#where they both adviced using the bodies for food | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tieronecrush · 9 months ago

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BNBG (brand new baby girl)

frankie morales x curvy OF/cam girl f!reader

summary: frankie has been needing distractions from a hurdle in his sobriety, so he ventures to his frequented subscription service platform to take his mind off things. he sees the title of your page, intrigued immediately, and dives deep into your content. catching your attention on a livestream with his confident commands, frankie becomes infatuated with you and an avid viewer before he decides to DM you one day...and then ends up with a brand new baby girl.

wc: 11k

rating: E (very)

warnings: daddy kink!! **cover does not depict anything about the reader, simply vibes of softness**, vague descriptions of reader's body (plush, thick, curves, soft, etc. no definite descriptors used otherwise. picture her as you want but she is mid to plus size in my head 🫶), no age specified (only that reader started out of college, no specifications of when she went to school), discussions of addiction & drug use, childless frankie au, sex work, sex livestream, consumption of porn, unestablished relationship, online relationship, pet names (conejita, baby, babygirl, pequeña, bunny, etc.), gratuitous descriptions of frankie's dick, SMUT, male masturbation, female masterbation, sex toys, both frankie & reader have thoughts about the other (unprotected piv, fingering, oral, etc.), major dirty talk, d/s dynamics, some fluff sprinkled in <3, this might be lowkey problematic that frankie uses porn to cope (esp reader's porn) buuuuut hopefully it's hot

a/n: cover design & dividers by me 💋 this is an unhinged daydream of mine, hope y'all enjoy! huge thank you to my besties @kiwisbell and @northernbluess for beta-reading 💓

The time on Frankie’s phone screen turns over to well past midnight. Bedroom pitched black save for the blue light illuminating his face as he scrolls on Instagram, unable to fall asleep from thoughts stirring. He wants to scratch the itch — to pick at the scab that’s been growing in his brain for over a year. Temptation runs hot in his veins. A craving, deep in his gut. A strong inhale or the rub of his fingertip against his gums. It would be fast. And it would only last less than half an hour — he could manage it one more time, he was sober enough for that, wasn’t he? He indulges himself in other aspects now: drinking, food, lax with his once regimented workout routine.

Frankie can hear the voice of his sponsor, the one he listens to speak at his weekly meetings in the musty church hall. Sure, his sponsor’s got valuable advice for him, having been sober for decades now, but he can’t relate to Frankie. Not really. He doesn’t know the level of temptation he’s consistently faced with, doesn’t know the fucked up shit he’s seen that got him into the substance in the first place.

His sponsor tells him to get into meditation. That it helps him turn his brain off when he has a craving, redirecting the energy into himself and crushing the aching want for it. Or some spiritual bullshit that Frankie doesn’t understand.

And besides, he’s found his own means of meditation.

Exiting the social media app, he opens his browser and types in the website. The light of the phone illuminates his face enough for his saved login to work, bringing him into his plane of piety. Where he escapes at least three times a week, late nights like now and the occasional mid-afternoon or morning on his desperate days off. When the urge is too strong. When he’s formulating a plan of how to get his hands on a tiny baggie, he loses himself — distracts his brain here.

Scrolling through his usual subscriptions, nothing seems to be hitting the spot. One hand grips his phone, thumb gliding along the screen, while the other cups his hard-on through his boxers, palming himself as he searches for something to get off to.

That’s when he sees it — the perfect combination of words that draws him in by the title. Clicking the page, he’s quick to pledge his monthly amount, eager to get access to all that lies beyond the paywall. And what he’s greeted with, pulls a sigh from his lips in the quiet room, his large hand squeezing his cock through the thin fabric elasticated around his waist.

“Fuck…” he mumbles to himself when he sees that there’s a live stream happening. A cosmic intervention for him, he thinks, a sign that he’s meant to satiate his vices with this.

With you.

The screen changes to a vertical view of you in front of the camera, iPhone seemingly propped up against something while you sit on your mattress. It’s so…delicate and soft. Those are the words he can think of to describe the backdrop that he takes in quickly. Billowing white comforter on your bed, pillows surrounding you. The first thought he has is that it looks like a bed he could easily sleep in — much more inviting than his. There are touches of blush pink, sky blue, and more. A complete rainbow of desaturated colors.

It all compliments you. Centered in the frame, the next sound you make drags his eyes back to your form as you move around. Another squeeze to his cock draws a longer sigh from his lips as he combs across the view of your body, scantily clad in a thong and a bra covered in cherries. The cups of the bra push up the weight of your breasts, spilling over the edge. His tongue runs across his lips to wet them, a new craving ravaging his mouth as he wonders what you would taste like with the skin of your tits dampened by his saliva.

The rest of your body is as softly lined and curving as your chest, waist swooping into your hips as you sit on your knees in front of the camera. Thick thighs spread with the press of your calves into the back of them, the inside of them meeting at the apex and providing cover for what he so badly wants to be shown. There’s a line of your stomach above the waist of your panties, supple skin glistening. Delicious, is all he can think to himself. You look so fucking delicious that it floods his mouth with saliva, enough that he feels the overwhelming need to push his boxers down, freeing his hard cock to rest against his stomach until he’s spitting into his palm and starting a slow, languid pace.

The grain of his palm drags against the length of his cock as he keeps a steady flick of his wrist. Not too fast, but not achingly slow. Enough to start stoking the burning coals in the pit of his stomach as he watches you on the small rectangular screen. Puffs of hot air leave his mouth, his jaw hanging open while he watches you shift to reach for something out of frame, the first look at your ass gifted to him. Rounded swell of curves with the fabric of your thong dipping between them. The slight jiggle of your cheeks makes Frankie moan quietly, taking the briefest moment to picture that same ripple in your skin from him fucking you from behind.

“Shit…” he grumbles under his breath, minorly increasing the pressure of his grip to squeeze his cock as his hand moves, desperate to mimic the feeling of someone — apparently you, despite not knowing anything close to your name.

Skin on skin catches on the base of his dick and he exhales sharply with his teeth bared, opening his palm to spit once again. It’s not enough, but he continues the slide of his wrist as he sets his phone down on the mattress briefly, reaching over to his nightstand, pausing once again to dispense a pump of lotion into the palm of his right hand. Wrapping the moistened hand around his cock again, he starts a faster pace before slowing down to drag out his pleasure longer.

Returning into the frame fully, he sees your face for the first time and coughs as his open-mouthed inhale seizes in his throat. His fingers circle the base of his cock, squeezing hard as he takes in your face. Perfectly primped with a layer of makeup, but he can tell you’ve got the kind of beauty that wouldn’t ever need changing or enhancing — effortless. Velvety skin, as silky as the rest of your body but with an added glow. Bright eyes that are shining with mischief and want, and a smirk that’s as playful; he finds himself shutting his eyes again, for a few lazy strokes as he pictures that face, and your plush, pliable body, on your knees in front of him. Eagerly awaiting his cock to fill your mouth.

Fuck, you’re really doing a number on him tonight. He needed this. His desperation for a high of any kind coats his open mouth with each labored breath.

Focused back on his phone, you show off the treasure that you dug for off-camera. A lilac vibrator, one that fits the length of your hand, with a swell of size rounded off at the tip and tapered in at the end. Leaning closer to your camera, Frankie groans when your tits bounce, spilling out of your bra with a tiny nip slip that he catches immediately. And it only makes him want to see more.

“Mm, c’mon, pretty girl, show me something here. M’fuckin’ dying…Necesito la distracción (I need the distraction),” Frankie speaks toward the screen, feeling pathetic as he barters with you in the one-way system.

As if you heard his pleas, you adjust your position, laying back on the mountain of pillows to prop yourself up and letting one leg fall open. Even in the lowered lighting of the room you’re in, presumably your bedroom, he can make out the wet patch covering your folds. He finds himself wondering if the act of getting off in front of a camera, in front of people watching live, is what gets you wet. Or if you have a fluffer like he’s heard they do in porn.

He’d wanna be your fluffer.

Or maybe he’d want to be the one to fuck you in the porno. At least both of you’d get to finish then.

“Think I need someone who knows better than me to tell me what they wanna see.” Your voice is saccharine, the slight fry in your voice jolts his hips into his hand, mumbles of curses slipping from his lips. “Anybody have any suggestions for me, chat?”

A low hum starts when you press the button of the vibrator in your hand, spreading your knees further to open your core to the view of the camera completely. Your opposite hand to the toy hooks into the crotch of your thong, pulling the small bit of fabric, practically a string with the amount it’s covering.

Frankie’s mouth waters as the speed of his hand picks up, the grip of his fingers not nearly as satisfying as the clench of a pussy, but he’ll make do. He has been for a year; you know what they say, no relationships for the first year sober. That, and he couldn’t find anyone that could take his mind off of coke long enough for him to get it up. So eventually he just let it be.

Now, though, he’s painfully hard. The quick movements of his hand send a shock of pleasure up to his brain, veins contracting with the extra effort to keep the blood supply to his cock. Thumb brushes over his tip, mixing in his precum with the other lubrication, a hiss from behind his teeth shot out from the stimulation. His gaze is glued onto his rectangular screen, huffing out deep breaths while you press the vibrator against your clit. There’s a quiver in your thighs that he notices, as if this is your first touch after teasing yourself, or someone else teasing you. Sensitive already.

Biting your lip, your eyes scan the screen as you read aloud, “FiveFingersAtFreddys said ‘Take your bra off please.’ Well, actually he said ‘Take your tits out’ but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, dude, and say that you actually do have good manners.”

He laughs, and it’s a first for him. Laughing at someone’s jokes as he jerks off, alone.

You comply with the request, taking the vibrator away from your clit to reach around and unclasp your bra. Tossing the material aside, you lean back into the pillows again and the next sight nearly makes Frankie come right then and there until he takes his hand away completely. Laid out, legs open and fingers pulling your panties aside, vibrator pushing into your clit and driving a high-pitched moan from your lips. All while you're bare from the waist up, cushioned torso melting into your heavy tits, pert nipples bringing them to a point. The form of a Greek classics statue, one with fleshy outlines carved impeccably from marble.

“La obra maestra (A masterpiece)…” Frankie whispers to himself, the squelch of his lotioned hand working his hard length bringing him back into his body, a moan slipping from his mouth.

“I think I need someone else to tell me how I should play with myself. M’so wet, jus’ wanna touch myself but I don’t know where to start. All seems like—like it’s going to feel so good,” you stutter out when your hips buck against the vibrator, a whimper echoing from your chest as you turn your attention to the chat again, awaiting intriguing instructions.

Maybe it’s sexual frustration, maybe it’s pathetic. Maybe it’s the intense fucking craving to replace his need for coke high with a need for an orgasm, but for whatever reason chosen, Frankie finds himself clicking on the comment box with his thumb, typing wildly with one finger. He takes a second to read it for spelling errors before he presses send. Too lost in it all now to care.

Your eyes perk up, smirk growing on your face when you read the influx of chat replies. One must have caught your eye because the vibrator is being left to the side again. Fingers hook into the waist of your panties, slowly pulling them off as you read aloud the comment that caught your attention.

“There’s a new name I see here…Maybe we should do what you want, Mr. FlyingFish. Consider it a welcome gift from me to you.” His heart is pounding in his chest, hand gripping tighter and twisting around his dick as he fucks his fist, mumbles of curses spilling out as he listens to you repeat what he desperately typed not a minute prior. It sounds dirtier coming from you, despite his best efforts at politeness, “You said ‘Please show off how many of your little fingers fit into your pretty pussy. Think a pretty girl like you deserves to fuck her fingers…’ Alright, FlyingFish, you’ve got me blushin’ from that request and that is difficult to do, sir. Thank you for calling me a pretty girl. I promise I’m smart, too. I’ll be sure to count ‘em for you.”

One finger slips into your dripping entrance easily, the other hand reaching for the vibrator and replacing it at your clit while your finger starts to fuck shallowly, “One finger…”

Whines of frustration crack over his small speakers before a bigger moan falls from your lips, a second finger slid into you alongside the first, “Oh, fuck…That’s two. Mm, how am I doin’? FlyingFish, d’you think I can get another?”

Frankie’s wrist flicks rapidly now, the direct address to him driving him mad as the sounds of his arm slapping against his stomach and thigh clap in his room and cut into the sounds your pussy is making as you get yourself off. He types as quickly as he can, strings of curses flowing from his mouth as the heat of his desire burns red hot inside of him. He’s so fucking close but he wants to watch you fall apart at the same time. Wants to be the reason you come.

“Oh, shit—you’ve got a mouth, FlyingFish. ‘I’d hope you can take another, otherwise, you couldn’t take my cock.’ Is that a promise, Fish? You saying you got a big dick for me to take?”

You whimper and he’s edging himself, squeezing hard to stay together when you inadvertently use his call sign. The closest thing you have to his name, and all he can think about is you screaming it while he’s fucking you. He wants to tell you it’s a promise only if you follow through, indulging in the fantasy of actually getting to touch you only for a moment. But instead, his attention is completely drawn to a third finger stretching your cunt in full view of the camera, your wanton moans popping in his speakers and driving his forearm to burn with the strain of muscle as he attempts to fist his cock even harder.

“Fuckfuckfuck…Come for me, baby, please fucking come on those fingers,” he begs no one but himself, a blinding white heat licking the entire inside of his body as he balances on the edge. Waiting for you to fall first.

“Oh my god, fuck…” The last word is drawn out, pitching up at the end as your fingers fuck faster, squelching sounds of your wetness flooding his mouth as his brain pleads for a taste of your cunt. “I don’t think—I don’t think I can get a fourth. M’gonna fucking come—ah! Oh, fuck me, Fish…”

You barely whisper his name, or at least what is his name to you, but it’s singlehandedly what punches out his guttural moan, ropes of warm, sticking spend coating his hand as he keeps moving and spilling onto his stomach. It’s prolonged, the tension in his calves relaxing after he spills the most come he has in a while.

Airy, light, a rush of blood back to his head has his whole body tingling with a high. Satiating his cravings from earlier, dissolving the want, the need, for anything of the sort. Instead, it’s replaced with thoughts of you — the image of you laying fucked out on his phone, adding his own touch of imagination when he closes his eyes to see you as you are but covered with his come the same way he is. Normally, this is when the smallest bit of shame crawls up his spine and sits at the nape of his neck, but instead, he melts into warmth. Faced with your smile as you sit up and lean over toward the camera again, laughing to yourself as you end the live.

“Um, if you’re still here, thanks for that FlyingFish. Felt fucking good…And to everyone else, I’ll stream again on Monday night, same time as always. Night, everyone. Have a good weekend.” All he hears before the sound cuts out is your excited giggles, the brightness of your post-orgasm joy stretching a smile across your face. He’s faced with a black screen, staring back at himself in the reflection with the shit-eating, smug grin he has on his face.

Now he’s got plans for Monday night.

Frankie hasn’t been able to get you out of his head. He’s hooked. Images of your sloping curves flash behind his eyes on the days when you’re not available to watch, his hips fucking his fist in bed, the shower, even on his couch with the blinds all open because he was that needy. Thoughts of you replaced his thoughts of the white powder, chasing after the different high he’s gifted by your voice, your body — all through a screen.

He’s caught himself rasping affections as he pictures you, hissed compliments as he comes and imagining what he’d say if you were in front of him. Letting him use your mouth or your cunt. He’s even gotten into a habit of imagining his head between your legs; the hardest he came is the one time he pictured you sitting on his face and all of the pretty sounds you’d make for him. Fuck, cariño, that’s so good. Mm, bonita, you’re such a good girl. Love doin’ what you’re told, don’t you, baby?

The fact that he doesn’t even know your name but is this infatuated isn’t lost on him. He knows he has an addictive personality, but this feels different. Like he was meant to find you for some reason. His sponsor would tell him it’s a call from the universe that this is all part of his ‘journey to sobriety’, but really, he just thinks that you’re fucking hot. And the tiniest part of him thinks you might like him watching too, even though you have no idea who he is.

Each time he watches you live, his thumb taps across the keyboard, responding to your requests and even adding in some encouragement. Virtually having conversations with you, he quickly became a frequent flyer (your joke, not his). You listen to him. Like the sweet girl that you are. Taking his suggestions — his demands when you beg — and showing off for him, a whimpering mess when he’s done with you.

At times, it feels like he’s the only one watching, or at least the only one that matters to you. With the amount of times his username falls from your lips, it’s easy to fall into a bubble of you and him. You’ve picked up the habit of referring to him as ‘Fish’ and it’s driven him mad, the closest thing to his name that he’ll hear you say. You give him material to think back about for days after. I love a man that knows what he wants, Fish. You can boss me around, Fishie. I always know what you tell me to do is gonna feel so fucking good.

All of this over the last few weeks has built up his courage, which is why he finds himself sitting on his couch with your profile open, the sun barely set outside. A random baseball game plays on his TV, but his focus is completely on his phone, writing and deleting a DM to you about ten times.

It has to be right. Friendly, but not stalker-ish. Flirty, but not creepy. Commanding enough to get your attention among what he imagines are countless messages in your inbox.

After another good ten minutes drafting a message, his thumb hovers over the ‘Send’ button for a few seconds. Squeezing his eyes closed, he lowers his finger and hits the button, anxiety washing over him as he opens his eyes to stare at the blue bubble.

No going back now.

Standing at the stove, water boils over the side of the pot while you pour in the uncooked pasta noodles. A few drops hit your skin, mumbles of curses leaving your lips, “Fucking shit!”

You stir the pasta before reaching for the nearest kitchen towel to wipe the once-scalding water off of your hand. A deep sigh exhales, relaxing your shoulders as the ding of a notification draws your attention to your phone lying on the marble countertop next to you.

What you find on your lock screen sends a shock of excitement down your spine, the warmth of anticipation radiating around your body to tingle your fingers and toes.

[Direct Message:] FlyingFish

Quick to swipe up, the device unlocks with a scan of your face and opens a new notification when you click on it with your thumb. Subconsciously, your opposite thumb has ended up between your teeth, biting down on the skin as you hold back an eager grin while you wait for his message to load.

You’ve never had this reaction to a message before, actually, it was usually the opposite. Rolling your eyes, ignoring the men until the last moment. Only responding to keep them enticed and subscribed — all of which keeps more money in your pocket. That’s really why you started this whole thing anyway.

FlyingFish:

Hey

A puff of air exhales through your nose, a chuckle cutting the otherwise silent kitchen. Shaking your head to yourself, you can’t help but smile at your screen. Heartbeat fluttering, you internally kick yourself for having such a reaction to such a simple message. Not even knowing who this person is, you find yourself typing back a response.

Hey there Fish

Guess I never actually asked if I could call you that

You turn back to your task at hand, continuing to cook your dinner and attempting to put out of your mind all of your assumptions about this person messaging you. You’d guess it’s a guy, an educated inference based on the demographics of your audience, but everything else is a complete mystery. The one time he insinuated he had a big dick stuck in your mind, and based on his behavior, you’d like to assume he isn’t lying. An image of a man sticks out to you each time you whimper his nickname, on camera and that handful of times off camera and alone: tall, solid, and strong. Brunette, only because that’s your type. Rough hands and commanding touches. Someone to bend your stubborn will into submission. He’s confident, at least through the chat, and he seems to know what he’s talking about. Each time you see his username pop up, you can feel yourself start to get wetter. Since you started this whole gig, there hasn’t been anyone quite like him. It’s always people asking for more for them — Show us your tits. Say my name. Turn around so we can see your ass.

But with him, it’s the opposite. He asks for more for you, which you guess is what he gets off to, not that you mind. Bet one more finger would feel even better for you, baby. Curl your fingers, cariño. You reaching that special spot? Gotta get deeper for me, baby. Rub slower, drag it out. Promise it’ll be even sweeter at the end.

Always polite but stern in his demands. Never too much, mostly not enough for your taste. He’s built up an appetite in you that you haven’t had before, a desire to please and to be good for him. All of it doesn’t feel like performing when he’s telling you what to do, it feels like he’s there, deep rasp in your ears as you picture thick fingers in place of yours and tight grips on your plush curves. Fingerprint-shaped bruises left behind and sore muscles in your thighs from holding yourself up as he asks you to come for him over and over and over.

A vibration against the hard surface of the countertop refocuses your gaze from a thousand yards away. Turning to grab your cell, you rub your thighs together in hopes of relenting the ache between them from your daydreams. Wet panties get caught in your folds, discomfort only momentary before you lean over the counter and open your legs, reading the mystery man’s response.

You can call me anything you want bonita

But I will tell you that Fish is pretty close to my name

Fish is close to your name?

What is it? Bass? Salmon? Trout?

Funny

Fish is short for Catfish which was my call sign with my Special Ops team

Ahhh a military man. You know I like a man in uniform

Oh really? :)

Don’t wear it anymore but does it still count if I was once a man in uniform?

Hmm

:( please?

I wanna be liked by you

Showing your cards there Fishie

Not trying to play it cool?

Once you get to know me baby you’ll come to find out that me and cool don’t really go together.

I doubt that’s true

So Catfish is your call sign? Who came up with that?

My buddies on my team

Said I couldn’t grow a beard for shit and that it looked like I had whiskers

So Catfish

Well I don’t wanna call you Fish if it’s mean like that :(

What’s your real name? If you wanna tell me

Are you gonna sell my identity and let someone tank my credit score?

Never

It wouldn’t benefit me much if your card gets declined every month

I appreciate the honesty baby haha

My name’s Frankie

I like your name Frankie :)

It’s nearly an hour of messaging back and forth, flirting intermingled with genuine curiosity about the other’s life, history and background. Frankie learns that you were struggling to find a job straight out of university and needed to make rent, so you figured it couldn’t hurt to try out selling content. You detailed briefly the time that you grew your following, telling him about your Instagram too, which he follows in that instant. The notification makes you laugh and you follow him back despite the profile being completely empty of any information besides his name. Not even a profile picture. He learns that you don’t speak much to your parents anymore, that your siblings live across the country so you don’t get to see them much.

He tells you about his family — no siblings, parents that live in another part of the state and refuse to visit him in the city — and his chosen family, the Special Ops guys. Laughter hiccups from your chest when he recalls a few of the better stories from them, telling you about each other them as if he was preparing you to actually meet them. He has that thought, briefly, about all of you out for drinks. How they would probably like you as much as he does; your charm and sincerity would hook them all just as it has for him. Frankie tells you all about his current hobby, fixing up an old, cherry red 1978 Jeep Cherokee. How the only other time he spends online is searching for car parts, watching Youtube as he works on the vehicle in his garage.

You make a cheeky comment that he must be good with his hands before sending another message immediately:

Would you wanna actually talk? Like on Facetime maybe

Frankie stares at the message, blinking slowly as if it will disappear. You’re asking to talk to him? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? I mean, if he knew that was an option he would have asked himself…

He wouldn’t and he knows he wouldn’t based on the way his stomach has dropped to his feet, his hands have gone clammy and his throat tightened. Swallowing hard, he whispers a small pep talk to himself to work up the nerve to say yes. He wants to see you, he always wants to see more of you, but the fact that you’d see him as well…he can’t cope.

Heat trickles across the back of his neck and up his cheeks, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as his brain completely wipes any thought to respond. Dropping his phone into his lap, both of his hands reach up, one grabbing the brim of his cap and lifting it from his head while the other runs through his hair to push it back away from his face. In the corner of his eye, he catches his left knee bouncing. Lips press together in a thin line, rolling the flesh between his teeth before he picks up his phone again and sends a message back to you with just his phone number.

Not even a minute later, his screen lights up with a list of digits strung together in an unfamiliar order. As if it were possible, he felt his stomach drop lower than his feet, deep into the ground below and burrowing away along with his confidence.

Shit, this was a stupid idea. He’s going to make a fool of himself and you’ll lose interest and he’ll have to think about you every day for the rest of his life and wonder what you’re doing, how you’re doing, even what your name is—

Fuck, he’s gonna miss the call.

Frankie decides that it is much more embarrassing to miss the call he just sent his phone number for than to potentially come off as uncool, so his finger swipes to the right to answer. Quickly, he turns off his camera before you notice, opting for the level of anonymity to remain.

“Hi, Frankie…” Your candied voice drips with sweetness around his name. He’s been imagining you saying it, trying to get it right in his mind over the past few weeks, but hearing it now he relishes in the fact that none of them were right. None of them sounded like spun sugar, like it did just now.

You fill the frame from your shoulders up, the same bright smile on your face that he’s seen at the end of each live, after he’s had his fun with you, but looking completely different out of that context. It’s a bit shy, demure in the way you're resting in your bed against your pillows, t-shirt on and fresh-faced. You look beautiful. And it makes him feel a bit silly that you can’t see his reaction.

“Hey, bonita. M’sorry I don’t have my camera on, jus’ nervous. Didn’t want you to hang up right away gettin’ a look at this mug,” he says with self-deprecating laughter at the end, watching as your brows knit together with a pout on your lips.

“You don’t have to apologize, Frankie. M’happy to do whatever you’re comfortable with. Besides, if your voice gives me any indication of your looks, you’d probably be making me way more nervous.” Teeth bite into your bottom lip as you hold in a grin, a hand coming into view to nudge at your nose. He’s seen you do it a few times on live, whenever you’re waiting in anticipation. For him, he’d like to think.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” he teases, the smirk playing at his face evident in his flirty tone.

“You jus’ sound…nice.”

“Nice? That’s all? Why would that make you nervous, baby?”

A sigh slips from your lips, rolling your head back as he hears the smallest whine from you. His cock jumps in his sweats, already half hard from the flirty back and forth in your messages.

“God, you’re going to be a problem with all those pet names,” you say exasperated. Frankie laughs at his screen, feeling like an idiot sitting here alone and smiling like a fool. You’re cute when you’re mad.

“You can tell me your name and I can use that instead?” he propositions, licking his lips as he awaits the piece of information he’s been chomping at the bit to have.

“No! I mean, I’ll tell you my name, but…I like the nicknames. Keep them. Please.” Your words scramble out and it makes him grin wider, witnessing you as nervous as he’s feeling. When you give him your name, he repeats it a few times, rolling it around in his mouth, tasting the syllables on his tongue. Delicate, floral, sweet but a slight tang. Smooth as it rolls across his vocal cords, soothing the rising heat he’s feeling with a refreshing chill. Like peaches and cream.

The two of you chat back and forth for a while, pride swelling in his chest when you laugh at his stupid jokes or give him a compliment, despite being none-the-wiser to his looks. He’s quick to make you blush with his comments, telling you how beautiful he thinks you are. And Frankie’s thanking himself for keeping his camera off, because at times during the call, his eyes drift to your chest, blatantly staring at your perked up nipples through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. It grows his hard on, the softness of your breasts bouncing around as you restlessly squirm during the call enticing him to picture getting his mouth on them. He’d guess you’d taste the same as your name.

The next time you move, he watches your chest again before a sight in the background catches his eye, drawing a chuckle from his mouth. A stuffed bunny lays next to you in your bed, messy with age and love. A soft pink color with a red ribbon tied around its neck, he finds the need to ask about it prodding in his mind.

“Is that who films everything for you?” he jokes, watching your face twist with confusion before looking to your side and bursting out in a laugh. Returning your eyes to the camera, you shake your head timidly.

“No, unfortunately he’s pretty limited to cuddling.”

“He? Didn’t know you had a man in your life, baby. Feels like we shouldn’t be talking like this in front of him.” The sound of your laughter quickens his pulse, the melody trilling in his ears with comfort.

“Well, I guess if you could offer me more than cuddling, he could be demoted.”

“I think I can offer more, Conejita.” Frankie watches as something akin to excitement, but burning brighter, flashes in your eyes. You sit up more, one eyebrow raising in challenge.

“What could you offer me, Frankie?” It’s a loaded question. He could be polite, steer the conversation away from where he so desperately wants it to go, to be a gentleman. It would be easy to make a joke, to get you both to move on.

But he always wants to see where this could go. You’re the one who wanted to talk on the phone in the first place. And he would never suggest anything to make you uncomfortable, and he thinks that you know that. It’s like what the two of you do in your lives — a conversation, a back and forth that may end up benefitting both of you.

“Depends on what you’re lookin’ for, Conejita. I’m a man of many talents.” The words are slick on his tongue, silvery with enticement.

“Hm…” you ponder out loud, tapping your index finger against your bottom lip before turning back to the camera, “Can you cook?”

“Decently. Can’t claim I’m a chef, but I feed myself. And m’pretty good at a grill and makin’ some of my mamá’s recipes. Insisted on teaching them to me so they didn’t end with her.”

Grinning warmly, he feels his heartbeat kick up against his chest, thumping hard at the sight of you giving him that look. “That’s so sweet that she taught you. You can teach me, then someone else in the world will know her recipes too.”

Christ, you’re so fucking adorable. He doesn’t know what he wants more in the moment: to keep talking and simply listen to your voice, or to flirt his way into something more.

“She might be a better teacher than me, baby. Would probably be over the moon if you asked to learn since she had to force me a bit,” he laughs along with your quiet giggle, taking a deep breath when you bite down on your bottom lip.

“Are you a good teacher of other things?”

“I’d like to think so. Haven’t I taught you new things already, Conejita?”

There goes his heartbeat when you look away from the camera, smirk lifting your cheekbones as your demeanor goes shy, shrugging your shoulders as you lay back again, shifting to get comfortable.

“You have…And now I’ve learned how sexy your voice is, too. I’ll be picturing everything you type now to be said in your voice.”

Frankie breathes out a chuckle, a heat burning the nap of his neck, trickling down his back. He feels the effects of his blood rushing below his belt, ever-so-slightly lightheaded as he quietly palms his bulge in his sweatpants.

“My voice is sexy?”

“Um, duh. Are you kidding me? You sound all…rugged and raspy and deep. Like you could manhandle me easily,” you admit your thoughts easily, and he sighs quietly at the thought of having you in front of him to throw around his bed and mold you into the positions he dreams of getting you into.

“No tienes ni idea de lo que haría contigo (You've got no idea what I would do with you)...” he mumbles under his breath, hearing a soft whimper from you. One of your arms is slung across your front, pressing your breast into the other and he can take a guess as to what your hand is up to. “You want some help, baby? I bet you’re jus’ feeling so needy, aren’t you? Listening to my voice got you that worked up?”

“Mhmm…I need it, Frankie…” Your voice has the edge of a whine and he exhales slowly as he hears you beg for him. Not his call sign or a username. His name. Him. There’s no one else who’s making you feel this way, no one else striving for attention.

He pushes his pants down, pulling his hard cock out to start slowly stroking. You’ve left him aching, dripping precum that his fingers smear around his length to lubricate as he moves up and down in a teasing pace.

“Use your manners, Conejita. What d’you say?”

“Please. Please, Frankie. I wanna hear your voice, I want you to tell me what to do.” He hisses from behind his teeth as he squeezes his cock at the base, leaning his head back against his headboard before his focus zeroes in on you on his screen, asking for his guidance, his control to get you off. No one else privy to the sights he’s seeing.

“Good girl. Such a good girl for me, baby. Why don’t you take off your shirt for me? Let me see you, bonita.” Wetting his lips with his tongue when you move to prop your phone up on your mattress, an expert at framing yourself perfectly. The thin, worn fabric of your sleep shirt slips over your head, leaving you on full display for him — already pantyless. Whether you started the call with any on is a mystery to him, but now, he settles back to tell you exactly what he wants from you…what he knows will feel good for his conejita.

“Okay, bunny, lean back for me…That’s it, get comfortable. Good girl.” Looking into your camera to your side, a nervous smile plays at your lips, shyness overcoming you as you wait with bated breath for Frankie, who’s still a mystery to you, to instruct you. It’s driving him mad, how trusting you are of him without ever seeing his face. Such a sweet girl. His sweet girl.

“Show me how you like to play when no one’s watching.”

When his phone dings one evening a few weeks later, Frankie pulls himself out from under the hood of his project car. A familiar fizz bubbles over his body, a Pavlovian response that’s been built over the last few weeks he’s been talking to you. There have been text chains, full of flirty sincerity, and more phone calls, all with his camera off but not all ending like that first one. There have been times when the two of you have had long conversations, full of laughter and learning about the other. A few calls have ended with you falling asleep, stuffed bunny tucked under your chin and pillowy lips parted slightly with deep, even breaths.

Admittedly, he’s grown attached. Maybe a bit much for…whatever this relationship or friendship is, but he can’t help the teenage giddiness he’s felt with every text chime, ringtone, or dial that he’s found you on the other end of.

He’s got a crush.

So immediately at the peal of his cell, he’s reaching for the rag on his workbench, wiping his hands clean of grease before reading over your message.

Conejita:

Hiii 😚

Are you busy?

Grinning like a fool at the gray bubble, Frankie begins to type out a response before abandoning the message and clicking the phone button at the top of your name instead. Pressing the speaker to his ear, he runs a thumb across his bottom lip while he listens to the trill of the dial tone. Steps pace him across the garage, counting them in his head as he waits for an answer.

“Hey, stranger.” The line clicks on and your voice immediately draws a smile across Frankie’s face, hearing one of yours in your upbeat tone.

“Hey, Conejita. What’s up with you?” Even your presence over the phone calms his nerves, sparking kindling low in his gut that spreads down to his toes and up to the back of his neck. Frankie tucks his phone between his ear and shoulder as he wanders back over to the carhood, shutting it carefully. He retreats inside, washing his hands as he listens to you recount your day.

“...So then I got pissed off and left ‘cause she was being so unreasonable. And then I wanted to talk to you ‘cause, I dunno.” The intensity in your cadence slows down toward the tailend of your story of an argument with a friend of yours; Frankie chuckles, biting his tongue while you sigh deeply and he dries his hands off on a kitchen towel.

“You don’t know why you wanted to talk to me? Don’t get all shy on me now, cariño,” he teases you, receiving a frustrated huff on the other end. “Well, for what it’s worth, I agree with you. She sounds like she has a stick up her ass. And m’glad you wanted to call me, Conejita.”

“D’you wanna switch to Facetime?”

“‘Course, I do. Always wanna see your face, jus’ one sec…” Frankie climbs his stairs two at a time, reaching the landing as his screen lights up with the Facetime request from you. He answers it, camera off, while he changes out of dirty clothes and listens to you chatting about plans for the weekend. He mentions going out with the guys tomorrow night, and you make a jest that gets him laughing, both of you bantering back and forth before he settles back on his bed.

“Y’know, I am content to chat with you like this, Frankie. But I keep wondering what you look like…” In the small rectangle of his screen, you lean forward to fill more of it, cleavage exposed in your bralette. He’s been waiting for this to be brought up again, and feeling so much more comfortable with you, he can’t admit he hasn’t thought about it. But with that stronger connection comes the anxieties. What if he isn’t what you pictured? What if he isn’t your type? What if you don’t like him anymore?

Frankie thinks he’s decent looking enough — he hasn’t had much trouble pulling girls since he was a teenager, but not being the most commanding or charismatic in the room, he has had his bouts of struggle in the relationship department.

“Please, Frankie. S’not fair I get to hear your sexy voice and not know what you look like. Pretty please, I’ll give you something special if you do,” you bargain with a pout on your face, bottom lip protruding and puffy. He wants to kiss it away, bite down on the glossy flesh, work away your frowning moue with his own mouth. Wonderings of what you taste like.

Coming back into himself, he wears a proud, intrigued smirk that you’re blind to except for the way his words curl around his slick, silvery tongue, “Oh, is that right, bunny? What if I wanna know what the something special is to decide?”

“Not how it works, silly. Either you want something special or you don’t.” A stern shake of the head, sitting up straight as you raise an eyebrow at him.

He sits with it for a moment, thoughts warring on the inside. In the end, his realistic side barters that either way could end badly: he doesn’t turn the camera on and you get frustrated, ending it, or he does turn the camera on and you don’t like the look of him, ending it. A phantom whisper of your voice, bubbly and bright, reminds him that it could make everything even better, and that ultimately is what convinces him.

“Alright, alright. You make a convincing argument, Conejita.”

A beaming smile stretches across your face as you draw a leg up to your chest, resting your head on your kneecap while you hold back your excitement and anticipation. Frankie takes in the sight of you, astir on tenterhooks.

“Here goes nothing,” he mumbles to himself before his thumb is pressing the camera button, illuminating himself on your screen. He sees himself in the smaller rectangle in the corner, grimacing before he laughs softly and grins, awaiting your reaction with waves of solicitude raging inside.

You see him, your Frankie. Filling your phone screen. Finally.

A nearly inaudible gasp leaves your lips, blocked from the mic by your knee. Studying his face, you witness the lines next to his eyes deepening as he laughs, his shy smile growing on his face. Big brown eyes strike your chest, their sincere softness making you want to fall into their warmth and stay there forever. Like the comforting heat of a mug of coffee on a chilly morning. You note that your visualizations were correct, mostly. Brown hair, curling out from under the cap branded with Standard Oil that sits on his head. Wide set shoulders that extend out of frame, a build to him that screams he most definitely can manhandle you around in bed. His call sign makes a bit more sense to you, seeing patches in his short beard, admiring the one on his left cheek that is shaped like a heart. Simply endearing. The image of him in front of you sends a shock to your core, wet spot in your panties growing as you begin to imagine what the rest of him looks like.

Hot is all you can think. Frankie is fucking hot.

His voice cuts through your trails of admiration, joking around to break the silent tension, “So are you gonna ask me to keep my camera off now?”

As you swallow to recover some of your composure, shaking your head back and forth quickly before a genuinely eager smile paints your expression. Leaning closer to see more of his details, freckles across his neck and where his shirt exposes a sliver of his chest, the peak of his cupid’s bow shaded by his mustache, long eyelashes that reach toward his eyebrows. You drop your knee from in front of you, leaning an elbow on the surface of your desk and resting your shin in your palm.

“Frankie, respectfully, what the fuck? You’re so hot.”

A boisterous laugh rolls from his chest, the same shy smile returning with a blush across his cheeks, “Conejita, you’re the hot one between us.”

“No, no, I’m being serious. You’re like — Damn. Your smile. And you have pretty eyes, Frankie. And you’re just like…really fucking hot. I can’t even think of another word. You should be the one doing what I’m doing.”

“Oh, c’mon, you’re only seeing my face, baby.”

“Yeah, and? It’s a pretty face…Wanna sit on it.” Your giggle cuts through his speakers, and Frankie groans at the comment. Saliva coats your mouth as you watch the muscles in his neck tense, licking your chops like a prowling lion. If only he was in front of you right now…

“Diablita…eres una problema. (Little devil…you’re a problem.) Do I get my special something now?”

Another giggle and a mischievous smirk make Frankie’s brows stitch together in frustration, your shoulders shrugging as you toy with the strap of your bra, hooked under your index finger, “Actually, I think I wanna move the goalpost. Will you show me what I’m missin’, Frankie? I wanna see more.”

Desire burns bright and wild inside of you, ache building between your legs as your arousal drips from your panties and onto your thighs. You’d been picturing him — all of him — for weeks. Ever since that first message. But now, seeing him on your phone screen, your imagination is running wild with newfound information and attempting to fill in the blanks. He has to be big, thickness would be just right. He’s the quiet type, unassuming in his own looks, which means he has to have a virtually perfect dick. It's the rules of the universe. Undecided if he’s cut or not, but regardless, picturing your manicured fingers wrapped around it and tongue licking at his tip. Watching him come undone from you. Stomach tensing, those long fingers that you sneak a peek of when he adjusts his hat wrapped up in your hair. Rasping moans. What would he taste like?

Frankie shakes his head, a quick tsking drawing your attention back to the moment as he looks on with a teasing expression, “Conejita, I don’t think it works like that.”

“Okay, then no special something for you. Your choice, Francisco.”

He watches as you move the strap back up your shoulder, the soft snap of the elastic against your skin. Huffing out a frustrated breath, he mumbles, “No serías tan valiente si estuvieras aquí conmigo, mocosa. (You wouldn’t be so brave if you were here with me, brat.)”

Uncaring in whatever annoyances he was airing with you, you watch him sit up further in the frame, knocking off his cap and reaching for the hem of his shirt. Despite his words, he lifts his shirt over his head, looking back at the camera, bare shoulders and chest on display, “This is what you get for now, bunny.”

Satisfaction glows from your smile, biting hard into your bottom lip while Frankie watches your eyes search everywhere on your screen besides his own. A stern clearing of his throat breaks your trance, a commanding expression on Frankie’s face.

“You promised me something, Conejita.”

A deep pout replaces your grin, huffing in defiance as you slip your bra straps from your shoulders, “Can’t you please take the rest off? Show me what I wanna see, Frankie. Please.”

“Nah uh. Quit demanding, baby. Y’know that’s my job. Now tell me, what are you gonna do for me to get what you want?” His unwavering voice surprises you, despite hearing it for weeks. With the added heat factor of his looks, you crumble a bit quicker, clenching your thighs as you sigh and nod obediently.

“I’ll do anything, Frankie. Jus’ tell me what to do, I wanna make you happy.”

He grins on the screen, sincere softness peeking out, “Oh, baby, y’know it’s easy to make me happy. Jus’ gotta be a good little bunny, yeah?” He hums, licking his lips as he ponders what he wants from you tonight, a night he wants to fill with another milestone for the two of you. He’s only seen you use a small vibrator or your fingers on the phone with you, but he knows what else you have. He’s watched the video of you using it on your profile only about ten times.

“Get your pretty pink toy for me, Conejita. Y’know the one. And then get on the floor and you’re going to show me exactly how you use it.”

There’s rustling as you follow his instructions, stripping bare and suctioning the toy to your hardwood floors, propping the phone up for him to see it all. The hot pink dildo bobbles from you moving around it, glistening with lube that you applied — even though with one glance at your cunt, both you and Frankie know you wouldn’t need it. Straddling over the silicone, you slowly tease your entrance with it, whining before you make one more attempt to Frankie watching you with a smugness in his smirk.

“Please, Frankie, can’t you please show me your cock? I wanna picture it while I fuck myself. Wanna know if it’s how I imagined…Dream about it a lot.” He can read right through your tactics, but his dick can’t. It strains against his zippered jeans, throbbing under the fabric for some sort of relief. He squeezes his palm over it once, exhaling as he shakes his head, strong in his convictions.

“Be a good girl, and I’ll show you what you wanna see.” No more room for negotiations.

“Yes’sir.”

Frankie’s mouth hangs ajar while his focus trains on the apex of your thighs. Watching you slowly sink down, the bright pink rubbery toy disappears inside of you. Whimpers slip from your lips as you brace your hands on your thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin. Need burns brightly in his chest and below his belt, clenching his jaw while he imagines biting the meaty part of you, leaving teeth marks in his wake before settling his mouth at your entrance.

Your hips set a quick pace, desperate for the high you’ve been dripping for since getting on the phone with Frankie. A low growl followed with a disapproving tut clicks over the speakers of your phone.

“Slow down, baby girl. Not a race…” Frankie corrects, and the only response you have is a frantic nod, turning your movements to a drag. The toy fills you up, stretches you the most that you have ever been. Pain heats your feelings of pleasure, intensifying it all in the lightness of your limbs and head. The ridges of the faux veins of the fake cock impress into your walls, the tip of it notching at the spot inside of you that Frankie taught you to reach. It only skates by it, whines accompanying your frustrations.

Frankie, on the other end, listens to the squelch of your pussy around the silicone. The sound drives him to fully cup his erection through his pants, palming himself with heady breaths as your own moans for him drive the iron hot brand of need deeper into his skin. He can see your need for a change, your need to be given permission to chase that feeling that’s within reach.

“Lean back, little bunny. Sit back on your hands and use your hips…Show me more of that pretty pussy,” he instructs, cool and confident while his hips buck up into his hand. Being his perfect girl, you do as he says and change positions, gasping when you sink down onto the toy. Your cunt clenches around it, a satisfied smirk painting Frankie’s face. He knows he’s gotten you to hit that special spot. With the grip your entrance has around the base of the dildo, he wonders if you’ll pop it off of the floor on your next thrust.

“Oh, fuck…Frankie, wish you were here. Tell me—tell me what you’d do to me if you were here,” you beg, your hips still dragging at the new angle.

A groan escapes Frankie at your request, biting down hard on his lip and taking his hand away from his lap to deny himself the temptation.

“You love hearing me say all the dirty things to you, huh Conejita?” Without waiting for an answer, he continues, “If I were there with you, I’d would be—shit—I’d be devouring you right now. Fucking you with my tongue and my fingers, making you squeeze me and getting your come all over my face. Gotta get you ready for me, bunny. After, I’d flip you over. Get your pretty ass up for me, and I’d fuck you senseless. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Turn it all off up there and just let me take care of you…”

Nodding, your hips start to move faster as Frankie speaks to you. He doesn’t have the heart to tease you anymore, letting you start to take what you want for a bit. Your moans pitch up, tits bouncing with your nipples pebbled and the rest of your soft curves twisting as you rock back and forth on the toy.

“Yes, please. I want that,” you mewl, heavy breaths erratic.

“That’s right. My baby deserves it all,” he says with a sigh, his large palm squeezing his hard cock again, slowly unzipping his jeans and slipping his hand into his boxers to grip himself at the base. “I’d fuck you until that pretty little brain of yours was filled up only with thoughts of how good I make you feel. How good you are for me, pretty girl…Look at you go, bouncing on that toy. Rub your clit, Conejita. Slow, at least for right now.”

You follow his orders, supporting yourself on one arm. Slow circles against your clit have you shuddering with pleasure, a twitch of your tummy as you moan. Your eyes flutter shut, face twisting with overwhelming need. Frankie drinks in the sight, indulging himself in a few long strokes of his cock before he hears it.

“Daddy…” you breathe, near a whisper, but it’s audible to him. Lost in yourself, you don’t even notice you’ve let it slip until it comes again, “Oh my god, Daddy.”

The surprise of it shocks your eyes open, stuttering your hips as you narrow in on your screen. Frankie’s eyes grow dark, licking his lips as he holds in a loud moan. His fingers grip the base of his aching cock, holding off at the edge. So close to coming when he heard that word drip from your mouth like melted sugar.

He can tell you’re attempting to gauge his reaction, nervous settling in as you attempt to move on from it and continue fucking yourself closer to finishing. Frankie’s eager to take it in stride, clearing his throat before he gives it right back to you, opening that door that he knows won’t be shut any time soon. At least not by him.

“Yeah, that’s right, baby. Let Daddy tell you what you need, yeah?” He chuckles darkly, satisfaction thumping in his veins while you nod and whimper yes yes yes back to him, “Y’know, if you like that lil’ toy, baby, Daddy’s cock will feel even better. S’bigger than that fucking thing.”

“Oh, fuck, I need to—I need you, Daddy, please!”

“I know, Conejita, I know. Poor little thing jus’ needs Daddy to be filling her up, huh? You wanna know what my cock feels like inside of you, don’t you, pequeña?” He hisses with a buck of his hips into his fist, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief second.

“Yes, yes, please, Daddy! Please,” you choke on a breath and Frankie can see you twitch at your inner thighs from the full-on view of your pussy, your tell-tale sign that you’re about to come.

“Y’know the rules, Conejita. Better ask before you come.”

“Please, please may I come?” you moan, rubbing faster circles against your clit and grinding down on your toy.

“Oh, bunny, you can ask nicer than that. May I come…?” he leads, smirking devilishly when you nearly squeal from the way he’s holding you out on the edge. Teetering on the verge of that high that he knows well, he can see your legs faltering with a cramp.

“Please may I come, Daddy?” Your eyes open, heavy-lidded and lips parted with shallow breathing. Frankie gets lost in the sight, wrecked from his direction, his words, a sheen of sweat over your skin and the arousal coating your thighs. A fucking dream.

“Mm, come for Daddy, baby girl—” he’s interrupt as you erupt in a high-pitched moan, mouth wide open as you string together mumblings Oh fuck, Daddy, feels so good. Need you so bad…

“Good girl.”

Frankie hums contently, chuckling as a dopey grin finds your face, blinking through the orgasmic haze. Laying back, you slip the toy out of your pussy, leaving it to wobble in place and spreading your legs around it. One arm comes to rest against your forehead, breasts rising and falling with deep, recovering breaths. He’s blocked of the view that would make this moment even sweeter, licking his lips before he speaks up.

“Lemme see that fucked cunt of yours, bunny. Let Daddy see what belongs to him.” You sit up again, popping the toy off of the floor and laying it to the side to be cleaned later. Frankie hums as you part your legs more, the glittering of your come dripping on your thighs and across your swollen pussy. “Eres un buen oyente, pequeña. (You’re a good listener, little one.)”

“What’s that mean?” you ask, a long exhale punctuating the question.

“You’re a good listener, little one.” Frankie grins when you grow shy, inching your legs together before he tsks again, one hand coming into frame to motion for your lower limbs to part again.

“Y’know, it would look even prettier with my come dripping out of ya, baby.”

“Please.”

“What, Conejita?”

“Don’t tease me anymore…Can’t take it, Daddy.” You lips push out in a pout, subtle but he can catch the change in expression.

“Nah uh, no pouting, bunny. Who said that I was teasing? I’m going to make it happen.”

Sweetness slips from your lips in a giggle, leaning over to pick up your phone and hold him closer to your face.

“So, if I was a good girl, doesn’t that mean I get to see what I asked for before?” Wiggling in eagerness, Frankie feigns ignorance, scratching at his beard as he shrugs, acting as if he didn’t nearly come in his pants multiple times in the last few minutes.

“I dunno, Conejita. What did you ask me for? Gonna have to remind me.”

“Your cock. I wanna see it.” Your pout sneaks back, biting your lip. “May I please see your cock, Daddy?”

“I think I could do that for you, baby. Asking so nicely. Such a good girl for Daddy, yeah?”

“Always.” A giggle bubbles up from your tummy, biting down on your lip as Frankie takes you in, shaking his head in subtle disbelief. How the hell did clicking for one subscription get him here, having Facetime sex with you?

He obliges your original requests, moving to prop his phone up in front of him, stripping down his jeans first. The sight of his bulge waters your mouth, pupils widening in want at the outline of his cock. No tricks of the light, no chance of manipulation like some men in your DMs do. All natural.

And Frankie wasn’t lying. He’s big.

The reveal comes when he tugs his boxers down to his ankles, settling in front of the camera again. His heavy length rests against his lower stomach, precum dripping into his dark happy trail. Your eyes drag over the veins ribbing him, leading down to show off that he’s tastefully groomed. Swallowing saliva, you lick your lips as his large hand wraps around, slow strokes that gently shift the foreskin away from his tip. The end of his cock glistens with pebbles of precum, red and aching. Frankie hisses at the contact, the veins in his neck straining against his skin while he starts to fuck his fist.

“You look so pretty, Daddy,” you compliment sweetly, grinning at him as he laughs quietly back at you.

“Such a sweet little bunny. You think you can take me in your tight little cunt?” A long exhales concaves his chest, quiet moans as his hand picks up pace.

You return his regular favor of talking him through it, detailing how good of a girl you’d be for him, telling him all that he would be allowed to do to you. The sounds Frankie makes has you dripping again, getting his permission to fuck your fingers, both of you driving each other to a peak, your second one taking the breath from your lungs as Frankie comes at the same time. Whimpers escape your mouth as you envy his hand and stomach being covered in his release, biting your tongue and crowding the screen as he shows off how much you made him come.

“Wish I was there to clean you up, Daddy.”

“Right back at you, Conejita.”

A few days later, Frankie calls you after one of your livestreams, grinning like a schoolboy when you answer in only your underwear. You laugh as you set your phone down on the surface of your dressing, his childish smirk turning to a pout as he stares at your white painted ceiling. Calling out to him, you ask for one second while you tug a sweatshirt over your head, shuffling around before grabbing the device and relaxing back on your bed, bunny in your lap.

“Hi, baby,” Frankie coos, one side of his mouth lifting in a smile as he drinks in your cozy, drowsy demeanor. Cuddling with the toy against your chest, you grin back at him, curling up onto your side like a cat.

“Hi, Frankie,” you mumble back, exhaustion heavy in your eyes.

“You sleepy, little bunny?” A slow nod answers his question. “Alright, I won’t keep you up for long then. Just had a question for you.”

The vague proposition piques your interest, your eyes shooting open and the camera being brought closer to your face, “What’s your question?”

Frankie works his lips between his teeth, nerves crackling over his entire body. Realistically, he knows you’ll say yes, but there’s still that chance for rejection in the moment. His left leg bounces against his couch, hand running over his face as he takes a deep breath in, “I was wondering if you’d wanna come visit me here in Florida? If you don’t have time—”

“I would love to come visit, Frankie,” you agree immediately, a sincere smile growing on your face. Frankie mirrors your excitement with a goofy grin, the creases next to his eyes deepening and his dimple cratoring his cheek. “I’ll even book my flight right now, that’s how eager I am.”

Shaking his head furiously, he clicks his tongue in a tut, scolding you playfully, “Hey, hey. No, none of that. I’m not letting my baby pay, I’m the one who asked you to come.”

“But—”

“Nope, no buts. Except yours getting onto a plane and coming to see me,” Frankie laughs at his own joke, earning a playful eye roll as you hold back your own chuckle. “Oh, c’mon, that was funny, Conejita. I can tell you want to laugh.”

The two of you go back and forth while he books your flight on his laptop, showing off the confirmation number once it’s all gone through. Both of you wear shit-eating grins on your faces, sitting in disbelief.

Frankie can’t help the rush of anxiety, unable to tell if it’s solely from his excitement. All he can think about is having you in front of him, in the flesh, in person. No screens between the two of you, no broken signals or shitty wifi interruptions. Hearing your voice without the strain of speakers, getting to touch you, taste you, hear you, feel you all over him. There’s the flash of a vision of you laid out underneath him, making your little sounds that drive him crazy and digging your nails into his back…

“Gonna let Daddy spoil you while you’re down here, baby girl?” Frankie smirks as you stretch sleepily, biting down on your lip.

“You’re flying me out, isn’t that spoiling me enough? Shouldn’t it be my turn to spoil you then?”

“Think you know the answer to that, baby. Having you in front of me is spoiling me enough, I jus’ wanna take care of you.”

The simple statement brings a smile to your face, shyly tucking your face into your pillow. The rest of the call relaxes you back to near sleep, listening as Frankie tells you all about what he’ll take you to do. Your drowsiness catches up with you, drifting off on the phone. Frankie chuckles quietly to himself, sitting with you for a moment silently before he goes to hang up.

“Night, Conejita. Can’t wait to see you.”

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#frankie #writing #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfic #tw daddy kink #cw daddy kink

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mapofthemazeinthemirror · 1 year ago

Text

Txt when their partner goes into labour

Warnings: not descriptive or graphic but labour (as in pushing out a baby), fem!reader

note: I promise this will be the last time you see me write about kids! blame Soobin and Beomgyu-

Soobin hears you cry out from another room, rushes to check on you, eyes darting cluelessly from your face to your belly and back again, until you tell him your water's just broken. You swear the man goes pale, stammering, but it's not time! Doctor's advice, birthing classes, everything he's read about what to do, it all leaves his head. Can he drive right now? Soob? you pat his arm, let's go. Yeonjun drives the two of you to the hospital, Soobin in the back-seat with you, squeezing his arm, his eyes growing wider and wincing every time you have a contraction and whimper with pain. He hates that there’s nothing he can do to take the pain away for you. When you are fully in labour, it's as if his instincts kick in, doing the breathing exercises with you, telling you you're so strong, he loves you so much, you can do it. You've never seen him shake his head so hard and fast as when the doctor asks him if he wants to see the baby's head coming. When the little bundle is in his arms, he becomes sniffly, eyes wet with emotion, the rest of the world disappearing around him. Hey, you say tiredly, when do I get to hold her? Soobin turns his body away instinctively, moving your daughter in the opposite direction of you. You got to hold her for nine months, it's my turn.

Yeonjun is pretty fine, following the plan that he's gone over in his head a hundred times in preparation for this moment. It's when he sees you waddling around your hospital room in pain that he starts to get jittery, and he wants to hold you, soothe you, but he knows that right now he has to let you do your thing. When you finally sit down on the bed between contractions, he climbs up to sit behind you, pulling you back against his chest and rocking you slowly from side to side. It's when you have to start pushing that he starts to get teary, seeing you go through so much pain and hearing you cry out in agony is too much for him, and he can't hold it back. Probably tells you he's so sorry for doing this to you, that he doesn't care if he can't use the hand you have a vice grip on for a month, he doesn't need it. As soon as he sees his child, Yeonjun is a mess. And I don’t just mean tears, I mean audible sobs, as he gazes down at this little piece of the both of you. He’s so choked up he can’t speak as he places the baby in your arms, pressing his head against yours as you both peer at the new member of your family.

Beomgyu is pretty anxious and a little protective. His arm is around the back of your chair as you wait to be checked in, his leg bouncing a million miles an hour. He's filling out paperwork at the front. desk when the nurse comes to take you to your room and get changed, where is she going? The nurse laughs; she's used to first-time dads. Beomgyu is very attentive, asking regularly if you need anything - water, food, a back rub - and after the first five hours, when you suggest he take a nap, he refuses. He's here for you. Can't you give her something for the pain? he asks the doctor over your wails of pain when you begin giving birth, and when the doctor assures him that they already gave you something, Can't you give her more? When you are prompted to push harder, he tells you to get angry, and when that doesn’t help, he starts listing all the stupid things he’s done that have annoyed you. This doesn’t really help either, but soon enough your baby is in the world. He’s real? Beomgyu asks the nurses as they towel off the crying baby, not yet ready to let go of your hand. A nurse hands him the bundle, and he looks so amazed. Hi, he says softly before looking at you with starry eyes, You made this. You laugh as he puts one arm around you and you both admire your son, You helped.

Taehyun is the most collected of the bunch. He knows how nervous you are, so he’s glad he can keep his cool for you. On the drive to the hospital, he can tell you need a distraction, so he tells you all the things you all the things you have to look forward to; no more cramps, no more morning sickness, being able to see your feet, not being a human incubator anymore. He stands by your side through the whole thing, feeding you ice cubes, guiding you through your breathing exercises the way he was taught, and when it's delivery time, being a strong arm for you to go to town on, wiping your damp face with a cold cloth, showering you with encouragement. As soon as he hears that baby cry, he absolutely beams, couldn't stop smiling if he tried, telling you he's so proud of you and kissing your tired face as you finally lay back and rest, exhausted. After helping to cut the cord, he's handed the baby, and he brings it straight to you, laying the tiny thing on your chest. His eyes are so full of love and shiny with emotion as he strokes your hair, both of you in wonder of his tiny life you've created.

You're out shopping when your water breaks, and Kai looks at you in distress. The- the hospital bag, it's at home! he frets as the two of you head for the parking lot. Kai, we put it in the car when it got closer to my due date, remember? you remind him, watching him blink adorably in realisation, though this reassurance doesn't do anything for the deer-in-headlights look in his eyes. At the hospital, he's unusually quiet; his whole world is about to change, and he wonders how nine months came and went so fast. He returns your reassuring smiles, takes a minute to answer questions, but when you need him most, he snaps out of it, large hands soothing your back as you rock yourself against the pain, tying your hair up for you, humming songs and breathing with you through the contractions. You won't have this belly anymore, he pouts as he rubs over the baby bump for the last time. When the baby is placed in his arms for the first time, he is speechless, looking from your tired eyes to the tiny pink human engulfed in his arms, overwhelmed with love.

#txt imagines #txt scenarios #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu x reader #huening kai imagines #soobin x reader #yeonjun imagines #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun scenarios #txt fluff #taehyun x reader #txt soft thoughts #txt soft hours #huening kai x reader #taehyun imagines #soobin imagines #txt x reader #dad!txt

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softxsuki · 1 year ago

Note

I am SO nervous to ask, but I have an urgent request for Obey Me. Can I ask for Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, and Beelzebub comforting a burnt-out reader? The reader's mental health has been decreasing for a while, and lately they think nigh everyone sees them as incompetent. They've had to do a LOT of things in a short span of time and they have to do even more tasks that require mINimAL eFFoRT to do in the next week while acting as the unpaid therapist for their friends.

Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, and Beelzebub (Separate) Comfort Burnt-Out Reader

Pairings: Diavolo x Gn!MC, Barbatos x Gn!MC, Simeon x Gn!MC, Beelzebub x Gn!MC

Warnings: mentions of low mental health, feeling burnt out

Genre: Comfort

Post-Type: Headcanons

Word Count: 730

Summary: In which they comfort you after seeing how burnt-out you are

[A/N: Hiiii, I'm sorry this is so late, I got sick and have just been very busy with work and getting ready for the holidays, but hopefully this is still useful you you :)]

Diavolo:

Diavolo is also a very busy man, as the next in line to be king of the Devildom and being the president of the student council, he knows what it feels like to have a lot going on

He sneaks away from Barbatos and his pile of paperwork to go look for you

When he does find you, he drags you away on a little rendezvous to help you get away from your own mountain of responsibilities even if its only for a few minutes

Usually you both go into town together and have a meal or just browse around in the different stores

On days where Barbatos is keeping a closer eye on him and he can’t sneak off, he encourages you to get any work you have to get done, in his office

Just so he can keep a close eye on you and make sure you take breaks frequently, to lessen the stress and try and keep you from feeling burnt out

Barbatos:

Barbatos is one of the most responsible men out there, but he too is busy with his own duties, as well as watching over Diavolo to keep him on track

Yet despite being busy, he always makes time for you–after all you’re part of his duties, taking care of you comes naturally, yet it’s a task he’d never leave undone

If there’s anything he can do for you to help lighten your workload, he’d do it

Most of his visits include tea time and sometimes he even brings some sweet treats that he baked specifically for you

Back massages are a must as well as maybe a short walk to keep the blood flowing and allow you some fresh air

He’s always there to listen to your concerns or worries, he’s YOUR person that hears you out and offers advice since he knows you never put yourself first in any other part of your life

With Barbatos, you’ll always be first

Simeon:

Simeon notices how tired you look day by day, but when he finally decides to step in, he takes you away from everything so you can clear your mind and just stop worrying about everything for a moment

You both venture to the human world for some well needed sunlight; since the Devildom is dark 24/7 perhaps you needed some Vitamin D to lift you up again

While in the human world, he takes you to all your favorite places in hopes that it will make you happy again

Words of affirmation are a huge deal for Simeon, so he’s always telling you how amazing and brilliant you are in all aspects of your life

He’s a great listener and as a celestial being, he’d probably give you the best advice in return for any of the struggles you express to him

Picnics are his favorite thing to do with you, especially in the human world; he’d prepare all the food and desserts with Luke’s help and pamper you to a relaxing day by the water

Simeon is always concerned for your well being, so he frequently checks in on you and brings you small things throughout the week to try and lighten your mood

Beelzebub:

Of course as soon as Beel notices your change in demeanor he assumes it’s because you aren’t eating well, or not eating enough

So his instinct is to attempt to cook for you to get those well needed nutrients back into your body

This of course fails and he ends up eating half the plate before it even reaches you (that’s still impressive) so he decides to just take you out to eat instead and pays for everything

Aside from feeding you, Beel gets a little clingy

He’d hold you close and steals you away to his and Belphie’s room, shooing everyone away except his twin of course, but he hogs you all to himself for a few hours, only leaving for food and bathroom breaks

You’re forced to relax with him and he reassures you that he’ll take care of any other responsibilities you have for the day

Probably starts talking about random things to make you laugh or distract your mind from anything unwanted that may still be lingering

He’s just a big cuddly teddy bear who wants to make sure you’re well taken care of, both physically and mentally

REQUESTS ARE OPEN :D

Posted: 12/11/2023

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yandere-paramour · 6 months ago

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First Time with Vivien - Part 1

When you first tell Vivien that you think you're ready to be intimate with him, he's already unbuckling his pants. He thinks you mean RIGHT NOW and he's a little disappointed when you tell him that you meant like, this weekend.

A little embarrassed, he pulls his pants back up and he's like "Oh."

But late that night, after you've left for your own apartment and he's emptied himself twice thinking about you, he gets to thinking. It's actually a good thing that you both didn't rush into anything today.

It's Tuesday night, and you're coming over Friday. He has three full days to prepare. He only has three days to prepare.

In between work, sleep, and stalking you, Vivien searches through every Reddit post, every internet forum, every advice column he can to try and get a wide range of information. Most of it is useless and he disregards it, but some of it is very useful.

The first thing he does is head straight to the store to buy new, soft sheets. His usual sheets are covered in... stains, and it would be embarrassing for you, his angel, to see that.

He didn't know this, but Patchouli can be used as an aphrodisiac. He makes a special blend of essential oils just for this occasion. If he sets up the diffuser right, he'll be able to help you relax and ease into everything.

Thursday night and Friday morning, he's too excited to sleep, so he gets to work making a platter of snacks for the both of you to share. He wants you both to be full, but not so full that it makes you both sleepy and knocks you out of the mood, so he guesses an aphrodisiac girl-dinner would work best.

He pairs slices of fresh baguette with some honey cinnamon butter, bakes heart-shaped brownies sprinkled with powdered sugar, and chills strawberry and banana slices with a white chocolate drizzle. He takes a little bit of money from his savings and splurges on a nice bottle of red wine for the both of you. For the finishing touch, he bakes brie with herbs and honey, setting it right in the middle of the charcuterie board.

With another thought, he adds some pineapple on there as well.

He looks around. The room is softly lit and quiet, smelling pleasantly of patchouli and lavender. The food is ready and waiting. The only thing left to prepare is himself.

He scrubs himself in the shower, wanting to make sure he is extra clean for you. He also takes the initiative to brush his hair and try and make sure the unruly strands stay flat.

When he answers the door, he is struck by how lovely you look. You both eat while you watch a romantic movie, and Vivien is fear-sweating. He looks at you whenever there is a sex scene, but looks away when you look at him. But throughout this, he pulls you closer and closer to him, his hand inching up your skirt.

When he kisses you, he can taste the sweets he made, and another perfect flavor that is uniquely you. Despite his extroverted personality, he feels meek and nervous today. He asks if you are ready, and when you say yes, he leads you gently to the bedroom.

Once you both are in and the door is locked, Vivien's anxiety disappears and he becomes someone different. He finally has you, willing and wet and ready in his bedroom. He will not waste this opportunity. He is on you in seconds, kissing, sucking, biting, desperate to leave marks on you, to prove to the universe that he is alive and you are his.

Your clothes litter the floor, all the care he put into this evening thrown to the wind as he lays you gently on the soft blue sheets. He caresses his way down your body, whispering about how you're so beautiful and so good to him and that he's waited for this moment for so long and he finally has you right where you belong, spread wide for him to ravish you.

He takes you into his mouth, licking and sucking like a man starved. For a man so well-versed in herbs and flowers, understanding the intricate ways smells and flavors fit together, there is nothing he can compare to the taste that is you. His tongue is moderately long, but it is strong and skilled, teasing moans out of you until you are gripping the sheets in two tight fists. He hums as he devours you, the vibrations giving another level of stimulation to the coitus.

This part is about your pleasure, but that does not mean he neglects himself. He is kneeling on the floor, tongue and left hand focused on you, but his right hand is busy, wrapped around his cock. He desperately ruts into his hand, pumping himself. Watching you like this; it is better than any fantasy, any daydream, any wet dream his imagination can come up with, and he is close to spilling over right now, just from the divine pleasure of tasting you. But he is desperately trying to hold himself back for the main event.

His tasting and sucking are no match for you, and you explode into fireworks, the triumphant feeling rolling your eyes back into their sockets and curling your toes at the same time. Vivien doesn't overstimulate you, not this first time. He pulls back, your juices smeared around his face as he gives the biggest smile you've ever seen on him. He thanks you over and over again for the opportunity to take care of you, telling you how gorgeous, how ethereal, how reverent he feels about you.

Moving up beside you, he pulls you onto his chest. His cock twitches, desperately seeking the rampant stimulation it lost, but he tucks it between his legs. He needs to care for you before anything. He holds a bottle of water to your lips, asking if you are okay and did you enjoy it and do you need anything from him.

You assure him you are happy. Very, very happy in fact, and you want to move onto the real thing: the penetration. Vivien blushes immediately, wanting to mount you right then and there, but he asks again if you're sure. No matter how good it will feel or how pleasured he will be, he will not do this unless you are sure.

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scarletttries · 1 year ago

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Gun Woo Fluff Alphabet (Bloodhounds)

Pairing: Kim Gun-Woo (Bloodhounds) x Reader

Rating: Pure Fluff

Word Count: 4.2k

Author's Note: Back at it with my insane crush on Gun Woo! Thank you to all the anon's sending in Gun Woo headcanon requests, I promise they are all going on my list! And my requests are open for either of the alphabet types for other characters too, I'm having a lot of fun writing them! 🥰

a -affection (how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?)

As the first romantic interest in Gun Woo's life, it would take him quite a while to get used to being able to be affectionate with you. Every time he reached out to hold your hand he would blush profusely, almost apologetic in his gentle touch. Eventually as he gets more used to being your boyfriend his confidence would grow, and he'd learn how to show affection in his own ways. This would include saving you the seat next to him everywhere he goes, standing or sitting as close to you as possible in every situation, and more often than not, leaning down to place a soft kiss on your cheek any time the urge to touch you gets too overwhelming.

b - beauty (what do they admire about their s/o? what do you think is beautiful about them?)

Gun Woo is not a shallow man, although he does think you are the prettiest person he's ever met. No, this boy can only fall for someone's heart and that's exactly what he does with you. It wouldn't take much time of being your friend to realise how special you are, your kindness, your interests, and maybe most of all, just how safe he feels around you. He's spent so much of his life protecting and caring for others, but when you ask if he's okay or go out of your way to help take care of him, he'd realise he's never felt like that about anyone, and it's something he'd like to keep in his life forever.

It's hard to think of anything about Gun Woo that's not beautiful - he's a statuesque man with a heart of gold. So when he starts putting in an extra effort to spend time around you and find any way he can to help with whatever you're doing, it would be impossible not to fall in love with him.

c- cuddles (do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?)

Cuddling wouldn't come naturally to Gun Woo, only because he has little experience of physical affection and most of the time his body is used to fighting rather than loving. That doesn't mean he wouldn't want to cuddle you though, starting off with a more traditional arm over your shoulder after lots of hinting, and flushing completely red the first time you curled up against his broad chest. Eventually he'll get used to opening his arms and letting you collapse into them, but no matter how long you're together you'll still be able to hear his heart hammering in his chest as he feels like the luckiest person in the world to be that close to you.

d - dates (what are dates with them like? do they plan them out or are they spontaneous?)

This boy definitely had to ask both his mum and Woo Jin about where to go on dates and how to be a boyfriend, luckily they would have given him some pretty good advice about making lots of plans with you, but leaving room for spontaneous dates when you both feel like it. Gun Woo would definitely love going for food with you, enjoying showing off his skills and knowledge at a BBQ place and impressing you with cooking the meat perfectly. He doesn't drink but he does know a few cool bars thanks to his friends, and he'll happily be your designated driver if you do want to try a cocktail or two. And if you wanted to go out for a run or a workout together, that would be Gun Woo's absolute favourite, enjoying nothing more than feeling his best and enjoying the outdoors by your side.

e - ending (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It would definitely break Gun Woo's heart to have to hurt someone's feelings, but he would never want to lead someone on so would definitely call it off if he felt like he had to. He'd be very kind but honest with that person, explaining that it's not their fault and keeping it brief and simple, usually a man of few words.

f - fiancee (how do they feel about commitment? how quick would they want to get married?)

Gun Woo's little family means the world to him, so it's only natural that he would very quickly start thinking about forming a formal little family with you. He'd only want that if you did too though, so he'd definitely test the waters before getting too invested in thinking about proposing:

You'd be sitting on the couch on a normal Tuesday night when you realise that Gun Woo has sat up completely straight and turned to face you, looking pensive as you turn off whatever you're watching to give him space to talk. With an almost serious facial expression he would very thoughtfully ask,

"Do you want to get married?" You can feel your heart skip a beat as your boyfriend of only a few months waits for your answer, almost choking out your clarifying question.

"Gun Woo, are you proposing?" His eyes darted wide as he shook his head, only confusing you more, the poor boy now just as lost for words as you are.

"No! Sorry, I should have been more clear. I meant, do you ever want to get married? I know some people don't ever want to, so I just wanted to check. In case..." His voice trails off as he watches a confused look fill your eyes before you respond,

"Do you want to get married, Gun Woo?" A subtle smile traces across his face as he nods, gaze fixed to his feet.

"To you? Very much so." It's hard not to melt at the warmth in his features as he answers, clearly having pictured a future with you already.

"Then I do want to get married." You reply happily, and Gun Woo nods again, his smile growing wider as he coils his arms around you and pulls you to his chest.

"Then I will ask again properly. Another day." He clarifies, already excited to tell his mum the news.

g - gentle (how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Gun Woo is the definition of a gentle giant. He would never want to do anything that might hurt your feelings, knowing how lucky he is to have you in his life, and all the ways you make his every day better. He would never raise his voice, or get angry, even looking at you with only softness in his gaze. He'd also be incredibly careful with his touch, terrified that he doesn't know his own strength and that he could possibly do harm to the one person he would never want to scare or hurt. He loves the way you tenderly brush his face, or lightly graze his skin, so he'd make a very conscious effort to only touch you equally softly, knowing how nice it is to be on the receiving end of those affections.

h - hugs (do they like hugs? how often do they do if? what are their hugs like?)

I don't think he would necessarily be clingy the way Woo Jin would, even though he loves your hugs. It would be enough just to be around you most of the time, getting the warmth and love of your company. But when he's feeling down, or had a particularly tough day, or if he's had to be apart from you, or even if he's just feeling really grateful for something simple you've done for him, then he would immediately envelop you in his arms, fighting back the urge to squeeze as tightly as he can for fear of hurting you. It would be all consuming to be hugged by Gun Woo, his broad frame wrapped all around you, warmth and musky scent flooding your senses as he nuzzles against your neck, his eyes clenching shut as he focuses on how good it feels to hold you.

i - injury (how would they act if they got hurt?)

Gun Woo is so used to getting hurt that he would almost brush it off if he came home hurt. He's not used to being taken care of, so it would surprise him when you insist on gently wiping the blood from his knuckles, holding a cold cloth to his swollen hands before giving them a final 'kiss better' that has his stomach doing flips. After that, he'll get a little bit more used to telling you when he's hurt, enjoying being looked after by your sweet touches and quietly asking if you could kiss him better in case you forget.

If you're hurt then Gun Woo would try to be very practical, getting ready to take you to the emergency room even if it's only the most minor of injuries. You'll have to reassure him that nothings going to happen to you, and that'll you'll be okay, but he still insists on taking you to his mother's place so she can double check you'll be okay and probably make you some emergency soup just in case.

j - jealousy (how jealous do they get? what do they do when they're jealous?)

He's not an insecure man, or someone who gets angry easily, so I don't think Gun Woo would get jealous very easily. He trusts you to the depths of his heart, so seeing a man talk to you would never get him upset or have him making a scene. The only thing that might get him a little bit jealous is if someone starts taking up more of your time and attention, so you couldn't spend as much time with him, just because you are his favourite person to be around. He might show his jealousy by being a bit more needy when you are around him, clinging to you as you move around and telling you how much he missed you while you were gone.

k- kisses (what are their kisses like? where do they like to be kissed?)

You would be the first person that Gun Woo ever kisses, and he'd be immediately sure that he would want you to be the only person too. At first it would just be tentative little pecks, almost too nervous to touch you, letting you take the lead and pull him closer when you're ready. Once he gets a bit more used to the sensation, Gun Woo would be a lot more eager to kiss you again, taking every private moment as an opportunity to capture your lips against his, his kiss firm and passionate, trying to show every ounce of love he feels for you through his actions. He loves when he can feel you smile against him, and when you drift to kiss down his neck or along his jaw, particularly on the side his scar is on, well you can practically feel him melting into a giggling mess beneath you.

l - love language (what is their love language?)

Gun Woo definitely shows his love through acts of service, wanting nothing more than to help his friends and family and do whatever he can to keep them safe and make their lives easier. When you come into his life and start doing little things to help him out, whether it's giving him a home cooked meal, or helping clean up his cuts after a fight, well that's when he starts to realise just how much he's been missing someone exactly like you in his life.

He is also definitely a quality time man. It doesn't matter if you two are sitting in silence, doing different things, even just being in the same room as Gun Woo means the world to him. Be prepared to feel him stealing little glances from time to time, and smiling to himself every time he does, so grateful to be so comfortable by his side.

m - mornings (how are mornings spent with them?)

Gun Woo is definitely an early bird, and it would mean a lot to him if you would sometimes wake up early with him, especially if you join him for a morning workout. But don't worry if you're not really an early morning person, Gun Woo would take a lot of joy of sneaking out of bed without waking you up, taking a few moments to memorise your peaceful sleeping expression and feeling like he was running on air knowing that he's running home to you. If by the time he gets back you're up and working on breakfast, be prepared for him to wrap you in his arms and sweep you off your feet, his adoration for you the only thing he's thought about all morning.

n - nights (how are nights spent with them?)

He's a bit more slow moving in the evening, winding down for the day by lounging with his arms around you, waiting until you start to yawn before suggesting you two get ready for bed. He loves when you're tired enough from the day that you let him carry you upstairs, feeling grateful for every moment he's spent exercising when he can lift you easily and feel you get cosy against his chest.

o - open (when would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Gun Woo will happily tell you all the basic information about his life from the moment he meets you, his experience with Woo Jin's friendship showing him the value of being open and honest with new people. However he's very used to hiding his emotions and putting on a brave face when he feels like someone is depending on him, so it would take him a lot longer to start telling you when he's having a difficult day or feeling sad or scared. Every time he does, and you comfort him without pity or judgement, he feels like it gets easier to share, and now you're the first person he talks to on his best or worst days.

p - patience (how patient are they usually? what tends to wear their patience thin?)

Gun Woo is the master of patience between his strenuous training and his military service. He'll never get frustrated when it comes to waiting for you, or having to explain things, grateful when you give him the same patience as he slowly adjusts to being a boyfriend, sometimes through the process of trial and error. The only thing that might wear his patience thin is if he hears you talk down to yourself time and time again, frustrated and sad that you can't see yourself the way he does, as easily the most special person in the universe.

q - quality time (how do they like to spend with you?)

Gun Woo just wants to be wherever you are. He loves when he gets to do his favourite things with you, like working out and running, or cooking and eating, and when you come to watch him box it means the world to him. But he also wants to do all your favourite things with you, even if it's something he's never been interested in before, he would try absolutely anything if it meant getting to learn a bit more about you and spend that time together.

r - remember (what is their favourite moment in your relationship?)

When Gun Woo started to fall in love with you, he started to feel self conscious of the long scar down his face, and wondering if he was wrong for turning down the offer of help to improve its healing and appearance. He doesn't think you would judge him on his looks, if you even like him back at all, but he still finds himself trying to sit on a certain side of you, or wearing a mask more to block the scar from your view. He never worried about how his scar would affect his life until he found someone he wanted to grow his life with, growing more and more upset by it until one day Woo Jin calls him out on it, in front of you:

Gun Woo was forced to sit on the other side of you, his scar in plain view, and found himself awkwardly leaning his arm over the back of the chair to rest his face in his hand to hide it.

"Hey, why are you sitting like that weirdo?" Woo Jin teases, laughter turning to concern as his friend breaks into a frown, avoiding eye contact with either of you as he shrugged.

"Just saving both of you for looking at my cheek." He mumbled, trying to play it off, but the pain behind his words was more than a little obvious to the two of you.

"I thought you liked your scar now bro? You're not having second thoughts about the surgery for it?" Woo Jin pries, noticing the way his friend keeps throwing troubled glances in your direction.

"What do you think?" Gun Woo turns to you, reluctantly letting his hand drop from his face so you can take a better look.

"Let me see." You pretend to really consider his face for the first time, something you found yourself doing a hundred times before anyway, lifting the edge of one finger to gently tilt his chin up, trying not to smile at the obvious blush your slight touch brings him. You lean your face in close to really take in every detail of him, watching his sadness melt away as you smile as you look over his features, scar included and nod to yourself,

"I don't think you need to worry about how it looks, especially since you got it from being pretty heroic." Gun Woo smiled, satisfied with your answer, and surprised when you added, "And for what it's worth, some people like scars." He scanned your eyes felt any hint of pity or deception, but noticed instead a hint of rosy warmth flooding your cheeks as you looked almost bashful at your words, letting go of his jaw and smiling to yourself as you looked to Woo Jin for reassurance, who was busy grinning at his now elated friend, who suddenly felt like nothing in the world could keep him from trying to win your heart.

s - security (how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?)

Oh boy is Gun Woo protective of you. He can't help it, he's protective of everyone around him and because you are the most important person in his life that goes ten fold for you! Whenever you two walk anywhere together he'll always be shoulder to shoulder with you to make sure everyone knows you've got him by your side, and if you ever need to walk somewhere in the dark you best believe Gun Woo is coming to meet you, whether you ask him or not. He believes in being a gentleman, from opening doors and pulling out chairs, to making it his job to keep you safe from all the danger he knows is out in the world.

t - try (how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Gun Woo would always try his best to show you how much you mean to him at every opportunity. He would never take having you in his life for granted and would put the effort into every day domestic tasks to show you how committed he is to building a little home with you; you don't even have to ask for him to do things like buy groceries or clean parts of the house, the things that really show he's ready to settle into a life with you. He's a little bit more clueless when it comes to anniversaries and gifts since he's new to this whole relationship thing, but he'll always try his best to get you something special, and he'd never forget the important dates for the two of you.

u - upset (how do they act when you're upset? how do they act when they're upset?)

Gun Woo's default is to hide his negative feelings from those around him, putting on a brave face in public and waiting until he's alone to collapse into tears. It would take him a long time to get used to letting you see him in the moments he feels weak, but he knows how much he values being the person in your life that you tell about your bad days, so he wants to do that for you too. Gradually he realises just how much better he feels when he shares his problem with you and you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him close while he cries, and gets more open with you about his feelings.

When you're upset Gun Woo's first thought is always finding a solution, something tangible he can do to make this situation better. You might need to explain to him that sometimes you just want to talk and be upset and have him be there for you without needing to fix the problem, but eventually he'll start getting better at knowing when to just listen and hold you.

v - vanity (how concerned are they with their looks?)

Gun Woo knows all the things his body is capable of, and with the exception of having to get used to his new scars, he doesn't really think much about how he looks. He tends to default to athletic clothes given the life he leads, but he'd definitely try a new outfit or haircut if you suggested he might look handsome in it.

w - wildcard (a random headcanon for them.)

I think Gun Woo would really struggle to accept help at first. It's a natural part of a relationship to take care of each other, particularly when you share a home, but having spent most of his life taking care of the people around him, it's a big adjustment for Gun Woo to let someone else look after him for a change. The first time you cook or clean something for him, or even just do him a small favour, he'll be extremely apologetic and insist that you don't have to do things like that for him, already trying to think of ways to pay you back. You'll have to sit him down and take his hands in yours, and gently explain that you've seen the way he always takes care of everyone else, and that it's amazing of him but everyone needs help sometimes, and so can he please let you be the person to look after him occasionally? He'll immediately become a blushing, smiling mess, nodding and apologising for not accepting your help in the first place, practically collapsing into your lap for the rest of the night.

x - x-ray (how easily are they able to read you?)

Gun Woo's not a natural people-person so he might not always know when something is on your mind straight away. You need to get used to being direct with him at first, telling him when he's said something that's upset you, or when you're in a bad mood and need him to do something to help you. He's always more than happy to do what you say, and the longer you two are together, the easiest it becomes for him, but it's not something he'll even find easy.

y - yuck (what things do you do that they hate?)

Gun Woo is very old-fashioned in a lot of ways, and he'll find it a bit off putting if you do something that goes against that code - like disrespecting an elder (even if they deserve it.) That being said if you are the one to open a door or pull out a chair for him, he finds that adorable, giving you his happiest little smile as he proudly follows you.

z - zzz (what is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Gun Woo is so used to sleeping alone that at first he actually finds it a little bit difficult to fall asleep with you lying beside him - he's so excited to have you so close, and he can't quite force himself to stop looking at you long enough to close his eyes, suddenly self conscious of how much space he takes up in bed, not wanting to overstep any unspoken boundaries. When you realise that he's struggling, you intentionally shuffle closer to him, showing he doesn't need to be so worried about touching you. You'd whisper kind things to him in your softest voice, and trace shapes across his arm and back with your fingertips until you can feel his muscles relax into cosy sleep, finally drifting off yourself. Now Gun Woo's starting to realise he can't sleep without you next to him anymore.

#writing #fanfiction #requests #one shot #bloodhounds x reader #bloodhounds kdrama #bloodhounds netflix #bloodhounds imagines #bloodhounds #kim gun woo x reader #kim gunwoo imagines #kim geonwoo #kim gunwoo #gunwoo imagines #gunwoo x reader #gunwoo scenarios #gun woo headcannons #gun woo x reader #woo do hwan

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cinnaleaf · 19 days ago

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ESSENCE OF US - CH 13: SCOUSER’S RITE*

Please read responsibly. This fic will get hot and heavy as the story progresses, 18+ only MDNI | CH 12 | MASTERLIST | CH 14

summary: a fleeting encounter with a mysterious Trent leaves you wondering if fate is playing a bigger match. your paths continue to cross in unexpected places as the fragrances around you mirror the growing tension between you. maybe it's just a coincidence..or maybe its destiny in the making.

warnings: angst, fluff, mild smut, academy life, tough family dynamics, gossip, mentions of past toxic relationship, language wc: ~9k 💌: buckle up, it’s about to get real after this 🐦‍🔥

You barely had a minute to breathe over the past few weeks since coming back from London. Your brother’s Liverpool trial was scheduled for tomorrow and although he was doing his best to seem unbothered about it, you could feel the mixture of nerves, excitement, and how much tomorrow meant to him. While you were preparing dinner, your focus kept drifting to the other room where Trent was in full mentor mode with Ziggy seated across from him.

“Listen,” Trent started, sounding more like a coach than a current footballer. “Tomorrow they’re not just gonna watch you in your usual position. They’ll move you around..left, right, centre to test how quick you adapt. They want to see what you’re like outside of your comfort zone.”

Ziggy nodded, his gaze transfixed like he was storing every piece of advice in his brain. Trent leaned forward, dropping his voice like he was giving away his best kept secrets.

“You know they’re not just looking for skill, right? They want someone who can lead and keep their cool when thrown off. Body language is everything, mate. If something throws you off, you need to get back in the game and show them you’re ready for anything.”

Ziggy looked excited, but also nervous. “So..even if I get tossed all around the pitch..just be calm about it?”

Trent nodded, almost like he was reminiscing on past times. “Yeah..just look confident even if you’re not. Make it look like you were meant to be there no matter where they put you. You’ve got to prove you belong, it’s not just about playing well.”

“Dinner’s ready for my two favorite athletes,” you called out, stepping into the room and drying your hands on a dish towel. You caught the tail end of their conversation and noticed how your brother’s face lit up at every word Trent said, his wide eyes and dimples reminded you of when he was just five and just learning the ropes of football at the park. Meanwhile, Trent was relaxed and confident, very clearly enjoying taking on his mentor role.

They both looked over at you with grins, Trent’s gaze softened into something a little more domestic when he saw you. “What’s on the menu tonight?” he asked playfully but also curious. “You didn’t have to cook baby. I could’ve picked something up.”

“T..it’s fine. Tomorrow’s a big day. I made pasta bolognese and salad.”

The minute you mentioned pasta, both of them bolted to the table like they hadn’t eaten in forever. Trent made a plate for you first, adding everything before setting it down where you usually sat. “Ladies first,” he said thoughtfully, making you roll your eyes but you secretly appreciated the manners he had.

“Thank you,” you replied with a grin as they wasted no time piling their own plates high.

Ziggy dug in immediately, taking a heaping forkful of pasta in his mouth and gave you an appreciative grin. “This is way better than Mum’s food” he said in a muffled tone, chewing a mouthful of food. He wasn’t lying about that; your mum’s cooking generally lacked the warmth and attention you put into yours, so it made you smile. Trent grabbed his fork and took a bite of pasta, looking over at you as if he knew exactly how good he looked right now. He took his time chewing, maintaining direct eye contact with you. You were absentmindedly twirling your food around on the fork, your eyes fixed on him until he raised his eyebrow and snapped you out of your daze.

“You alright, Y/N?” he asked, knowing exactly what he was doing to you.

You cleared your throat, trying to play it off as you straightened up in your seat to force yourself to stop staring at the gorgeous man in front of you. “Mhm. All good here,” you replied, shaking off the heat of the moment. You turned to your brother, who was still inhaling his food like it was his last meal on earth. “Sooo...why’d you turn down the trials with Man U and City? Not that I’m complaining, but I thought you were really set on going to –”

Ziggy cut you off, not looking up from his plate. “Didn’t feel right anymore.” he mumbled.

You eyed Trent suspiciously, wondering if he had anything to do with your brother’s change of heart. “And T..did you have anything to do with Z’s sudden allegiance to Liverpool?” Your brother was a born and bred scouser, but he wasn’t a hardcore fan of LFC; he just enjoyed a nice footie match, no matter which club was out there on the pitch. Trent paused before responding, casually taking another bite before giving you a nonchalant shrug. “Liverpool’s the best place if he wants to develop. I just gave him tips about academy life.” He avoided your direct gaze, almost like he wasn’t telling the full truth. “He made the right decision baby. It’s in his blood. It’s like a rite of passage.”

Ziggy nodded, agreeing with Trent immediately. “Yeah, Liverpool is home. Easy choice.”

You folded your arm as you eyed both Trent and Ziggy suspiciously. “So you had this epiphany all by yourself?”

“Yup. Been thinking about it for a while now,” Ziggy replied curtly, scraping his plate for the last bits of pasta sauce like a greedy teenager.

Both of their relaxed expressions gave nothing away, but your brother answered your question the same way he answered your dad’s questions the night your dad asked Ziggy about the scouts, which made you feel a pang of frustration. You couldn’t stand the idea of Trent pulling strings for Ziggy. The internet already thought you were only with Trent to establish your brother’s football dreams; you even scrolled through many comments hinting at it. You tried to not let it show, but it bothered you. The last thing you wanted was to find out Trent pushed Ziggy in Liverpool’s direction purposefully, even if it was out of love. You weren’t really down with the nepotism aspect of it, especially since your brother had real talent that he worked hard for over the last couple of years.

Trent caught the look on your face as if he was sensing your thoughts and gave you a smile. “It’s up to him Y/N. He wouldn’t have gotten the invite if they didn’t think he had it in him. They don’t just invite anybody to be a trialist.”

You let out a deep sigh, feeling some worries ease but the thoughts still were in the back of your mind. You weren’t going to let anyone, not even Trent, compromise your brother’s future, whether it was positive or not. Ziggy had to make this decision on his own.

The next morning, you and Trent took a drive with Ziggy over to Liverpool’s facility. The AXA Training Centre unfolded before you; it was a world class facility with modern architecture and immaculate fields that stretched across to the academy side. The centre was divided into sections with each space dedicated to different club needs: recovery zones, indoor pitches, classrooms, and high tech training rooms with brand new equipment. The academy area was a quick walk away from where the first team trained with Trent, and was separated by a well kept pathway lined with trees and banners that proudly displayed the club logo and the words ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ in bold lettering.

You and Trent walked hand in hand across the training centre grounds, taking in the scene around you as young kids dashed around the pitches, each of them in a miniaturized blur of red Liverpool kits, bright boots, and wide eyes. Ziggy walked ahead of you both, his eyes fixed on the green training pitches stretched out before him. You were trying to keep a supportive expression, but the scenes unfolding in front of your eyes chipped away at the confidence you had for your brother with every step.

The youngest group caught your eye first, they couldn’t have been any older than 6 or 7. They darted through a series of cones, trying to keep their balance while dribbling. Their coach, who looked like he could’ve played professionally a few years ago, called out to them in a tone that was both supportive and authoritative. “Nice, nice! Keep those feet moving lads! Eyes up!” he rang out. One of the boys stumbled and the ball slipped from his control as he tried to regain his footing. You watched as he paused, biting his lip as his face crumpled, barely managing to keep his tears at bay. The younger kids were meant to be having fun in this group, but it didn't seem like the little boy was having any of that. He was hard on himself, even such a young age. It reminded you of yourself, and how you were always trying to get your parents attention around that age.

As you walked past, an older kid in a different group fell to his knees after a mistimed tackle, clutching his leg and wincing. The coach looked over at him, figuring he was being a bit dramatic. “You’re alright Adam. Let’s try and walk it off.” The boy limped away, visibly struggling but determined to not show weakness in front of his teammates or the coach; a bad injury could mean getting released, no matter how big his dreams were. The raw resilience in such tiny bodies shook you; they couldn't have been older than tween years, yet they were pushing themselves to the core.

The next training pitch held a group of slightly older boys who were no older than 11 or 12, engaged in a passing drill that looked militaristic. The coach was pacing along the line watching with a hawk eye, barking corrections with no gentleness. “This isn’t a Sunday kickabout!” he shouted. “You want to play for Liverpool one day? Show me you deserve to be here!” You saw one boy go pale when he fumbled his pass, sending the ball skidding away. He looked like he wanted to cry but the coach’s gaze kept him moving. The intensity grew even more as you neared the fields where the younger teenagers were playing. Here, the drills looked like something more professional; the coaches didn’t really bother with the usual pickups and encouragement. One boy missed a shot on a goal and his teammate groaned loudly, throwing his arms in frustration as he yelled at him. The coach quickly intervened with a sharp warning. “Enough! You’re a team. Act like it. Let’s try again.”

You glanced at Trent, feeling the pressure put on these kids in ways you could have never imagined. “Trent...is this normal? I don’t like this. They’re literally babies.”

Trent squeezed your hand, his gaze fixed on the fields as he nodded. “Yeah, it is. They want to see how much they can take and still push through. Tough love is a part of it.” He gave you a reassuring smile and kissed your cheek, but you could tell he understood why you were uneasy. “It seems brutal but..that’s how they weed out who will make it and who won’t.”

When you made your way to the next pitch, a group of teenagers were sprinting in formation, their boots pounding against the training pitch as they went through their drills. The coach observed every movement, barking corrections like it was second nature. You noticed one boy fall behind, his breath labored and face drenched in sweat. He stumbled for a moment, looking like he was ready to stop.

“C’mon, Kaiden! Keep pushing!” his coach rang out sharply, giving him enough reserve to grit his teeth and push forward to close the gap.

Ziggy turned to glance back at you and Trent, his wide eyes and dimpled cheeks looking for Trent’s approval. Trent gave him a nod as his own way of saying “You got this.”

When you finally arrived at the U18 training pitch, you could sense the tension ramping up around you. A handful of people waved at Trent to say hello, others were staring intently at the pitch, while another select few stood nearby chatting in a hushed tone. You heard a woman a few feet away mutter to her friend in a grating, irritated voice. “How is it fair that his girlfriend’s brother was offered a trial? He’s not a real trialist if Trent had anything to do with it. He’s going to take someone’s spot, no doubt. I bet he’s not even a proper footballer like my son.”

Her words hit you hard as you resisted the urge to confront her. You wanted to tell her she had no idea about the kind of pressure your brother was under, or that he’d been waiting for this moment since he started football. You wanted to tell her he was just a kid living out his dreams and that she was being an absolute bitch who needed to worry about her son’s spot on the team. But instead, you took a steady breath, knowing this wasn’t the right time to engage with a crazed football mum who thought her son was the best to ever grace Liverpool’s picturesque fields. You turned to Ziggy and gave him an encouraging smile. “Just do your best, yeah? Go out there and have fun. Don’t worry about the rest.”

Trent stepped forward, pulling Ziggy in for a quick hug. “Remember what we talked about, mate. Head up, play smart, be confident. Be ready for any position even if it’s the first time.” Ziggy nodded and then they launched into their ridiculous handshake, but this time it made you smile instead of rolling your eyes. The bond they had was uniquely theirs, and absolutely adorable. As Ziggy jogged onto the pitch, you took a deep breath, hoping he could rise to the challenge ahead of him.

The trial began with Ziggy being tossed straight into action after warm ups. He wasn’t playing in his usual spot. One moment he was on the left, then in midfield, and a few rotations later he was positioned somewhere completely different. Your brother was great at being versatile, but you could tell he was somewhat rattled by all the moving around. You saw him hesitate each time they moved him, nervous as he adjusted to the changes. It didn’t take him long to fall into the rhythm eventually; he was a determined boy, much like how your boyfriend was at 15.

You shifted, feeling nerves settle in your stomach. “It feels like they’re doing everything they can to trip him up. Isn’t that a bit harsh for someone his age?”

Trent leaned in close with an observant voice. “Nah, it’s part of the trial. They’ll do whatever it takes to see if he’s got the talent to handle different roles and how he manages when stretched thin.” He gave a nod of approval as Ziggy smoothly transitioned to the next position. You watched intently, noticing small details of every move he made – his first touches, the way he tracked the ball even in uncomfortable positions, and how quickly he tried to recover when something didn’t go as planned. You kind of felt like your parents in that moment, which gave you the ick. Your brother didn’t have to be perfect under any other terms, but right now it felt like he did.

Trent assessed your brother with a gaze you rarely ever saw. “His first touch is class,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But he’s gotta be quicker on that turn.” It was clear Trent knew this drill setup by heart as he watched with the knowledge of someone who did it thousands of times. Each time Ziggy did something right, Trent would give a small nod of approval to reassure you.

“Baby..he’s doing well,” he said quietly to you, sensing your nerves. “They’re looking at the full picture though. His skill, reaction time, body language. They wanna see how he bounces back.” Trent took a pause, and then laughed to himself. “Lad’s doing way better than me when I first started. I’d mess up, get frustrated, and just boot the ball as far as I could out of pure anger. Thought it would teach ‘em a lesson.”

You looked up at him with your eyebrows raised in surprise. “Nooo. You?? The cool, calm, and collected Trent Alexander-Arnold?”

Trent laughed, nodding his head. “I’d sulk, kick it across the pitch, only to have to fetch the ball every single time. Sometimes I got so mad I’d cry while walking back to get it. Proper humbling experience.” He grinned at the memory, but you could see the vulnerability in his eyes. “After a while..I just learned to get used to it. Took every bit of feedback, even the harshest stuff..and I figured out how to be better. That’s why it doesn’t matter what people say now. I’ve already heard it all.”

As Trent spoke, the weight of his journey started to sink in. You loved him for who he was outside of football, but seeing this world from his eyes made you love him even more. He pushed through the academy with intensity, constant judgement, and the endless push to be better to make it to where he was today. You leaned against his shoulder, taking in every word as he spoke. He didn’t just have talent, he was resilient in the same way that smoke carries the original spark of a fire. He fought for his spot on the pitch..and it was admirable. Trent felt your head against his shoulder and wrapped an arm around you, giving you a light squeeze as you both continued to watch Ziggy push himself across the pitch.

Beside you, a few parents were huddled together with their eyes darting between their kids and the coaches, talking anxiously. One mother with a heavy scouse accent had her arms crossed tightly, leaning in to one parent while glancing skeptically at Ziggy. “I don’t get it. If he’s from grassroots and is that good..why hasn’t he been scouted before now?” She had a tight smile but there was strain behind it, as if something serious was on the line.

The other parent was a father who had worry etched on his face. “He’s fast, that’s for sure. My son’s been struggling a bit since his injury. He hasn’t been up to his usual..but I didn’t know they were bringing in this kid. Feels a bit unfair to be honest. Especially for the ones putting in work week after week.” The mother nodded, casting another wary look toward Ziggy. “It’s hard enough for them as it is. If someone’s losing their spot, I’d rather it not be my son.”

You felt Trent’s grip tighten around you, sensing the tension in the air. He leaned down, murmuring softly to you. “Ignore it, Y/N. Ziggy’s got every right to be here. He’s earning it just like anyone else on the pitch right now.”

Your attention was quickly drawn back to the field as the trial progressed and Trent’s arm slipped down to intertwine his fingers with yours. The coaches split the players into groups and positioned them for a series of drills that mimicked real match scenarios. Ziggy was placed in a defensive position, right up against another player who looked ready to eat anyone alive who stood in his way. Your brother moved with a focus that was rare for someone his age, darting in and out of multiple defensive positions with his eyes locked on the ball and the opposing players. The coaches observed in silence, arms crossed, only breaking their stone cold stances to jot down notes or give quick unreadable glances to each other.

You found yourself squeezing Trent’s hand a little harder than necessary, each step your brother took out there made your chest tighten. Trent noticed and gave your hand a gentle squeeze in return, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your skin. “Baby, you’re squeezing the fuck out of my hand right now,” he uttered with a strained smile, his eyes never leaving the pitch. “Relax.”

“Sorry” you mumbled, loosening your grip but still feeling your anxiety build up with every second.

Ziggy’s speed was impressive and you could see the tremendous amount of effort he was putting in. His passes were clean, his footwork on point. But as the coaches began shifting him into more unfamiliar scenarios, you could see him start to falter. At one point they had him shifted to a right back position. He hesitated just a split second during a tackle, misreading his opponent’s body language, which was just enough time for the forward to slip by him, taking full advantage of Ziggy’s pause to drill the ball past him and into the net.

The parents around you murmured under their breaths, voices barely kept to whispers but somehow loud enough to cut through a crowd. “Not much of a defender is he?” one of them muttered, the judgement heavy in his voice. “Quick, for sure.. but he’s got no defensive instincts. He looks lost out there.”

Another parent scoffed. “Can’t just rely on speed, not at this level. That’s not going to fly if he wants to be in the academy.”

You clenched your jaw trying to shake off their words, but they had a sting that was hard to ignore. Was that what the coaches were thinking too? Were they just mentally crossing Ziggy off the list every time he messed something up? Every time he showed any trace of vulnerability?

Trent seemed unfazed and kept his gaze on the players. He leaned down to murmur softly into your ear, “Y/N, he’s got this. It’s one mistake. They’re not here looking for perfection; they’re looking for potential. They want to see how he handles setbacks.”

“But what if they’re just looking for reasons to say no?” you whispered back, the nerves evident in your tone. It felt like your brother was being measured and weighed with each passing second with no room for error and you hated that. “Ugh. It just feels...rigged.”

Trent shook his head with a soft chuckle, still watching Ziggy. “Nah, it’s not rigged. They do this to everyone.” He nodded toward the field with an expression full of pride. “He’s a top prospect baby. Practically guaranteed a two year deal here for sure.”

You turned to him, pulling away from his grip as you eyed him suspiciously, squinting your eyes. “And… how do you know that exactly?” The edge in your voice caught Trent slightly off guard and you knew he could sense the accusation in your tone, but you couldn’t help it. You heard the earlier whispers about how Ziggy’s trial had come to fruition from the other parents and it was getting to you more than you wanted to admit. The last thing you wanted was for people to think Ziggy’s chance had been handed to him on a silver platter because of you and Trent – moreso the latter.

Trent raised an eyebrow, bewildered by the full weight of your question. “Are you asking if I pulled any strings?” he replied in a calm voice. “You really think I’d risk that?”

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. “T..people are already talking. I just don’t want him to get caught up in what people are saying.” You glanced back at Ziggy on the pitch, watching as he regained his composure, his body language screaming determination despite his initial setback. “I don’t want people thinking he didn’t earn this. T…if I find out you’re lying to me, I swear I’ll never forgive you.”

Trent’s expression shifted slightly, almost as if he was unsure before he masked it with a casual shrug. “Nah..it’s not like that” he said in a soft voice. “He’s here because he’s had eyes on him already. The academy director has been watching him since last year. This isn’t about me..he’s the kind of player they won’t pass up on.” He paused like he wanted to pull you back into him, but he stopped halfway as his fingers curled back toward his side instead. “They love him on the pitch.”

You weren’t fully convinced, so you pushed more. “So you only gave him advice? You didn’t steer him away from the clubs in Manchester? Or anywhere else?”

Trent glanced away for a split second, thinking about the advice he gave your brother back in St. Moritz. “Uh..I might’ve told him what I thought, but he asked.” he admitted, but he chose his words very carefully. “That’s it though. I didn’t make the decision for him. He made the choice on his own.”

You let out a slow breath, nodding in understanding, but you still felt an uncomfortable twist in your gut. Trent didn’t give you the clear, reassuring answer you were hoping for, but you let it slide for now. “Alright…” you said finally, keeping a steady voice. “But if they bring him on..you can’t make any shortcuts for him.” Your warning was clear, and you knew your boyfriend picked up on it too.

Trent smiled as he took in your no nonsense expression, “I don’t doubt you..you sound scarier than the coaches right now.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving him playfully. “I’m serious, T. I don’t want him to end up on the team just because he’s your little protégé. That’ll follow him around the entire time and he deserves better. No offense..you’re great but that’s my brother. Just let him make his own way okay?” Trent chuckled, finally deciding to pull you into him again. “Noted. Wouldn’t dare mess with your grand plan baby” he teased, pressing a soft kiss on your lips.

A few hours after the trial ended, you were a few paces ahead of Trent and Ziggy as the three of you headed back toward the car. Now that the trial was finally over for the day, you could unclench and relax a little. You weren’t planning on watching any of those trials ever again, it was more stressful than watching Trent at Anfield.

Trent’s voice carried behind you as he draped an arm over your brother’s shoulder, slowing his pace to talk to him. “Mate..you did great! Solid work out there. You kept your head up, stayed calm. That’s half the battle in a trial like that. Just keep at it.” Ziggy smiled, still catching his breath like the adrenaline hadn’t worn off for him just yet. “Thanks man. It’s easier said than done for sure. I nearly lost it when that lad slipped past me.”

Trent’s lips curved into an amused smirk, shaking his head with a low chuckle. “Everyone has a moment like that, trust. It used to eat at me..but it’s all in the recovery. Next time, don’t even blink. Just get back in there like you never missed.”

Ziggy’s grin grew as he nodded with a newfound confidence, taking in Trent’s advice. “Right. Like it’s nothing.” he repeated, absorbing the advice and taking it to heart.

You glanced back, catching the look of admiration in your brother’s eyes. Whatever Trent was telling him was lifting him up, and it was heartwarming to see the natural bond and trust between them..even if Ziggy was infiltrating the time you spent with your man. As you reached the car and entered the passenger’s seat, Trent slowed his pace and lowered his voice as he leaned closer to Ziggy.

“Hey...there’s something I want to show you.” Trent pulled out his phone and swiped to the photo of the ring you sent him from London. “She sent me this in a text a while back. Called the place up and bought it the same day before she was even fully out of the store.”

Ziggy’s eyes widened with his mouth falling open in surprise. “Damn, you’re serious, huh? You’re going to ask her to marry you?”

Trent nodded, glancing over at you casually reapplying your lip gloss, completely unaware of the conversation happening just outside of the car. “Ezzie said Y/N wants to wait at least a year..but yeah. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. Figured I’d better start planning. What do you think?”

Ziggy hesitated for a minute, his grin fading as he thought about how much he should share. “Uh, I think she’d love the idea eventually. But if you asked right now..she honestly might say no.” he admitted, lowering his voice. “Not that she doesn’t love you or anything..it’s just complicated. Our parents..they..uh.. messed up the idea of marriage for her I think.”

Trent’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean they messed it up? Complicated how?”

Ziggy scratched the back of his neck, struggling to find the words to explain your family dynamic to Trent. “Y/N was born before Mum and Dad were married. They weren’t too thrilled they had her from what I heard. My dad only married my mum to keep things looking proper. They tried for a boy for years but ended up with Ezzie and me.”

Trent’s expression grew more serious as he took in what your brother was sharing. It wasn’t something you mentioned before, but he was starting to understand why.

“Mum always wanted a son and Dad too..I think. I can get away with a lot more than my sisters. They’ve always been harder on Ezzie and Y/N..to make them fit some mold or whatever. That’s why Y/N is so independent I guess..” Ziggy explained, pausing before adding more.

“Mum especially. She’s...I don’t know..she always wanted Y/N to be picture perfect but then criticized her for doing her own thing after finding something she was good at. She opened her perfume store by herself and instead of being proud..Mum kept telling her not to bother with it and to find a guy to take care of her. She kept saying that until money started flowing at Love Notes.”

Trent gritted his teeth, recalling the ex you mentioned before who nearly made you give up on everything. “Her ex...that’s why she got with him?” he muttered, his curious frustration evident.

Ziggy shook his head, his eyes darkening with anger as he remembered your previous relationship. “Nah. She met him at some stupid auction Mum dragged her to.” He paused, kicking a rock on the ground as his anger built. “Aaron – some posh prick with too much time and money on his hands. Thought he could talk down on her cause he had a fat wallet.” Ziggy’s fists clenched as he spoke, the memory being enough to fire him up. “If I wasn’t just 13 at the time I’d have kicked that goofy looking motherfucker’s face in. I’m pissed just thinking about it again.” Ziggy’s voice came out a little rougher this time, edged in protection. “If I ever see him again.. he’ll get what's coming for sure.”

Trent let out a low whistle as Ziggy’s words sunk in. “I’m with you mate” he said quietly, his eyes softening as he looked toward the car where you were waiting – now knowing the strength you were carrying under the calm exterior you tried to keep up daily. “But don’t waste your energy on that asshole. She’s got us now.” Ziggy relaxed, loosening his fists as he nodded in agreement. “Yeah..you’re right. She deserves more than what she’s been dealt. Wouldn’t mind it at all if you married her. Maybe do it at Anfield?”

Trent smiled as the conversation took on a lighter turn. “Bro..she’d throw the ring back at me and tell me to go get my head checked if I tried that with her. She’s not too keen on all the attention.”

Ziggy burst out laughing, nodding in agreement. “Yeah...you’re probably right.”

“It’s gotta be something more special than that.” Trent paused, taking in Ziggy’s final approval. “Glad I got a yes from you. I thought you’d be a little tougher to crack but I appreciate it..I’ll take care of her.”

When they entered the car, Trent’s hand instinctively met with your thigh and you placed your hand on top of his, lightly rubbing his skin with your thumb. “Everything good? Took both of you forever to get to the car...”

Trent gave your thigh a light squeeze and flashed you an innocent smile. “All good.” he replied, though his answer was shorter than usual and you could tell they were talking about something they didn’t want you to know about.

You squinted your eyes playfully, glancing between your boyfriend and Ziggy – who was in the backseat. “Okay..what were you two yapping about? Having another secret chat?”

Ziggy’s eyes went wide for a split second, nearly blurting out the word ‘marriage’, but he quickly recovered. “Ma – uh..match day rituals! Yeah...we were talking about match day rituals.”

Trent nodded, leaning into the excuse with ease, “Yeah..everyone’s got their own thing they do.”

“Oh really?? Match day rituals?” you asked, skeptical but amused. “Let’s hear it then, yeah? What’s the ritual? I’m curious now..”

Ziggy jumped in first, eager to explain. “Before every match..I gotta drink exactly three long sips of Red Bull. No more, no less. Anything else will throw me off. Don’t ask why..it just works.”

Trent snorted, giving him an amused look. “Three sips of Red Bull? You trying to take my deals mate?”

You side eyed Trent, muttering under your breath. “Maybe if you and your brother took it seriously....” You knew he didn’t catch on to what you said, so you looked at him again, raising your eyebrow. “And what about you, T? What’s your pre-match secret?”

Trent leaned back in the seat, looking dead serious as he launched into the most ridiculous ritual ever. “50 push ups and an odd number of pull ups. Then I down a water and jog up and down the tunnel before I can touch the pitch.”

You burst out laughing at his absurdity, trying to imagine him doing all of this. “You’re so bad at lying Trent. Seriously...what do you do?”

Trent smiled sheepishly, slightly embarrassed of what he was about to admit to in front of Ziggy. “Uh..lately I’ve been checking to see if you’re wearing your necklace before I go. Makes me feel lucky.”

Your laughter faded and you looked at him in surprise. “Wait..really? You think me wearing this actually gives you luck?” You fiddled with the dainty charm resting against your collarbone, still a little in awe. “What did you do before then?”

Trent shrugged, smiling as he avoided Ziggy’s teasing gaze in the back. “If you want to call it luck..then yeah. Maybe it’s superstitious but I just feel better knowing you have it on. Feels like you’re there with me even if you’re not at the match, y’know? I didn’t do much before..just focused with some music.”

Ziggy snickered, muttering something about how you and Trent were very dramatically intense, but there was warmth in his eyes too, as if he was seeing what real love looked like for the first time in his nearly 16 years of life. The way you two acted around each other disgusted your brother at times, but the love radiated off of both of you in ways that couldn’t be ignored.

Trent took a quick glance at you with warm eyes as he drove. “Thinking about you when I’m out there helps me keep my mind clear.”

“Awww, oh my god. T that’s so sweet! I love y–”

Ziggy groaned, breaking the moment in teenage fashion. “ENOUGH! Take me home..PLEASE!”

You laughed, shaking your head at your brother’s antics. The streets around Les Notes d’Amour came into view and you sat up slightly. “Actually...can we make a quick stop before we take him back home? I just want to drop in for a few minutes.” In reality, you needed to go fetch the watch you were hiding back at the store. You hadn’t given it to Trent yet because you were deciding on whether you wanted to give it to him for one of your anniversaries: the day you met on the train – which was coming up, or the day the two of you became official a few months later.

A couple of minutes later you, Trent, and Ziggy neared the Les Notes d’Amour storefront as the faint scent of Rêveur enveloped around you. Tara and Ember were near the counter, organizing the last of the Rêveur orders. Their heads were close together with their voices low, but just audible enough for someone nearby to catch snippets of the conversation. “I swear she’s been out the shop more than she’s been in lately” Tara whispered, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was within earshot. “Makes you wonder doesn’t it?”

Ember shrugged as she carefully placed a bottle into its packaging. “Could be all the scents making her sick or something. I heard pregnant people have super sensitive noses like bloodhounds…or maybe she’s just really busy?” Tara leaned in, lowering her voice more. “You think they’ll announce it any time soon..or just keep it quiet?” Ember smirked knowingly. “No way they’re announcing it any time soon..she has enough going on as it is. I imagine they won’t announce anything until–”

“Hi ladies!” you called out, stepping forward with a smile and unknowingly cutting off their whispery gossip session. Tara and Ember jumped, caught off guard and quickly fumbled around the counter to make it look like they were busy with work.

“Oh! Hiiiii Y/N!” Tara replied a little too enthusiastically. “Just packing up the last few Rêveur orders!”

You glanced over at the neatly packed boxes, sighing in relief. “Thank god. It’s so nice to be done with it, right?”

Ember hesitated and drummed her fingers against the freshly sealed tape on the box. “Um..actually,” She looked up at you reluctantly but eager to share. “I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to check emails yet..but people are still all for it. They keep asking if you’ll make it a permanent product.”

You groaned inwardly. “Oh great...because nothing is ever simple for me” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “If I don’t make it permanent, I’ll be haunted by requests for the ‘Trent Scent’ forever.” You let out a dramatic sigh, eyeing Trent and Ziggy who were toward the front of the store, playfully jabbing at each other while laughing and dodging like they were in a boxing match. “I thought we were finally free,” you added, shaking your head as Trent threw an exaggerated left hook, making Ziggy duck, nearly knocking a shelf over.

Tara stifled her laughter, trying to remain professional while you were nearby. “We could always just...embrace the legacy. If you're up for it, that is” She eyed your stomach, which made you look down to check if you had something on your outfit, but you didn’t see anything.

“Maybe I am..” you paused, thinking thoughtfully. “If I teach you how to make some batches.. it might be worth it.”

Ember chimed in, clasping her hands together. “Honestly I think we could handle it! It sounds fun!”

You gave an appreciative nod, but you were cautious with the idea at the same time. “We’ll have to take it really slow” you said, eyeing both of them carefully. “I’ll admit.. it was my mistake for making you two set up the orders for Rêveur on your first day..but we have to be on the same page for something like this.”

Both girls nodded eagerly, too happy with your answer as they returned to finishing up packing the last orders. After breaking Trent away from his fake boxing match with your brother, you headed to the back room with him. Trent’s hands wrapped around your body as the both of you walked to the room. He leaned into your neck, placing a nibbling kiss on the skin just above your collarbone.

“Trent stoppp” you giggled, drawing out the word as you lightly pushed him away. “Patience is a virtue baby.”

He grinned as he closed the door behind you, unbothered. He saw you reach down for a bag on the other side of the room, your ass in his full view. He bit down on his bottom lip as he walked over to you, gripping a handful of your ass which made you jump up, dropping the gift bag that contained the watch as you turned to him. Your hands rested against the table behind you while his lips inched closer to yours, stopping just before reaching your lips. “I didn’t get a good morning kiss when we woke up today…” his lips traced the outline of your jaw against the air, making you feel woozy with want. “Didn’t get a good morning cuddle in either,” he breathed against your skin. “Can’t blame me for being a little impatient.”

You smirked at him, feeling your pulse quicken as you lightly ran your nails up his bare and muscled arm, reaching the back of his neck to pull him into a kiss so that you could push the gift bag out of view with your foot. “Mmm, I’m sorry..”

Trent gripped your waist, placing you on top of the table. Your mouth parted slightly. The warmth of his tongue against yours made you arch up against him. Your hands traveled down to his shorts, pulling them down to massage the bulge tenting tightly against his briefs. You pulled away from the kiss, biting your lip as you searched his expression teasingly. “No good morning sex either, huh?” You pulled down his briefs, stroking his hard length slowly and deliberately. “Gonna have to make that up to you..”

“Y/N…” Trent sucked in his breath, letting out a low groan as you stroked him faster, massaging his balls with your other hand. You could tell it was taking everything in him not to flip you over and fuck you against the table, so you tightened your grip but slowed down a little to tease him.

“You always fuck me so good baby,” you whispered seductively, grazing your hand over the tip which made him thrust into your hand.

“Oh shit.. keep talking baby. Keep stroking it like that,” Trent muttered through gritted teeth, sucking in another breath.

You smiled, reaching up to playfully bite his bottom lip, pulling it with your teeth as you increased the pace on his shaft. “I want you to make me cum on your dick when we get home.” Trent tilted his head back, groaning as his cock started to twitch against your hand. “And I wanna ride you while you sit back and watch..”

“I’m about to c–” Trent started, but you immediately stopped stroking him, speaking against his lips in a low, sultry tone. “No, not yet. Save it for me.”

Trent let out a ragged, frustrated breath as he stared at you with fire in his eyes. You were honestly only trying to distract him from seeing the watch you bought, but the stunt you just pulled was going to have you paying for it later, probably in the form of multiple back to back orgasms in different areas of the house. “You know exactly what you’re doing..” he murmured, biting his lip as he looked you in your eyes, pulling you in for another deep kiss.

Meanwhile back at the front, Ziggy voluntarily started breaking down the boxes scattered across the floor, clearing the area with the box cutter in hand. As he worked, he noticed a phone left unattended on a nearby shelf. The screen lit up with messages from a footie group chat labeled ‘Spill FC’. Being the nosy teenager that your brother was, he glanced over to look at the screen. The phone was still unlocked so he grabbed it, his curiosity getting the better of him as he scrolled through to see the latest messages and chat history.

Ziggy’s muscles tensed and his grip tightened on the phone as he continued to read with a clenched jaw. His blood was boiling and pulsed through him like a drum, each new message cranking up his frustration and spreading it like wildfire through his veins:

Nosy Girlie 1: no they’re cute together but getting pregnant in the first year is mad. they’re moving fast as fuck

Nosy Girlie 2: frfr. feels like they’re rushing it. like..good for her but we all know trent isn’t locking it down with anyone yet. you can slow down girl 😭

Nosy Girlie 3: calling it now he’ll be on to someone new by next season. i bet £10

Tara: umm i don’t think they’ll split that soon. he’ll probably go for the family man PR angle first when they have the baby

Nosy Girlie 2: ooh yeah you’re right! i bet their baby will be sooo cute though 🥺

Nosy Girlie 3: icl Y/N’s kinda iconic for inventing this new era of him and tying herself to it so she can stay relevant after they break up..smart move tbh

Tara: i’m pretty sure she’s set her fam up too. her sister just signed with miu miu at 15 and her brother had a trial with liverpool today 🙃

Nosy Girlie 2: ohhh wow. perks of dating a footballer i guess 😂

Nosy Girlie 1: he defo set that trial up there’s no way he didn’t. she knows she’s not getting a ring from him so she’s doing a speed run hahaha

Nosy Girlie 2: lmao that’s so fucked up but same girl same

Ziggy’s face twisted in anger as he scanned each message. He couldn’t believe the nerve of whoever these people were in the group chat. The gossip was bad enough but seeing his family dragged through the mud for a simple association pissed him off. The assumption about you, Ezzie’s contract, and the implication that he didn’t deserve his own trial irritated him to the max, making him see red. The comment about you doing a ‘speed run’ was his last straw; he couldn’t be bothered to read anymore of it. He marched toward Ember and Tara with his hands gripping the phone like he wanted to crush it. Ziggy stopped right in front of them, holding the phone up high. “Aye! Whose phone is this?” he demanded in a loud voice.

Ember and Tara looked up, shifting their faces from surprised to confused. “Uh..mine” Tara admitted, looking at the phone in his hand. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of the screen opened to some very damning evidence. She tried to reach for it, but Ziggy snatched it back.

“You think this is funny, yeah?” he spat, waving the phone around in front of her. “All this shit you’re saying about my family. You think it’s just a laugh with your friends?” His voice was getting louder but you were too enmeshed in a makeout session with Trent in the backroom to notice the commotion up front. “How bout you keep our names out your fucking mouths? Especially my sisters.”

Ember was standing next to Tara and raised her eyebrows, amused by his outburst but not threatened in the slightest due to his severe case of baby face. “Calm down. It’s just talk..no harm done.”

Ziggy’s eyes narrowed as he turned toward Ember next. “This isn’t just talk. They said I only got a shot at Liverpool because of Trent and I fucking earned that trial. Then they said Y/N’s only with him to ‘tie herself to him’ or whatever rubbish they’re on about.” He jabbed his finger at Tara. “And you’re right there joining in and egging it on. If it’s just talk, why don’t you say it to my sister’s face then? Be bold out loud, yeah?”

Tara’s face flushed with her eyes darting nervously between her phone and Ziggy’s death glare. “I– I didn’t mean anything by it! It’s not what it looks like.” Her voice see-sawed unsteadily and she looked like she was about to cry. “I can’t lose this job, okay? My mum will kill me. Can you just..”

Ziggy scoffed and shook his head. “You’re just saying that because you got caught. Next time don’t leave your phone open for people to see it, dummy.” He threw the phone down on the counter, the chat still in open view. “You’d rather talk and leak stuff behind Y/N’s back thinking it’s funny.”

“Oh for fucks sake.. just calm it.” Ember interjected, rolling her eyes. “You’re making a fuss out of nothing. It’s not that serious. Everybody gossips.”

Ziggy contorted his face in disgust. “They’re betting on them breaking up. That’s my fucking sister they’re chatting that shit about.” He looked directly at Tara, who seemed to shrink more and more. “And you’re the worst one. Maybe if you spent more time working and less time talking shit she’d give you a raise and you wouldn’t have to beg me not to tell.”

Tara sighed, feeling defeated. “It was just...fun I guess. I’m really sorry. I won’t say anything else, I swear. Just..please don’t tell her.” Tara was basically saying anything to save her job at this point. She knew she probably wouldn’t stop gossiping, if anything she’d be more careful about the info she leaked to the chat, but right now she needed to make sure she didn’t lose her source of income.

“You’re a fucking leech.” Ziggy muttered at Tara as he stormed toward the back room.

Back in the quiet back room, you and Trent were tangled up in each other still. You could taste a hint of mint from the gum he was chewing earlier which was cooly refreshing and slightly sweet. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss as you trailed your hands under his shirt. Trent broke away from the kiss slowly with his lips hovering closely to yours. He trailed his fingers along your waist, thinking thoughtfully. “Season’s wrapping up soon.. think we need to get away for a week or two.”

You hummed in agreement, sneaking in a quick kiss because you already missed the feeling of his lips on yours. In your head you were already imagining the two of you on a beach, far away from the demands of Les Notes d’Amour and the prem – nestled somewhere with turquoise blue water and warm sand beneath your toes. “Mm..yeah. Definitely need that. But where?”

“Uhh.. what about Bali?” Trent suggested, tracing the outline of your lips with his eyes. In his mind he was thinking about how he wanted to get you home..and quickly. This morning was busy with getting Ziggy ready for trial, but all he really wanted to do was spend some quality time with you – alone.

You wrinkled your nose, trying not to laugh at his Bali suggestion. “Well..Bali is a vibe for sure. But we’d probably spend the entire holiday with a case of Bali Belly..no thanks.” You thought for a second, thinking of various destinations. “What about Miami? I could go for some guinep and sugar cane by the water. Their clubs are nice too! We could go to LIV or E11EVEN..maybe get a yacht and take it to Bimini?”

Trent shook his head, not thrilled by that idea. “Jude goes there all the time. It’s too chaotic. Nothing good ever happens in Florida. Plus the Caribbean has better fruit and less OnlyFans models.”

“And why do you know that Miami has a lot of OnlyFans models?” you pulled back, crossing your arms.

Trent playfully pretended to be annoyed at your indication. “Nah, nah. Don’t even start with that shit. Not my type at all.”

“Mhmm, good answer. So Miami is off the table. Any better ideas?”

Trent laughed and pulled you back into his arms. “Could go a bit closer, y’know? You ever been to SoHo Farmhouse?”

You rolled your eyes, knocking him in the head softly. “Absolutely fucking not. I’m from Liverpool. If I wanted to pretend to be farm chic we could just go pop a tent in Sefton Park near Palm House and call it a day. That’s not even a real holiday! Don’t piss me off Trent.”

Trent tilted his head back, laughing again at your dramatics. “Ah fine..okay. No farms for you. Beach it is then?”

Before you could converse with Trent any further, Ziggy swung the door open, looking at both of you in disgust. You could see by the look on his face that he was irritated by something else other than you and Trent showing off how sickeningly in love you were with each other. “I’m ready to go home,” he muttered with a scowl. “Your assistants are fucking nosy Y/N.”

You and Trent exchanged curious glances, noticing how intense Ziggy was being. “What happened?” you asked in a concerned tone.

Ziggy shook his head, kissing his teeth. “Nothing. They just keep running their mouths about shit they don’t know about. Can we just go?” He would’ve told you the full truth of what they were really talking about in the group chat, but he was still protecting you in a way.

Trent squeezed your waist and gave you another kiss. “I’ll see what’s going on. Don’t stress about it.”

You nodded, hopping off the table as Trent and Ziggy made their way out of the room and back to the car. You grabbed Trent’s gift from under the table, placing it in your bag as you began to walk toward the front of the store. Ember was helping a customer who had just walked in, while Tara was off to the side, fumbling nervously with a Rêveur order.

Your brother’s words swirled around in your mind as you put two and two together.

“Your assistants are fucking nosy.”

“They just keep running their mouths about shit they don’t know about.”

They couldn’t be the ones running to SpillTheBeans, right?

But if it wasn’t you, Trent, Camille, or any of your other friends..it had to be them. They were the only other two besides your siblings that would have access to the intimate details of your life.

Oh god.. I should’ve listened to Camille.

She wasn’t wrong. You really should have made them sign an NDA.

It was a little too late for that now, though.

so thankful to each of you stuck with me through this series so far! love you 🫶🏽

#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander arnold x you #footballer x reader #footballer x y/n #trent alexander arnold fluff #trent alexander arnold angst #trent alexander arnold fanfiction #fem!reader #footballer fanfic #footballer imagines #trent alexander arnold smut

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frannyzooey · 2 years ago

Text

Short Days, Long Nights: 8

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit, grief

Series Masterlist

a/n: Thank you endlessly to @the-ginger-hedge-witch and @write-and-buried for their advice and reassurance on this one. ❤

The first time it happened, it was by accident.

Loath to leave your warmth; one hand fisted in the hair at the nape of your neck, the other one curled around your hip to guide your movements in your straddle on his lap. The afternoon sun spilled in through the windows, dust motes floating through the shafts of light as you rode him and when you came, you tipped your head back with a strained, breathless moan.

His eyes fixated on the image of your angelically erotic pose, he emptied himself inside you, filling you up until there was nothing left to give.

The next time was an accident too.

Finally ready to harvest some of the vegetables you’d been nurturing for months, you grasped the first stalk and pulled, brushing off the dirt delicately when it came free from the ground. You handed it to him, unadulterated pride shown clear on his face and his smile beamed so big you caught a glimpse of his rarely seen dimple.

Tears had already begun to water your vision, slipping free when you saw his smile and he stood to pull you up so he could wrap his arms around you in a tight, unrelenting hug. His thumbs and his mouth brushed away the hot trails on your cheeks and you feasted that night, both on your new found riches and each other.

Bellies full of fresh produce and celebrating your hard earned success, he fucked you on the living room floor, with your mouth open and pleading for him as your tailbone rubbed against the carpet with every thrust. His need more intense than usual, his groan was hoarse when he came faster than he could pull out; his eyesight fading black around the edges with a spill as endless as the praise he panted into your ear.

When he was done he stayed put, a comforting, solid weight on top of you and his lips peppered kisses along your hairline, the bridge of your nose, the corner of your mouth - everywhere he could reach.

The third time however, wasn’t.

The days too hot to do anything but swim, you hung onto his shoulders and pressed your soft lips against his own until he all but dragged you up to the bank of the river, covering you with his chilled, damp body. You begged him for it then, begged him to fill you up as you sobbed with fullness, your knees hitched high along his ribs. Your hands grasped the swell of his ass to push him in deeper, his own knees streaked in dirt after he gave you what you wanted and his spend was slick and hot where it leaked out, smearing on his stomach when you wound your legs around him to pull him down for a kiss.

You each knew the consequences of what you were doing. Neither of you acknowledged it though - you kept going because it felt good and right and with so little in the world that felt like that, you took what you could.

Summer months slipped by as you slowly explored the woods around you, checking the other cabins one by one. Untouched for years, they held caches of canned food and clothes, outdated sunscreen and furniture thick with dust. Moth bitten beach towels, an indoor herb garden turned greenhouse that had consumed half a kitchen. Rotted curtains, limp baseball hats, forgotten gardening gloves. A deflated inner tube that you brought back and filled up manually just to spend the day floating on the water.

One held a stash of wine that was so vast it took three trips to haul all of the bottles back to your own cabin, and though you knew absolutely nothing about wine, you couldn’t stop the excited yelp that escaped from your mouth when you found it.

Scavengers, you ignored the pictures on the walls as you raided room by room, taking whatever you liked. Making it through seven cabins in total, you covered miles of woods; your book collection doubled, every shed picked apart for useful tools and supplies.

Careful not to uncover the cabins more than you needed lest the structures be seen by anyone else, so far, you hadn’t had to worry about that. Joel still kept the traps up and running, still checked them every single day and locked up every night, but the immediate threat of another human being was starting to feel like a distant memory. As if time had paused when you found this cabin, the outside world disappearing when you first stepped off the path.

The weeks went by quickly in a hot, humid daze and every night ended the same: with you curled up next to him, your bodies sweating on top of the sheets.

–

You’d kill for a fan.

Not even asking for air conditioning because to be honest, you were never really a fan of artificially cooled air (too cold), you want a fan desperately. Just something to move the stagnant air around, to relieve the thick, damp press of humidity that coats your skin. It envelopes you, your shirt stuck to the small of your back and you pick at it, giving it a quick shake in an attempt to dry it out.

Joel is just as sweaty – his cotton shirt clinging to his back, dark with sweat along his spine and under his arms and you watch as the fabric molds and shifts over his muscles as he strong-arms the cabin door open. Stepping through into the shadows, his hand is bathed in light as it reaches back for you and pulls you into the dark depths, your flashlight ready.

“At least it’s a little less hot in here, I guess.” You kick a stack of faded, dust coated magazines on the floor and he sighs, setting his pack down.

“Yea,” he agrees, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe his brow. “I’m gonna live in the water when we get back. Sleep outside, half submerged.”

“Ooh, can I join you?” you ask, wiggling your eyebrows and he huffs a quiet laugh behind you as you make your way into the kitchen.

The first place you check in every cabin, you pick apart the cabinets looking for food while he combs through the bathroom looking for first aid supplies and medicine. All finds to be stacked on the floor in the living room, the two of you make quick work of it, too hot to linger.

Rummaging through the dresser in the main bedroom, you check the sizes of socks and underwear – something you’re always in short supply of – and when you find a silky scrap of fabric buried beneath them, you pause. A more delicate piece of clothing than you’ve seen in a long time, your roughened hands caress the slippery negligee when you lift it from the drawer. The fabric catches on the pads of your fingers, the sensation making you frown and hesitating just for a moment while looking in the direction of the door, you fold it gently and put it directly in your bag, tucking it away.

He calls out to you when he’s done, and after dividing up the pile, your packs are substantially heavier when you start your walk back.

Leaning forward slightly under the weight, you feel sweat glide down the line of your neck and you wipe it away, grimacing.

“Do you ever think about what people would find if they raided your house?” you ask.

Every single time you enter a cabin, you think about it. You can’t remember what state you even left your place in: not your original one, nor your apartment in the QZ. You assume they have given the latter away to another person who needs it; the thought not bothering you at all.

He huffs, shaking his head. “A messy house, I guess.”

“Same,” you reply.

The moss below your feet muffling your steps, you each sit in your own head for a moment before you continue.

“Have you ever thought about going back? You know, to like, get stuff? Or to just…see it?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. I mean, it would be nice to have some pictures I guess, but other than that…I don’t think I would want to.”

“So you’ve never tried it?” you ask, looking over at him.

“No,” he replies, his eyebrows raising. “Have you?”

You shake your head. “I’ve thought about it, but I don’t really have anything there.” Your thumbs hook in the straps of your backpack, your eyes staying down. “I feel like it would be too sad, you know? Like, in my mind, I feel like I would want to stay, thinking of it as my home and a place I would be safe, but I know that’s not true anymore. It would be…depressing.”

He nods, understanding.

“Besides, I used to want to go back a lot more, but now I kinda…think of this as my new home. Everything I want is here.”

The confession slips out, the heat of the late afternoon muddling your thoughts and making you too tired to stop the words before you say them and as soon as you realize, you try to hide the vulnerability showing clear on your face by gesturing to the woods.

It’s quiet for a moment, and you sneak a look over at him to find him looking back at you. Sunlight plays across his features, catching on the ends of his dark curls lifted in the humidity and the corner of his mouth tilts up.

“Yea,” he agrees. “Me too.”

Reaching for your hand to squeeze it, your palm sticks to his, tacky with sweat, but he still holds tight when you lace your fingers together.

–

“Do you ever think about what people would find if they raided your house?”

His answer sounded indifferent at the time, but the thought bothered him more than he let on. It’s not so much the idea of his stuff being taken or rifled through because to be honest, he can’t even really remember what all was there.

It’s the space being invaded by a stranger. Sarah’s room, in particular.

Someone rifling through her drawers, or sitting down on her bed. Someone taking the things he gave her - the idea of it constricts his chest, and he frowns, methodically checking the traps one at a time, wanting to get it over with before going for a swim.

His dark curls stick to his forehead, his fingers pushing wearily through them with a scratch as he walks the perimeter of the cabin and her bedroom floats into his mind: the purple bedspread, the butterflies on the walls. The faded image is hazy around the edges and he’s not even sure he has it right, but the ache he feels is reminiscent of the one he felt briefly when you walked into the cabin the other day excited to show him something you pulled from the garden.

Your smile and enthusiasm reminds him so much of her sometimes it hurts.

The longer he stays here with you, the more it eats at him that he hasn’t told you about her yet. Never anything he wanted to share with anyone, he finds there is little that he doesn’t want to share with you now – save for this.

Of this, he hasn’t spoken about in ten years.

Of this, he still feels the weight of failure etched into his very bones.

Of this, it still threatens to drown him some days in grief, if not for the way he’s buried it all down deep.

Allowing himself to feel with you and slowly uncovering the pieces of himself that he had long since given up on, the burden of her memory weighs heavier on him every day that he’s here. It feels wrong that he hasn’t told you about her, as both a betrayal of her memory, but also of your trust.

He tugs on a trap, making sure the ropes are snug in place and still thinking about you, his long buried grief and anger at someone rifling through Sarah’s room transfers to you and your things. The bookshelf next to your bed crammed with dog eared books, the plants along the windowsill in the kitchen, the stack of ten year old gossip magazines that you keep next to the couch for when you want to laugh at the trivial matters people used to care so much about.

Your worn, cotton bedsheets decorated with delicate rosebuds.

He wonders if your home looked anything like the spaces you’ve set up in the cabin. A cozy warmth radiating from your scattered belongings, some people might be bothered by them but he likes it. Similar to his own house once upon a time, it makes the space feel lived in; warm, inviting.

The idea of someone finding this place and entering it, going through your things to take what they want – he knows it’s hypocritical to be upset about it, but a wave of rage pierces through his thoughts and he kneels, ignoring the call of the water to double check the trap in front of him.

He clenches his jaw; Sarah’s bedspread and your plants lingering in his mind.

–

“You okay?” you ask later that night, after glancing at his far away expression for the hundredth time. He’s been quiet since he got back, near silent during dinner and you can see the churning waters of his mind under the surface of his eyes.

“Yea, I’m fine.” He presses a quick kiss to your forehead, and leaves it at that.

He still seems distracted when he comes to bed, grabbing his book from the nightstand to sit propped against the headboard to read, and when you put your own book down and roll onto your side to close your eyes, he reaches to turn out the light and follows suit. He’s still for a while and then scoots closer, the warmth of his body felt from behind you as the bed dips slightly. His touch trails along the curve of your shoulder, following the length of your arm. There is no intention to it, nothing he’s initiating. A soothing, yet restless drag of his fingers along your skin and he’s wide awake, you can tell from the thrum of energy between your bodies in the dark.

You open your eyes, rolling to face him and reaching to touch the curve of his cheek.

“You okay?”

He takes in your face for a moment, his dark eyes drifting over your features. “I’ve been thinking about what you asked me earlier. About going back to see my old place.”

You shift, bending your arm to tuck it under your pillow. “You change your mind? You want to?”

“No,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t want to go back because…” he stalls, letting out a breath. His jaw shifts subtly, and you wait, watching his face.

“I had a daughter.”

The statement hangs suspended between the two of you, and not wanting to speak until you know for sure that he’s done, you stay silent.

“Her name was Sarah.” He frowns slightly when he says it out loud, like he’s in pain and his hand slips off your arm and down to rest in front of him on the bed. You follow it, placing your hand over his. “That’s who I would want a picture of.”

“You don’t have any?”

He shakes his head slowly, his gaze unfocused. He smiles ruefully in the dark. “There was this one she kept in her room - I can still see it. The two of us, my hand over her eyes just jokin’ around and the smile on her face is –' His voice falters for a moment, and he stops, clearing his throat. The sheen of his wet eyes glimmers in the darkness. “She had a killer smile. You would’ve loved it.”

“I bet I would have,” you reply softly.

His expression darkens, and your thumb sweeps across his skin. “I don’t think I could handle seeing her room, ya know?”

His eyes meet yours, open and honest. “That thing you were saying earlier, about people going through your house? I know they’ve probably done it to mine and I don’t – I don’t think I could take seeing her stuff like that. Scattered, or destroyed. Rotted.”

A tear slips free, sliding through the creases lining the outside of his eye. “I wanna preserve the memory of her in that room. Sitting on her bed, listening to music or doing her homework…I don’t wanna see it empty.”

The sight of him crying makes your own vision blur, and you squeeze your hand in reassurance.

“Of course,” you whisper. “God, of course you wouldn’t want to see that. I am so sorry I brought that up, Joel. I had no idea.”

“I don’t talk about her, so you wouldn’t know.”

His words are quiet, yet definitive and ridden with guilt and he clears his throat, letting out a deep, shaky breath. You stroke his temple with your thumb, and he lets his eyes close, focusing on your touch.

“How old was she, when she…” you don’t say the word, and he takes another breath, answering you.

“Fourteen.”

“How —,” you start, and then you stop yourself, giving him time to answer if he wants. He seems like he wants to, seems still agitated like there is something held inside that needs to come out and you wait, giving him time.

“She died…the day of the outbreak. I tried to get her from the house when everything went to shit and she — she got hurt. I was carryin’ her, because she couldn’t walk and then…the soldiers that were going around in all the cities? I begged ‘em not to do it, but they shot anyway and I couldn’t –”

Another tear slips free, darkening his pillow case and he closes his eyes for a moment with a frown before opening them again. “I couldn’t do anything. Nothin’ but hold her and beg my brother to help me.”

Realization hits you, your chest flooding with sorrow. “That’s the dream, isn’t it? When you call for Tommy.”

He nods, and you immediately reach for him, gathering him in your arms.

He comes willingly, seeking out your embrace and the collar of your sleep shirt dampens against your skin as you stroke the crown of his hair. He’s a near silent crier, deep breaths taken in the crook of your neck as his wet eyelashes brush over your skin and he lets everything run out; his hands clutching you tightly. His arms tightening around you, you lay there and soothe him, saying nothing while your mind processes what he told you.

You can’t imagine that type of pain.

Not only to not only lose a child, but in that way. No wonder he was so closed off.

The thing he loved the most - a kind of love you can’t even comprehend - violently taken from him the day the world ended and the path of the Joel Miller that came after sharpens, growing clearer in your mind. A brutal shell of a person, hardened by everything that’s happened.

You’re still thinking about it when he lifts his head, apologizing for getting your shirt wet.

“Hey,” you softly reprimand him, “don’t. You don’t — “ you start, and then his own words come to you. “You don’t gotta be tough here with me. I got you.”

He lifts the corner of his mouth at your impersonation of him, and you give him your own matching, small smile.

“I mean it.” Your face slips into something more solemn, and you cup his whiskered cheek in your hand. He chases the warmth of it, leaning into your touch. “Listen to me. You didn’t do nothing, okay?”

He meets your gaze with an intensity of his own, and you keep going.

“You said you didn’t do anything, and that’s not true, Joel. It’s not true.” He waits, and you continue in a hush. “You held her.”

His face softens, and another tear glides down his cheek.

“You carried her and held her and even though you were scared — I can’t imagine how scared you were — you tried to protect her and then you held her. You couldn’t stop what happened and it’s not your fault, Joel. You did the best you could do.”

“It wasn’t good enough.”

Your own tears well up and slide free, your hand making sure his attention is on you.

“It was, baby. It was.”

The endearment slips from your lips and he doesn’t question it, instead just looking at you for a moment before pushing forward to seek out your mouth with his own. You help him, pulling him in for a kiss as his plush, soft lips fit with yours, his mouth damp from his tears yet hungry for your taste and comfort.

You thread your fingers through his hair, tilting your mouth to deepen the kiss. “Tell me how to help.” Another kiss, another. “You want this? Want me?”

He nods, his nose brushing against yours and kisses you again, shifting to lay the weight of his body on top of yours. You make room for him between your thighs, your hands running down his back and the smooth, strong lines of it flex under your touch, a groan rumbling through his chest when you drag your nails lightly over his skin.

“You’re so sweet. You taste so good,” he breathes into you between kisses, his hand reaching down to tug at the waist of your sleep shorts and you help him, pushing them down and off. Reaching between your bodies and slipping your hand under the band of his briefs, you find the hardening, warm heft of him and give him a firm couple of strokes. His hips chase your fist as he thickens in your palm and he rocks himself against you a couple times before lifting his own hips to shove them down.

Unburdened, he gets hungrier, his hands helping yours as you tug at his shirt and then your own, the threadbare material of both tossed onto the floor. You want to feel every inch of him, pulling him down to you until he’s fit himself to your body, his skin feverishly flush against yours. His stiff cock fits along your slick seam, sliding through your folds when he rolls his hips against yours again, and again.

“I want you,” you tell him, guiding his mouth to your own. “Let me make you feel good. I want to make you feel better.”

“You do, honey. You do.” Moving his lips to the edge of your mouth and then over the curve of your jaw, he licks along the hollow just under your ear before pressing a kiss there. “You always make me feel good. You make everything feel good.”

Your touch becomes almost frantic at his admission, the need to carve out a space for him inside your chest or merge your bodies into one or take his face into your hands and tell him until he understands just how much you would do anything for him. How much he means to you, how much you owe him. How much you want to protect him just as much as he protects you.

He meets your urgency, his hands bracing themselves on the bed around your shoulders before he reaches down to line himself up, and you whine into his mouth when he notches himself against the dip of your entrance and slides in, filling you full.

He breaks the kiss, his hips already starting a weighted rock. “Fuck, honey. Fuck.”

“Oh my God.” He usually gives you more time than this to get ready for him, usually uses his fingers and his tongue, and a tight fit, your jaw clenches as he makes room for himself, burying deep. “Joel.”

His mouth covers yours with a groan, drinking down the whimpers you let out with every push of his hips forward and you swallow every one of his, every grunt, every push of hot, humid air onto your tongue. His bicep strains under your knee when he hooks his arm under your leg to pull it up, first one and then the other, and he’s got you spread so wide underneath him between his deep thrusts and his solid body that you cry out for him, digging your nails into his hips for purchase.

“You’re gonna make me come quick, honey. So quick –” he pants, his hips pounding into the cradle of your thighs. “And I don’t even care because you feel so fuckin’ good. So good.”

“Do it,” you encourage him, the words sliding into a moan. “I want it. I want you to come inside.”

“Yea?” he asks, his hand wrapping around your calve to tug your leg higher, resting it over his thick shoulder. Turning his head to the side, he presses a lingering kiss there, his breath washing over your skin and your mouth drops open at how deep he is. “You want it inside?”

“Please. Please,” you chant, helping him guide your other leg to rest on his shoulder and when he lets the weight of his body push you deeper into the mattress, you’re near bent in half, taking everything he needs to give. It’s a lot – too much, you’re going to feel it tomorrow – but you don’t care.

“I’m gonna – I gotta do it harder, honey, because I’m –” he spits out the words, groaning midway through when he feels you start to clamp down around him. “Christ, you’re so fuckin’ tight. So tight for me.”

“I’m gonna come, Joel,” you whine, the heat building between your hips flooding through your limbs and up through your breasts, where they press against his chest. Sweat glides between your bodies, and he moans louder at your admission, almost a growl of victory. “Make me come, I’m so close.”

The two of you move with single minded intensity; one of his hands fitting between your tailbone and the mattress to hit the angle just right, and your hips pushing up to meet his every punishing, weighted stroke down.

He’s so thick, and filling, and heavy, your cunt so slick as he pushes in again, and again, and again, his mouth open in a pant above you with your knees almost at your shoulders and when you come with a sob, he buries himself deeper than he ever has with a weighted grind and does the same.

The soft give of his belly jumps against yours, his throat stretched taut as he works in every last drop and when he finally relaxes over you, he’s gentle in his movements. His hands help your legs down – first one, then the other - and his mouth finds yours, giving you a kiss. Your legs find a home in a wind around his waist, your hold guiding him to lay on your chest and even though you could have killed for a fan earlier and still could, you keep him there.

You nose along his sweat damp hairline, pressing a kiss on his slick temple and content, the two of you lay in silence; the only sound your shared, heavy breathing.

His body melts on top of you, all taut agitation in his limbs gone as he pushes his arms underneath your back to hold you tight and you know he’s slipping into sleep by the way his breathing evens and slows under your palms.

He’s still snug inside you, but you make no effort to move him.

“Thank you for telling me about her,” you whisper to him, your fingers carding through his dark, unruly curls shot through with gray but you’re met with silence.

Unburdened, he’s already fast asleep.

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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draquus · 4 months ago

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As a poor, semi-disabled, almost-40-year-old woman, everything having to do with my uterus is kind of terrifying. I worry about getting pregnant again. I worry that I'll never have a daughter. I worry about how I would manage if I did have more children. I just had a period where I was bleeding so much I thought I might have to go to the ER, and my doctor says it was most likely either a miscarriage or a sign of impending menopause, and both of those ideas are so contradictory and so connected and so emotionally fraught. It's rough right now.

The worst part is living in a world where 95% of the advice on how to manage all these difficulties is violence. Your uterus is causing you problems? Burn it, cut it, twist metal into it. Make it inhospitable to life. Take the nurturer of life and make it a wasteland, but don't stop sending children there. Kill the children you're afraid of losing. Feed your anxiety on the blood of innocents.

There's this idea that birth control and abortion make women free and strong and independent. That anyone who would dare subject women to inconvenience and even danger is a horrible, controlling abuser. That this is how we make strong, bold women.

Let me tell you something. I have seen strong, bold women. Women who don't hide their miscarriages, but actually talk to each other and support each other. Women who are not dependent on surgeries and pharmaceuticals, but actually understand how their bodies work better than some doctors. Women who have husbands who are invested in the health and lives of their wives and children. Women who suffer, and endure, and come to the other side full of joy.

My anxiety doesn't make me stronger, it makes me weaker. Fighting it, doing the hard thing, being humble and asking for God's help, that's where the actual strength is. When I say my kids are a blessing, I don't mean that in an easy, #Blessed, happy-go-lucky looks good on Instagram way. I mean it in the way food is a blessing, health is a blessing, LIFE is a blessing. You know it most when it's the hardest to come by.

We live in a world that tells us to quietly kill so that we never have to face death. Death to self, death of self, death of children, death of our own bodies as they age. But death is so much more terrifying when you let it lurk in the corners. It's powerful when it hides in the shadows. But look it in the eye? Well, you can't do it alone. But when you find you're not alone, that's when you can begin to be brave.

#well that was a lot of words and I hope they mean what I was trying to mean #the last time I talked about being pro-life on the internet it ended in probably the most traumatizing experience of my life #but I just saw a woman go through a sudden miscarriage halfway through her pregnancy #and come out the other side with peace and supported by her community #I don't know if this is the right way of doing it but I'm trying to be brave #pro life #personal

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specialagentlokitty · 10 months ago

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Negan x reader - you have so much

TW: mentions of not eating, thoughts of death, self inflicted injuries

Sitting in the middle of your cell, you hand your hands resting on your knees, listening to the door was it was opened.

You felt some bread hit you in the head but you didn’t both to open your eyes, you simply just sat there which math man laugh.

“Seriously? You’re still doing this? Fucking pathetic.”

You said nothing and he laughed again.

“Keep going, you’re gonna die in here, gonna turn, then we’re gonna set you on your friends so you can fucking kill them all.”

The cell door was slammed shut, and you stayed exactly where you were.

They brought you food at the same time every day, so you knew the routine, you had been here for a week.

You were hungry, you were so hungry, but you didn’t eat a single thing they gave you.

You could hear them talking outside, saying Negan will be pissed when he find out how they’re treating you, and that nearly made you scoff.

You were weak, you had the start of a fever, you going to die in a matter of time without food and medicine, and you didn’t care.

“Then we just kill her before he gets here, say she was bit on the way in or something.”

You took a small breath, shuffling back so you could rest your back on the cold wall behind you, helping to relieve how hot you were feeling.

You listened to them argue, and you slumped to the side a little, you couldn’t keep holding yourself like you had been doing.

So you moved to the corner, but you stayed sat up, resting your head on the wall next to you, taking small, shallow breaths.

You must have fell asleep like that, because what woke you up was the sound of people in the hallways, all arguing and shouting.

You slowly opened your eyes, seeing your cell door still shut, and you closed them again.

You heard Negan’s whistle, you’d recognise it anywhere, it was the last thing you heard before you were knocked out and brought to their sanctuary.

You weren’t going to tell them anything they wanted, you weren’t going to tell them anything about the place you now called home, about your family and friends.

You raised your head, hitting it on the wall next to you slightly, and you raised it again to do the same thing.

They couldn’t force information out of you if you were unconscious, or more likely in your state, dead.

You kept going, despite how painful it was and the fact your body was trembling, you felt a small cut open your head, and when you hit it again you felt it open more

You couldn’t make out the sounds of the talking outside, but you stopped when you heard the lock to your cell click.

“Now, let’s see if our little guest has any words of advice for us.” Negan smirked.

He swung the door open, the lights making you turn your head, eyes screwed shut at how bright it was.

Negan chuckled a little, tapping his bat against the metal door a few times.

“Now, it’s rude not to look at your host sweetheart. I’m the one who’s looking after you, you know that.”

You slowly turned your head to him, opening your eyes to stare into his.

Your half dead eyes boring into shocked and angry eyes as he stared right back, taking in your sickly form.

You were covered in sweat, you were pale, dark circles under your eyes, and if it were possible in the last week he had seen you, you looked thinner.

He saw the blood on the side of your head, and he watched it drip on to your shirt, then flicked his gaze to the wall next to you, the still wet blood running down it.

You took a shaky breath.

“Looks like… you lose…” you rasped out.

Negan turned around to stare at his men who all subconsciously shuffled back from the sheer look of rage on his face.

“Who the fuck let this happen?” He asked lowly.

There was silence and he slammed Lucille into the door, creating a loud echo.

“WHO DID THIS?!” He shouted.

Nobody dared to answer him, and he began to pace a step back and forth.

“If I don’t get answers I’m going to bashing heads into the ground, I don’t give a fuck if you did it or not, every minute I wait a new skull is getting mashed into shit.”

You laughed weakly, causing him to look at you, and you coughed a little.

“It.. doesn’t matter…”

“It does fucking matter, who the fuck was the one who was supposed to be looking after you?” He snapped.

You closed your eyes taking a few ragged breaths before looking at him again.

All you did was offer him a shrug.

You were going to buy yourself as much time as possible, and when he turned around again, you hit your head on the wall.

“Times up!”

Negan raised his his bat, there was a chorus of screams and finally someone was pushed to their knees in front of him.

He looked down at the man who was begging for Negan to spare his life.

“Did you let this happen?”

“I thought you wouldn’t give a shit! It’s just Ricks sister!”

Negan raised his foot, boot colliding with the face of the man, sending him flying to the ground.

“Get this fucking prick downstairs, I’ll be down to make an example of him as to WHY WE FOLLOW THE FUCKING RULES!”

Everybody scrambled away while two grabbed the man to drag him away.

Negan grabbed hold of one of the workers and shoved them the opposite way they were running.

“Tell the doc to get ready.”

With that Negan turned to you, and you raised your head, he took a step forward.

“Don’t..”

“You don’t get a say.”

He set Lucille on the ground next to you, and he crouched down, placing his hand between your head and the wall as you went to hit it again.

“Fuck!” He hissed.

Pulling his hand away, he shook it a few times to try and ease the pain.

Negan grabbed your arm, hauling you to your feet and he picked up his bat, walking you from your cell, or more, dragging you from it.

You couldn’t walk, and the sudden movement made you go light headed, and you fell to the floor with a head thud.

“Oh fuck! Fucking hell!”

He looked around.

“Follow me!”

He shoved Lucille into the hands of Simon, and Negan put his arm under your neck, the other under your knees as he hauled you up.

You braced your hand on his chest, and weakly pushed yourself, the sudden shift in your weight causing him to stumble, but he didn’t fall.

Negan tightened his grip around you and glanced down as he carried on running through the halls.

“Sorry sweetheart, you don’t get a free pass that easily.”

You tried to think of another way, your vision pulsating, and you could only think of one sure way.

Bringing your head to the side, you opened your mouth and dug your teeth into the exposed skin of his wrist.

“Fucking hell! Were you raised by fucking animals!? Holy shit!”

Negan rushed you into the infirmary and he set you on the bed, pushing your head back so you would let go and you did.

“Shit! What the fuck?!”

“What happened?!” Carson asked.

“She fucking bit me!”

Carson rushed over to his boss and he was shivered away, a hand placed on the back of his neck as he was led over to you.

“She isn’t dead, she’s alive, and you’re going to do everything to fucking keep her that way, if you don’t then you better be wearing your pissing pants, because you’ll be needing them…” Negan sneered.

While the doctor tried to look after you, Negan began to gathered everything he needed to tend to his new wound.

Carson was trying to put an IV in you, but you kept fighting it, grabbing the doctors hand you dug your fingers into his skin, making his drop it to the floor.

“I.. I need a new needle.” Carson said.

Negan grabbed one, slamming it on the table.

You locked eyes with Negan, breath trembling.

“I’ll be dead.. by the.. end of the day…” you sneered.

“You wanna bet on that? I’ll be fucked if I’m letting you die that easily. Simon grab her arm.”

Negan walked over, he trapped your other arm under him, using his arm he placed it on your collarbone, keeping you down, his other hand on your forehead, making sure to stay clear of your mouth this time.

He avoided the head wound you had as well, and he leant up so he could look at you.

“Stop.” He said quietly.

You were breathing deeply, jaw clenched as you tried so hard in your weak state to break free.

“Fucking hell (Y/N) we’re trying to keep you alive, stop!”

You locked eyes with him, and you slowly stopped fighting, your eyes closing but you tried to fight it.

“A sedative, it’ll wear off in a while.” Carson said.

Simon and Negan moved from you, Negan took his Lucille back, sending his friend away and he stood next to you, watching the anxious doctor work.

Carson hung a bag up, and he moved to clean your head and stitch it up.

“You better hope she makes it doc, your very life is depending on it.” Negan warned.

Carson glanced up, before turning his attention to you.

“She has a minor infection, some antibiotics will clear it up, and fight the infection before it gets to her head injury, she’s dehydrated, and she will need to eat something soon.”

The doctor stood up, and Negan looked at the bag.

“It’s one I made, it should get the antibiotics and some fluids back into her system, how did this happen?”

Negan said nothing and Carson quickly nodded his head, knowing it was better than to ask his question again.

When you woke up, it took a few minutes to realise that you weren’t in the infirmary anymore, you were on a bed.

You turned your head, groaning a little in pain, but it didn’t stop you from sitting up.

You didn’t recognise the room, you didn’t know how long it had been, but there was a glass of water on the table next to you.

You ignored it, hand reaching up to your head to find a bandage around it.

Glancing around the room to make sure that you were alone, you slowly began to unwrap it, tossing it aside, and you ran your fingers along the stitches.

Finding the first one, you began to try find a way to undo it, blood trickling down your face as you breathed through the pain.

The door was opened and closed, Negan walked in, setting Lucille down on a chair, not seeing thay you were awake, and he set some food down on the table.

You carried on what you were, trying to find a good angle or grip.

Negan froze, and he spun around, marching over he grabbed your wrist, pulling it from your head.

“Stop, now.” He warned.

You grabbed his wrist, trying to bite him again and he grabbed both your wrists in his hand, placing his hand on your head to stop you.

“Seriously?! Who the fuck bites people?! I’m trying to save your life! Stop trying to fucking bite me! If you’re going to bite me at least do it in the fun kind of way!”

You stopped, looking at him and he smirked a little.

“Yeah, that made you stop didn’t if.”

“Pig…”

He shrugged a little, taking his bandanna off and he placed it gently against your wound, picking up the bandage you had discarded.

“It made you stop didn’t it? I’d say that’s a win. Now, sit still.”

You tried to move away and he gave you a warning look, making you stop.

Negan wrapped your head up again, and he handed you the glass of water.

“Drink it.”

You set it back down.

Sighing, Negan picked it up, taking a drink from one side, and handed you the glass back.

“It’s just water, that’s it.”

You smacked the glass out of his hand and it crashed to the floor.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You need to drink, and eat if you want to keep on breathing, don’t you understand that?!” He hissed.

He walked over to the table, picking up the food and set it in your lap while he began to clean up the water you had thrown.

You didn’t want to waste food, so instead you just set it where the water was.

Negan noticed this and he sighed.

“It wasn’t my intention for you to get hurt in anyway. You weren’t supposed to be put in that cell, and the fuckwit that put you in there had now joined our lovely team of walkers out the front.”

You rested your back on the headboard.

“If you’re… going to kill me… just do it…”

“I just spent all that effort and those resources to save you, why would I kill you now? I gain nothing from that except your very pissed brother storming my sanctuary.”

You turned away from him as he set the food back down in front of you.

“Seriously? What is this a strike? Eat.”

You turned your head a little further away so you didn’t even have to look at the food.

“Fine.”

Negan left it there leaving the room.

The theory was that maybe you would eat without him around, but you didn’t. Or if you did he didn’t notice anything missing.

He tried the harsh approach, the just seeing how you did approach, the trying to force you to eat approach which worked for a few days until you had enough strength to punch him in the jaw before you stopped again. He had tried to engage you in conversations, which sometimes you’d take part in, he tried to engage you in card games or even just a walk around the halls.

You would take part as long as it didn’t involve him trying to help you in any other way, if it was just company you’d take it, but that was it.

Now he was trying another, he brought your food in, and he sat on the chair next to the bed, setting the food in your lap.

You didn’t even look at it, you just sat there.

“Look, just tell me what I’m doing wrong here. Do you not like the food? Do you need me to leave while you eat? What? What do you want? Because I’m running out of ideas here, and I can’t exactly return you to Rick the prick in this state, so you’re stuck with my ass until you’re healthy.”

You looked at him.

“What do you want from me sweetheart?”

Negan watched you, the way you refused food or water, the way you were so determined to hit you head and take your stitches out.

These weren’t the tactics of somebody who was trying to survive.

“Just kill me…”

Negan swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Do you wanna die?” He asked quietly.

“Yes…”

“Why?”

You looked away.

“Why do I need a reason?”

“Tell me why.”

You clenched your jaw.

“Because I can’t do it myself…”

Negan slowly nodded his head.

“This why you’re doing all this? So I get pissed off and kill you?”

You nodded.

“You tried this before?”

“Rick, Michonne… they took all my weapons, won’t let me go anywhere without someone there… I even tried to walk into a herd of walkers…”

Negan got up, taking the food from you, setting it aside and he sat on the edge of the bed.

He tried to get a better look at you but you wouldn’t let him.

“Why the fuck would you want to do that?” He asked.

Despite his swearing, the tone was gentle, soft, it sounded like he was actually worried about you.

“Because what’s the point? We’re all going to become one of those things some how, at least I’d have control over my death. I have nothing anymore, Rick isn’t even my biological brother, he just feels guilty he killed Shane, so I have nothing.”

You turned your head, contacting eyes with him.

“So do it. Kill me.”

“I’m not going to kill you.”

Negan took the food, setting it back in your lap, and he took some from the plate to eat, just like all the other times he brought you food.

“You said you had nothin’ but that’s not true, you do, they’re all waiting for you to go back, demand for you to go back. I’d say that’s something.”

Negan picked up the fork, and he held it out to you with a little grin.

“Come on, it’s good shit.”

He took the fork back, putting some food on it and he held it up and you took it.

“I can feed myself..”

“Yeah, because that’s gone well huh?”

You glared a little and ate some of the food, and you turned the plate, gesturing to whatever you just ate to him and tried something else.

Negan got another food, eating the part of your meal you didn’t like, he didn’t say anything in case you stopped.