Let’s just say the second verse is the same as the first and Danny gets a new screen saver.

Bruce Wayne beats the shit out of a Vampire!!! Not Clickbait!!!

SO, after Danny is adopted by the Batfam and they accept his Halfa Status, he gives them all their own special Fenton Deflector Badges that will prevent them from being overshadowed and lets them touch ghosts even while intangible

Of course Vlad finds out that his little Badger got adopted by an entirely separate Billionaire and wants to get revenge.

So one day, while Bruce is walking down the street, Vlad tries to overshadow him. He is hoping that he will be able to destroy Bruce’s public reputation and then sell himself Wayne Enterprises, making himself the richest man in the world and making Danny run to him instead.

What actually happens in that Vlad collides face first with Bruce’s back and is knocked to the ground. Bruce turns around, recognizes Vlad, and starts beating the everloving crap out of him.

And across the street, some people are recording it. It looks like a Looney Toons Sequence, with Bruce and Vlad fighting with a bench concealing their view, Vlad and Bruce appearing above a bench, with Vlad holding bruce in a chokehold before Bruce kicks him in the *redacted* and they both fall out of view again,  Vlad trying to crawl away before Bruce drags him back behind the bench, Bruce standing up just in view above the bench, and then proceeding to deliver an Elbow Drop. Basically every comedic fight element you can think of.

The Video gets posted to Youtube and goes Viral within the day.

Danny has a GIF of Vlad trying to crawl away and getting dragged back as his Screensaver. The GIF if him getting kicked in the *redacted* is his Background.

[rafey-baby]

sweet treat 2

construction worker!rafe who spends his days ‘lifting heavy stuff and building shit’ and driving shy!reader home, shows up on her doorstep in the middle of the night...

c/w: fluff, smut: slight somnophilia, dry humping, p-in-v, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2.7k

so this story was supposed to be just a small drabble consisting of a few silly sentences but then i got a bit carried away..

series masterlist

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s past midnight when her doorbell rings, making her brows furrow. She throws the fluffy covers away, immediately yearning for the warmth of them as she pads her bare feet along the chilly hardwood floors of her apartment.  

No one has ever been at her door this late, which makes her hesitate. Maybe it’s just her neighbor asking for sugar, she tries to reason, as if the retired elderly lady living next door would even be up this late. For all she knows, it could be a criminal who’s escaped prison, holding a bloody knife at her. 

Curiosity ends up getting the best of her (as always) when she gingerly opens the door, mentally preparing to face a serial killer.

However, all her worries wash away like pollen under rain when she realizes it’s Rafe standing tall before her. 

“Oh, hi. What are you— what are you doing here?” a surprised look paints over her countenance.  

“You forgot this in my car, thought you might want it back,” he smiles, holding out a phone to her, the pale yellow case making her realize it’s her phone. She almost doesn’t recognize it, since it appears so tiny in his massive paw, almost like a miniature version of the device she’s grown accustomed to.  

“Oh my god, I was looking everywhere for it, thought I was gonna have to buy a new one,” she takes it from him, a grateful smile etching her features.  

“Yeah, couldn’t exactly call,” he shakes his head at his terrible attempt at a joke. 

A delighted giggle escapes her throat, nonetheless, eyes crinkling and teeth poking out; forcing the corners of his mouth to lift up as well as he finally takes in her appearance; a worn-out t-shirt a few sizes too big and…well, that’s it.

She’s not wearing anything else and he’s trying his hardest not to stare at her plush thighs, or the way the hem of the shirt slightly climbs up, revealing even more skin as she rakes a hand through a messy head of hair.

She swallows nervously under his attention.  

Unfortunately for the both of them, he never ended up doing anything when she came over to his place last week and had him cook for her. He just felt so bad about initiating something like that when she kept yawning through forkfuls of pasta, eyes barely staying open as she complained about her limbs aching and how she was so exhausted she could sleep for an entire week after the particularly long shift she’d had.  

Which is why he simply drove her home after their late-night dinner and wished her a good night with a heavy hand on her shoulder before letting her get some much needed rest, telling himself he could be patient.

However, she’s not making it very easy for him when there’s only one piece of clothing covering her at the moment— she looks so sleepy and pretty he has half the mind to pick her up in his arms right now and slump down on her bed, crawl under crisp sheets and feel her lungs expand against his chest.  

“Uh, sorry, did I wake you?” he asks, suddenly worried he’s disturbed her serene slumber.  

“No, no. I mean, I was in bed but couldn’t really sleep so…” she trails off, desperately trying to come up with something to make him stay a bit longer; finding immense comfort in his assured presence.  

“Um, do you— do you want to come in? I could make you some tea or something?” she clumsily offers, not wanting him to go just yet.

His brows raise in surprise because she’s being uncharacteristically bold, making his mouth twist in amusement. 

“Actually, forget I said anything, you’re probably really tired and jus’ wanna go home, sorry, don’t know why I even—” she scrambles to correct herself, and now that sounds more like the girl Rafe’s grown accustomed to.  

“Nah, of course I’ll come in,” he cuts her off, stepping past the threshold before taking a look around her cozy home; picturesque paintings fixed on the cream-colored walls and leafy plants adding greenery to the small space. It’s cute, he thinks.  

She sets a steaming mug in front of him when he takes a seat around the kitchen table. And when she sits down on a chair next to him, he can’t help but stare at the way the bottom of her shirt rides up, revealing the tops of her thighs and allowing for the flimsy material of her panties to peek out.

He clears his throat.  

“You, uh, you have trouble sleeping a lot?” he tries to focus on something else, anything else while taking a quick sip of the searing liquid; nearly burning his tongue in the process.  

“Yeah…sometimes it’s jus’ kinda hard to shut my brain off after spending all day at the cafe. Like I try to close my eyes, but then the loud voices of customers and the clinking of plates keep replaying in my head and suddenly m’wide awake, you know?”

“Is there anything that helps?” he prods.  

“Um, I don’t know, I guess jus’ trying to think of something else or talking with someone else,” she mumbles out. 

“Oh yeah? So, what you’re sayin’ is that you’re just usin’ me right now in order to fall asleep?” he teases, grinning when he manages to drag out another giggle from her.  

“Guess I am,” her eyes glimmer like little stars when she blinks up at him.  

“Should I feel offended right now?” he jokingly huffs.  

“No, you should feel flattered, I don’t invite just anyone into my home at almost 1 am, just so you know.” 

He thinks he likes this side of her, all playful and sleepy; a lot less reserved than her usual fully rested and overly conscious self, more carefree. Maybe that’s the reason he lets the next words escape his tongue.

“You, uh, you into cuddling?” he asks, noticing how her eyes round out in surprise.

“Uh— I mean, probably if I had someone to cuddle with, but I don’t so…” she drifts off, not sure how to respond. 

“Wanna cuddle with me?” he says it so nonchalantly, and she doesn’t understand how he’s so indifferent about this whole situation when she feels almost dizzy; dazed mind reeling and her vivid heart tingling in her ribcage. 

“You, um…you want to? But wouldn’t it be weird?”

“Why the fuck would it be weird? I mean, we’re friends, right?” his brows crease. 

“Yes, of course we are, I just—” 

“Look, all m’sayin’ is that it might help you sleep, yeah? Having somethin’ else to focus on ‘n shit,” he reasons, making her realize she’s totally overthinking this when he’s simply trying to help.  

“You’re right, yeah, we should do that then,” she agrees before swiftly getting up on wobbly feet—nearly falling face first on the ground, if not for his strong grip on her waist steadying her, drawing a faint gasp from the back of her throat at the sudden proximity.  

“Easy there, sweetheart,” he chuckles, finding her eagerness to get into bed with him rather amusing.  

“Sorry,” she mumbles, a raspberry hue dusting over her cheeks.  

And that’s how they end up tangled in each other under her soft sheets, his beefy arms wrapped tightly around her middle— caging her in with mindless fingers toying with the hem of her shirt. His sturdy chest rises and falls against her back in tandem with his steady breaths, pacifying her; coaxing her heavy lids to flutter shut.  

“You good?” he murmurs into her hair.

“Mhm,” she blissfully hums, letting out a content exhale because he’s so warm and big— making her feel so secure and safe she thinks she wouldn’t mind doing this again.  

Soon, her mind begins to topple over the edge of reality, plummeting into oblivion; a far away dreamland where everything is upside down and the ether is evermore the shade of fluffy cotton candy.  

‘Sweet dreams’ is the last thing her misty awareness grasps onto before she’s in the tender embrace of a place where the sand consists of stardust and ecstasy.

- - - - - - - - - - -

She’s lethargic in her movements when she stirs from the abstruse blankness she seems to have lost herself in with Rafe’s heavy arm is draped over her waist, trapping her body into his.

The lines of her cerebrum are blurred and she’s not sure what woke her up because it’s still murky in her unlit bedroom— the pale moonlight gleaming through the slots of her curtains the only beacon illuminating the space.

Then, she feels it; something poking her from behind, pressing against her ass.

There’s a crinkle in her brow until her eyes widen in realization. He’s hard.

Rafe is hard and she can practically feel the culprit of his excitement since he’s only wearing a pair of boxers, having complained about getting all too hot during the night to wear anything more. 

She swallows.  

What is she supposed to do? 

She shifts against him, trying to untangle her limbs from his. However, her attempt is proved fruitless when instead of unchaining her, he lets out a low rumble— his grip only tightening around her smaller form.  

“Rafe?” she calls out. 

No response.  

“Rafe? Wake up.”  

Still nothing. 

She can feel his heavy breathing against her neck—bigger hands pawing at her hips every now and then and trying to pull her closer, as if they’re not already effectively glued together, leaving her no space to move.  

She’s already beginning to grow sticky between her thighs when he drags her against his cock again; seemingly stuck in some sort of a stupor.  

She can’t help but let out a faint mewl when her clit throbs, pestering for more friction since the soft fabric of her underwear is not even close to enough, more or less torturing her with the its cottony graze.

And that’s when Rafe finally stirs, the weight of his arm loosening like a tight knot unfurling, finally allowing for her lungs to greedily suck in the air of the quiet room.

“Shit— sorry, my bad,” his tone is gravelly, and she could swear some sort of birds begin flapping their wings in her tummy, jabbing at her insides in response.

However, he doesn’t pull away like she half expects. 

“It’s…uh— it’s okay. I mean…no worries, it happens,” she rambles with heated cheeks because what the fuck is she supposed to say to that? 

“Nah, s’fully my fault, jus’ had this, uh, nice dream,” he admits, voice coarse. 

“Oh. What was it about?” she inquires with a yawn, perhaps slightly too curious for her own good.  

“You wanna know?” his brows raise. 

She manages a hum.

“Well, there was this, uh, real pretty girl…‘n she had me in her mouth ‘n was lettin’ me do whatever I wanted,” he murmurs, a heady tone overlaying his response.  

“Oh.” She tries to appear indifferent, even if there’s a pitiful sprout of jealousy threatening to blossom in the pit of her stomach.

He lets out a breathy chuckle. “You’re silly sometimes, you know?”

He was practically dry-humping her just now, was he not? Why would he be dreaming about another girl when he’s got her right here? 

“So, what else happened?”  

“What else? Okay, then she, uh, let me do this,” he confesses at the same time as he grabs at her hips again before pushing against her, earning a whimper when she can feel how big he is through the thin material of her underwear. 

“Rafe…what’re you doing?” she asks through a whine— his blunt nails denting the exposed skin of her thighs.

“Got no idea what you’re doin’ to me, do you?”

“I— what are you…what’re you talking about?” her brain is foggy, unable to think straight when he’s so close. However, he doesn’t respond, merely continues the retelling of his dream.

“Then I grabbed her like this,” he lifts her on top of him in one smooth motion, as if she weighs nothing more than a piece of paper— shuffling her around until she’s straddling him, properly sitting on top of his cock.

Somewhere along the way, her inhale gets stuck in her throat, mindlessly moving her achy cunt over him and causing him to let out a heartfelt grunt.

“Needy little thing likes this, huh?” he helps her find some relief by grappling at her hips and dragging her over his cock— filthy groans escaping his mouth when he feels her wetness saturating the two layers of cotton between them.  

“Rafe, can you…”  

“Can I what, hm? Play with you a little?” he says while already slipping a hand in her panties; petting at her puffy clit, earning a surprised moan from her before she lifts up the hem of her shirt for a better view.  

“Didn’t know you were such a dirty girl. Gettin’ real fuckin’ wet from me just bein’ close to you, huh?” his thumb rubs lazy circles over her sensitive button, making her cry out as she presses down harder against his cock. 

“Shit, gonna come in my fuckin’ pants if you keep doin’ that…you wanna know what else was in m’dream?” 

She nods, frantic.  

“Pushed this little piece of fabric here to the side,” he says as he plucks at her underwear, doing just that. “And then, did this,” he mumbles out as he takes himself out, causing her eyes to round out when she looks down at it in his palm, mesmerized. He thuds the head on her clit— one, two, three times, and then he’s smearing it over her sticky folds, painting it up and down her soaked cunt.

“Rafe…” she whines, desperate to feel him inside her. Unfortunately for her, he’s feeling a little mean; pressing just the tip inside her tight hole, slowly pushing in and out and turning her into a whimpering mess.

The hydrangea blue of his eyes is locked to where they connect, fascinated. “Fuck, sweetheart, does that feel nice?” he asks, thumbing over her swollen bud, tucking his cock in a little deeper and forcing a loud noise to leave her throat.

“Feels so good, Rafe, think m’gonna…” she trails off, lids heavy as she stretches around him.  

“You gonna come already?” he chuckles, amusement coating his features while he keeps nudging his dick about halfway in and then out, never fully plunging it inside.  

“You feel so…can’t— can’t hold it,” watery droplets gather in the corners of her eyes, catching to her lashes as her teary eyes look into larimar and she keeps rolling her hips against him, chasing after a release. 

“Go on then, let me feel you soak my cock, yeah?” he encourages, and she doesn’t need to be told twice before she’s crying out and throbbing around him, hips stuttering as her cunt pulses and she’s unspooling on top of him. 

“There you go, fuckin’ give it to me,” he grunts, and all of a sudden, he feels his own orgasm approaching—rolling down a hill like a landslide. She’s squeezing around him so tight, he can’t help but thrust his hips into her, a guttural moan leaving him when he finally stuffs his cock inside her, to the hilt.

Then, he’s stilling inside her and groaning out when his cum gushes out from his drippy tip, coating her gummy walls in white, filling her to the brim— making her feel so full.

There’s so much of it, to the point where the sticky substance begins to seep out from where they’re connected as they both pant, trying to even out their breathing.  

She turns into something mellow in his arms, slumping down against him and burying her face in his neck as he draws sluggish circles on her back, calming her down with tender words spoken in gentle murmurs.  

She thinks she could die happy right now.  

“Did so good for me, shit, should do this more often, yeah?” he says with a sleepy tinge.   

And she’s completely out of it; head as empty as ever and merely managing a hum of agreement before she’s tumbling down a slippery slide right back into a nebulous slumber.

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Sweet Nectar // Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

Summary: Aemond feels ever so slightly jealous when he watches his wife feed their babe, he'll have a taste for himself tonight.

WARNINGS: mdni, afab!reader, lactation kink, breeding kink, unprotected p in v sex, reader is already a mom, breastfeeding, aemond craving the good old tiddy milk, tiddy sucking, teasing, biting, nipple play, aemond is so down bad for the milkers. + not proofread.

WC: 2,078

A/N: I suddenly got the urge to write this I'm not kidding 😭😭 // diviver credits to @cafekitsune

You coo softly while gently rocking back and forth as the small babe in your arms begins getting fussy in between your arms, you pat her gently and reassure the fussy babe, while caressing her cheek.

“Are you hungry, my dear?” You ask her as if she'll respond verbally, a small croak leaves her throat before she coos, stretching her tiny arms and placing it upon your breast as a way to answer your question. You chuckle at her action before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Shall I take her to the nursemaid, princess?” The maidservant allotted to you questions, putting your comfort as a first priority, you shake your head, “No need, I shall feed the babe myself.” You reject her politely, “Can you undo the lace?” You ask her, and she nods, her fingers making quick work of the lace that's holding the top of your gown together, you pull the material down — along with your chemise — just enough for one of your breasts to be exposed but cover everything else.

You hold the baby in a feeding position, and she immediately latches onto your nipple, suckling as she makes soft satisfied noises, as her hunger is being satiated. You giggle at her cuteness and watch as she closes her eyes, slowly drifting off to sleep.

The door to your shared chamber opens and you lift your head up to see Aemond, carrying a bunch of scrolls and books in his hands, he sets them down on the nearby table before turning his attention to you. “My prince.” the maidservant greets and Aemond nods, “Prepare a bowl of water and a rag, after that, leave us alone.” He commands her and she bows, swiftly beginning to do what she's been told. After the maid leaves the bowl and leaves, Aemond quickly begins to retire for the night, undressing himself, usually, he would call in a manservant or you would help him, but he cannot call the manservant when you're breastfeeding, and neither can you help him because of that.

So he does it himself, after undoing his upper garment, he wears nothing but his white plain transparent tunic and breeches ; that are more suited for sleepwear, loose and thin. Aemond later washes his hands and forearms thoroughly, ridding them of any kind of dirt before making his way to you.

“How was your day, Husband?” You ask him, watching as he comes near and stands next to you, staring at you for a second before sitting down beside you. “Hm, t'was decent, what about you?” He asks you, his gaze dropping down to your chest. “It was good, I did not wish to partake in any social meetings today, but rather decided to spend it with her.” You look down at your child who is now sleeping. Aemond hums before he lays his head on your shoulder getting comfortable in your presence enough to express his desires.

“I want to have my wife tonight.” He mutters, nuzzling himself into the crook of your neck as his gaze remains fixated on your chest while he rests his hand on your thigh, slowly drawing imaginary patterns on it, indicating what he wants. Your face heats up at his implications, “You will, husband, let me call the servant and have her taken to the nursery for tonight.” You reply to him, slowly pulling her away from your breast and covering yourself up.

“I will call for the servant.” He offers, hoping to help you out and you nod, he opens the chamber door stepping out and turning to the guard before asking the guard to fetch a servant, to which he immediately obeys and goes to get one. Aemond gets inside, making his way over to you before he takes your child from you and hands her over to the servant who had entered the room just then. “Take care of her for the night in the nursery, should there be any news that she was hurt in any way, I will cut off all of your limbs.” He threatens to which the poor servant just nods her head in fear assuring him that no harm would occur to your child, and then she takes her away.

The door closes and Aemond secures it tightly so it doesn't open upon impact. And all the while Aemond was talking to the servant, you had quickly gotten undressed and were now sitting in your chemise, putting the gown that had fallen to the floor away.

Aemond goes straight to the bed and sits on it and you watch as he removes his eyepatch, placing it on the table next to the bed before he turns his attention to you. He looked so ethereal when he was staring at you, his sapphire glinted as the fire from the chambers reflected off from it. “Come.” He commands and you slowly make your way over to him, now standing in front of him.

He looks up at you the tension thick in the air as his eye is filled with pure desire for you. he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head on your chest and pulling you, this causes you to stumble and lose your balance which he takes as an advantage to pull you onto the bed with him, flipping you over and getting on top.

His hair curtains around your face as he stares at you, his eye moving back and forth between your own, taking in your beauty. You raise your hand and gently tuck his hair into his ear before caressing his cheek, “You're so beautiful.” You hear him say and you smile, “I could say the same about you, husband.” You respond, He gives you a small smile before tilting his head slightly and connecting his lips to yours.

His lips felt soft against yours, you reciprocated and kissed him back. You felt the heat bloom in your core as he slowly grinds himself against your lower abdomen while kissing you. He slowly slides his hand against yours before intertwining your fingers with his. You parted your lips slightly, allowing his tongue to slip inside, allowing him to deepen the kiss which resulted in him humming in satisfaction.

He pulled away shortly after, panting for air, his kisses then trailed down towards your neck, he pecked and nipped at the skin of your neck, leaving bite marks as a way to mark you as his, he untwined his hand from yours to pull down your chemise, causing your tits to spill out of their confines.

He presses kisses down to the valley in between your breasts before he stays there for a while, “You know, I'm jealous—” he begins, his other hand coming up and gently fondling with your breast, “— that our daughter gets to have these whenever she wishes, meanwhile I'd have to wait until night.” He whines slightly, his thumb pressing over your sensitive nipple making you gasp slightly.

He decides he doesn't want to waste any more time and immediately wraps his lips around your nipple, pulling and suckling on your breast like a babe, he swirls his tongue and flicks it up and down the bud, Aemond hums in satisfaction when he feels the taste of your milk in his mouth.

He squeezes and fondles your other breast, rolling your nipple between his index and thumb finger and pulling meanly on it. Your breathing becomes shorter and faster as you begin to get aroused by his ministrations which prompts you to rub your thighs together trying to ease the throbbing between your legs with some friction.

It doesn't go unnoticed by Aemomd, but he instead focuses his attention to your other breast, repeating his actions and drinking your milk selfishly for himself, his teeth grazes against your bud and you wince slightly at the burn it causes only for him to bite onto it, making you whine and squirm before he sucks on it again as a way to soothe the pain he just caused. He pulls away with a wet pop and you take notice of the milk that's dripping from the side of his mouth and down to his neck which was such a perverse sight, yet you couldn't help make you feel more aroused so you guided his head back to your breast again.

And so he took your breast in his mouth once again, drinking all of your milk up you moaned in pleasure as his tongue flicker up and down your bud. You whimpered because you are sensitive from earlier feeding.

You felt him humping against your thigh as he tried ease the tension between his very own legs, he let go of your breast, unable to hold himself back anymore, he sat straight up and began to slip down his pants and take off his tunic, you did the same with your chemise, discarding it and throwing it someone to the side of your chamber.

He spreads your legs wide and lines his cock against your entrance slowly pushing it in, this causes you to tremble in excitement as his cock stretches you deliciously, you let out a gasp once he is fully settled. He lifts your hips off the mattress, holding you by your thighs as he slowly begins to move.

His thrusts were slow at first, almost as if he's teasing himself until he begins to pick up on the momentum, thrusting his hips back and forth, he begins to pick up the speed quite steadily.

You grind your hips to match his rhythm as your body jolts up and down the bed, your tits bouncing as a result, the moans of his name leave your lips like holy chants, “Aemond— oh fuck– right there– Aemond—!” all the while his tip is continuously hitting that sweet spot of yours, he grips one of your breasts and stares at it intently, “They look so good when they're swollen and full of milk.” He refers to your tits, he squeezes your tit slightly and watches as droplets of milk begin oozing out. “Oh gods— you're still full– fuck.” He quickly shifts his weight, dropping your lower body down onto the mattress and leaning forward to take your breast in his mouth while he fucks you.

“Seven fucking hells–— I don't think I can ever get enough of this ; perhaps I should keep you pregnant constantly, Yes? So your tits are always full of milk, for the babe” he grunts, his peak nearing as he mouths at your nipple. “And for me— ” His thrusts become more frantic and desperate, “You would like it wouldn't you? I know you would. You'd love to be full of me— I can only imagine how gorgeous you'd look, constantly waddling around while carrying my child— Answer me.” He growls. “Yes yes yes yes! yesyes! Aemond! I'd love it so so so much please please—” You babble as you feel your peak nearing. “Good girl— fuck!” He moans as he peaks, and your babbling is cut short as you gasp because you too reach your high right after him, the pleasure explodes inside you like a volcano, slowly seeping and coursing through your veins, you feel hot, warm, cold, suffocated all at the same time due to the intensity of the pleasure.

Aemond slows down his thrusts before fully stopping and pulling out, he watches as your cunt pushes out his spend to which he tuts disappointedly at before scooping it up with his finger and pushing it all back in.

“Here I am; planning to keep you full of my child and yet you're here denying it? Such a disobedient wife.” He slaps your clit as a punishment making you whimper, “I apologise— t'wasnt my intention.” You reply, breathlessly and he hums.

He lays down next to you, catching his breath along with you. You watch and his hands rests on your lower abdomen. He grabs you by your hips and turns you around to face him before he grabs the sheets and throws them over you both before pulling you close, your breasts pressing up against him, and the milk transfering over to his chest, making it sticky.

“Aem— it's messy.” Your voice comes out slurred and Aemond simply hums, “Let it be.” He hugs you even tighter, and you sigh, before wrapping your arm around his waist, hugging him back and you both slowly drift off into sleep.

— !  ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

[thebreakfastgenie]

This is going to get me screencapped and ridiculed by leftblr but at this point I don't care.

The way people talk about Ruth Bader Ginsburg is misogynistic. This post is not about the merits of her decision to remain in her seat. I've discussed that before and I'm happy to go through it again with anyone who is genuinely interested in the complexities of that situation, but for the sake of this post, I am not arguing that it's unreasonable to believe, with the benefit of hindsight, that the country would be a in a better position today if Ginsburg had retired in 2012. The issue I want to address is how people talk about it.

People who blame Ginsburg for the current state of the Supreme Court tend to throw around words like greedy, selfish, and ambitious, echoing a familiar form of misogyny. Ambition is only bad when women demonstrate it, and women in politics are regularly punished for ambition. Even more disturbingly, people tend to blame not just Ginsburg, but the women and girls who looked up to her. I've seen the "Notorious RBG" nickname derided as a cult of personality, when the reality is that Ruth Bader Ginsburg was a trailblazer and a role model to a lot of women and girls. I've seen leftists try to hide behind valid criticisms of some of Ginsburg's positions (and it should, but doesn't, go without saying that you can see someone as a role model without believing they are correct about every issue all the time) but you barely have to scratch the surface to see that the real complaint is that they think women who admire her are cringe. I don't know if people understand how significant she was; she was only the second woman on the Supreme Court and the first, Sandra Day O'Connor, was a conservative Reagan appointee. Even so, Justice O'Connor spoke about the significance of Justice Ginsburg joining her and reality that women faced in their position being more apparent when she could see it happening to someone else. It's the same old anti-feminist story of dismissing women and their desires.

This particular case rankles me because it's underscored by the complete silence about Anthony Kennedy. Ruth Bader Ginsburg made a judgment call about her health that didn't work out--and barely; she died four months before Trump left office. Anthony Kennedy, a supposed moderate justice who claimed to not want Roe v Wade to be overturned, retired in 2018, knowing full well Trump would replace him with someone who would overturn Roe v Wade. It was Kennedy's replacement, not Ginsburg's, that doomed Roe. The decision was 6-3. If Ginsburg had lived four more months, or retired in 2012 and been replaced with an Obama appointee, the Dobbs v Jackson decision would have been 5-4 in the same direction. Anthony Kennedy was replaced with Brett Kavanaugh, a white man who sobbed crocodile tears when confronted with credible allegations of sexual assault and ultimately faced no consequences. Anthony Kennedy let all of this happen and slunk off into his cushy retirement. Where is the anger for him? He's alive! Being angrier at Ginsburg than Kennedy makes absolutely no sense. There is no logic to explain it, only misogyny.

It doesn't escape my notice that the anger at Ginsburg goes hand-in-hand with blaming women for their own suffering as a result of the Dobbs decision and with blaming Hillary Clinton for the 2016 election, while making any excuse for not voting for her or deriding her for months. It's emblematic of a political system that does not care about women and despises women trying to speak up and make our issues known.

[gigabyte-flare]

At Your Service

[A Gigabyte Flare One Shot]

Summary: You are the daughter of a wealthy family in New Eridu. Lycaon has been your loyal butler since you first moved out from your childhood home. You're about to find out just how far Lycaon is going to go to prove his devotion to you.

Word Count: 4.8k

Pairing: Von Lycaon x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: Mild Yandere, implied r@cisim (not by reader or Lycaon), domestic violence (not by Lycaon), attempted SA (not by Lycaon), graphic violence, dubcon, oral (f receiving), pet names, playful biting, unprotected p in v, knotting, breeding kink, creampie

A/N: Just when I thought Jiyan from Wuthering Waves had me in a chokehold (he still does), Hoyo literally said "hold my beer." Does being down bad for Von Lycaon make me a furry? Probably. Do I care? Nope. He's hot and I can't get enough of him.

"As you can see, we had record profits this month. The campaign with the promoters definitely made a huge difference in our profit margin--"

You can't help but let out a loud sigh, resting the side of your face in the palm of you hand as your elbow keeps your head up as you stare into the webcam at your office computer. This is your last meeting of the day, heck, of the week. Unfortunately with the finance department of your family's business: a publishing company for video games and video tapes. Given how popular consumable media is in New Eridu, the business had taken off, you and your family now set for life. This also meant that your parents expected you to take over once they retire; you were still struggling to come to terms with that fact.

"-- that concludes this week's financial overview, I hope everyone has a good weekend!"

You waste no time turning off your webcam and shutting down your work computer. You couldn't get out of the office building fast enough. Getting into your car, you make the drive home to just beyond Sixth Street.

You live in one of the larger homes on the outskirts of New Eridu thanks to the success of your family's company. You park your car, getting out and approaching your front door. Before you even have a chance to dig your keys out of your pocket to unlock the door, your front door opens and you are greeted by your tall, imposing wolf Thiren butler: Von Lycaon of Victoria Housekeeping.

"Welcome home, my lady. I already have dinner started. I trust your day went well?"

"Hey Lycaon… it was alright," you reply as you step through the doorway, Lycaon stepping aside to let you through, "what's for dinner?"

You feel his deft clawed fingers help you take off your jacket before walking it over to the entryway closet to hang it up, his steel mechanical legs echoing in the entryway as he walks.

He answers you while hanging up your jacket, "roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and broccoli, my liege."

You chuckle, "you've been here for years, yet I still cannot get used to you addressing me like someone who's important."

Lycaon turns slightly just as he was about to shut the closet door, his red eye scrutinizing you, "but you are important, my lady."

You feel your cheeks tingle at his response, but quickly shake your head to compose yourself, "Do you… need any help with dinner?"

"I do not require any help. Not that I would trouble you with such trivial matters," he replies, walking away from the closet to head back into the kitchen.

"If you insist…" you hesitate; even after all this time, you're not accustom to having someone else doing all the house work, "I'll be in the living room watching TV. Come get me when dinner is ready, alright?"

Turning to you once more, Lycaon gives you a nod and a subtle smirk before walking into the kitchen. You don't realize your eyes are lingering on him as he walks away; watching the intricate parts on his prosthetic legs move as he walks, the way his right arm his bent behind him, his fist clenched, the way his large bushy tail wags gently as he--

You blink a few times, once again shaking your head and bringing your hand to your forehead.

Fucking hell, girl, get a hold of yourself. He's your freaking butler.

You turn and walk into the living room, collapsing onto the couch. Leaning forward, you grab the remote off of the coffee table and turn the TV on, mindlessly scrolling through the channels before settling on some talk show. You don't focus on the show, instead, you pull out your phone and check your notifications. You notice you have a Knock Knock message from someone, so you open the notification bubble to check it.

"Hey! It's Steve, are we still on for dinner tomorrow?"

"Oh… that's right… I'm supposed to have dinner with that guy Mom hooked me up with…" you say to yourself, rolling your eyes before you type out your response.

"Yeah. Did you still want to pick me up from my house?"

You see the typing ellipses pop up a few times before his response comes through, "if you're comfortable with that, yeah!"

Normally, you would never let some strange man pick you up from your house to go on some blind date, but you know for a fact Lycaon wouldn't let anything happen to you; those mechanical prosthetic legs weren't just for show. You've witnessed first hand the damage they can do a handful of times in the years you've known him.

"My lady," you hear Lycaon call to you from the threshold of the living room, startling you from your thoughts, "my apologies, I didn't mean to scare you."

"No, no… it's fine. I'm guessing dinner is ready?" you reply, turning around to face him while still seated on the couch.

"Indeed. Would you like to eat in the dining room or here, my lady?" he asks as he straightens his posture.

"We can eat in here. Come watch TV with me Lycaon, I insist." you reply, waving him into the living room.

"As you wish, my lady, I shall plate dinner and bring it in here, one moment."

You watch as he gracefully turns around, walking out, the metallic rattle of his legs echoing as he returns to the kitchen. He returns promptly with two plates of food and utensils. He hands you your plate first before taking his own and sitting in a nearby chair. He crosses his legs, his large tail then settling onto his lap as be began to eat his meal. You waste no time digging in; you absolutely loved Lycaon's cooking and tonight was no exception. You're so focused on your meal that you almost miss your phone vibrating in your pocket. You pull it out, seeing another Knock Knock notification.

"I take it you don't want me to pick you up at your house…?"

"Oh shit…" you curse to yourself, having forgotten to respond to Steve.

You quickly text him to that it's fine and send him your address before gently setting your phone onto the coffee table.

"What was that all about, my lady?" Lycaon asks, as perceptive as ever, even while eating dinner.

"Oh nothing," you say, tucking your legs up onto the couch as you continue to eat dinner, "I'm just making plans with someone to go to dinner tomorrow night. I forgot to text him back."

"I see, should I plan to make dinner just for myself then?"

"No, set aside a plate for me… just incase the plan falls through…"

"As you wish, my lady."

The two of you continue to eat dinner in silence, your gaze unconsciously wandering over to him, lingering on his mechanical prosthetics before moving to the mask he wears on his face, which covers one of his crimson eyes. You've always wondered what had happened to him, but Lycaon never talks about himself and you didn't want to pry into something that is probably really painful for him.

Sensing your gaze on him, he clears his throat before speaking, "Is everything alright, my lady?"

"Oh--! Sorry, I was just zoning out…" you quickly retort before returning your attention to your meal.

Once the two of you are finished with your meal, you switch channels and watch the latest episode of Starlight Knights while Lycaon gets absorbed in a book. Exhaustion sinks its teeth into you suddenly and you fall asleep on the couch. Noticing this, Lycaon sets his book aside, standing up and scooping you into his arms before carefully carrying you to bed upstairs, his tail wagging gently the whole way there.

The next morning, you are pulled from your sleep by the smell of bacon. Your eyes slowly open and you stretch your arms out over your head, letting out a loud yawn as you do so. You glance over at the clock; it's nearly 10:00 in the morning. You're shocked Lycaon had let you sleep in this long. Upon setting your arms down in front of you, you come into contact with a breakfast tray. The food on it is still hot, Lycaon must have just brought it in. He made your favorite: waffles with fresh berries, syrup and bacon. You can't help but smile as you grab the nearby fork and dig in.

As you're eating, you suddenly realize you don't recall getting into bed last night, you were still wearing the outfit you had on yesterday. Lycaon must have carried you to bed… again. That's been happening more and more frequently, you feel terrible that he felt obligated to carry you to bed. Still, you feel a warmth in your chest thinking about him taking care of you; you guess that's only natural given he's been your butler for so long.

Your parents had insisted on hiring someone from Victoria Housekeeping when you decided to move out after buying a house, mainly for protection. Being the daughter of a prominent publishing giant came with its risks as you soon learned. As unnecessary as you found it at first, you were very grateful for Lycaon's protection and companionship. Even so, you were hesitant to admit you've caught feelings for the enigmatic butler; could anyone blame you though? Von Lycaon was legendary in both his services and his physical prowess; hence why your family hired him specifically. Only the best for their daughter.

Despite your complicated feelings for Lycaon, your mother insisted on playing match maker. This latest man she picked out is the first one you've entertained going on a date with, mainly to shut your mother up. You honestly had no desire to date anyone; you have everything you could possibly need right now, even with how you feel about your butler.

The rest of the day is uneventful and before you know it, the sun is setting, casting orange rays into your windows. Lycaon is in the kitchen doing up dishes when he hears a loud knock on the door. He stops, his gaze shifting to the front door as whoever is out there continues to knock. Letting out a low growl, he takes his hands out of the dishwater, drying them off before putting his fingerless gloves back on. Tucking one of his arms behind him, he approaches the front door, opening it. He is greeted by short human male, his brown hair greasy and slicked back with a red goatee that is haphazardly trimmed and rectangle glasses. The man's eyes widen upon seeing Lycaon, who is glaring down at him with a furrowed brow. The man tries to speak, but finds himself at a loss for words.

"What business do you have with my Master?" Lycaon asks, his tone dark, his threatening gaze unwavering.

"I… uh… I'm here to pick up… uh…" the male stammers, checking something on his phone.

"It's fine, Lycaon! I'm expecting him, his name is Steve!" Lycaon hears you call from within the house.

Upon hearing you come down the stairs from your bedroom, Lycaon turns to look at you as you approach the front door. You suddenly stop in your tracks upon seeing the man at the front door, your eyes wide.

He looks nothing like the photos your mother sent of him.

Sensing your unease, Lycaon goes to you, giving you a reassuring pat on your shoulder as he shifts to stand behind you, standing tall and puffing his pectoral muscles outward; almost as if he's asserting his dominance. You banish the thought; that'd be ridiculous, he's your butler for crying out loud!

"Is this the person you mentioned you were going to dinner with, my lady?" Lycaon asks, his crimson gaze still locked on Steve.

You nod, swallowing hard as you struggle to get your anxiety under control. Your mother probably sent an outdated picture. Everything will be fine.

It wasn't fine. Steve took you to some dimly lit dive in Lumina Square; you didn't even think a place this dingy could exist. You are not a vain person, but this place is absolutely abhorrent. Steve was rambling on and on about god knows what, you stopped listening awhile ago; wishing desperately to be home where a beautifully cooked meal would be waiting for you. You're glad that you had Lycaon make a plate for you.

"-- so, what's with the Thiren living with you?" Steve asks, ripping you from your thoughts.

Realizing he's asking about Lycaon, you sit up straight, setting your hands onto the table, "he's my butler, why?"

Steve scoffs, giving you a sly smirk, "he's awfully jacked to be just a butler. I've never seen a Thiren built like that."

"He is able to protect me if needed, if that's what you're getting at," you reply, not even bothering to hide the annoyance in your voice.

"You won't need him anymore," Steve says, that stupid smirk still on his face as he leans forward, resting his chin on one of his hands as he rests his elbow on the table.

You lean back, crossing your arms, "and why is that?"

"Because you have me now."

The silence that follows after Steve's statement could have been cut with a knife. You discreetly pull out your phone, opening the Knock Knock app and send a single message to Lycaon.

"Lumina Square please come."

"I don't recall telling you that we're dating," you finally break the silence as you look up at Steve, your heart pounding in your chest as your anxiety heightens.

"You didn't have to, you let me take you to dinner. It's clear you're now my girlfriend," Steve says, gazing at you like you're a slab of meat, "and I want you to get rid of that butler. I don't need some disgusting Thiren third wheeling us."

He's one of those people. Fucking great.

"Lycaon isn't going anywhere, thank you very much," you reply as you suddenly stand up from the table, making your way to the entrance of the restaurant, "this date is over."

Steve stands up, rushing over to you and grabbing you by the wrist, pulling you to him, "you're not going anywhere, sweetheart!"

The small handful of people in the restaurant just stare at the two of you as you struggle against Steve's grasp; no one makes a move to help you.

"Let go of me you greasy asshole!" you yell, spitting in his face.

Steve scowls, wiping your spit from his face before slapping you across the face. You cry out when his hand makes contact, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. One of Steve's hands grasps your back side, squeezing so hard that you know for certain it's going to bruise later. The other hand grabs your chin, forcing your head so it's facing his and he tries to kiss you.

The front door of the restaurant suddenly gets kicked in and you feel a familiar chill in the air. You don't need to look to know that your loyal butler has arrived.

"Get your filthy hands off my Master," Lycaon growls, his heavy steps quickly advancing.

Steve sucks in a breath, his eyes widening as he lets go of you, shoving you away. You can see that he's trembling, frozen in place. You notice a wet spot on his pants, right between his legs.

Oh my god… he's pissed himself.

You stifle a laugh at this realization as you watch Lycaon approach him. The individual parts on his mechanical legs popping out and coating in ice, cooling the air around him. You pick up the chatter around you.

"Isn't that the owner of Victoria Housekeeping?!"

"Yeah, that's Von Lycaon!"

"I wouldn't want to be that guy right now…"

Steve stumbles backwards as Lycaon stalks towards him, his posture confident and his right arm tucked behind him.

"Dude I'm sorry! I was desperate ok?! It won't happen again!"

"You're right," Lycaon growls, his eye shifting up at Steve, his gaze like a crimson dagger, "it won't."

Within a blink of an eye, Lycaon rushes forward, punching him in the gut. Steve hunches over, a splatter of blood coming out of his mouth. Lycaon brings up one of his legs, kneeing Steve in the face before bringing his other leg around to give him a roundhouse kick. You cry out along with the other patrons as Steve is hurled into the back of the restaurant, crashing against the wall so hard, it leaves a large indent in the wall where Steve's body made contact before crashing to the floor. For a moment, Steve doesn't move and you start to fear that Lycaon might have killed him; that is until Steve starts groaning, staggering while standing up.

"You… You hit like a bitch…" Steve groans, wiping the blood coming from his mouth.

You spot a subtle smirk form on Lycaon's lips as he walks towards Steve, ice once again gathering on his mechanical legs, several different parts starting to glow. He stands in front of Steve once more, who is now laughing nervously.

"Say that again, cretin. To my face."

Not so tough now that Lycaon is inches in front of him, Steve remains silent, his legs wobbling as he fights to keep himself standing up. You watch Steve swallow hard, seemingly building up his courage.

"You hit like a bi--"

If you had blinked, you would have missed Lycaon kicking straight upwards, causing Steve's head to violently snap backwards, an audible crack reverberating in the restaurant. Steve drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Lycaon takes a moment to brush himself off before turning around and walking up to you.

"Don't worry, my lady, he's not dead," he says, as if reading your mind as he gently takes your arm to lead you outside, "let's get you home."

The first thing Lycaon had done once the two of you had gotten home was start the shower for you. You have no idea how much time has passed since you stepped inside, letting the hot water fall on you as you silently cry. You should have listened to your gut when you realized Steve looked nothing like the photo your mother had sent you. That is the last time you let your mother play match maker. You felt awful that Lycaon had to basically come rescue you. There's no doubt your father is going to catch wind about what happened, especially considering the amount of damage Lycaon had caused in the restaurant.

You'll worry about that later. Right now, all you wanted to do was get cleaned up and go to sleep. You turn the shower off, pushing the shower curtain aside to step out, but you stop yourself. You find one of your bathrobes folded neatly on the counter next to the sink, but that's not all. A single red rose is placed on top of the folded robe. You carefully step out of the shower, approach the bathroom counter, gingerly pick up the rose and twirl it in your fingers slowly; the rose having been meticulously de-thorned.

Lycaon…?

Another spot of red in the corner of your eye catches your attention. Turning to look, you see that there is a trail of red rose petals on the floor that leads out of the bathroom. You take the robe and put it on, wrapping it around your nude body and tying it before you follow the trail of rose petals. Upon opening the bathroom door, you are once again stunned, too frozen in shock to move. The rose petals lead straight to your bed, the plush white comforter not only covered in petals, but with whole roses like the one you found in the bathroom; there's at least twenty of them, if not more.

You hesitantly walk towards your bed, your heart pounding in your chest. Did Lycaon do this? He must have, who else would have, you're the only two people in the house. But why? What does this mean? Your breaths are heavy, causing your chest to heave as you look down at your bed. You place your hand over your heart in an attempt to calm yourself. Surely, he's just trying to cheer you up after your horrific date. That must be it.

"My lady."

You suck in a breath at the sound of Lycaon's voice, slowly turning around to face him. Standing in the doorway, you immediately notice he's not wearing his signature vest, but just the white button up shirt he typically wears beneath the vest, the sleeves still rolled up to his elbows along with his black pants. The shirt is unbuttoned halfway, a tuft of fur spilling from his shirt. You feel your mouth hang slightly agape as your eyes run up and down Lycaon's form.

"If I had known you were going on a date with that… filth, I wouldn't have let you go."

He slowly approaches you, the sultry look in his eye erasing any doubts of his intentions; the sound of his mechanical legs walking across the floor echoing in your head as he approaches. You unconsciously take a step back away from him, the back of your legs hitting the foot of the bed.

"My liege," he whispers, the backs of his fingers gently caressing the side of your face, "there is no need to be alarmed. Unlike that disgusting drivel, I would never hurt you."

His fingers gently dance across your jaw line, moving downwards until he reaches your throat. You swallow hard as his fingers gingerly wrap around your neck, "that is unless… you want me to hurt you."

You watch his eye darken, a mischievous smirk forming on his lips as his fingers delicately squeeze the pulse points on your neck.

"Lycaon we… we shouldn't do this. If my father finds out--"

"To hell with your father," he growls, stepping closer to you, "I've seen how you look at me, my lady; the way your eyes linger on me when you think I'm not looking."

His hand moves from your throat, sliding down to rest onto your chest, right over your racing heart, "I know you want this as much as I do."

Your head is spinning, being pushed and pulled between all your complicated feelings. You do want this. As much as you want this, he's your butler under your family's employ, you know it's wrong. You hesitantly shake your head.

Lycaon lets out a low chuckle, leaning down to whisper in your ear, "I can smell your arousal, my lady. You should know more than anyone that you can't fool me."

Wrapping one of his arms around your waist, he tenderly coaxes you to lay back onto the bed, his muzzle buried into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as he cages you with his body. His hands grasp onto your thighs, gingerly spreading your legs apart so he can settle himself between them. You can feel him grazing his teeth along the side of your neck, to your jawline until his lips linger just in front of yours.

With a deep breath, you finally give in to your desires, kissing him deeply as your hands run up his chest. Your fingers find the buttons on his shirt and begin to unbutton them, his shirt falling open once you undo the last button. As your hands massage his chest, you can feel the toned muscle under his soft fur. Letting out a groan, Lycaon deepens your kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth to dance with yours.

You feel like the kiss lasts an eternity and let out a soft whimper when he breaks the kiss. He lets out a low chuckle as he leans down, kissing your collar bone as he unties your robe, pushing off you. Once your body is exposed, he trails kisses between your breasts, over your stomach until you can feel his warm breath over your folds.

"From this moment on, I will be the only man touching you," he states, his gaze locked on yours has he runs his tongue through your folds before continuing, "if a man so much as breathes on you, I will snap him in half like a twig."

Between his ministrations on your cunt and his words, you're completely overwhelmed by pleasure, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you lay your head against the mattress; your pussy walls fluttering around nothing. You hear another low chuckle from Lycaon.

"Oh? Do you like that, my liege? Do you like it when I protect you?" he asks with a playful tone.

He doesn't allow you to answer, however, because he immediately seals his lips around your throbbing clit, gingerly taking it between his teeth and caressing it with his tongue, reveling in the sound of the loud moans coming from you as he does so. You dig your heels into the bed as your hands grip the sheets. Your legs trembling, a strained cry comes out of you as you finally come undone on his tongue. Lycaon eagerly laps up your release.

"My lady, you're as succulent as the sweetest fruit," he says softly, licking your release from his lips as he begins to climb back on top of you.

He hooks both of his arms under your thighs, draping your legs onto his shoulders as he looms above you. Staring down at you longingly, he begins undoing the belt on his pants with one hand. Your eyes widen when he pulls out his member. It's massive, easily the biggest you've ever laid eyes on. You can't help but also notice the large knot at the base, causing your heart to flutter.

Is he going to fit?!

Leaning back on his haunches, he spits on your pussy, using his fingers to massage his saliva into your folds before leaning back on top of you. You can feel his cock prod at your entrance, causing your heart to race in anxiety and anticipation.

"Tell me if it's too much, ok?" he whispers as he moves his hips forward.

You nod, sucking in a breath as you feel him penetrate you, his girth filling you up perfectly. As he begins to thrust, you watch his tail begin to wag back and forth, teasing a smile from you. His lips once again lock with yours, kissing you deeply as he fucks you with steady and even thrusts. Moaning softly into his kiss, you run your hands up his chest, then up the sides of his neck before settling on each side of his face, your hips moving in time with his.

He feels absolutely heavenly inside you, your walls squeezing his cock as it bullies its way deeper and deeper. He abruptly stops and pulls out, flipping you onto your stomach before lining his member back up with your throbbing cunt.

"I'm going to breed this beautiful pussy." he says, sheathing himself back inside you up to his knot, "fill you up with all my pups. Would you like that, my liege?"

He begins to thrust again, more aggressively this time. Each thrust forcing his knot into you, stretching you. You nod weakly as more moans spill out of you and before long, his knot is finally fully inside, creating a seal. It's a little painful at first, but that is quickly replaced by the intense pleasure coursing through your body as he pounds into you. Letting out a growl, he bites into your shoulder as his thrusts become sporadic.

You cry out is name, tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you claw the sheets with your fingers, your second orgasm barreling towards you. With one final thrust, he pushes himself as deep inside you as he can possibly go without hurting you, shooting his load straight into your womb, painting your insides white with his seed. Your whole body is trembling from your release, your walls squeezing him as his cock continues to throb inside you.

You feel Lycaon's tongue lap where he had bit into your shoulder before nuzzling your cheek with his, his powerful arms wrapping around you, "are you alight, my lady?"

You turn to him, kissing him on the cheek unable to get the huge smile off your face, "more than alight, Lycaon."

"Good. That's what I like to hear."

[s-awturn]

Daddy's Wishes || F1 Dilfs

cw: obscenity, age gap, swearing, suggestive content, mention of cute kids, a little possessiveness, p in v, eating p-, brat behavior, choking, dry humping, and a little more smut.

a/n: I'm dusting off the dust that has accumulated on my profile this all time. I had an open request, but it got lost while I was writing (bad time to update, Tumblr, but I will rewrite it, don't panic).

starring: Toto Wolff, Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Jenson Button, Mark Webber, Kimi Raikkonen.

TOTO WOLFF:

He was filthy, dirty as fuck, but he couldn't stop the dirty thoughts every time he saw Jack's lovely teacher when he went to pick his son up from school. Y/N was sweet, kind, and damn, so hot. Toto couldn't help but imagine her pretty — and lip-glossy — mouth wrapped around his cock as he fucked her throat, he wanted so much to see those beautiful eyes watering with each strong thrust into her mouth.

How many handjobs has he had since he met the young teacher? He lost count.

Jack always finished last, Toto was late almost every time, and the boy helped Y/N organize the room — not that the boy was looking forward to getting another chocolate chip cookie as a reward. And that was a huge benefit for Toto, after all he had all her attention for himself, he knew that since Y/N started working at the school, the number of parents at school meetings and at the school gate increased considerably. All to see the young teacher in her summer dresses and ribbon in her hair.

And it was with the satin of her bow that Toto tied her wrists while he thrust deeper and deeper into her pussy, listening to the needy and sweet moans of the young teacher. Wolff gripped her thighs tightly, leaving his fingerprints on the soft skin, just as he had done with his teeth; her marks would be exposed to anyone when Y/N wore one of her summer dresses, everyone would know she belonged to him.

“So sweet, baby,” he said, trailing kisses down the curve of her breasts, loving how she whimpered even more. “Taking me in so well, my pretty little girl, fuck.”

“T-Toto!” she exclaimed, grabbing the tape around her wrists, trying to get something to hold on to. Her teary eyes rolled back in their sockets. “Please, p-please, Toto!” he begged.

He nibbled on her chin, bringing his thumb to the teacher's swollen clit, making her whimper even more, grinding on Toto's cock eagerly. "What do you want, prinzessin?”

And to tease, Toto slowed down his pace, making sure Y/N could feel every inch going in and out of her, every pulsing vein of his cock.

Her tears finally subsided “L-Let me c-cum... P-Please” Y/N licked her dry lips, pushing her hips against Toto, loving the way he filled her completely.

“Good girl” and with that, he moved away a little to put her legs over his shoulders, feeling himself deeper and deeper inside her, growling each time the soft walls clenched around his cock in pure ecstasy. Y/N licked her dry lips, tightening her grip around Toto, feeling the orgasm tighten her belly and make the hairs all over her body stand on end. “That’s right, love... Cum for me, hmm? Just the way you like it...” he bit her calf.

“It-It’s too much, T-Toto!” she said between moans. “Too much!”

“You can handle it, baby, cum for me”

And like an explosion, her voice was lost in a moan and she came, contracting harder around Toto, bringing him to his own orgasm as well.

“All mine, only mine,” he said, groaning hoarsely as he thrust slowly against her, prolonging even more the sensation of pleasure that was fading through both of their bodies.

He released her wrists, massaging the scarred skin, trying to keep her from feeling the pain. She sighed in pain and he kissed the irritated skin.

“Shh, it’s okay love, I’ll take care of you.. you can rest, baby.” He kissed her forehead, carrying her to the bathroom.

SEBASTIAN VETTEL:

Upon retirement, all he wanted was some peace and quiet in a small, hidden town in the German countryside; with no more worries than taking care of his bees, feed some chickens and make sure no broken tiles fell on her young neighbor's head.

If there was one thing Sebastian wasn't expecting when he moved to the country, it was a clumsy, completely unfiltered twenty-something girl to fill his days. The first time they met, Y/N was on top of a tractor older than time, wearing a Mercedes cap (which he found heresy, so what if he was German himself? It was still heresy!). Y/N waved at him, and Sebastian was grateful that she didn't act like a groupie, he loved his fans, however, the more anonymous he was, the better. That same night, Y/N brought him a basket of strawberries, along with a beautiful smile.

It wasn't long before they became friends and Sebastian was patching things up in her house, a leaky roof, a loose wooden board, a dripping faucet... And Y/N thanked them with food from her homeland and drinks of dubious character and questionable appearance.

“You look good for someone your age, Seb,” she said between glasses of wine. She wasn’t drunk, but she was far from completely sober either.

“What are you insinuating, Puppe?” he asked, trying to stop her from refilling his glass, but Y/N was a stubborn little thing.

“For an old man your age, you look really good,” she said, she really said. Sebastian accepted that she was a Mercedes fan, accepted that she always took one of his beers, or that she loved to say that German football died after 2014. But that was too much. Maybe it was the wine, or the desire he spent weeks (very fucked up ones, by the way) internalizing because he didn't want Y/N to think he was a pervert.

But apparently it was time for him to teach that petulant brat some manners.

And that's how Y/N had her neck wrapped around the pilot's firm hand and her sports shorts were rolled up around her ankles while Sebastian distributed burning slaps on her ass and pussy.

She writhed between moans, pleas and sobs. She couldn't tell if she wanted him to stop, to fuck her or to keep going, for God's sake, she was drooling so shamefully.

“I fucking dare you! Say it again,” he growled, thrusting two fingers into her, enjoying her tightness around his fingers. “Where’s your nerve, brat?”

“Seb, fuck-!” she stuttered, digging her nails into his thighs, a husky moan escaping her as she felt his thumb slide across her clit. “Sorry, sorry!”

“Sorry for what?” he knocked again, loving to hear her little moans.

“For saying you’re old!” she cried, trying to push her hips against his hand, but Sebastian held her back. “Even if it’s the damn truth!”

“Fucking girl, I think we need to keep that smart mouth busy,” and with that, Sebastian made her kneel in front of him and unzipped her. “Open your mouth, pretty girl”

FERNANDO ALONSO:

Y/N was Lawrence's niece and was in her final year of mechanical engineering at MIT, the girl was a genius and was slowly gaining her space within Aston Martin. Her stunning beauty was just a bonus. Y/N dedicated all her vacation days inside the team's garage, adjusting improvements with the team, checking the cars for defects or just being a girl passionate about Formula One. Fernando loved it when she would invade his office and ask him to tell her about the golden age of racing, or how she was the villain of absolutely every driver in the category; Y/N heard the same stories over and over and acted the same way every time: with fucking enthusiasm.

He nicknamed her the Keychain, since Y/N was always hanging from his flap — and he was far from complaining.

He knew, the guys envied him.

Okay, he was Fernando Fucking Alonso, but what the hell had a girl twenty years younger seen in him?

The answer was quite simple, to tell the truth.

“You need to be quiet, dulzura" He said, resting his index finger on her lips, as he slid his glans through the girl's soaked folds. "We don't want to get caught, do we?"

She shook her head, rolling her tongue around his finger, making Fernando grunt. Who would have thought that behind that nerdy face, full of technical jargon, there was a mind full of mischief?

“I’ll be quiet, Nano” and with that, she sucked her index finger “I promise”

“Muy bien, tesoro” He said and thrust himself into her, being greeted by the wet, tight heat of her pussy. Y/N whimpered, pushing herself against him. "Holy crap, bebé” The Spaniard grunted, “You’re still so fucking tight, love,” and he pressed his fingers into her hips, keeping her in place with each thrust.

“F-Fucking good, mhmm my God” she bit the back of her hand, stopping herself from moaning.

"Qué chica tan hermosa para mí..." (such a pretty girl for me) he moaned, capturing her lips in a dirty kiss, without stopping to hit his hips against hers, without stopping to hit the head of his cock in a delicate spot inside her, making the girl tremble with pure pleasure “I'm going to fuck you every day, until your beautiful pussy is shaped like my dick”

“Yes, yes, yes Nano” Y/N whispered with a lost mind “please”

“Todo para mi chica perfecta”

JENSON BUTTON:

He hated her, that's all.

Jenson wasn't one for harboring bad feelings about people, but Y/N, the new FOX Sports journalist, managed to bring out the worst in him. She was a shrew, horrible, irritating, and beautiful like nothing else could be. And this last fact increased Jenson's resentment towards her even more.

Because for him, it was unacceptable that someone as beautiful as her could be as bad as the serpent of Eden. The devil really is in the details, he assumed.

He had a good race, he got the highest place on the podium, even though the car left something to be desired in the first and second sectors. Jenson pushed the car beyond the limit and managed to win, it was commendable, but he knew that this wouldn't impress Y/N's untamed little vixen. Oh God, he really hated her, while Y/N took real pleasure in making him mad. A witch, indeed.

The interview was full of discreet barbs and disguised insults, pushing the journalist and pilot to the limit of their patience.

Jenson pushed her against the warm wall of a random motorhome, he didn't care which team it was, he wanted to make that little journalist swallow every insult. In any way.

He gritted his teeth, he wanted to say something, to provoke her anger too, but the bitch was good at what she did and damn, he had never received such a good blowjob.

Y/N tightened her throat around him, making Jenson moan muffledly and push her head further, suffocating her with his cock, Y/N's makeup was smeared, There were burgundy lipstick stains on his groin and her hair was a mess. The pilot took a deep breath and in a hoarse voice, provoked the journalist.

“Looks like that’s the only way to get you to shut up, witch.”

Y/N pulled away from his cock, breathing heavily as she licked her lips, swallowing every drop of his taste.

“You’re the one who’s weak and hasn’t found another way” he gave a cynical smile, which hit him right in the face “but don’t worry, Button, this way is without a doubt, my favorite” and with that said, she pressed a kiss to the fat, red glans, moaning at Jenson's sigh.

“Fucking brat”

“Bitch,” she said and went back to swallowing every inch of Jenson’s huge erection. He still hated her, but much less now.

MARK WEBBER:

He was fucked in every way, and beyond repair. Sebastian would stick a rusty knife in his liver if he knew, well, if he knew, of course. Y/N Vettel was the devil, sent specifically to get Mark into trouble. For a long time — with a lot of effort — Mark managed to keep his hands off his teammate's sister.

But as said before, Y/N was the devil and thought Mark should be in a more interesting place: her bed.

He spent years pretending not to see her intentions, especially since she was still a teenager with fetishes about her brother's friend, and Mark would never get involved with a teenager. But Y/N grew up, maturity came like a punch, for the pilot at least, she was no longer a little girl with braces and a frilly skirt. She had become a beautiful woman and looked like a lioness on the hunt.

Mark was her prey.

“You know what’s going to happen here, little Vettel,” he said, trying to avoid dirty thoughts about his friend’s sister, trying to see the little girl who was still tongue-tied and stuttering in front of him. Y/N smiled, when did that pimply girl become such a hottie? Mark could barely think, especially as his eyes traced the soft curve of her neck and chest.

Shit, he was so fucked up.

But if you were already in hell, then dance with the devil. He held her neck as he held her in place, Y/N moaned loudly, pushing her ass up against him even more, Mark grunted hoarsely with each squeeze she gave his cock, Y/N looked over her shoulder at him, smiling through her tears of lust.

“H-Harder, please,” she whimpered, grinding against him and moaning loudly at the slap that slapped her ass. He slowed down on purpose “M-Mark, fuck.”

He pulled her until she was on her knees, with her back resting on his chest and nibbled on the back of her neck “Dirty girl, what would your brother say if he saw you moaning like that on my cock?”

Y/N whimpered, he was moving in and out so slowly that she could feel the swollen veins on his erection, or the bulbous tip stretching her. His slowness was desperate, but so, so good that she wanted to stay there forever.

He cursed his own slowness, Y/N squeezing him like a fist, taking everything in him not to cum like a stupid virgin. Mark sped up his thrusts, loving Y/N's relieved moans and let the girl fall back onto the bed, with her ass in the air and her face on the mattress.

That was the vision of heaven, damn it.

KIMI RAIKKONEN:

The context was simple: he had separated a few months ago and Y/N was the nanny for his children. Y/N was adorable and her kids loved her unconditionally, Kimi trusted her enough to travel for work for long days and keep the kids with her. At that point in the game, Y/N wasn't just the nanny, she was already part of the family; she had her own room in every house Kimi owned, traveled with the pilot and his children — even when he didn't need to — and enjoyed many other privileges that other employees didn't have.

Kimi couldn't say exactly when he started to notice Y/N differently, maybe it was the neediness, since he had been alone for almost a year. Maybe it was the way she kept saying ‘Mr. Raikkonen’ even when he insisted on ending the formalities. Kimi was being hypocritical, he knew exactly when his little obsession with his children's nanny began.

He was returning from a business trip, he could have retired from racing, but he hated being idle. It was the middle of the night and the house was silent except for the soft sound of a cell phone ringing upstairs — Y/N's room was on the main floor, so the girl had full access to the children. Kimi went upstairs, listening to the melancholic beat of Lana Del Rey, he hated indie music, but he had memorized a large part of the singer's repertoire because of Y/N. The door was open and he saw in the reflection of the mirror, Y/N wearing nothing but silk pajamas as she spread moisturizer on her skin; Kimi was a visual man, few things were more attractive than a woman spreading moisturizer on her body.

He didn't want Y/N to catch him spying, much less for her to pull him into the room and lock the door. Nor did she kiss him, in a shy way, until Kimi realized what was happening and finally reacted, grabbing her body as if Y/N was going to disappear at any moment, he kissed her furiously, with a desire he didn't even know existed. He kissed her until he lost his way and ended up ripping her delicate pajamas, dropping the fragile silk on the floor.

She gripped the bedclothes, arching her body as she felt her strength drain away with each time his tongue hit her clit. She tried to stop, tried to push him away, but Kimi grabbed her hips, wanting her to keep grinding her pussy against his mouth.

“Sr. R-Raikkonen” Y/N gasped, her voice trailing off into a moan, she whimpered as Kimi's tongue pressed against the swollen, sensitive bud. She would cum in a few seconds, she had no more strength, the knot in her stomach was tightening more and more. Kimi didn't seem satisfied with having made her cum in a few minutes. He wanted more.

Y/N's moans mixed with the melody of Diet Mountain Dew, creating an erotic, intimate and secret atmosphere.

“Don’t stop, nukke,” he ordered, moving as little away from her as possible, making Y/N shiver with the hot air that escaped his mouth. “Keep fucking my face, kaunis" (pretty)

“I-I can’t take it any m-anymore, Mr. Raikkonen,” she stammered weakly, her hips moving to Kimi’s will. “P-Ple-” her body gave in to yet another violent orgasm, to the point of taking away her remaining strength and knocking her to the ground. Gently, Kimi laid her down on the carpet, letting her calm down and recover.

“Are you tired, nukke?” Kimi asked as she took off his clothes, gazing at Y/N's appreciative gaze on her body, she was lying on her stomach, panting, full and shiny with sweat, a fucking sight.

“Not at all, Mr. Raikkonen,” she said in a low tone.

“Keep calling me Mr. Raikkonen and we’ll take this here until you have mercy, kaunis”

“I thought you’d never get the hint, Mr. Raikkonen,” she says, swaying her hips provocatively.

“Naughty,” he snapped, smacking the side of her ass with a stinging smack.

gif credits: lewisthot, pierregasly, suzuki-ecstar, machinecreature, its-avalon-08, blueballsracing.

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO S-AWTURN™ 🪐. I do not allow copying or republication. Any unauthorized publication will be reported.

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[deadlychansaw]

— hope

pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x reader

warnings: vomiting, no use of y/n, bit angst, pregnancy, it happens during ep 2 s2

a/n: omg first time writing something like this, i hope someone enjoy this 🫣

00:30 was the number sparkling in neon red in her bedside watch. She couldn't stop looking at it. She couldn't sleep. How could she? The bed too big and cold for her to be alone, she missed her husband. Where was he?

She thought that after the coma he would retire and live peacefully with her, maybe in some cabin in the woods with two kids and a dog. this thought alone made her want to tear up.

She knew being a police officer was dangerous, so every time he wasn't home she feared that something had happened. This made her want to throw up, and she did.

That was unusual for her, maybe... no. It couldn't be. But when was the last time she had her period again? It was nine days late, this was also unusual. How haven't she noticed it?

00:45. She couldn't wait until morning so she picked up her car and went to a 24h open drugstore

"Do you need any help, miss?"

"I want a pregnancy test"

"Are you alright, dear?"

She hadn't noticed that small tears started to run down her face.

"I will be"

As the old lady gave her the test she smiled sympathetically and said:

"I'm sure you will. You don't need to be afraid"

" My husband is a cop" She felt the need to reply

"Oh, I see. But you will be fine, dear. I felt the same when my husband fought in war."

This time, she didn't reply.

She got home after speeding the car a little more than necessary and running a few red lights and went straight to the bathroom to do the goddamn test.

Palms sweaty, hands shaking and feet stomping in circles. It hasn't even passed the three minutes the test needed to be ready, just a few more seconds and...

oh.

Positive. p-o-s-i-t-i-v-e.

She was pregnant and wasn't even sure her husband would return home. Where are you Jun-ho?

"Babe, why are you sleeping on the couch?"

His voice reached her ears like the light in the end of a dark tunnel.

"I was waiting for you"

"My love, you know you don't need to"

"But I wanted to. Where were you?"

"I was in some kind of a car chase, but they shot in my tires"

That made her eyes open wide. "What? Chasing who? Are you hurt?"

"I'm not hurt. I wish I could tell you everything but i don't wanna put you at risk"

"I accepted the risk the day i accepted to be your wife. Please tell me. I'd rather know what i'm scared of"

"I guess you're right"

So he tells her everything. The games, his brother, his plan with Gi-hun. Everything.

"That is awful. Unbelievably awful. How can some people be so disgusting and evil? Gosh, that makes me sick"

She ran to the bathroom and started to vomit in the toilet, he ran after her and held her hair.

"Are you okay? I know it's s lot to process"

"Oh my God, I'm sorry for this, now you'll never want to kiss me again."

"There's not a world where i wouldn't want to kiss you" He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. "But let's brush those teeth, shall we?"

Jun-ho gets up to put toothpaste in her toothbrush and give it to her.

"I don't know what i did to deserve you, Jun-ho"

"I am the lucky one here, babe. You're still here with me after everything i told you."

"i'm not leaving your side. Never."

He picks her up in bridal style.

"What are you doing?"

"Putting my wife to bed, as i should"

He really was the sweetest thing in her life, she needed to tell him already. All the what-ifs started coming to head again what if he doesn't want a child? what if he doesn't have time to form a family? what if he never come back home anymore?

"Babe, are you crying?"

"Do you really need to search for that island?"

"I do. These games need to stop."

"I don't want anything bad happening to you"

"I promise it won't. I will always come back home to you" He seals the promise by joining their lips in a long, slow and passionate kiss.

"Jun-ho, I need to tell you something but i'm so afraid of how you're gonna react."

"You don't need to be afraid, my love. I'm always here for you no matter what"

"I- I am pregnant" She doesn't wait for him to answer. " I know it's not the right time, and maybe you don't even want to be a dad and-"

She sees that he opened his characteristically big and warm smile, one that lights up her whole world.

"Are you... happy?"

"Are you kidding? Babe i feel like the luckiest guy of all South Korea. I'm so happy. Oh my god, i'm gonna have a daughter "

That made her chuckle.

"We don't know if it's a girl"

"Oh i'm sure of that. We need to celebrate"

"Celebrate? At this time? How?

"Hmm, i can think of a few ways..."

And she had a feeling she haven't felt in a while. relief. Hope.

[luxurychristmaspudding]

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

[msmiseryxoxo]

Behind Closed Doors

homelander x assistant! reader

🎧 Behind Closed Doors- Lana Del Rey

Disclaimer: This is finally done after two months, i first started this when the season came out. I don't know anything about the corporate world. I made up things as I went along :3 im sorry :( Also my first time writing fanfic and first time creative writing in a while, so I am a bit rusty be nice please :3 I wrote this as a challenge to myself , so i hope its not too bad. Constructive criticism welcome :)

around 3-4k words i lost count

this is so secretary ( 2002) coded

Tags: dom!Homelander Fem! Girly! Reader. praise kink, body worship, p in v, fingering, cmnf, homelander is soft for reader. creampie, breeding kink, daddy nickname used. homelander and reader are horny weirdos. I'm bad at tagging hopefully i'll be better :(

Set between seasons 3-4 but i didn't watch gen v oops

You transcribe the meetings for Vought, and you feel like you don’t get the recognition that you deserve. That is until Homelander calls for a private meeting. 

You were quiet and meek, like a little mouse. He viewed you exactly like that. A rodent to be exterminated. Squashed. He’ll have a word with whoever was in charge of hiring you. Even more of a word if it was Ashley. In your eyes, he could never hide the utter disdain on his face whenever he got a waft of your sweet, vanilla rose scent as you . He thought you represented everything wrong with humans. Your head was always hung low, you always stared at your shoes as you brought Ashley the notes for this week’s meeting. How dare you not look in his eyes? How can someone as stupid as you ever be trusted with confidential information about the company?

He absolutely hated everything about you. Your prissy nature, the way you only drank matcha lattes with soy milk. He turned his nose at that poor excuse of a milk option. He smelled that bullshit from a mile away. He hated the gloss on your lips. He hated the sparkle in your eyes, like you still had a lot of life to look forward to. He hated that hopeful mentality you held, following the philosophy that life was going to get better. He simultaneously hated and loved the way you cowered in his presence, the way your hands get sweaty and clutch at your skirt. He loved and hated the fact that you couldn’t hold eye contact with him. On top of all that, Homelander hated the way you made his dick twitch.

Even as you stumble around with a slight hunchback, he couldn’t keep thoughts of peeling off your tights and bending you over the table where meetings were held. How breathless and cute your pathetic moans would be. How he would make you speak up and ask for what you truly want. He wondered what your lip gloss would taste like. How soft your plush ass would feel as he caresses it. Even considering your horrible posture, something as small as your scent is enough to turn him on.

When homelander would retire to his apartment, he would drink a pint of milk and jerk off. That was his nightly routine for the last couple of years. He would think about Madelyn Stillwell, Stormfront, and if he was feeling especially normal, he would think about Queen Maeve. After a week of you working at Vought, his jerk off material had changed. He began thinking about you. A lot. You had dominated his brain, and this irritated the hell out of Homelander. He had never given this much thought to another person before. Mundane and ordinary things had popped into his brain. What did you eat for breakfast? What side of the bed do you sleep on? As much as he tried thoughts of you out of his head, they always came back with a vengeance. Just your entire existence bugged Homelander, but he got used to seeing you in the conference room, even looked forward to the weekly meetings if it meant he got to see you. He’d notice that his presence would have an embarrassing effect on you. Of course, he would have a certain effect on just about everyone that he encountered, but he relished in the fact that you would get so flustered when in the same vicinity of each other. He would then think of ways to get you worked out, he wanted to tease you just enough to coax you. He’d knew the type of girl you were, you thrived under words of praise. Homelander also knew that you’d be obedient enough to never say anything. He’d make you fear him, more than you already do. He wanted to make the desire to please stronger.

After the first month of your newfound employment at Vought, you wondered why anyone would put up with Homelander and the Seven’s antics. You pride yourself on your obedience and dedication. Why could nobody acknowledge the sea of tears shed over copious hours of overtime, and the perfection you put into shooting out emails everyday, keeping people on track. You even schedule the time the emails are to be put out. You know deep down you will never say anything, or even hint at the maltreatment and neglect that you recieve. You want to remain hopeful that this is just a rough patch, and as you get more acclimated to the company you won’t feel this way, they won’t treat you this way.

You wake up at 5:30 to face the day. 30 minute shower, a five step skin routine, and light makeup routine. You were told to always look your best when first hired. Vought has an image to maintain, and their employees should reflect that ( which only really applies to female employees).

While in the shower, you contemplate your life. You’re proud of yourself and what you have accomplished so far, but sticking to the Vought job is insane. It’s insane because you have a crush on your boss. Arguably the most famous and powerful man in America, or even the entire world. You know he's not a good person, but you wouldn’t mind being at his beck and call. God, it was pathetic how you imagine him grunting in your ear for you to take it. You try to move past these thoughts for the betterment of your life.

You are the first to arrive to the meeting room. You set up your space, placing your laptop, a notebook with strawberry pattern on it, and your matcha latte with soymilk.

As the supes settle in, you get ready to write. This week’s meeting was about searching for another member of the seven, or to speak truthfully, find a new black noir. You are clueless to how The Seven found itself without a Black Noir, but you know it is in your best interest to never ask questions. Of course, like the queen of England, Homelander is the last to arrive. Homelander strides in greeting everyone.

“ Mmm can’t wait for the bullshit we talk about today,” He rolls his eyes. You notice his tone even more irritated today. Homelander walks over to the front of the table and sits. Everyone waits for him to speak, for him to start the meeting. As you write the date on the top of your paper, you hear him clear his throat.

As you look up, he says your name. How does he even know your name? He couldn’t give less of a shit at anyone at this table, especially you.

“Can I speak to you at the end of the meeting? Alone of course. We wouldn’t want any of these morons listening in”

“ Oh. Yeah, of course!” You stutter a bit. You give him a small smile. He gives you his signature fake smile back. You know that look all too well. You recognize that that look is basically the middle finger. That highly calculated smile hides the disgust he feels for everyone around him at any given time. All the while, you are caught off guard by his words. Being alone in a room with any man would make you anxious, but being the only woman in the room with Homelander makes you nauseous. To say you are absolutely mortified would be an understatement.

Everyone in the room gives you a side eye. Ashley looks like she might pull out a gun and shoot you. She knows she’ll never hear the end of it. After all, she did hire you.

The rest of the meeting goes as smoothly as it could. Some dumb remarks were made by The Deep, but it could have been worse. You didn’t pay much attention during this meeting, as you were in your head about what this private session with Homelander would entail. Homelander senses your heartrate going up. He can practically hear the blood rushing through your veins. His hand quietly goes to grab and rub his bulge. He thinks of you on your knees, him grabbing your hair as you rub your face against his crotch with your hands on his thighs, looking up at him with adoration in your eyes. He brings his hands up and bangs the table.

“ Ok, I think we’re all done here,’’ He gives instructions to the Deep and Ashley to scout for the new Black Noir while A-Train shoots his movie. You write the details of the meeting in your notebook.

Everyone gets out of their chair and leaves, Ashley gives you a death stare. You feel faint, and your legs try to gather courage to walk toward Homelander.

“ Shut the door behind you, will you buddy” Deep closes the door, and you two are left alone at last.

Homelander slowly strides toward you with his hands behind his back. Like a deer in headlights , you were paraylzed with fear, you could not move. He softly grabs your chin. He sees the fear in your eyes.

“ Hey, you’re not in trouble. I can see the hairs on your arm standing up. It’s fine. You’re not in trouble.” He reassures you, eliminating the worst case scenario your brain. You breath a breathe of relief. You look at Homelander’s boots, still afraid to look him in the eye.

He gives a slight chuckle. “ I’m not going to laser you, ya know. Um, actually I asked you to stay because I realized something.” He places his hands on your shoulders, you finally look up. He is towering over you. You can see the absence of his pores on his face. He truly is perfect, which makes his presence even more intoxicating. Your head feels dizzy from both the fear and his course fingertips on your shoulders.

“ You’ve been here for a good while. I know that you think that you’ve gone unnoticed. But trust that that could not be further from the case.” He sighed. “ To be quite honest with you sweetheart, you’ve been too much of a distraction around here. Your short little skirts are killing me.” Homelander laughs. He imagined his hands hiking up your skirt all of the time. He toys with your hair as you cannot believe that this is happening. His hands travel to your neck as you can smell the mintiness of his breath. He places soft sweet kisses on the tip of your ear as you let out a whimper.

“ I know you wanted me like this.  Ya think I don’t know why you try so hard? You want to get my attention. Think of this as a reward, yeah?” Your knees buck. The pit of desire in your stomach is getting bigger, and you're aching for more of his touch.

“ I need you to look at me” He says in his stern voice. “ And I need you to respond when I’m talking to you, kay? Sit on the table for me.”

You nod your head. A light tap of his hand kisses your left cheek.

“ Use your words, doll.” Homelander whispers and looks at you tentatively.

“oh okay” you stutter and stammer.

He impatiently unbuttons your shirt, practically tearing it open, and quickly undoing the claps of your pretty pink bra ( which you wore everyday, holding onto hope he would one day see it) clumsily breaking a clasp in the process.

“ I’ll get you a new one, its fine” Your mouth opens in a slight gasp.

His tender, soft, touch full of need finds the softness of your breasts, as he bends down to delicately pinch your nipples, hard, from the building's chill and the unfamiliar feel of his leather gloves. He bites his lips, resisting the urge to come right then and there. He lightly sets you on your back, legs dangling off the table. He looms over your view. The blonde man begins to suckle on your breast, massaging the other. His lips leave soft marks all over your tits as he rotates his hands and his lips.

“ Oh god, you feel so fucking good, sweetheart, your tits feel amazing” You let out a mewl as your pussy clenches. Filthy sounds of Homelander lapping at your tits and soft cries escaping your mouth fill the room. He lightly nibbles your nipple. In a fleeting moment of bravery, you give Homelander a request.

"Mmm want you inside"

“Not yet honey. Needa prep you first, know you can’t handle it right now. ” He unzips your skirt and throws it across the room. Your tights were thigh high, so he didn’t have to take them off like he would have liked. He looks almost animalistic as he crouches down to level with your cunt. He rubs his gloved hands up and down your bare thighs, as he inhaled the scent of your clothed pussy. You run your hands through his soft, blonde hair, thinking about how how heaven feels.

He murmurs into your pussy, “ you’re fucking soaked and i barely touched you”

His nose brushes with your clit. Catching wind of your squirming and quiet mumbles, Homelander purposely moves his nose in a circle while he maintains eye contact with you. A strong hold of his hands is on your hips, trying to contain the buildup of your pleasure. His rhythmic movement works your way toward an orgasm, and as you get higher and higher, almost reaching your peak, he moves away, toward your mouth, embracing your tongue, biting your lip softly, as your lips sloppily crashed into each other. He sat you back up as his arms moved up and down your back. Anger quickly left your body as quickly it came, you couldn’t be mad at his denial when you inhaled his fresh linen and sandalwood scent.

He breaks away from your lips .“I want you to cum on my cock, so im just gonna make you nice and wet for now, sound good?” You look into his of course that sounded good, but something felt off.

“ mmkay homelander” you mumble, feeling a bit odd and disconnected suddenly. You don’t want to call him that, his nose was in your pussy, his tongue all over your chest, it felt wrong to call him homelander. Sensing this, he does the unthinkable.

“ call me john” he mutters under his breath, almost inaudible. you grin at him.

“ mmkay john!” God. your squeal and positive attitude made his cock even harder, which he didn’t think possible. You relax a bit more, as this was a sign of him opening up.

He slowly wiggles you out of your panties, as you giggle. Leaving you fully naked, Homelander basks in the sight of you, ready and pliant for him. 

“ Yeah, what’s so funny” Homelander smiles at you. 

“ hmm. Dunno. You’re just so…” you trail off at the end of your sentence.

As you’re responding to his question, Homelander slips a finger inside you. You let out a cry, slightly rolling your head back.

“ Im so what sweetheart, finish your sentence” He grabs you by your neck, demanding a deep sloppy kiss, whilst adding another finger in your pussy, plunging deep in and out of your slick folds. He curls two fingers up,

‘So..mmph..good, feels good, john” 

“ Mmm yeah I know honey, I know ”  He coos, mockingly in between kisses. He worked his fingers until your breaths became ragged, squirming and quivering under his touch. 

“ You’re so fucking wet, baby” He grunts while you moan as John scissors his fingers in and out of your slick pussy. He moves his fingers, moving them into circles on your clit.

“Im gonna cum, please!” You plea for him to keep going, faster.

“ Ah ah ah, no i don’t think so. going do it on my dick remember?” He pulls his fingers out of your wet warmth, drags his tongue up and down his fingers.

He moans as he sucks on his own fingers, you look up at john with utter adoration.

“you taste so good mmph” Your tongues intertwine, lapping filthy at one another. He bits your earlobes while his hands lazily fidget with your nipples.

He then brings the bottom of his suit to his knees, cock swinging out. It’s egregiously thick. His length swollen and aching, leaking out precum from his pretty tip.

“ I’m going put my cock in now, ok sweetheart?” He seems to take it easy on you, as he doesn’t mention your mouth salivating at the sight of his dick.

“need it bad, been waiting for it”

“ Oh I know, i’ve seen the way you look at me” he laughs sinisterly.

He uses one of his arms to spread your thighs wider apart as his other hands supports you up, grasping the whole of your back. You smile up at him

He positions himself nearer to you, his cock at your entrance.

“ it’s gonna be a big stretch ok, need you to breath, if you need support, hold onto my shoulder.” he senses your lack of experience, or at least your naivety. you had never experienced anything like this, and you never would again, he would make sure of it.

you nod your head and look up. You’re already cock drunk, you trust him with your life. He reassures you with a kiss to your forehead.

Homelander bullies his length through your warm walls, gently and slowly. you let out a cry, both of pleasure and pain. you feel so good full, He groans into your mouth, as you moan into his.

“ ok honey, it’s going in”

“mmmphh John, so big..”

“does it hurt?” he stops in his tracks.

“a little, but not a lot” you say almost in a whisper.

“ok, ill keep going really slow, sweetheart”

He thrusts real slow, as he caresses your face. you lose feeling in your legs as he pounds softly into you. He finds him rhythm quickly as he maintains his pace. You hold onto his back as he moves his hands all over you.

“ God, your tight pussy clenching my cock feels so good sweet girl”

You smile and giggle.

“ My dick needs to be in your sweet cunt forever, sweet cunt, sweet girl” He growls into your ear.

“mm Keep going daddy!” you squeal, not knowing the damage you have done but uttering those words. Homelander feels like could come right then and there. A primal switch flipped in his brain.

Tears begin to swell in your eyes. “ I’m so so so sorry i didn’t mean to say that” Homelander sees your eyebrows furrow and your eyes widen.

His thrusts begin to pick up the pace, the perfect rhythm becomes sloppy, as your juices spill out of your thigh. His fat cock ever so slightly touches your cervix as you let out a soft sob.

“you don’t know what you do to me don’t you? Jesus, this pussy was molded for my cock” He grabs you by your knees and throws your legs over his shoulders. His dick twitches inside of you, signaling he’s about to cum, and you’re about to follow him.

“Say it again. Call me what you just called me” He annunciatesin a low voice.

“ Fuck, daddy feels good, want your cum” You feel free of all embarrassment and shame in that moment as you bask in euphoria.

“ That’s a good girl. Good girls get to cum. Good girls get filled up with daddy’s cum” Homelander never knew that this nickname did it for him. Hell, he was more of a mommy kind of guy, but he would do anything for you. Any word that came out of your mouth would make him hard, because it was you. But submitting yourself to him in this way, it did more than getting his dick up. He was disgusted by this feeling. What was it? Why did it feel so weird?

“ Oh god I’m gonna cum, gonna cum in you, give you babies oh god” He sloppily kisses your face, as fat blobs of sticky cum drip out of your cunt. He keeps his cock in your pussy, as he holds you with your face pressed to his chest.

“i need to come daddy” you stutter and shake under him.

He allows you to come and you swear you see stars. John smears his cum across your pussy, then he bends down to kiss in between your lips highs.

He helps you into your skirt and what’s left of the rest of your clothes. You smile at him, and he smiles back. A genuine smile.

that got a little more emotional then i thought it was? idk should i make more of homelander x reader in mind? if you want to give feedback feel free to :) i’m doing this to be a better writer !

divider creds: @cafekitsune @bunnysrph @anitalenia