#I love this two morally questionable idiots in love

[gimmethatagustd]

morals on sundays | myg

You're still in love with your ex-boyfriend. Yoongi offers some help to get over him.

○ Pairing: BFF!Yoongi x f!Reader

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Friends with benefits, angst, smut, fluff

○ 6 / 100 Drabble Challenge (FWB)

○ Word Count: 2,177

○ Warnings: MC's boyfriend cheated on her, post-breakup blues, questionable decision making, fingering so good you'll try to run away from it, pussy eating, too much tongue sucking probably, Yoongi is a boob guy, they have matching Spongebob and Patrick coffee mugs so why aren't they married?? Idiots

○ Notes: Shout out to @sailoryooons for also writing about a daegu boy eating pussy tonight 😌 And, as usual, I wrote this with scrambled eggs for brains and didn't proofread it, so if you see any errors, no you didn't

○ Post Date: January 22, 2024

○ Masterlist | Send me ur thots

○ What was Jai listening to? Imported - Jessie Reyez ft. 6LACK

Lately, you’ve felt like disappearing – not into a crowded city street in another country or down an unlit dirt road into the unknown, but into the warm folds of Yoongi’s hoodie. You’re already halfway there, with your fingers interlaced with his, shoved into the large front pocket, and your face tucked into his shoulder. 

“Fuck, I hate taking the bus,” he curses, his words turning into a cloud that disappears into the cold air. 

“How much time do we have?” 

Yoongi turns his head, and his lips briefly touch the cold curve of your ear. 

“You’re mumbling. What’d you say?”

“How much time until it comes?” You squint up at him, cheek still pressed against his shoulder. It’s too warm here to want to move. 

“Can’t check the app on my phone unless you give me my hands.” 

“No.” 

Yoongi chuckles and jostles your head by bobbing his shoulders. 

“I thought our date would cheer you up.” His complaint is playful, eyes sparkling in the streetlights when he returns his gaze to the empty road. You should have gotten a taxi. 

“I’m gonna die alone. Doesn’t matter how much late-night pizza I eat or how many stupid action movies I watch,” you grumble into Yoongi’s shoulder. 

“Even when the action movie lead has a super hot sex scene that’s poorly timed and irrelevant to the plot?” 

“Nope.”

“Even when the coolest guy on the entire planet was the one who took you?” Yoongi smiles cheekily, his gaze back on you. He wiggles his shoulders again, hard enough to bounce your head. 

Annoyed, you straighten up, hands still shoved in his pockets. The movie wasn’t that bad. The pizza was actually great. You’re just depressed. 

“I didn’t think it would take this long…” You whisper into the little space between your body and Yoongi’s. He knows you aren’t talking about the bus. 

Yoongi squeezes your hands inside his hoodie. The rest of you might be freezing in the winter night air, but at least Yoongi keeps your hands warm. He keeps your heart warm, too, with his sincere gaze when he looks at you. 

“You were too good for him.” 

Yoongi’s right. He’s always right. 

You’re sufficiently frozen by the time the bus finally arrives. Yoongi pays for you both because he’s trying to make life easy. No bumps in the road, no unnecessary stress. He lets you sit in a window seat so you can stare out at the blurry night scenery and have your sad main character moment for as long as it takes to get to your apartment. 

Once you arrive, he follows you inside and heads straight to the kitchen while you slump down the hall to your bedroom. The cold seeps so deeply into your bones that the sweatpants and sweater you change into barely help increase your body temperature. 

Maybe it’s because the sweatpants and sweater are your ex-boyfriend’s, and the universe wants to keep your body as cold as his heart was. 

In the kitchen, Yoongi uses a wooden spoon to stir hot chocolate in a small pot, your favorite kind that comes in a block of chocolate that melts with milk. It’s likely been years since Yoongi has made you hot chocolate. Cozy winter nights indoors were once commonplace, the two of you alternating between apartments to make each other snacks and treat cuddles like currency. The appearance of your ex put an end to the comfort you shared with Yoongi. It put an end to most things that brought you comfort. 

As you expect, Yoongi has two mugs out on the counter. You reach for yours, twisting it in your hands as you wait for him to finish. 

“Remember when Spongebob tried to become best friends with Squidward instead of Patrick?” Yoongi asks, turning off the stove. He uses a ladle to pour hot chocolate into his pink mug, then pours some into your yellow one. 

“Yes.” 

“He was Squidward. I’m just mad I didn’t get to blow up his house–” Yoongi laughs and nearly spills his drink when you smack him in the arm, “–with bubbles! With bubbles. I’m not homicidal.” 

Rolling your eyes, you set down your mug next to Yoongi’s, both drinks too hot to drink quickly. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, hooking your finger into his hoodie pocket and tugging lightly, the action absentminded. You keep your eyes cast downward because you don’t want him to see your tears if they run. “I’m sorry I’ve been in such a shitty mood. I know it’s been a while, but, it just… I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about him, and everything fucking hurts…” 

Yoongi slips his fingers under your sleeve and circles your wrist, pulling your hand away from his pocket so he can lace your fingers together. They’re so much warmer now, defrosted by the heat blasting through your apartment and Yoongi’s hot chocolate. 

“Maybe you could start by not wearing his clothes?” Yoongi offers quietly. “Can’t imagine it’s easy to get over someone when you keep them on your body like that.” 

You sniffle and nod. Again, Yoongi is always right. 

“Easier said than done…” you mumble, giving him a weak smile when you finally meet his eyes. There’s something there in his expression, something that seems different. 

You don’t move away when Yoongi steps closer, even when he has you backed against the counter, even when you feel like you’re going to swallow your heart. 

“I could take them off for you,” Yoongi says softly. He lets go of your sleeve to pinch the hem of your sweater, tugging it lightly. “If you can’t do it, I can.” 

“Yeah?” You feel out of breath, maybe because you suck in your stomach when Yoongi’s fingers brush against it. 

“Yeah,” he echoes, fingers sliding along your ribs as he pushes your sweater up. “So you can get over him.” 

It’s a terrible idea, but your stomach flutters when he looks at you with sleepy eyes weighed down by the late hour and lust. He bites his bottom lip, and you feel your resolve slip as easily as Yoongi’s fingers do beneath your clothes. 

“I want to.” The declaration is desperate, and for a moment, you can’t do anything but stare into Yoongi’s eyes with an all-consuming sadness that eats at your insides, gnawing on bones and biting holes into your lungs. “God, Yoongi, I want to.” 

Yoongi touches his forehead to yours, making you close your eyes because he’s too close and you’re too much of a coward. 

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi whispers. His voice is as gentle as his hands on your bare waist, his thumbs caressing your sensitive skin. 

You raise your arms for Yoongi to pull off your sweater. He’s confident when he squeezes your tits, doesn’t even seem caught off guard when he realizes you’re not wearing anything under the sweater. He brushes his thumbs over your nipples as he leans in to kiss you, his tongue tasting sweet from the hot chocolate when he flicks it against yours. 

“Yoongi,” you call out with an airy sigh that harmonizes nicely with the sound of him sucking open-mouthed kisses down your neck. 

“Hmm?” Yoongi hums against the base of your throat, the vibration sending a tingling sensation straight to your clit. He keeps one hand on the counter beside your waist, caging you in, while his other hand cups your pussy over your sweatpants. 

“Oh,” you gasp, your hands immediately finding Yoongi’s firm shoulders when he starts rubbing your clit, occasionally dipping his fingers lower to press against your entrance, soaking the fabric. 

“These are his, too, right?” 

“Y-yes,” you moan as Yoongi pulls down your sweatpants, taking your underwear with them. 

You can’t say you never thought about how attractive Yoongi is; it’s hard to ignore. It’s just that Yoongi is your best friend. If anything were to happen between the two of you, you don’t know if you’d be able to survive losing him, too. You love him. 

But you also love your ex. 

It’s hard to think about that, though, with two of Yoongi’s fingers pumping in and out of your pussy. They’re long, reaching deeper than your own can when you finger yourself, always late at night when you’re lonely. It never feels good after. The clarity always seems to hit too quickly, like being dunked in a pool of ice water. 

Three months. That’s how long it’s been since another person touched you, since you found out your ex-boyfriend had been cheating on you. You didn’t realize how much you missed it until you’ve got your head thrown back and your thighs quivering as Yoongi fucks you with his fingers. You nearly climb up the counter, both wanting him to touch you more and trying to get away because it’s too good. 

Your ex never searched for the spot that would make your legs shake, but Yoongi does. He curls his fingers against your front wall and keeps up his rhythm, moving with your body when you can’t control where it goes. 

“Fuck, right there.” You’re burning up, veins turned to lava that’s rushing toward your core as Yoongi fucks you closer and closer to your orgasm until you’re on the verge of tears because you haven’t been touched in so long and you’re so lonely and you weren’t good enough. You weren’t enough. 

“Wanna make you cum,” Yoongi groans, deep and gravelly, between licking a stripe up your tits and sucking your nipples. 

“Please,” you moan, “Please, I’m so close.” 

Your arousal gushes around his fingers, slicking them up and making your pussy squelch when Yoongi flutters them inside you. He keeps his thumb pressed against your clit, almost too hard. It stops you from bucking your hips, but you can barely stand as it is. 

Yoongi’s lips are back on yours, red from sucking your nipples until it hurt. He whispers against your lips and opens his mouth to let you suck on his tongue with a pathetic whimper. 

“Not yet, though.” 

“Wha– Yoongi, no–” It’s embarrassing how loudly you cry out when Yoongi slips his fingers out of your pussy. You feel the fire in your core simmer until you’re left with a painfully throbbing clit and your juices smeared on your inner thighs. 

“Shhh, you know I always take care of you.” Yoongi shuts you up with a bite to your bottom lip. He leans down slightly to squeeze the backs of your thighs and hoist you up onto the counter. “Lean back.” 

The cold marble counter sends shivers across your body, but it can’t keep up with the heat of Yoongi’s mouth on your pussy. He kisses your lips so gently that you think you might actually cry before he pushes your thighs back, opening you up. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan as Yoongi goes straight for your clit, sucking on it as he swirls his tongue around it. You dig your hands into his hair and tug the strands hard enough to make him moan into your pussy. “Use your, use–” 

Yoongi laps at your clit in quick, consistent bursts that fall in line with the tempo he’s fucking you to with two fingers again. His free hand presses against your lower abdomen, keeping your body taunt so you don’t buck into his face or curl inward. It’s bad enough that you can’t stop your legs from shaking when one rests on his shoulder and the other drapes over the crook of his arm. 

It’s messy and loud, Yoongi licking and sucking your pussy like he really is trying to empty your mind of everything but the way the tip of his hot, wet tongue feels swirling your clit and the stretch of his fingers when he slips a third inside you and focuses on massaging the sensitive part of your walls. It’s working. He completely consumes your senses, down to how gorgeous he looks staring at you from between your thighs. 

Your Yoongi, fingerfucking you and sucking your clit like you’re his favorite meal. 

You try not to bang your head against the counter when you finally cum, instead focusing the overwhelming energy into pulling Yoongi’s hair to keep his face in your pussy.

He continues fucking you with his fingers through your orgasm, to the point that you can’t lie still any longer. 

“Yoongi, oh my god, Yoongi, it’s too much,” you whimper and gasp, thighs closing around his head until he finally eases his fingers out of you. 

Strings of your arousal connect his lips with your pussy until he swipes his tongue along his bottom lip, cutting them off. His bangs are pushed off his forehead and his hair sticks up from you pulling on it, but his eyes sparkle and his cheeks are just as rosy as his pink, slicked-up lips. 

“Shit,” Yoongi murmurs, leaning over you on the counter to kiss you. He shoves his tongue in your mouth and lets you suck your juices from it. 

You think you taste better on Yoongi’s tongue than on your ex’s. 

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories. 

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd​ - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here. 

@jooniesxbby @seokteoksworld @taegeum @dprmoon @chimmisbae

#yoongi x reader #bts x reader #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi angst #bts angst #yoongi fluff #bts fluff #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #jai writes #gimmethatagustd #mos #100 drabble challenge

[joelscurls]

stalemate

pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

words: 7.2k

summary: Frankie Morales is your best friend — until a drunken hookup tears you apart.

warnings: 18+ minors dni; friends -> enemies -> lovers, TF characters without the TF plot, no Tom (in this house we hate Tom), alcohol consumption, smoking, angst, jealousy, pining, Frankie & reader being idiots in love, explicit smut, size kink, brief mentions of drunk sex, bad / regretful sex (between reader & OC), oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, multiple orgasms, use of pet names (bebita, querida, baby, etc.), grilled cheese as a love language, happy ending, I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything!

a/n:  thank you so much to @javisashtray & @pedgito for beta-reading this for me <3 this is for all my frankie lovers out there (aka bitches with good taste). dividers are by cafekitsune. follow @joelscurlsupdates for fic notifications! enjoy :)

Frankie Morales makes the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had. Perfectly golden bread; gooey, melty cheese — just the thought of it makes you drool. He says he has a secret ingredient. Won’t let you in the kitchen while he cooks for you, lest you find out. 

Sometimes, upon entering his apartment, you can already smell melted butter. He’ll have started on one without even asking if you want it. He knows you always do. 

Sit, he’ll shout from the other room. I’ll be right there. Feel free to put something on — but please, not 13 Going on 30. You’ll thank him and question his distaste for Mark Ruffalo in the same breath: you’re the best, but it’s not my fault Matty is the dream man.

He’ll bring you the wafting plate along with a Corona, and insist that you eat before it goes cold while he makes one for himself. Ever the gentleman, ever the friend — at least he was.

Because the two of you haven’t spoken in a month; not since the drunken hookup that you’re both pretending didn’t happen.

You’d laughed the entire cab ride home from the bar. That last round of tequila shots had left you feeling good, all warm and giggly, and Frankie mirrored you in the backseat with his drunken grin. Eyes glassy, lips pulled wide, he’d smacked you lightly on the shoulder as you recalled Santiago’s pitiful loss in that third game of pool. “When he pocketed the eight-ball…” he trailed off into another fit of laughter. 

“And then—“ you attempted, voice caught in your throat as another giggle barreled out. “—the cue hitting his drink!” Your entire body folded over, hands braced on Frankie’s thighs as the two of you struggled to regain composure. Through labored breaths, you squealed. “He’s never going to live that down!”

After a few particularly stressful months at work, you lived for these nights out with your friends. You’d met Frankie through your best friend Mal, who was dating his friend Benny, and your circles had eventually meshed into one. Sometimes it felt like it had always been that way, like you’d known the guys your entire life.

Especially Frankie.

Your friendship was a special one — punctuated by frequent trips to the movies to watch the latest horrible slasher film; by nights spent yapping on the phone about nothing in particular. He’d become a constant in your life. Never, in your right mind, would you even dream of doing anything to jeopardize that— 

“You look really hot tonight, by the way.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have. But then it was you who leaned in closer, you who rested your hand on his hip and plucked the Standard Heating Oil cap off his head, placing it atop your own.

It was you who kissed him first.

He deepened it though — that was all him — large, restless hands grasping at your sides, your back, your face; tongue pushing past the seam of your lips to press against yours. He’d groaned into your mouth when the cab stopped at the curb in front of your building. Cursed under his breath when you pulled away.

And then, your voice ragged and breathless, you’d asked, “do you want to come in for a bit?”

It was a mistake. A horrible, blissful mistake. Waking up with sticky thighs and Frankie’s thumbprint bruised into your hip, you’d found his side of the bed cold; your inbox empty. He hadn’t called, hadn’t texted. Still hasn’t.

The aftermath is cursory glances. Half-assed greetings and pleasantries murmured across the bar. Which you don’t mind, really. You don’t want to speak to him. He’d probably just feed you some lie about losing track of time, not remembering what happened that night.

You wish you could forget it.

The visual is fuzzy; fleeting. But his voice — god, his voice — it still rings in your ears, drips at the nape of your neck like a leaking tap: fuck, baby, knew you’d take my cock; feel so good wrapped around me.

Your friends don’t know. They can’t; they wouldn’t let you live it down. Benny has made plenty of offhand comments already about you and Frankie being perfect for each other, having the same stubborn disposition. Mal does nothing to shut him up. Instead, she encourages him. Tells him he’s so right. 

You’re pretty sure your eyeballs are going to fall out someday from glaring too hard.

Because you’re not perfect for each other — far from it, actually. Fuck, you can’t even communicate effectively. How could you ever be in a real relationship? 

Not that you want that. Frankie is…well, Frankie. Sure, he’d felt undeniably incredible on top of you, inside of you — but he isn’t the type to settle down. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever heard Frankie talk about dating. 

Besides, he’s clearly not interested in being anyone’s anything right now. Not even your friend. 

It hurts; cuts deeper than you care to admit. Just weeks ago, you’d spent an entire weekend at his place, marathoning the X Files and gorging on cold pizza. Now, he won’t even look your way for more than a few seconds. 

Won’t make you a fucking grilled cheese.

It’s a Friday night, which means you’re meeting your friends at Sid’s. The glow of neon seeping through the windows of the old dive bar is warm and inviting as you step out of your rideshare and make your way toward the doors.

Frankie is sitting at the bar with Santiago when you enter. Hunched shoulders, narrowed eyes trained on his bottle of Corona, he appears detached from whatever Santi is saying to him. He doesn’t acknowledge you when you stroll up to them — not until his friend’s hand lands hard on his back, pulling his attention away from the beer. He offers a half-assed hello and an even more half-assed half-hug, and then he’s sliding back onto his barstool. 

Ever-oblivious, Santiago doesn’t seem to notice the way Frankie curls in on himself; the way your back is up like an agitated cat’s.

Mal and Benny turn up minutes later, immediately ordering a round of shots for the group. You down the liquor eagerly, not bothering to lean on salt and lime to numb the sting. You want to feel it. You order another before joining Mal and the guys at a pool table in the back, letting the acid slide down your throat with no more than a wince as Santi racks the balls.

“Alright Fish, you’re up,” he says. “Me and you. Whoever loses buys the next round.”

You watch as Frankie quirks a brow at him. Takes a swig of his beer. “You sure you want to make that bet, Pope?”

Santi grins; nods confidently. “Hell yeah, I do.” The rest of you don’t bother to suppress your laughter. You catch a glimpse of Frankie, head thrown back, his broad, glistening neck exposed, and you have to fight to ignore the sudden panging in your chest.

When Santi inevitably loses, you order a vodka soda. You’re already feeling a bit tipsy after two shots in less than twenty minutes, so the drink goes down smooth; quick. There’s a rush to your head as you settle back at the bar and fiddle with the wrapper to your straw, letting the slightly soggy paper roll between two fingers.

You barely notice when Frankie slots in a few seats down, your attention drawn only when you hear his voice. It’s deep — sounds just like it did when he had his chest pressed to your back in the dim light of your bedroom — and his intonation nearly gives you whiplash. 

When you snap your head up to look at him, you find he’s speaking to a woman. Her back is turned to you, long, dark hair tossed over her shoulder and her elbow resting casually on the bartop, but you imagine she must be beautiful by the way Frankie is visibly fawning over her. You’re staring, you hear her tease. Can’t help it, comes his reply.

Something like discomfort builds in your throat. Rises up up up. You take a long sip of your drink, letting vodka and sugar push it down. 

You’ve never seen Frankie flirt with anyone, apart from you. It’s strangely unsettling, listening to him smooth-talk her. I’m a pilot, you know, he brags; could take you up in the sky someday if you wanted. Her giddy squeal comes seconds later; really? You’d do that for me?

You feel bad for her. She doesn’t know yet that all he’ll do is disappoint her.

He feeds her lines as you sip on your drink, citrus and grain burning only when he tells her: yeah, I came with friends; they’re all over there. Gestures toward Benny, Mal and Santi standing around the pool table in the back.

Scoffing, you stand from your seat at the bar and retreat to the patio. You don’t bother to check if Frankie is looking. 

It’s cooler here, a sobering breeze carrying salt air with it as it wafts by. A few patrons have spilled outside, most smoking on faintly glowing cigarettes as they talk and laugh boisterously among themselves. You’d planned to sit alone, to plant yourself on a bench and enjoy your drink in solitude. But then a stranger is approaching you — a man, cigarette grasped between two of his fingers — and he’s asking you for a light.

He’s in his mid thirties, if you had to guess. Curly, dark hair sprouts every which way from his scalp; rounded, green eyes studying you as he awaits a response. He’s tall, though not as tall as Frankie.  His shoulders aren’t nearly as broad and his chest isn’t quite as wide. His t-shirt hangs loose around his torso, swallowing his narrow frame — dissimilar to the way Frankie’s button-down clings to him. 

Then again — why are you even comparing? Maybe the opposite of Frankie is exactly what you need. 

You’ll have to seduce this stranger first, though. Not that it seems like it’ll be very difficult. His eyes are already raking over you, lips turned up at the corner as you take a casual sip of your drink.

“I don’t smoke,” you admit apologetically. 

“Ah — that’s alright.” 

He has an accent; midwestern, maybe? You don’t bother to ask. You don’t care, really. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is—

“You here all by yourself?”

“Yeah,” he laughs at your lack of subtlety. “Are you?”

“No,” you say. “My friends are inside.” Lowering your voice, you add, “but I was thinking about leaving soon.”

“Why’s that? Early morning tomorrow?”

You shake your head. Rub at your neck as if working out a knot, a contented hum pushing past your lips at the press of fingers into skin. Your stranger’s eyes trail rather conspicuously downward.

“Just over it,” you sigh exasperatedly. “I’d much rather be home…in bed…out of these clothes.”

You pull gently at the strap of your dress, as if you can’t bear the sensation of it against your shoulder any longer.

Your stranger’s gaze darkens, and the grip on his box of cigarettes grows tighter.

“You uh — want some company — once I find a light?”

Too fucking easy.

“Sure,” you giggle.

He slips away only for a minute or two, giving you just enough time to second-guess yourself. You know nothing about this man, not even his name; only that he smokes American Spirits and smells like tobacco. Should you really go home with him? 

But then you think of Frankie inside  — talking up a woman at the bar, pretending that you don’t exist — and that just about makes up your mind for you.

Your stranger reappears, now-lit cigarette dangling from his lips. The tip of it rages red and angry, and you think you know how that feels.

He smirks at you as he stuffs the pack into the front pocket of his jeans. An unceremonious silence hangs in the air as he sucks on the filter and puffs out a string of smoke. You wait patiently for him, quietly. 

He snuffs the butt of his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. Takes your empty cup and discards that too. 

Can’t wait to get you home, he whispers in your ear then. You feign arousal, peering up at him and batting your eyelashes. Me neither, you mewl. Let’s go.

You lead him back through the bar, finding Mal and letting her know that you’ll be going. She seems a little perplexed, quirking a brow at you as you grip tightly onto your stranger’s arm, but she tells you to have fun anyway. Text me, she mouths as you make your way to the exit.

You only get a few feet, though, before you’re intercepted.

Frankie is blocking the door, arms crossed, a panic-stricken look on his face that you can’t quite comprehend. “Hey,” he says, “can I talk to you real quick?”

Your stranger backs off. Lets go of your arm and starts out the door. “I’ll wait outside,” he says, slipping away with a wink before you can protest.

The bar is bustling with noise, people in every corner drinking and laughing and dancing. Strangely, though, you’ve never felt so alone. So vulnerable. And you hate that Frankie has this power over you, the innate ability to make you feel so fucking small. It’s infuriating, it’s—

“Are you sure you want to leave with him?”

“Excuse me?” you scoff. 

Frankie stares you down, face red, eyes inky-black. “You don’t know this guy, do you? What if he’s a murderer or something? Or like — a pervert?” 

He’s grasping at straws, you know it. It’s why you laugh; roll your eyes. 

“What are you, my keeper?”

“No, it’s just — I’m just concerned for your safety, okay?”

You’re briefly stunned. After weeks of ignoring you, he cares about your wellbeing? How can he be so hypocritical?

“I’m fine,” you bite back. “Why don’t you go back to your girl at the bar? Worry about getting yourself some instead?”

He’s wounded, if only slightly. His lips part like he might retaliate, but he’s silent. Dejected. Satisfied, you brush past him. March out the door without so much as a parting glance.

Finding your stranger leaning against the bar’s brick exterior, you force a smile. He outstretches a hand and you take it, reluctantly. “Ready to go?” he asks. 

You’re not so sure anymore, but you nod anyway. Squeeze your stranger’s bicep and preen under his lustful gaze when he tenses in your grip. “Yeah,” you purr. “I’m ready.”

Cold air bites at your toes the following morning. It wakes you from a deep slumber; bitterly pulls you into consciousness. Confused, you yank at the covers. But a mysterious weight holds them in place, and only then do you remember then that you’re not alone. 

Eyes sliding open reluctantly, you scan the room. Your dress from the night before is draped over the chair in the corner, your stranger’s clothes piled up on the floor nearby. He snores next to you, an arm raising to hang above his head, and you shift. Slip out of bed and pull a t-shirt on before padding into the bathroom.

Early morning light spills across tile, bounces off the mirror above the sink. You squint, shuffling over to the window and yanking the blinds closed. Then you check for damage in your reflection. Your makeup from the night before has stained your cheeks and your eyes look as tired as you feel, but otherwise there appears to be no physical evidence of your rock bottom.

The sex wasn’t great — not even good, really. Your stranger had lasted all of three minutes, had fanned his hot breath across the shell of your ear as he came, and then collapsed on top of you. Rolled over and drifted to sleep. He’d started snoring before you could even process what had just happened.

Cold water splashed across your cheeks does nothing to cool the burn of regret that scorches your skin. You feel uncomfortable, almost as if your body is tainted, now, remnants of your stranger leaking from between your thighs as you steady yourself at the edge of the sink. 

He must’ve heard the tap, or maybe the pounding in your chest, because he emerges seconds later. He yawns and stretches, feline-like, in the doorway. “Hey,” he mutters. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good,” you say, eyes twitching slightly as you will them to stay put above his waistline. 

“You always up this early?”

You nod. It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that you’d nearly jumped out of bed at the sight of him still there. He doesn’t need to know that for a split second, you’d almost hoped it was Frankie.

He asks if you want to get breakfast. You shake your head in faux-sympathy. “Sorry, can’t. I was hoping to get some cleaning done.”

“I could stick around and help,” he offers. 

Jesus Christ. Just take the fucking hint.

“That’s so nice of you; I’m just more efficient by myself,” you lie again. 

If Frankie were here, he’d grab the cleaning rags out of the closet just off the kitchen. He knows where they’re kept: second shelf, on the left. He’d wipe down the counters and the coffee table while you’d work on clearing dishes, disposing of pizza scraps. And he’d probably put on his dad-rock playlist — against your wishes — though you’d inevitably find yourself dancing to Foo Fighters and giggling when he’d sing along and mess up the words.

It begins to sink in then, as you shoo your stranger, now dressed, out the door, that your attempt to use sex as a way to get Frankie out of your head was useless. He’s still there, refusing quite adamantly to budge, all mussed curls and big eyes and deep voice. There’s no evidence that he’ll be leaving any time soon.

The revelation renders you nauseous. You spend the rest of the day with a hangover that you’re sure has not been induced by alcohol. And by the time night falls, darkness descending over your bedroom like a fog, you still feel sick.

A week later, you drag yourself to Benny and Mal’s for their monthly game night. You’d tried to get out of it, told Mal you haven’t been feeling great — which isn't a total lie — but she’d begged you until you broke. 

Will is coming, and it’ll be the first time we’ve all gotten together in over a year, she’d whined through the receiver. 

And then-

I know things were weird between you and Frankie last time at the bar, but you can’t let that stop us from seeing each other.

How do you know that, you’d asked, chewing on your bottom lip, the phone tucked between your ear and your shoulder.

He basically moped around the rest of the night after you left. Kept bitching about you leaving with that guy. He seemed really…agitated. You don’t have to tell me what happened, just please don’t bail.

So you’re here, steeling yourself as you climb the steps to the front door, hoping that if nothing else, you can make it through the night without strangling Frankie for his lack of discretion. 

You enter the house with baited breath.

Your eyes immediately catch Frankie, tucked into the corner of the sectional, fingers wrapped tightly around his beer. He meets your gaze briefly before letting it slip to the floor by his feet, as if he’s trying to pretend he hasn’t seen you at all. 

“Hi,” you try.

He looks back up at you, or rather past you. Taps his fingers along the bottle for a long moment. “Hey,” he says finally, to the wall behind your head.

“How have you been?” the words come out forced, almost foreign. You shift your weight awkwardly and he sighs. 

“Fine. I’m fine.” 

“Right,” you mutter. More silence. “Me too, in case you were wondering.”

“Good,” he says, voice cold. “That’s good.”

You’re not sure whether you want to slap him or kiss him. Because as infuriating as he’s being right now, he looks gorgeous, denim shirt hugging his biceps, his shoulders; stray curls peaking out from under that stupid Standard Heating Oil hat. You yearn to rip it off his head, run your fingers through his hair, nip along the sharp line of his jaw; the broad expanse of his neck.

You long to feel something other than the prominent ache that’s permeated your body for weeks, now. And you fear that he’s the only one who’d be able to alleviate it.

Your mouth opens again just as Benny emerges from the kitchen. Whatever words you were about to utter are lost in the ether as he pulls you into a suffocating hug and thanks you for coming. 

“Mal’s in the kitchen,” he says. Grabs a handful of Lays from a bowl on the coffee table and shovels them into his mouth. Still chewing, he adds, “we got those wine coolers you like; they’re in the fridge.”

With a hurried thanks, you slip away unscathed.

You find Mal crouched in front of the open fridge, rustling through a produce drawer stocked with beer cans. 

“Hey,” you announce. 

She seems almost surprised to see you when she cranes her neck toward your voice, despite your promise to show. Eyebrows raised, mouth slightly agape, it’s as if she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. She pulls another drawer open. Fishes out a wine cooler and passes it to you with an outstretched arm. 

You take it in one hand. Help her up with the other. 

“You’re here,” she says, and it sounds like more of a question than a statement. 

“Yeah. I said I would be.”

“I know, I know. It’s just — I wasn’t sure. The whole Frankie thing…” 

“It’s nothing; I promise,” you lie. “Water under the bridge. We’re fine.”

She quirks a brow at you, disbelief coloring her features, but she lets it go. Closes the fridge with a thunk and adjusts her sweater at the hem. “Good,” she says. “I don’t want you two ruining game night.”

It’s half a joke, but you know deep down she means it. She takes this all very seriously. Back in college, she’d forced you and your suitemates to play Cards Against Humanity with her every weekend. None of you had the heart to tell her when it started to grow monotonous, and so the tradition carried on well past graduation, eventually evolving into a new tradition with new friends.

Games bring people together, she’d said once over a round of Monopoly that had stretched well into the night, resulting in delirious laughter and a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest.

You’d believed her at the time. Now, you’re not so sure that it’s foolproof.

The two of you rejoin the guys in the living room, Santiago and Will having shown up in your absence. You greet them as Benny pulls out a stack of game boxes. Settle on the couch, as far away from Frankie as you can manage.

It starts during the second round of Charades. 

The first round had gone fine — good, even. Teamed up with Santi and Will, you’d avoided eye contact with Frankie for the whole of it. Focused only on guessing Santi’s horribly-mimed clues in between handfuls of trail mix and sips of watermelon-flavored bubbles.

It’d felt a bit like old times, all of you in one room again. Mal snuggling into Benny on the loveseat; Will catching his brother up on time spent touring the country, giving motivational speeches to recently discharged veterans. He’d asked you how you’ve been as Santi studied his next word, and you’d remembered then that everything was very much not how it once was.

And you hadn’t missed Frankie’s discomfort at the question; the way he set his beer bottle down on the table with a bit too much force, glass clanging against wood. Though if Will noticed too, he hadn’t said anything. Just moved into a story about some woman he met on the road that reminded him of you.

Santi’s turn had ended with a whopping zero points for your team, and now Frankie is standing at the front of the room, unfolding the scrap of paper in his hand and reading it to himself. In the lull, you find yourself staring at him, eyes near glazing over at the sight of the tiny paper pinched between long, thick fingers. Fingers you remember the reach of, the weight of. 

He crumples the paper and stuffs it into his pocket, signaling that he’s ready to go. Mal flips over the sand timer on the table. And you almost don’t notice at first when he starts, mind occupied by equal parts lust and annoyance, that he’s fucking mouthing the phrase.

You watch, enraged, as Benny squints to read his lips. He raises his hand excitedly and jumps to his feet; yells out the answer with a sureness that Frankie affirms with a nod. 

“That’s right. It’s the Empire State Building.”

“That’s fucking cheating!” you shout, a bit angrier than the situation calls for, and the room grows quiet. Fury coursing through you, you add, “are you fucking serious, Frankie?”

You feel the eyes on you; the awkward sheen you’ve cast over the room. Mal shifts across from you, glaring when you turn to face her, and you laugh defensively. 

“What, nobody else thinks that’s unfair?”

“Please,” Frankie sneers. 

“No, she’s right,” Santi tries — ever the peacemaker. “We’ll just add a rule going forward; no mouthing the words.”

“Fuck that,” you hiss. “I want their point taken away.”

Frankie scoffs from the other side of the room. “Bullshit! We earned that before the rule was added.”

You’re fuming now, standing to get a bit closer to his height; though he still towers over you. Mal is right on your heels, placing a hand on your shoulder in an attempt to placate you. You brush her off. Take another stride toward Frankie.

“There shouldn’t need to be an official rule against it, Frankie. It’s common fucking sense — which clearly, you have none of.”

Visibly offended, he says nothing. Just tenses his jaw.

“Why did you come tonight?” you continue, voice more level now; direct. 

You hear your name uttered behind you, tone pleading, warning. You ignore it. 

“Seriously, why?”

He’s quiet for a long, drawn-out moment, eyes pointed at the floor again.  

“What are you talking about?” he spits, finally. 

You laugh, amused and irritated, and these things somehow feel one in the same. “I mean, clearly you don’t want to be in my presence or even acknowledge my existence — unless it’s to cockblock me — so why are you here?”

His brows furrow; lips twist. For a second, you think he might actually leave. He adjusts his cap, jangles the car key in his pocket — but Benny stops him before he can take a step.

“Just — cut it out, okay? Both of you.”

“He’s the one-“

“I don’t care,” Benny interjects. Scanning the room, you catch sight of Santi and Will and Mal, all visibly agitated, and you sigh.

Guilt washes over you, then. The twisting of Santi’s face, Mal’s doleful stare, the wordless look exchanged between Benny and Will. All confirm your fear that you’ve effectively ruined their night. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. 

Frankie echoes your apology. Still, the others aren’t impressed. 

“I don’t know what’s been going on lately with you two, but you need to figure this shit out,” Benny says. He sounds like a parent: stern and slightly disappointed. “Can you please just — go in the other room and talk through it?”

Though you haven’t much cared for Frankie’s opinion as of late, you still turn to him to gauge his reaction. He appears just as hesitant as you are, just as guilt-stricken. But something more lurks behind his eyes — something like fear, anxiety. Why, you aren’t sure.

You raise a brow at him, a wordless question. He answers with a sigh. 

“Fine,” you both say at once.

“Thank goodness,” Mal chimes. Herding you two like cattle with a hand on each of your backs, she leads you out of the living room and into the adjoining hallway. 

Her voice drones behind you as you make your way toward the third door on the right. Shall we continue the game?

The guest room is primly kept. It appears almost untouched at first glance, though you know that to be untrue. You’ve stayed here before, after blurry nights spent drinking shitty gin and singing karaoke. That must’ve been years ago now, though, after Mal and Benny first bought this house, and you begin to wonder if your tumultuous friendship with Frankie only made you neglect your friendship with her. And that only adds to the anger stirring inside of you — because what was it all worth, if it’s ended up like this?

Frankie closes the door behind him with a click, and the air in the room feels exponentially thicker. 

“What the fuck was that?” you hiss. 

He scoffs. “Me? You’re the one who freaked out and started an argument over nothing!”

“It wasn’t nothing. You were cheating.”

“Please.” He rolls his eyes. Takes two steps toward you. “That’s not what this is about and you know it.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “so you are aware that you’ve been an asshole?”

He says your name, voice suddenly lower, softer. Your entire body tenses as you struggle to keep strong, to not think about how it sounded in your ear in the midst of pleasure.

“I wasn’t trying to be-”

You throw a hand up; silence him. “Well you have been,” you groan. “You’ve been a huge fucking asshole. You hurt me, Frankie. You were my best friend, and then you just… stopped returning my texts. You won’t even look at me when we’re in the same room together. Did you regret it that much?”

The room goes still. You watch as Frankie’s chest rises and falls arduously, his eyes settling on you. They’re dark, pupils blown wide, squeezing shut as he exhales long and hard.

“No.”

You quirk a brow at him, confused.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats, averting his gaze. “And that’s the problem — I didn’t regret it at all.” His eyes lift slowly, finding you again, voice more sure when he adds, “I’ve wanted it for a long time”

You can barely comprehend what he’s saying, your heart climbing its way out of your ribcage and up your throat. You gulp, feeling the shape of it there as saliva slowly slides past. 

He takes another two steps forward, mere inches from you now, and your breath hitches.

“Do you know how difficult it’s been to look at you without getting fucking hard?” he whispers. “How many times I’ve fucked my fist in the past month imagining it was you?”

Your mouth falls open, stunned. “That girl at the bar-”

He shakes his head. “I thought maybe if I fucked someone else, it would help.”

“And did it?”

“I didn’t — I didn’t go home with her,” he admits, a little bashfully. “I couldn’t do it.” 

His hand lifts, then, cautious and shaky. It finds its way to your face, grazes your jaw so softly you’d think you imagined it if you couldn’t see.

“Why not?” you squeak.

He nods, as if he’s finally accepting something he’s known to be true, admitting it to himself before he does so out loud.

“Because she wasn’t you.”

It feels as if your entire world has spun on its axis. 

Without thinking, you wrap your hand around Frankie’s neck and pull him toward you, crashing your lips into his with a groan. He’s quick to respond, desperately tangling his fingers in your hair and winding his tongue around yours, a broken moan slipping from his throat. 

For a long moment, that’s all it is. It’s clashing teeth and restless hands; the draw of blood and the taste of it, earthy and metallic on your tongue. It’s the two of you, reconciling for lost time and unshared feelings and the overlooked need for each other through tangled bodies. 

And when you finally pull apart, his lips are swollen and his eyes are glazed over, and you’re sure you don’t look much different.

“Frankie,” you whine as his mouth latches to your neck, warm and wet. He doesn’t retreat; just hums against you. 

“Need you,” you say breathlessly. “Need you to touch me.”

His large hand skates down your front, under the waistband of your leggings. He presses two fingers against your clothed clit, and your knees buckle. You lean into him, bracing yourself with a hand on his chest as he begins rubbing small, deliberate circles into cotton. 

Lips trailing up to your ear, he nibbles at the lobe. Presses his tongue just behind the shell of it and sighs. “Been wanting this since that night. Want to make you feel good. Want to do it right.”

You mewl in response, high-pitched and too loud, and you have to bite into his shoulder to keep from crying out again. He’s still working you toward the brink, pace relentless, beseeching you every time you buck into his hand. 

There you go baby, that’s it; I got you. 

You know he does, can feel the support of his unoccupied hand at the small of your back, holding you to his strong body. And god, how you’ve missed the feeling of it pressed to yours. You think that that alone could make you come.

You feel yourself slipping as your orgasm approaches, legs slumping underneath you more and more with every pass of his fingers. “Frankie,” you warn, teeth still anchored in his skin. “I’m going to-“

The words are muffled, but he gets it. Presses down harder and works his fingers faster. “Come on baby,” he growls in your ear, “come on.”

Your orgasm hits you so hard that you collapse, your body dead weight in Frankie’s grip as you writhe. He grasps onto you tightly, working you through it with his unyielding touch, swiping back and forth, back and forth as the final waves crest. 

You’re panting when it ends, and still when Frankie helps you to the edge of the bed. Perched there, staring up at him with glassy eyes, you realize you’ve never felt so sated and so needy at the same time.

“Frankie?”

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Please fuck me.”

He should probably say no. After all, you’re in your friends’ guest room, people just a few hundred feet on the other side of the door. But then again, he’s already made you come.

You watch him consider it, eyes flickering to the door and back to you, dark and deep and pooling with want. 

In the end, he can’t help himself.

“Can you be quiet, querida?” 

You nod, though you’re sure that even if you said no, he wouldn’t care. He’d do just as he’s doing now: pressing your shoulder, encouraging you to lay down on the bed; helping you pull your sneakers off, then your leggings, then your shirt; stepping back to marvel at your half-naked form before him. 

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and your entire body heats from the inside out. You feel like you’re on fire, his stare keeping you alight as he undresses down to his boxers.

He climbs over you with a hand on either side of your head, pressed into the mattress. The lip of his hat bumps you, and you immediately rip it off of him, tossing it aside and tangling your fingers in dark curls. 

You tug at them, dragging him down until his face is hovering just above yours, and he responds with a strangled moan. His body pressed to yours now, you can feel the weight of his hard cock against your clothed pussy. Your mouth finds his again in a languid kiss — slow and deep. You feed each other sighs and moans, taste each other’s longing. His hips roll into yours with every exhale, teasing you — reminding you, and you feel like you’re steadily going insane.

He pulls back, panting. Rests his forehead on yours.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, plucking at the strap of your bra. You nod furiously. Lift the upper half of your body so that he can undo the clasps.

Breasts suddenly exposed, you feel your nipples begin to harden. Frankie groans at the sight of them, so pert and needing. Wordlessly, he dips his head, buries his face in your chest. His tongue wraps around one of your nipples and you cry out, hand flying to your mouth in an instant. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan into your palm.

“Feel good?” he asks, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he shifts his focus to the other nipple. You feel so sensitive everywhere, the heft of his tongue going straight to your clit, and you can barely answer him. A shaky yes tumbles from your mouth — the best you can do. He hums, so low the vibrations burrow under your skin and barrel through you, and you keen at the sensation.

“God, you sound so pretty,” he sighs as he rolls one of your stiff peaks between two fingers. His other hand drifts down your body, dips between the two of you and pulls your panties aside. 

“Fuck,” he curses, fingertip brushing over your seam just barely. “You’re soaked, bebita. That all for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine. “All for you Frankie; fuck-“

He’s shifts down your body, hooks both arms under your legs and drags you toward him in one swift motion, leaving you no time to process before his tongue is on your pussy. “Have to taste you,” he babbles drunkenly, plunging into your leaking cunt and lapping at you.

“Oh, oh shit,” you moan as he drags his tongue up to your clit. “Please baby, please.”

“I know; I got you,” he soothes. Then he begins to lave your clit with the soft flat of his tongue, warm muscle encircling the throbbing nub. Wide eyes staring up at you, he observes intently. Responds to every sound, every tell with a switch in direction or an increase in pressure. He’s so attentive, so desperate to make you come on his mouth, and it sends you into a sort of delirium. 

Your second orgasm hits you out of nowhere, slams through your body with so much intensity, you don’t even have the strength to warn Frankie before your release is gushing all over his face and, undoubtedly, the bed below. 

He growls against your cunt. Comes up for air and kisses you hard, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he tugs his boxers down and frees his aching cock. Notches at your entrance without detaching his lips from yours.

It’s a stretch — you recall it being so last time too — though the alcohol had done wonders to loosen your body. Now, you feel every devastating inch of him as he pushes in. He’s gentle. Tells you how good you’re doing as he feeds you more and more of his cock. There you go, that’s my girl, taking it so well for me. And for some reason, him calling you his nearly makes you come again. 

He notices the way you preen in response. Thumbs across the slope of your jaw as he settles inside you. “You like that, baby? Like me calling you mine?”

“Yes, Frankie — fuck. Want it.”

You don’t specify whether you mean him or his cock. You’re not entirely sure. Not that it matters. You know he’ll give you both, give you anything. Can feel it in the way he gazes at you through heart-shaped eyes as he lets you adjust to him.

 “So fucking beautiful, you know that?”

Your eyes roll back and saliva pools in your mouth. “God,” you breathe.

“I’m serious,” he says, finally beginning to move. The slow drag of his cock brushes your g-spot and you gasp. “Was so stupid before, fucking you drunk. Wanna remember every second, every noise you make, every inch of your perfect fucking body.”

“Jesus, Frankie.”

He pushes back in with one deep thrust. Sets a pace that, while not rough, definitely isn’t gentle. You begin to babble and writhe under him. Hook your legs around him so he can get even deeper.

He groans. “Tell me how it feels, baby.”

“It’s so fucking good,” you cry. “Feels like fucking heaven, Frankie.”

“Nah, that’s you.” He lets his head fall on your shoulder, drives into you faster. Pants into the crook of your neck. “Perfect fucking pussy.” 

It ends all too quickly — with your fingernails dug into his back and his sweaty curls sticking to your forehead. Your cunt clenching around his cock, pulling his orgasm out of him just as yours begins to roll through you. You free fall from the cliff’s edge together, breathless moans spilling between your slotted mouths, his warmth flooding you and leaking from the place you’re still connected.

As the room around you slowly comes back into focus, you hear the sound of distant laughter. Benny’s boisterous chuckle and Mal’s much softer one. Clearly distracted, they’re likely blissfully unaware of what’s just happened. You giggle, covering your face as Frankie pulls out.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, prying your hands away. 

“We’re gonna have to get them a new bedspread. We just defiled this one.”

He stands, then, pulling you upright with him. You squeal as blood rushes to your head and your vision goes staticky. 

“Worth it,” he smirks. Gives you a chaste kiss. “Got my girl back.”

You dress and rejoin the group as inconspicuously as possible. Pray they don’t notice the way you’re wobbling on your feet, or the sheen of sweat that’s coated your skin. 

“You sort everything out?” Santi smirks knowingly as you reassume your place on the couch, Frankie settling back into the corner.

“Yeah,” he mutters, refusing to make eye contact. 

“It’s about time,” Benny shouts from the kitchen. Frankie’s head shoots up, pivots toward his voice.

“What do you mean?”

He emerges in the doorway with a shit-eating grin. Mal stifles a laugh from the loveseat.

“Just saying it’s about time,” he shrugs. “That’s all.” 

Shit; apparently you hadn’t been as quiet as you thought.

The others chuckle as you and Frankie exchange a mortified look. The embarrassment is short lived though, Will clapping his hands together, asking what game you all want to play next.

An hour later, after a couple rounds of Codenames and another wine cooler, you head out the door with Frankie right beside you. It feels odd, not hiding anymore. But more so, it feels right. 

He leans you against your SUV under silver moonlight. Kisses you with plush, soft lips against yours; restless hands roving up your sides. Pulls back with a suspiciously large grin.

You cock an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “Just glad I stopped being an idiot.”

“I don’t know about that,” you tease, and he smacks you gently on the arm.

“Come over?” he asks, his hand draped over your waist. 

You think on it for only a second. Nod. “Yeah. As long as you make me a grilled cheese.”

“That can be arranged.” 

end notes: thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider commenting and/or reblogging :)

#Frankie Morales #Frankie Morales x reader #Frankie Morales x f!reader #Frankie Morales x female reader #Frankie Morales fic #Frankie Morales smut #Frankie Morales fanfiction #Triple Frontier #Triple Frontier fic #Triple Frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut

[ozzgin]

Hii I was wondering if u could do a yandere Kazuya x yn x yandere Daitou I’m not sure if u do character x yn x character tho

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader Spinoff

Two yakuza men who have fallen in love with their new foreign tenant. A what-if spinoff to the original story for that love triangle spice. Happy Valentine's Day!

Content: female reader, NSFW, organized crime, obsessive behavior, violence, BDSM themes (choking), threats

Credits: My boyfriend for giving me the Daitou smut idea

[Main Story] [General Headcanons]

Kazuya is sitting on the sidewalk, checking his watch occasionally and tapping his foot. The cigarette seems to have been forgotten, hanging lowly from his lips.

"Sorry I'm late." Daitou speedily makes his way towards his friend, smiling awkwardly.

"Where the fuck were you, man? We don't know how much time we have before the cops arrive."

"Uh uh, leave it to me." The cheeky grin doesn't leave his face as he pulls out his gun and carefully but swiftly inspects the barrel and safety one final time. "(Y/N) needed some help with the mailbox. I couldn't just say no, ya know?"

The blonde man's eyebrows raise for a second, but he quickly recollects himself.

"I see. That's good."

"She asked me to show her the area tomorrow, so I'll be working extra hard tonight. Hehe."

"That's good."

Daitou glances at Kazuya, somewhat wary.

"You okay?"

Stupid question. What's he supposed to answer? Yeah, he loves waiting like a dumbass while his friend flirts with the new tenant, who conveniently happens to be a cute foreigner, who's been unexpectedly nice and relaxed around them despite them explicitly stating they're part of the Japanese mafia. Fucking hell. It doesn't help that this idiot is as obvious as a blaring, blinding cluster of ads smack in the middle of Kabukicho. He can tell from miles away that Daitou's completely fallen for her. Just like that, in an instant.

They've been partners and best friends for years now, so the natural reaction would be happiness, right? Daitou has always been one scary motherfucker. Even the seniors scramble when he's in the room, let alone women. For him to find someone that isn't bothered the slightest by his appearance or background should be a celebratory occasion. Kazuya should be rooting for him. Except, well, he fell for you just as hard. Tough luck.

The Bushido moral code, often used as guidance within their own lifestyle, covers matters such as loyalty and honesty quite extensively. A true warrior remains fiercely faithful to his master or companions. And yet, love interests are more of a grey area, especially if they happen to overlap. Who dictates the proper etiquette for this dilemma? To whom is loyalty directed towards? Truth be told, Kazuya couldn’t care less. He’s always been a man of vice, impulsive and greedy. If he wants something, he takes it.

The trouble starts when the other person is of the same mindset. Two ferocious predators eyeing the same victim.

***

You fiddle next to the tall, dark-haired man. Similarly, Daitou is avoiding eye contact, looking around in hopes of finding something to focus on. It’s the first time he’s come over since the incident. After his little mission with Kazuya, he was tasked to “interrogate” some of the remaining members to get even more names for the hitlist. He’d completely forgotten about his promise to show you the neighborhood. Hands sticky with blood, he was in the middle of his signature act of benevolence, putting the lad out of his misery.

It was around that time you decided to be the one picking him up instead, for your grand tour. Your knocks on the door remained unheard, however, so you decided to politely make your way in.

“Sorry, I hope I’m not-”

You froze in place. A man (you assumed at least based on the few visible traits left), tied up on the chair, canvas bag roped around his head. Daitou’s hands were secured around his throat. In the few seconds of silence, you could hear a muffled wheezing, as the stranger’s chest heaved in short convulsions.

“-intruding.” You mumbled, regaining your speech.

He messed up, didn’t he? Daitou sighs and slicks his hair back. He can’t blame you if you’re now terrified of him. He had to come over for some tenant checkups and you’ve been maintaining a safe distance from him during his entire visit. What can he possibly tell you? “Hey, I know I threatened to chop you up and you’ve now witnessed firsthand I’m a legit murderer, but, uh…I have a crush on you? Dinner at seven?”

You’re terrified alright, but not of his deeds. Rather, your newly discovered perversion as a consequence of the gory scene. It’s not that you relished in the torment of another. It’s the other details that left you reminiscing. Daitou’s imposing frame, the unbuttoned shirt revealing his traditional tattoos glistening in beads of sweat, his flexed, brawny arms, and large hands. You’re scared of your shamelessness. It can’t be normal. Yet you can’t stop thinking about it. Just a glimpse into this memory and your cheeks become burning red.

“I’ll be on my way then”, the yakuza announces politely.

Though he immediately stops in his tracks, and you realize you’ve unconsciously grabbed onto his sleeve. Uh oh. What now? You mumble an apology without releasing your hold. Being this close to him makes your heart drum inside your chest.

To hell with it.

“I might say something terribly inappropriate right now, but…”

“Sorry?” He stares at you, dumbfounded.

“Do you have anything planned after this?” You ask quietly.

“N-no?”

“Would you mind staying over?”

“Huh? Sure…w-what for?” His mouth is dry, and he searches your eyes in confusion.

“You know…” Choke me until I pass out and such, you think to yourself sarcastically.

He turns to face you, lips pursed awkwardly.

“You’ll have to be clear with me, Miss (Y/N). I’m not good with all this tiptoeing around and I might get the wrong idea.”

Your ears perk up hearing his final words, a deep blush now spreading over your flustered features.

“What wrong idea?”

Daitou fidgets with his glass prosthetic nervously.

“Well, uh, a man can only dream, ya know? Especially around a cute girl like you.” He reveals with a stutter.

“Suppose I’d be willing to go along with anything on your mind. What then?” You twirl your hair, gazing shyly at the floor. Not even you can believe the audacity leaving your lips.

The tall man steps before you, towering above with a certain gleam in his eye. It’s yearning. Your knees weaken.

“Don’t tease me, please. I can hardly control myself around you as it is.”

You release his sleeve and instead cling onto his shirt with both hands, looking up through your lashes.

“I’m dead serious.”

He ponders his next move with a click of the tongue, then cups your cheeks between his hands and lowers himself until his hot breath tickles your nose.

“Are you? There’s no going back after this. Can you handle it?” His voice is suddenly deeper, raspier.

Before you can respond, you feel yourself lifted and you yelp, surprised, instinctively wrapping your limbs around the yakuza. In between the greedy kisses that leave your lips bruised and swollen, you don’t notice the movement back towards the seating area.

As you pull away to gasp for air, he throws you onto the couch, flipping you over in the process so that you’re kneeling away from him. Your nails dig into the soft fabric of the sofa. You hear Daitou unbuckle his belt and you squeeze your legs together, heavily aroused. He presses his palm gently into your back, arching it. You sense his fingers grazing over your core and you whimper.

“G-go on, please.” You beg, swaying your hips tentatively. “I really can’t wait anymore.”

“As you wish, Miss.” He reassures you with a grin.

He adjusts himself and carefully makes his way in. You don’t have time to enjoy the feeling; following almost instantly is his belt looped around your neck, tightening under his grip as he pulls the ends towards him. Your head is forced back, and you groan. You can hear the leather stretch and creak over your assaulted skin, the constriction briefly cutting your oxygen intake. Hot drool trickles down your chin and your eyes almost roll back in pleasure.

“Look at my little Miss (Y/N), taking it like a champion.” He bends over and bites your earlobe playfully. “Does that mean I can be as rough as I want?”

You nod erratically.

The grip around your throat intensifies and your vision becomes blurry.

“Hey, don’t pass out now.” He inserts two fingers in your mouth, pulling you by the cheek and tilting your head to look him in the eye. “Not before you show me that you understand your situation. You’re mine. Is that clear?”

He drags his fingers downwards, aiding your response as you struggle to contract your muscles.

“Attagirl.” He concludes, satisfied.

In the morning you wake up with a dreadful soreness, and you can quickly see why. Your body is peppered in bruises. Daitou is smoking by the window and promptly flicks his cigarette out once he realizes you’re no longer asleep.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” He begins, remorseful, and squats in front of the bed. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

“I will need a day or two to recover before the next time, but otherwise I’m fine.”

He beams with delight upon registering your words: next time. You can’t help but snicker at his childish enthusiasm. It’s a mystery how Daitou can switch between ruthless killer and cute partner with such ease.

Although it’s no secret, really. It’s you.

***

“Thanks for driving me home, Kazuya.”

You smile and unbuckle your seatbelt, reaching for the door handle. Daitou has been busy with work for the past days, so Kazuya took his place in looking after your needs.

“Huh?” You rattle the grab handle one more time to make sure. “It’s still locked.”

The blonde raps the wheel impatiently with his fingers. Is he to silently accept his loss? Does it even count as a loss when he hasn’t even had the chance to present his piece? Daitou has been quiet about it, but he can read that bastard like an open book. Something definitely happened between the two of you and the mere thought drives him insane.

Ah, this is so unlike him. There are few things he cares about. His pride, his Family’s honor, his freedom. Women aren’t exactly on that list, yet somehow, you’ve snuck your way to the very top of priorities and he’s realizing it just now. It’s becoming harder to ignore his maddening urge to have you. Out of all the things…He’d give Daitou the world. But not you. He can’t. He can’t.

“Kazuya? Are you listening? You forgot to unlock the door.”

“Say, (Y/N) …ever fucked in a car before?”

“What?” You ask, baffled.

“Come here for a moment.” He swiftly slides his seat all the way back and pats his thigh.

“Are you out of your mind?”

He answers your inquiry by pulling out his handgun and lazily pointing it towards you.

“I’m only going to ask once.”

You clumsily climb over the center console, straddling the yakuza with a slight pout.

“Someone’s in a sour mood, that’s for sure”, you complain. “It’s not even loaded.”

“Even I’m not crazy enough to risk shooting my Princess.” He smiles apologetically, throwing the gun on the backseat. “I thought it’d be more threatening that way.”

He removes a strand of hair from your face, gazing at you intently. His hand lingers for a second, before sliding its way down, tracing the side of your body. You shiver.

“Can you truly blame me when there’s such a pretty girl right before my eyes?” The blonde exhales and focuses on your shirt instead. “Won’t you let me prove myself?”

From this distance, despite the dim lights, you can discern his features in agonizing detail. His long lashes, his fleshy lips, currently parted, the luscious locks of hair casually thrown back. Kazuya has always been effortlessly handsome. It’s not just his good looks, but his overflowing charisma. He always knows exactly what to say and do. A devilish power to have over people, and you’re presently his victim.

His slender fingers play with your first button and cheekily undo it. You can only observe it, entranced. Your legs are weak, and your arms are stuck in place, resting limply over his broad shoulders.

“May I?” He glances up at you with a pleading expression. “I won’t be able to hold back afterwards.”

You bite your lower lip, distracted. Whether or not this is a wise choice, you can’t currently tell. You squirm in his lap and suddenly feel the pressure coming from below.

“Go ahead.” You finally confess.

He doesn’t hesitate and slithers his hand underneath your shirt, popping the rest of the buttons open. Like a hungry animal that has stumbled upon a feast, he sinks his teeth into your neck, leaving mean, wet kisses on his way down.

One hand is greedily kneading your curves, encouraged by your soft whimpers, while the other strokes your thigh in anticipation. With a bit of readjustment, he finds the right spot between your trembling legs. You jolt at the sensation of his cold fingers.

“My, you’re already dripping. How lewd.” He whispers between breaths. “Do you want it now?”

He nonchalantly slips out and undoes his own pants. You lift yourself expectantly and let a moan escape your lips upon feeling the erection throbbing right below.

“Well then, can’t forget our manners, can we?” He announces, visibly excited. “What should I do?”

You glare at him, feverish.

“Stop teasing me.”

“Come on, be a good girl. Tell me what to do and I will do it, Love.”

Why, this…You lower yourself to his ear and answer in a lulled whine.

“Isn’t it obvious? I want you to fuck me.”

Words enough to send the blonde man over the edge. He abruptly clutches your thighs for support, easing himself in before continuing with increasingly aggressive thrusts. Husky whimpers roll out of his mouth, desperate and starved.

“Oh, I’ve waited so long for this. My darling, perfect little (Y/N).” He presses his forehead into your chest, indulging in the moment. “Now say that you’re mine. Please. Please say it.”

“I’m…ah…I’m all yours, Kazuya.” You manage to blurt out, growing dizzy.

“That’s my girl. Such a good girl.”

Once the deed is finished, you flop your head over his chest, trying to catch your breath. Kazuya smoothens your clothes meticulously, holding you with one arm for support. Can’t leave a lady all disheveled, after all.

“Won’t Daitou be upset?” You point out, somewhat anxiously.

His muscles are tense for a second and he furrows his brows.

“That’s one strange way to thank me for making you come at least twice. Mentioning another man’s name.”

“I’m just…” your words trail off.

“What? Worried? You think I can’t handle it or something?”

Far from the truth. Both Kazuya and Daitou are violent, dangerous men. Given their stubbornness, you’re rather certain they’d end up killing each other. Not your favorite outcome.

“I don’t want either of you to get hurt.”

He sighs loudly.

“I’ll tell you what. Under normal circumstances, I’d probably dismember whoever had the guts to even entertain the idea of meddling with you. But…just because it’s Daitou, I might be willing to share. Nothing more than that.”

Kazuya ruffles your hair and chuckles.

“Aren’t you glad I’m such a diplomat, Love?”

“More like batshit crazy, both of you.” You retort, stretching.

#yandere yakuza #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #male yandere x reader #yakuza x reader #mafia x reader #yandere mafia #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere smut #yandere fic #male yandere #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #oc x reader #yandere original character #original work #smut

[hyunjilicious]

[bf!felix x reader]

Summary: a chill evening on the couch turns into you and Felix exploring a new kink because tiktok is never a good influence. (SMUT-ish) 2.3k Warnings: SPIT KINK (tons of it, it's the main thing, so if you're not into that, don't read this), mentions of oral (m receiving) and other minor things like hair pulling or like Felix sucking your fingers. There's no actual smut in this, just two idiots who take turns spitting in each others mouths, I'm sorry, I have no shame. 18+ PLS!!!

A soft grunt escaped your lips as you shifted around in place for what was probably the 5th time in the last 3 minutes. Your back was sore and you could barely feel your left foot, as it was already 6pm and all you did throughout the day was lay with Felix on the couch, talking and watching movies. Right now however, the room was silent as you both scrolled on your phones, the only forms of interaction between the two of you being the obscene number of kisses Felix would plant on your forehead every other minute, the way he played with the sleeve of your shirt, that one time you bit his chest just because you could and obviously, the tiktoks you decided to show one another.

Your feed had been fairly entertaining yet nothing out of the ordinary, until one specific video earned a reaction from you, in the form of a disgusted gagging sound. 

Felix didn't bother to speak up or ask what it was that you just watched, instead he just removed one of your earbuds and put it in his own ear as you angled the phone so that he could also see the video.

"I don't get it" he looked at you.

"It's gross"

"Is it?" he softly asked, looking at you as if he was too shy to tell you he took it as a personal offense.

"Yes? Of course? Who in their right mind asks someone else to spit in their mouth?"

He didn't answer and silence settled again. Due to the way you were completely pressed into his side, you couldn't see his face, so as one too many seconds passed where he failed to answer, you couldn't help but push yourself up onto your elbows to face him. "Felix?"

"You wouldn't ask me to do it?"

"No!?" you responded, offended.

"Not even if you knew I was into it and wanted to do it with you?"

His question made you stop. This wasn't hypothetical anymore. Now it wasn't just a random thing from the internet that you were chatting about; now it was about Felix, and something he personally wanted to do. With you. You swallowed thickly, the way your view on the topic shifted completely in under one minute making you question your morals. 

"I- I don't-" you mumbled, eyes cast somewhere over his shoulder, at the bookcase behind him. "It's not the same thing"

"How come?" he sweetly asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. If you didn't know any better, you'd have thought he played you. But he was just honest with you and you were just that in love with him. 

"Lix, don't do this to me!" you whined and pushed yourself up into a sitting position. 

He followed you. "Do what? Baby, I'm not trying to-"

"No, you're not trying to anything, but now I kinda wanna try it and it's gross. Are you happy?" you dramatically exclaimed, making him giggle. 

"Happy with what? Princess, what did I do?"

"You looked at me with those eyes and now I want you to-" you pointed to your phone, "do that to me"

That made him grin, "You want me to spit in your mouth, baby?"

Fuck, you squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment. And the worst part of it all was the way your core reacted, making your thighs involuntarily rub against one another. "...maybe"

"I can do that if you want to" he softly said and placed a hand on your cheek as he leaned in to peck your lips. "I'd love to do it, actually. But only if you're sure"

"I am sure" he hurriedly answered, voice shaky and not at all as confident as you had hoped. It made him smile, it had been quite a while since he'd seen you this flustered and he had absolutely no idea how badly he missed it.

"It's ok" he reassured you and closed the distance between the two of you with a gentle kiss. His plush lips enveloped yours and your heart rate slowed down on the spot, you melted in his arms - your safe place; your anxieties dissipating by the second. Lips still locked, Felix helped you crawl into his lap, his hands remaining on your hips as the kiss consumed itself in the most intoxicating way possible. 

When you pulled away, you had to take a deep breath to calm your dizzy mind, and when you looked back at him - at his lazy and hungry, yet warm and understanding eyes, the words just flew out of your mouth. "Felix, please?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"Ok then" Felix smiled. 

He straightened his back and grabbed your chin, pecked your lips one more time and then gently tilted your head back. "Open your mouth for me, sweetheart"

With your heart again beating out of your chest, you followed his command - opened your mouth wide and fixed your stare on his.

"That's right, doll. Stay like that for me for a second, baby. So beautiful"

All you could do was blink and bring your hands up to the sides of his neck for support - mental support, because with your knees on either side of his lap, there was physically no way for you to alleviate the growing pain between your legs. 

"Push your tongue out for me" he instructed further, and nodded in approval when you did as told. "So good for me, my pretty baby."

The anticipation was killing you, and you nearly moaned out loud when Felix titled your head back even further - so that he was now fully towering above you. 

For a split second, your stare traveled down to his lips and the instant you saw them part, you looked back up into his eyes.

"Are you ready, sweetheart?"

You nodded, eagerly this time, your head bopping against his hand - gesture which made him smile. But he fought against it, repressed the grin, and closed the distance between your bodies before shamelessly spitting directly onto your awaiting tongue. 

Shivers ran through your whole body and you remained there for a second, frozen, until he used his thumb on your chin to slowly close your mouth. "You can swallow for me, baby"

And the second you did, another wave of shame washed over your body, making the pressure between your legs even more intolerable than before. You then licked your lips and shook yourself, your head instantly dropping, your stare fixed between your bodies.

"Hey, hey, don't do that-" Felix cooed, and gently got you to face him again, "Please don't hide from me, angel, ok?"

"Ok" you mumbled and pushed yourself closer to him. Even though you were already basically pressed flush against him, Felix still wrapped his arms around your waist to help you settle closer. 

"How was it? Did you like it?"

"Yes" you cringed. "I did"

"Good, my baby" he pecked your lips ever so softly, "You were so good for me. I liked it too, a lot" 

Despite your interaction with him being the cause of your embarrassment, his mere presence was also the only thing that could ease your mood. So, as a shy giggle left your lips, you hid your face into his shoulder. "Weird…"

"What's on your mind, hm?" Felix questioned, "I can hear the wheels turning"

"Um…" you laughed but failed to give him an answer. He, however, didn't need one. He knew already.

"Y/n?"

"Yes?" you looked up and met his warm glance.

"Yes, baby. You can do it, too. Isn't that what you wanted to ask?"

"Was it that obvious?" you chuckled, resuming your position in front of him. "Am I really that easy to read?"

"Not all the time, just sometimes. What else could've gotten you like this? You were never this shy around me"

"I'm sorry"

"Stop it, don't apologize. I think it's cute, I love seeing you like this. But I want you to be comfortable, ok?"

"Talk me through it?" you shyly asked, pushing your hair back as you got into position. This made Felix throw his head back as his eyes fluttered shut. He was riled up already - this whole situation didn't only affect you, but he kept his calm and remained composed for the sole purpose of offering you safety and confidence, but there was only so much he could take.

His cock was shamelessly stretching the fabric of his sweatpants, pressing directly against your heated core. It was less than ideal for him.

Fighting against himself, Felix grabbed your hips and pushed you up, so that now you were the one towering above him. His head was leaning back against the couch, droopy eyes studying your every feature. 

"Ok, baby, ready?" he patted your ass.

You nodded.

"Come on, then. I'll do whatever you tell me" he tried to encourage you, but the way you blinked let him know very clearly you had no idea what he meant. So he continued, "Tell me to open my mouth. Tell me how you want me. Show me. You can do anything you want with me, love. I'm yours to do as you please"

"Ok, but like-"

"Y/n, it's me. There's no need to be this nervous"

"But what if I'm awkward?"

"Baby-" he took a deep breath, "Half the blood in my body is in my dick right now. You couldn't be awkward if you tried. And even if you could, I probably wouldn't even be able to tell. You know I'm wrapped around your finger, princess"

"Ok, ok" you giggled and got into position. "I can do this"

"Yes" Felix smiled proudly, "Of course you can"

You took a deep breath to gather yourself and then looked at him, "Lixie?"

"Yes, baby"

"Keep your eyes on mine, baby, ok? At all times"

He obediently nodded and licked his lips while squeezing your body closer. Everything inside of you burned as you placed your palms on his cheeks and your thumbs on his chin. He watched you closely, carefully awaiting instructions and showing absolutely no intention of stepping out of your word.

"Can you open your mouth for me, Lix? Just a little bit. A tiny bit"

He faintly nodded and parted his lips - not as much as you wished, but you worked with it, placing your pointer and middle finger on his bottom lip. "Will you suck for me?"

This time he didn't bother to nod. He had been waiting for this and wasn't about to waste any more time. One of the hands that he had until now been resting on your ass circled around your wrist, pushing your fingers deeper into his mouth. He sucked eagerly, his plump lips close to your knuckles as he watched you - pupils dilated and his face all red - he wasn't holding back. 

"So good, just like that" you whispered, caressing his bottom lip with your thumb. And for that, he only went harder, hollowed his cheeks and brushed his tongue along the pads of your fingers, sending shivers in waves up and down your spine.

Seeing him like this awoke something inside of you, and the moment he bucked his hips up into you, you knew it was time to stop. Without warning, you retracted your hand which earned you a soft, pained whimper the moment he was left with his mouth open and empty.

"More" he cried.

But you didn't listen. Instead, you brought your fingers to your lips and licked them, closing your eyes to emphasize the pleasure it gave you. "You taste so good, Felix" 

"Angel, please"

"I don't know what you want" you teased, "Tell me"

Your roles might have reversed, but unlike you, he never shied away from letting you know just how needy he was. "I need you to spit in my mouth for me, my love. Please, baby, I need it"

"You need it?"

"Yes" he whined in desperation. "Spit in my mouth like you spit on my cock before you blow me. I need to taste you, baby, please"

"Anything for you" you smiled and wrapped your fingers around the roots of his soft, blonde hair. When you yanked his head back, a moan escaped his lips but it didn't make him falter, he had no shame, he didn't care how pathetic it might look. He just craved you and thrived on the fact that you could so easily tell just how desperate he was. He loved being weak for you. 

With his head held in position, you leaned down to give him a soft, little kiss, and with your lips still pressed against his, you whispered, "Open"

He obeyed your command, while still remembering the first one. No matter how hard he was able to feel his pulse inside his balls, he kept his eyes trained on yours as you did exactly what he asked - spit in his mouth like you spit on his cock. 

"Fuck" he threw his head back as he swallowed, but his bliss was painfully interrupted when you unknowingly lowered yourself back onto his lap. "Shit, baby!" Felix hissed, "careful"

"Oh my god, sorry!" you hurried to move to the side and plop down on the couch, only to see him pull at the cotton of his sweatpants, or underwear, in a desperate attempt to relieve some of the pressure the material was causing him. 

"So I did ok?" you questioned, blinking at him as you awaited his response.

But he could only scoff. "Ok!?" Felix laughed, "Ok!? Baby, you made me suck on your fingers"

"You didn't want to?"

"Angel, you blew my mind. Fuck, I need a shower-" he breathed, getting ready to stand up before you stopped him.

"What? I can do it"

"No, I'm all gross" he wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead, "But you can join me"

"I don't want to join you in the shower, Felix. I want to suck your cock here. Now"

"Jesus Christ, baby, you'll be the death of me"

#lee felix #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #lee felix smut #felix smut #felix imagines #skz imagines #stray kids x reader #lee felix imagines #skz smut #stray kids smut

[undercoverpena]

do me yourself masterlist

francisco "frankie" morales x f!reader

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

key themes: meet cute. romcom vibes (your girl is back). fluff. flirting in person and over <redacted>. idiots falling in love. smut (eventually - check individual chapters for details). frankie is a boy!dad (will highlight when child will be mentioned in individual chapters warnings)

WORK-IN-PROGRESS (UPDATES TUESDAY)

CHAPTER ONE - BUTTERSCOTCH ORANGE

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER TWO - LEMON TWIST

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER THREE - HEATHER PURPLE

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER FOUR - GREEN SMOKE

CHAPTER FIVE - PEPPER RED (S)

CHAPTER SIX - MORNING COFFEE

— BONUS

CHAPTER SEVEN - HONEY CREAM

CHAPTER EIGHT - DARK OLIVE

CHAPTER NINE - BREATH OF FRESH AIR

CHAPTER TEN - CRANBERRY COCKTAIL

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

... more to be added

gifted moodboard by @eupheme

gifted moodboard by @sawymredfox

dedication: none of this would be possible without @secretelephanttattoo who i owe my heart to for not just persuading me to write this, but egging me on all week. el, you're a fantastic friend, thank you for all the giggles, the catfish picture and for just letting me distract you all goddamn week. ily, and i hope one day i can show how much. shoutout to @hellishjoel for the title, and to @thetriumphantpanda for listening to me talk about this pair for a solid ten minutes when we was booking train tickets.

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x f!reader #frankie morales x f!reader #catfish morales x reader #✨🩷 francisco morales #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #triple frontier x reader

[livelaughloveloak]

𓂅 WISHUROSES ⊰ 🎡

𖦹 pairing : earth1610!miles morales x reader

𖦹 summary : random scenarios and headcanons of miles as your boyfriend

𖦹 author's note : y'all I'm literally running out of ideas so I would appreciate it if you guys sent me some requests 😭 btw this isn't proofread

you and him definitely have a snapstreak but it was on accident. he randomly snapped you and you'd snap him back on a daily so now you two are just stuck with a 200+ snapstreak.

he bought you a Polaroid camera for your birthday and you ended up using up most of the film on him.

you have the pictures up on the board hanging up in your room

HE'S A COMPLETE SWEET HEARTTTT through actions or through text he'll show his love for you either way.

you pulled back from the tight hug miles pulled you into and looked up at his face. "miles you have that smug look on your face again." you poked his cheek and laughed. miles gasped and was quick to defend himself although he was in fact smiling like an idiot. "I do not!!"

if he's not busy with spiderman business, school, family problems, or hanging out with you then he's busy texting you instead.

he might go to an advanced private school but he refuses to write sentences properly.

you'd receive messages from him like these

inaminit

whaddup

nuhuh

luv u

wya?

he'll abuse the living hell out of emojis when texting you

"yup 😎😎😎😎😎😎💪💪💪"

"wdym no ☹️☹️😒😒🤨🤨🤨"

omw Mami 😋😋😋🤟🏿🤟🏿🤟🏿🤟🏿🤟🏿🤟🏿

he'll ask you for help when it's washday for his hair. his scalp is sensitive so you make sure to be extra careful

he has your contact saved as mi alma. one time his mom saw the contact name pop up on his phone and questioned him about it. he freaked out and started blabbering nonsense

he tells you stories about his adventures when his uncle aaron was still alive.

he has a picture of you as his wallpaper and a pic of you guys together as his lockscreen

he draws you two matching pfps

will definitely give you a new drawing everytime he can

was sweating bullets when he finally revealed to you that he was spiderman.

the pressure was quickly lifted off of his shoulders once you said that you accepted him and understood.

he's still scared that you'd be his canon event and swears he'll never let you die

"even if I have to destroy this universe as long as you're alive I'll be alright." you pinched his cheek and smiled. "don't be silly miles" a groan escaped his mouth as you giggled. "mami stopppp I'm being serious right now."

he let's you win in games just to see you happy but if it's basketball he's not gonna hold back 😭🙏

has his face buried in your neck while sleeping. he says it's because "I'm cold and you just happen to be warm" but yet again it's the middle of summer.

will be jumping up and down our of joy when you bought him new Jordans for his birthday

he has a bracelet with your name engraved into it and he wears it proudly

his phone album is filled with pictures of you. you and him fight eachother whenever you catch him trying to take a candid 0.5 picture of you

he 100% calls you "my heart"

says the most old man type of comebacks when playfully arguing with you

"yeah well you can go kick rocks!!"

"boohoo buckaroo"

"too bad so sad"

"nuh uh" or in other times "yuh huh"

"whatever pal"

"listen here buddy"

you two wear matching pajamas when you have sleepovers

don't get me started on this man and saying the "rizz" jokes...

"rizzanator is what I am"

"let's have a rizz off"

"call me the rizzmaster"

he'll airdrop you the most random memes and burst out laughing when seeing your reaction

he gifted you a promise ring with both of your initials engraved into it as an anniversary gift

miles won you a teddy bear in a fair and now you both call it your "child"

don't expect to get a warning because miles will randomly FaceTime you out of nowhere.

he'd give you a spiderman suit so you could match with him

when you first met his mom she liked you without hesitation and asked to take a picture with you. she made miles take the picture 😭

overall a sweet guy and will give you the princess treatment you deserve!!

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

July 4, 2023 | All rights reserved to @livelaughloveloak • Do not repost, reupload, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own. ✮

art in the polaroids are made by purpletunabread on twitter and koscribbls on instagram

#miles morales imagine #miles morales x you #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x reader #atsv imagines #atsv #atsv miles #earth 1610 #across the spiderverse fic #across the spiderverse #miles morales

[dabislittlemouse]

tainted angel🪽 (pt.3)

PART 1 // PART 2 // PART 4

ෆ DABI X HAWKS’ LITTLE SISTER

ෆ cw: Dabi being a flirt and a pervert, corruption kink, smut and dubcon incoming, stalking

The dead silence of the night is always something that calms me down. When the whole city is asleep, that’s when I head out, walking on random dark alleyways and empty parks with no destination in mind, just to clear my head.

Though this time there was a destination. It had been 3 hours since the phone call with my angel, by now she should be asleep.

Unless she was lying to me. That will get her in trouble.

But no. As I reached her house and climbed on her balcony, the lights were already off. A grin forms in my face as I notice that the balcony door was open, letting the chilly breeze creep inside her room.

So inviting.

Entering inside, I can see some of the surroundings, my eyes easily adjusting in the darkness.

Ah.

There she lays, in a deep sleep wearing nothing but a silky nightie, her white fluffy wings smaller and spreading on the bed. Her pretty golden hair falling on her face, her breathing is slow and soft, my hungry eyes already fixed on the movement of her chest. She has to be a real angel, cause no human out there has ever looked this mesmerising. My scarred hand reaches to remove the hair off her face, careful to not wake her up. My finger caresses her cheek softly, then it goes down to her chin, and trailing lower, reaching her chest.

I can see her nipples perking through the fabric of her nightie.

You’re a fucking tease y’know that babe? Leaving the balcony door wide open, wearing something like this. You knew I was coming didn’t cha?

I reach closer, my face mere inches away from her figure, as I take in her scent. Fuck, the same sweet intoxicating scent as before. It makes me salivate, the sight in front of me is making it harder and harder to not do anything reckless right now.

I am more than capable to fuck her just like this, or play with her lovely tits while I jerk myself off. Until she wakes up, panicking and horrified at the sight of a stranger stroking his cock to her sleeping figure. Damn that would really traumatise you angel.

I need to be patient. Can’t have her scared off, running to her brother for help, where’s the fun in that?

“Oh, I’ll make you fall f’me” I whisper, my lips press softly against her forehead. “I’ll have ya question your morals and your sanity soon enough”

I reach to the pocket of my coat, grabbing a few small blue flowers that I picked while walking earlier. Thankfully they weren’t crushed. I put them right on her bedstand, a little gift for when she wakes up in the morning.

Before I make my way to leave I notice the amount of plushies and small figurines she’s collected around.

“Cute” I mumble to myself before disappearing in the night. She’s gonna have to tell me ‘bout her collection one day.

****

The tomorrow’s meeting was about all the support and supplies we’d be gathering on the upcoming war against heroes once Shigaraki wakes up. A bunch of boring crap really, but as a lieutenant I had to show up and pretend that I care. Didn’t get much sleep last night, and for some reason those bastards just looove to have meetings in the morning. Helps to start the day fresh they say. Buncha’ idiots.

My mind is filled with nothing but her.

Damn it doll, y’gonna have me lose this war if you don’t leave my mind. I’ll have to punish you real bad for that.

“Hawks, what a pleasure to have you back again!” ReDestro says. I sit back on the chair, a lazy smile spreading across my face at the sight of the number two hero.

I jerked off to your sister’s voice last night, hero. And you have absolutely no idea.

I cough slightly, trying not to laugh.

After the meeting ends, I reach for Hawks, throwing an arm around him as if we’re close buddies.

“Oh hey man!” he laughs nervously.

“Such boring meeting don’t cha think?” I say, pulling a pack of cigarettes from my pocket. I offer him one but he declines.

“Yeah maybe, but every meeting has its importance.” he replies and I just roll my eyes.

I remove my arm off him, my eyes fixed on his.

“How is your sister doing?” I grin, puffing smoke out of my mouth, directly on his face, which is irritated with annoyance.

“Since when do you care about her now? I told you to not bring her up” Hawks replies sternly.

“Man you’re no fun. M’just trynna have a conversation here.” I raise both my hands, but he knows better than to believe I don’t have any sick intention behind all of this.

“I made sure to warn her that day to stay far away from you” Hawks says.

“You warned her that same day?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Yup. She has no business with you”

The same day she was warned. She ignored the warning and continued talking to me on the phone the other day, giving me the damn blue balls with her sleepy sexy voice. Angel, aren’t you naughty?

Not containing my thrill any longer, I head outside the PLF mansion, walking towards the forest. Outside it’s sunny, the brightness making me squint and almost killing my eyes.

I grab my burner phone, dialling her number. She picks up almost immediately.

You thrilled too huh?

“Rise and shine, angelface. Slept well?”

Of course you slept well. You lay there so pretty and peacefully, I saw you myself.

“Morning Dabi!” she says, excitement clear in her high pitched voice.

After a small chitchat, I decide to.. poke her a little.

“I hope you liked my gift~” I say and for a few seconds I was met with silence.

“…gift?” she mumbles in confusion, before letting out a small gasp. For sure her eyes fixed on the blue flowers that popped up out of nowhere in her nightstand.

“Stop with those jokes” she laughs nervously.

“Y’think I’m joking around? You wound me princess, after all that I went through to gather some pretty flowers just for you..”

Her breathing becomes irregular. Damn, did I scare you?

“H-How did you get them in my room?”

“How do you think?”

“Umm…”

Poor angel, you’re stressing out.

“By the way” I interrupted, changing the topic. I decide to not answer her questions, and just leave her be with her thoughts. “Hawks told me you’re forbidden from talking to me~”

“Y-yeah but..” she swallows. “He won’t give me any reason why. And also, I don’t need guidance anymore, I am not a child..”

“Exactly” I grin. “You’re a big girl. M’sure you’re more than capable of making your own decisions, right princess?”

“Yeah.. right” she says, doubt in her voice. “But anyways, about the flowers you still didn’t-”

“Oh shit, I gotta go. Talk t’ya later” I say, before hanging up.

I have in fact nowhere to go. I just wanted to leave her drown in questions without answers, in overthinking and confused emotions. As much as I want to get her and make her mine, I decide that to have her yearning for me and her poor little heart burning for me is way better instead.

Her brother won’t give her a clear answer as to why I should not be approached. She still doesn’t know how those flowers got there, her brother’s best friend would never do anything bad right? Like, getting inside her room in the middle of the night when she’s asleep, salivating at her like a depraved man. He would never.

But you’ll see much more of me soon.

I send her a text message, I need to move things further.

If she shows up, there’s no turning back.

Tags: @mostlyheinous @touyalove @awalkingshame @ch3rrykoolaid @dabihawksluva @syrenkitsune

#B.writes #dabi #touya todoroki #mha dabi #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #bnha #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #touya todoroki x reader #yandere dabi #yandere #x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #keigo takami #hawks #hawks bnha #tw: smoking

[lizzieisright]

JUST READ YOUR OMEGA!ABBY FANFIC AND OMFG?? THATS SO GOOD!!! LITERALLY AMAZING WRITING<3

If your requests are open, how about Omega!Abby and Alpha!reader where they mark and scent eachother? :D

Thank youu

thank you so much! I call this one "All The Times When Ellie Williams Questioned If She Still Wanted To Be Friends With Abby" ft. Abby's alpha.

female alpha!reader x omega!abby

Palestine: what can you do

Tags: dead dove: do not eat. a/b/o universe (female alphas have dicks), modern AU, there's some smut. 1.3k words.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Ellie Williams is the biggest victim of your relationship. She thinks she has a right for moral compensation for what she has to put up with, because you two are disgusting. 

(She is jealous)

It starts innocently enough: Abby texts her about how cute you’re and how you scented her totally by accident. Ellie rolls her eyes, but smiles and sends Abby a meme.

The first time when you scent Abby it happens unconsciously. You're hugging goodbye after one of your dates, and as you put your head on Abby's shoulder, you nuzzle into her neck. Abby freezes, while you get confused. And then it dawns on you.

“Oh god.” You say, horrified. Abby is blushing, shocked, but she doesn't smell bad. “Oh god, I'm sorry.”

“It's- it's okay.” Abby says as she touches her neck. She can smell how your scents mixed and it makes her feel giddy. “I like it.”

You grin widely and toy with Abby's fingers, like a lovesick idiot. Abby doesn't reciprocate, and yeah, maybe it hurts your feelings a bit, you don't say anything. Abby is not obligated to scent you back. 

Then it goes to: "I scented her back today and she looked so happy!!" Which is great to know, but Ellie's lonely ass doesn't want to read it right after she embarrassed herself in front of Dina.

When Abby still doesn't reciprocate after the third time you scented her, you start worrying. So you talk to her. 

“Do you want me to stop scenting you? You don't smell uncomfortable, but-” Abby looks at you with wide eyes, probably panicking. “Fuck, I should've asked before I did it, I'm such an idiot.” 

Abby panics more and grips your hands tightly. 

“I like it. Don't stop, please. And you don't need to ask.” Abby smiles gently and you turn into a puddle. Then Abby frowns. “I guess I feel embarrassed, you know- Because my scent is so weak. That's why I don't scent you back.”

You blink. And blink again. It's true, Abby doesn't have the most suffocating scent, not sharp vanilla or god forbid, lilies, but once you know how Abby smells, you can always catch it. And to you it doesn't matter - you smell her on yourself, and this is all you need. Just have a piece of her on you, comforting you.

“I love your scent.” You say and Abby's pheromones burst. “I want your scent on me.” 

Abby smiles, happy to hear it, happy to be enough for you. Then she shyly moves closer and nuzzles into your neck too, making your knees wobble. Your scents mix perfectly. 

It becomes quite a common ritual for you: you nuzzle each other when you cuddle, when Abby sits on your lap, when you sit on her lap, you always bury your noses in each other's scent glands. It's safe and soothing, and makes you both feel like you belong to each other, comforting and protective. And Ellie understands that - it’s cute. You two are cute, and she is very happy for Abby, especially since you look like you genuinely believe the sun shines out of Abby’s ass. So she keeps her teasing to herself and lets you two enjoy each other.

Then one day Dina tells Ellie how scary you are when you get territorial and Ellie thinks she will kill you, but then Dina asks if it’s true that Ellie broke Owen’s wrist for cheating on Abby and Ellie’s bloodthirst subsides.

You can't help it, you hate when other alphas look at Abby and fucking sniff her. She is yours. Abby finds it endearing, because she is so not scared of you, you're safe, but she starts to notice how other alphas turn away when your scent gets stronger. She doesn't piece it together until Dina points it out, when your alpha presence affects her alpha presence.

“You make her so fucking scary, Abby.” Dina laughs while you stare down yet another alpha, radiating aggression. “One day she is going to rip someone to shreds for you.”

Again, Abby would laugh, but she knows alphas are more than capable of doing it. Abby tells Dina about what happened to Owen when he cheated on her and Dina smirks, while her scent changes to attraction. Abby grins, knowing that she just made Ellie look more appealing in Dina's eyes. 

Ellie can live with that. She understands, she also gets jealous easily, and it is hilarious watching you get all over Abby without even realising it.

You get possessive unconsciously: you see an alpha staring at Abby and you wrap your arms around her, rubbing your cheek over her neck, making sure your scents are mixed, and Abby giggles. 

“What are you doing?” She asks and you freeze like a deer, your arms locked around her. 

“I-um.” What are you supposed to say? Sorry, this guy was looking at you so I claimed you? 

“Yeah?” Abby keeps teasing you and you bite her shoulder lightly. 

“This guy was looking at you so I claimed you.” You admit and Abby laughs. 

“Oh, I needed that.” Abby says, taking a breath after laughing at you. “Silly, silly alpha.” 

You huff, but when Abby kisses you, you melt. 

But then you stare her down and honestly, Ellie feels like challenging you out of pure fucking spite. She obviously doesn’t - first of all, because she understands, second of all, because unlike weakass Owen, you will kick her ass. Abby is fucking glowing and Ellie swallows her pride for the sake of her friend’s happiness. 

When Ellie gets “you know I just realised that she is MY alpha. like. she is *mine*. it do be crazy out there” Ellie doesn’t expect to see you next day with two hickeys on your neck and a lovesick grin. Abby looks embarrassed and Ellie makes fun of her for it, but then you growl at her and Ellie starts making fun of you for being so whipped. (she never mentions that you’re wearing marks and not Abby, she is not an asshole).

Abby doesn't use scenting as a form of claiming you, because she thinks her scent is not strong enough. She much prefers to scent you in order to soothe you, especially when you're stressed, because it calms you down, but when Abby gets territorial, she leaves marks. 

It happens for the first time before you two have sex, but you're already getting handsy with each other. You're making out on your couch and Abby smells your arousal, feels your hard-on against her thigh, and you whine so prettily into her mouth when she grinds against you. 

Abby suddenly feels so possessive - she wants to claim you, she wants everyone to know you're hers, and her kisses become rough. You whine when she starts kissing your jaw and then moves to your neck, licking your scent glands with her hot tongue. 

“Fuck, I'm gonna-” Abby sucks a bruise on your neck, just under your scent glands, and you cum, wetting your pants. “Fuck, holy shit- Abby-” You keep whining and Abby growls, sucking another hickey. “Holy shit, baby-” 

She leaves your neck alone and bites your collarbone. Your eyes become red and Abby whines herself when your thick alpha presence starts filling her nose. She pants into your neck, too turned on, and you grip her waist tighter. 

“Please.” Abby begs and you push your hands down her pants, rubbing her clit. “Yes, fuck, right there- fuck!” 

She is so pretty when she cums. 

And okay, it’s all cool. Ellie is cool with everything. But she fucking hates your ruts. Not only it reminds her of her own loneliness, but it also turns you into a fucking idiot. It’s unbecoming.  You’re smart and funny and Ellie, despite her complaints, is actually fond of you. You’ve become one of her closest friends, since when she was really stressed out about Dina and being in love with another alpha, you’ve never judged her and helped her through it. But your ruts come and Ellie wishes she could strangle you.

You're close to your rut, Abby is supposed to study with Ellie in the evening, and your monkey brain needs to make it clear that Abby is yours, even though you know Ellie is not a threat. You actually like her, she is cool and keeps your baby safe when you're not around, but alpha instincts can't be really defied. So in the morning you fuck Abby in the shower and suck a hickey near Abby's scent glands when she cums. She doesn't pay attention: you always play with her neck, so it's nothing new.

So when Abby shows up to their usual study session in the library Ellie is appalled. Abby, oblivious as ever, doesn't even notice it, but Ellie can't stop staring at a hickey on Abby's collarbone: she knows why you put it there, you rut-induced jealous moron.

“She marked you?” 

Abby blushes. 

“What?”

“You have a hickey.” Ellie nods at her collarbone and suddenly the room smells like arousal. “No, you're not getting horny in the library, Anderson. Have some respect.”

Abby blushes harder. 

“I swear to God Abby.” Ellie hisses and Abby laughs, but the smell of arousal goes down. “Keep your alpha in check.”

“Come on, you know I'm worse with the marking than she is.” Abby smiles. “Last time I made a fucking necklace around her neck because Nora hugged her.” 

“Please, I don't want to know.” Ellie whines and Abby laughs, a manic grin forms on her lips.

“Oh, you know what she does when she is in a rut? She rubs her c-”

“Fuck off Abby! I don't need to know!” Ellie groans, tired of her shitty best friend and her shitty alpha and their shitty sex life. 

“Maybe Dina will do it too, you know.”

Ellie blushes and doesn't say anything, too embarrassed to admit that Dina already did. 

“Why am I friends with you? Why am I friends with your girlfriend?” Ellie shakes her head and Abby laughs. 

Ellie thinks you’re the worst when you’re in rut with how possessive you are, but she has to find out the truth the hard way. Abby comes to lunch all grumpy and pouty, and Ellie smells the sour spice of jealousy in her scent. She doesn’t smell hurt, which is great, but it bothers Ellie.

“She got paired for a project with that bitch who always stares at her!” Abby bursts and Ellie nods. She knows the bitch - a cute omega from your class who always stands too close to you during student guide’s meetings and looks at you like you hang the stars. You keep your distance, but it doesn’t stop the omega. So Abby is furious.

“Well shit.” Ellie sighs. 

“I’ll kill her.”

“I’m not visiting you in prison.”

It sucks, Ellie knows. She also hates seeing omegas smile at Dina, especially since she is so friendly. But Ellie can’t control other people, and Abby can’t too.

So it turns out, Abby comes up with a creative solution. 

There are moments when Abby scents you to claim you. You know she is upset about Ollie, and you keep trying to soothe her until Abby decides to take the matter in her own hands. 

She pushes you on the bed and strips under your shocked eyes, but you quickly catch up and start taking your own clothes off. You reach for Abby to give her a kiss, but instead she pushes you again until you lie down, and straddles your chest. You grin and wrap your arms around her thighs, tugging her down until Abby sits on your face, her hot cunt suffocating you. It’s heaven. It’s pure heaven. You grip her thighs and eat her out like a woman starved, licking and sucking her clit, lapping at her drooling hole and moaning when you taste her. Abby is whimpering above you, but then she finds herself and grips your hair to yank your head down, holding it one place. 

“Stick your tongue out.” Abby growls and you obey, so turned on by your girlfriend you start humping air.

Abby starts to ride your face aggressively, until your damn eyelashes are wet with her cum and you let her, moaning into her cunt as you get yourself off. Abby starts growling “you’re mine” on every tilt of her hips, her puffy clit twitching on your tongue, and you’re done. You cum and Abby keeps going until her thighs trap you and her slick drowns you while she shakes and whimpers on top of you. 

The next day Ellie, poor unsuspecting Ellie, hugs you hello when you meet her in the morning in a coffee shop, and she catches a very strong scent. Abby’s very strong scent. It’s not the one that she scents you with - it’s something richer, deeper, as if her usual scent of fresh roses was condensed and spilled on your fa-

You have the audacity to laugh when Ellie connects the dots. 

“I hate you both so fucking much. Why do I even bother.” Ellie huffs while you laugh, pleased. “Go wash your fucking face, you stink!” 

But you can only smile, absolutely love-drunk. It's fair to say, Ollie backs off immediately after this.

Of course, eventually Ellie makes peace with it.

(She gets her revenge)

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson #abby tlou #omega!abby

[janaispunk]

only bought this dress so you could take it off

series masterlist • this is part I

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

a/n: I was on my summer vacation last week, and I’m suffering from severe Dave York brainrot lately, which inspired a vivid daydream of Dave taking me on a little trip and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I was planning to keep it a oneshot, but there are so many more ideas for this floating around in my head, so a part 2 miiight be happening. Please read the warnings, this one’s nasty! (it’s the murder daddy energy)

word count: ~10.4k (this was supposed to be a nice little pwp, idk what happened) (Dave was holding me at gun-point)

summary: You have been sleeping with Dave York for a few months, keeping things casual, when he suggests to go on vacation together. You’re not sure what to expect, but you agree, and Dave takes very good care of you.

warnings: bits of angst, dubious morality (Dave is cheating on his wife), kinda unhealthy relationship dynamics, age-gap implied, alcohol consumption, able-bodied reader, Dave pulls her hair, dom!Dave, sub!reader, rough sex, semi-public touching, sir kink, degradation kink, rough oral sex (m receiving), unprotected piv (reader is on bc in my head, but it’s not mentioned in the fic), dirty talk, Dave is a menace, spanking, choking, edging, spit kink, restraints, idiots in love, let me know if I missed any!

this is explicit 18+ content, minors do not interact pleaseeeee

Your phone starts buzzing on your work desk around 8 AM. You just got into the office and are starring at your monitor blankly, nursing a to-go cup of too expensive coffee and questioning your life choices. A regular Tuesday really.

You groan and flick your eyes down to your phone, your mind way too exhausted to deal with whoever is trying to contact you right now. You read the name on the screen and do a double take, your tiredness immediately forgotten. You hastily grab the device and press the green button to accept the call.

“Hey,” you say, trying your best not to sound just as eager as you suddenly feel. He doesn’t need to know the effect a simple call from him has on you.

“Good morning, sweetheart. What took you so long to answer, huh?” his voice sounds in your ear, calm and composed as always, but with a hint of teasing. You bite your lip, thankful that he can’t see how just hearing him speak has a blush creeping up your cheeks.

“S-sorry, just work and everything, you know?”

You can’t help the little sigh that you let out -work really has been a nightmare lately- and he chuckles sympathetically.

“You poor thing. Speaking of work, I actually have a favor to ask you.”

He knows fully well that he doesn’t need to ask you favors - you’d give him everything he wants, without question. His usual demanding tone is lacing his words and you involuntary clench your thighs together. God, you’re down so bad for this man.

This, as you need to keep reminding yourself, married man, who lives the perfect suburban life with his wife and their two kids. He’s not in love with you, you’re well aware of that, and you’re trying your hardest not to fall in love with him either.

You don’t know what exactly is going on between him and his wife and you don’t pry. He’s told you that things between them aren’t working out anymore and that they’ve agreed to stay together and play happy family until their girls are older. You’re not dumb, you know that this is the kind of story that every cheating man tells the other woman. And you’d probably call him out on his bullshit, if he were any other man. Hell, you wouldn’t have gotten involved with any other married man in the first place.

But Dave isn’t just any man and he’s got you wrapped around his finger ever since you met in a hotel bar a few months ago. You had just been stood up at said bar and Dave had been on a business trip, spending the night there. He came up to you, looking more handsome than any man should have the right to, bought you a drink and had you following him up to his room in the blink of an eye, which led to sex that was easily the best you had ever had.

Now, Dave calls you regularly, mostly when he’s close enough to meet up, but also some nights when he whispers filthy things into your ear until you come on your own fingers because he is too far away to put his hands on you.

You like to think that he cares about you, that you’re not just the willing means to an end and that you can actually give him something that he can’t get anywhere else. Something soft, a person that cares for him and gives him the chance to be soft as well. Because they exist, those moments of softness, in between tangled sheets and laughs shared in the darkness of your room, his fingers mindlessly dancing over your body when he thinks you’re already asleep and his lips pressed against yours a little too urgently when he’s saying goodbye to you.

But most of the time, Dave doesn’t like to care. He also doesn’t like to be soft. He’s ruthless, his edges sharp like a knife and he likes coming at you hard. He doesn’t tell you exactly what he does for a living, but you suspect that it’s dangerous and violent. He needs an outlet, somewhere he can let his aggressions run free, someone he can control.

This, you can definitely give him. You let him take it out on you when things get too much, you give up all control to him, and you love it. And he knows that you do. Sometimes you wonder if that’s the only reason he’s keeping you around, but you can’t bring yourself to believe it.

So, when your phone lights up with his name, you answer, trying to conceal your desperation to hear his voice, the hold he has on you, even if you’re fighting a losing battle. And when he’s asking for a favor, you hum questioningly, even though you already know that your answer will be “yes”.

“Take the next week off, and pack a bag. I’m having a few free days, so we’re going away for a bit, I’m picking you up on Saturday.”

He’s basically giving you an order, not stopping to ask if you’ve already got plans, if this might be a bad time, anything. Do this, be there, stat. Because he knows that you will do as he says and you know it, too.

Excitement bubbles up in you, the prospect of spending a whole week with Dave, something of a vacation, from what it sounds like, is more than you had ever allowed yourself to even daydream about. This is not what your relationship is about, it’s not what you do. Except that… apparently it is?

“I- okay, yes. That- that sounds great, Dave.” Your delight at his proposal is clear in your voice. “Where are we going? What do I need to pack? Do I need to prepare anything?”

He chuckles again and you can picture him shaking his head.

“No doll, don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Just bring your passport and pack for warm weather. And, sweetheart?” His voice drops an octave and he’s basically purring in your ear. “The sluttier, the better.”

He hangs up without waiting for your answer. You’re left to spend the rest of your workday in a daze, your panties soaked and your head busy with already cataloguing your entire closet and which things you’ll pack.

The days pass you by in weird chunks of time. On one hand, you can’t wait for Saturday, while on the other hand, you feel terribly unprepared, causing anxiety to creep up on you several times throughout the week. Every vacation you’ve ever been on has been meticulously organized and planned out by yourself and the lack of knowledge that you’re dealing with right now is entirely foreign to you.

What if you need a certain vaccine for wherever you’re going and you don’t have it? What if the flight has an early check-in that you need to take care of? Has Dave booked a hotel? How are the reviews? What do you need to prepare for?

The nervous urge to be ready for every kind of situation that you can’t satisfy right now is threatening to drive you crazy and you need to remind yourself more than once that this is Dave that you’re dealing with. Not one of your ex-boyfriends that would’ve come up with some half-assed plan that lacked in several vital points and required you to take care of things yourself eventually.

Dave is even more thorough than you, he doesn’t leave anything up to chance and he doesn’t forget things. You’re still reeling from the mere fact that he’s planning to take you away for a whole week. You’ve never spent that much uninterrupted time together and you honestly hadn’t thought that he would want to. This is couple stuff. And you’re not a couple. You’re just someone he sleeps with occasionally. You need to remember at least that.

You have texted him a few times, trying to get more information about the trip, but he hasn’t budged. You only manage to find out that he’ll come pick you up Saturday morning and that you’ll be gone for a whole week. And that you should pack a lot of bikinis.

“You make sure you’ll look good for me, and I’ll take care of the rest,” his text read. Followed up by a stern, “Stop worrying.”

You try taking his words to heart and get prepared in the one way you can: Buying lots of skimpy dresses and bikinis. You vividly picture him taking them off of you and it works. You do stop worrying.

Saturday finally rolls around and you’re ready, suitcase fully packed and dressed in a skirt so short that it will probably have you freezing your ass off on the airplane, but you can hardly bring yourself to care.

His taxi finally pulls up to your apartment building and he jumps out to meet you while the driver loads in your suitcase. You can’t help the giddy smile that’s on your face when Dave’s arms envelop you and your lips are on his before he even gets a greeting out. He chuckles as he kisses you softly, one of his hands cupping the back of your head, before he pulls away slightly to look at you. You’re breathless; the sight of him in his crisp shirt, the top two buttons undone to show off a sliver of his broad chest, his sharp jawline and those brown eyes trained firmly on you already enough to drive you a little crazy with need for him.

“Miss me that much, huh?” he murmurs against your lips, one hand still in your hair while the other one trails down to the hem of your skirt and skims the backside of your thighs before he gives your ass a rough squeeze. You nod quickly as a breath leaves you, not quite a moan but enough to clearly show him the effect his touch immediately has on you.

“Desperate little thing,” he grins and adds a playful slap to your backside before pecking your lips again and leading you towards the waiting car.

He slips in beside you, his hand immediately finding your thigh again and gently rubbing against the bare skin, creeping below your skirt’s hem again and again as you take off in the direction of the airport.

You’re falling into your familiar routine with him, the first effects of seeing him and the flare of your chemistry with each other calming down a little and allowing you to actually talk with him like a normal person, not a lovesick teenager. You’re filling each other in on the few weeks since you last saw each other, the little occurrences that you wanted to tell him about but didn’t have the opportunity to at the time. He’s not much of a texter and you understand that; he’s busy with his job and his family whose existence you still need to keep reminding yourself of.

His large hand doesn’t leave your thigh once throughout the drive, keeping a hold on you that feels especially possessive whenever his grip tightens. At the airport he grabs both of your suitcases and purposefully strides off, leaving you to walk beside him with nothing but your little purse. It’s not a grand gesture by any means, but still, no one has ever taken care of things for you like this and your want for him is bubbling inside of you.

He drops your baggage off at check-in and hands you your boarding pass. You can’t help the squeal that you let out when your eyes find the destination and you excitedly throw your arms around him.

“Are you serious? How did you know that I always wanted- But Dave, that’s SO much, I can’t have you pay for all this, I-“

He shushes you gently, though you can tell that he’s clearly pleased with how happy you are about where you’re going. He presses a kiss to the crown of your hand and rubs his hands over your shoulders.

“Of course you can. I wanted to do something nice for you, sweetheart, you’ve been so stressed out lately. And I-,” he trails off, looking almost a little bashful, “I wanted to spend my time off with you, without interruptions, you know.”

You think that he wants to add more, but he doesn’t, his expression slightly regretful like he accidentally said too much already. He barely verbalizes his feelings and you don’t push it.

“Thank you Dave, it’s- thank you. I really appreciate it.”

You lean up on your tiptoes and kiss him softly, trying to convey what you feel but can’t put into words. How you’re not even there yet and it’s already more than anyone has ever done for you. How ‘I wanted to spend my time off with you’ has butterflies erupting in your stomach, no matter how hard you try to suppress them. How it has you wondering if maybe, just maybe, you might be more for him than just the girl that he’s fucking on the side because his marriage is shitty. How much you wish that you were.

But you don’t have time to ponder all this because he possessively wraps an arm around your shoulder and leads you off towards security control, then to the gate where he gets you your favorite Starbucks without even asking for your order, and onto the plane, where he lets you have the window seat and his hand finds its way back onto your thigh.

You brought a book to read on the flight but you can’t make it through one page without losing your focus. Dave’s hand keeps climbing higher and higher, alternating between gripping your inner thigh tightly and drawing featherlight circles on the soft skin, and the heat that had been smoldering within you since you first laid eyes on him today is slowly but steadily becoming too much to bear.

Dave seems annoyingly unaffected, his face as composed as ever as he asks questions about your book, and you know that he notices the way you’re squirming in your seat, and how much he’s enjoying the fact that he’s the one to make you act like this.

You’re in the middle of a sentence when his fingers suddenly move all the way up your thigh and brush lightly against the fabric of your underwear. It’s a barely-there touch, but you’re so wound up that it’s enough to cause you to interrupt yourself with a loud gasp. He retracts his hand the tiniest bit, still hovering between your thighs, and tuts at you.

There’s a dark glint in his eyes that hasn’t been there moments before. You know this look and it takes everything in you to not clench your thighs together in anticipation of what’s to come. He raises an eyebrow, the condescension written clear on his face and his voice a low rumble, quiet enough for only you to hear.

“Shhh, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want everyone on here to know how much of a slut you are for me, now would we? Huh?”

He pinches the soft flesh on your inner thigh roughly when you don’t answer fast enough and you bite your lip, suppressing the whine that is threatening to come out of you.

“N-no…” you whisper and Dave arches his eyebrow even higher, looking at you expectantly. You gulp.

“No, sir.”

A small smile plays around his lips and he places a kiss on your cheek. “Good girl,” he mutters and his hand creeps up again until he’s rubbing against your panties, which you know are absolutely soaked by now. Your hips chase his touch and he chuckles darkly as he withdraws his fingers, completely this time, until he’s holding them up to your face. You can tell that the fingertips are shiny with the arousal that leaked through the fabric and you feel yourself blushing.

“Lick it off,” he demands, and your eyes widen. “H-here?” you dare to ask. His gaze hardens.

“You wanna talk back to me?” His voice is calm, but you can sense the tension that’s rolling off of him. You should be disgusted, both by his request and the way that he’s talking to you, but you’re not. This is how you want him, how you crave him.

You shake your head hastily, acutely aware that questioning him was probably enough to get you into serious trouble later on. The thought sends another wave of desperate arousal through you.

“Then lick. It. Off. I’m not gonna tell you again.”

His tone is clipped, his face a hard mask, but your eyes flick down momentarily and the growing bulge in his pants tells you that he’s not as unaffected by the situation as he wants you to believe. You train your eyes back to his face and hold his gaze as you lean forward and obediently clean his fingers with tiny kitten licks. His jaw tenses as he finally draws his fingers back from your tongue and runs them across your cheek, smearing the traces of your spit there.

A small whine slips out of your throat as you feel fresh wetness flooding your panties and he grins before he kisses you again, murmuring a “Good girl” against your lips. He leans back into his seat, his hand finding an almost innocent position close to your knee.

“Why don’t you read a little more, sweetheart? We’ll be there soon.”

He flashes you a smile that could pass as genuine but you catch the glint in his eyes as he clocks your dazed expression and your slightly parted lips. You nod dumbly and pick the book back up, but not a single word that you read actively registers in your mind.

You try catching glances at Dave, until by the fourth time, he pinches your chin between his fingers and turns your head back forward. “I said, read,” he murmurs into your ear. You know he gets off on this stuff, giving you stupid little orders. And on the fact that you let him. That you get off on it, too.

Your arrival happens in a blur. Dave leads you off the plane and through the smallest airport you’ve ever been to. Your brain is still a bit muddled from the unsatisfied arousal he’s ignited in you and now you’re excitedly turning your head left and right, trying to get in as many impressions as you possibly can. You’re not paying close attention to what’s happening and you’re thankful for the way Dave is taking charge without question. You’re happy to link you fingers through his and let him lead you wherever you need to go.

He retrieves your luggage, walks you out of the airport and to a waiting car. You spend the drive staring out of the window, your eyes wide, taking in all the beauty around you. It’s like you’ve arrived in literal paradise. You tell Dave as much and he chuckles, lifting your hand up to his mouth and pressing a gentle kiss against your knuckles. The unexpectedly sweet gesture has you blushing and a soft smile plays around his lips.

The hotel is, quite frankly, insane. If you had been worried about the amount of money that he’s spent on this trip before, it pales in comparison to how you’re feeling now. The building is nestled against the foot of a mountain, lush green trees surrounding the front and the road leading up to the entrance, while it opens up to a small, private bay where turquoise waves calmly roll up against the whitest sand you’ve ever seen.

There’s glass walls everywhere, giving you an almost 360° view as you step into the lobby. You know that you’re gaping and Dave actually laughs at your expression as he walks you up to the reception desk to check in. You’re not listening closely, too busy taking in your surroundings and convincing yourself that this is your real life and not some extremely realistic daydream that you’re having while sitting at your work desk.

Dave finishes up and wraps an arm around your shoulders to lead you to the elevators, stepping inside and pressing the top button. The doors slide closed and you can barely think about the fact that you’re apparently staying on the top floor before you’re being whirled around and end up with your front pressed against the elevator wall with Dave’s hands roughly shoving up your skirt until your ass is exposed to him.

Your surprised giggle morphs into a moan as his hand comes down hard to slap it, before gripping the flesh so roughly that it borders on painful. He presses his body up against yours and captures your lips in a sloppy kiss as his other hand slides up to cup your breasts over your tank top.

“Dave- we can’t-,” you gasp just as the elevator comes to a halt and dings. He growls and flicks your skirt back down, but keeps you pressed against his side as the doors slide open again. Thankfully there’s no other people around on this floor to witness your surely utterly disheveled state.

The dark glint is back in his eyes as he drags you along to your room number. He stops in front of the door and turns you towards him, his eyes trained on your face as he stares you down. His voice is low, his tone calm and controlled, but somehow it’s more threatening than if he shouted at you.

“You think you get to tell me what we can and can’t do? You think that’s for you to decide?” His hand grabs your face, his fingers digging into your cheeks, and you whimper. “N-no sir, I’m sorry, I just thought-“ He slaps your cheek, not hard enough for it to hurt, but enough to shut you up. Enough to remind you of your place in this dynamic. Your eyes flicker around hastily, your mind acutely aware of the fact that you’re in a public setting and that someone could walk in on this at any time. His hold returns your face, forcing you to look at him again.

“You don’t think, sweetheart. I decide and you listen, isn’t that right? If I want you to show off that slutty little ass of yours for everyone to see, then that’s what you’ll do.”

You nod to your best ability with his hand still grasping your face, mumbling another, “I’m sorry, sir.” You can barely think, the heat between your thighs almost making your legs buckle at this point. His thumb moves to play with your bottom lip and a cruel smirk grows on his face.

“You will be, doll. This is the third time you’ve disrespected me today. Looks like you’re in for a rough night, huh?”

“Yes, sir.” You can’t help the way you subconsciously bite your lip and you know that your desire is written all over your face, your pupils probably blown wide and your cheeks hot.

“Christ,” he chuckles and seals your lips with another kiss, “you’re a fucked up little thing.” You can only nod, prompting another laugh from him.

He steps up beside you and digs a keycard out of his pocket, holding it up against the door that responds with an affirmative beeping sound and a lock clicking. He pushes the handle down and swings the door open, holding it for you, a hand on the small of your back as you tentatively take a few steps inside.

The gasp you let out now isn’t fueled by your arousal, which is momentarily forgotten, but by your utter inability to believe what you’re seeing. You’re standing in a small hallway which opens up into a gigantic living room that’s probably bigger than your entire apartment and completely lined with glass walls, revealing a balcony and the shimmering sea several floors below you. You slowly walk to the adjoining bedroom that houses the easily biggest bed you’ve ever seen and a continuation of the glass walls. From what you can see, the en-suite bathroom features a lot of white marble.

You turn back to Dave, who has followed you silently and seems to expectantly take in your every reaction. “You’re crazy,” you tell him and he grins as you struggle for words. “This is- it’s so expensive, it’s- it’s too much, really. You’re crazy,” you repeat and he walks up to you to take your hands. His thumbs rub little circles over the skin and he smiles softly.

“As I said, I wanted to do something nice for you. You deserve it, sweetheart, you do.”

“But- but it’s-,” you trail off, mortified to realize that your bottom lip is trembling and your eyes are getting wet. You’re not going to cry in front of Dave, not because of a stupid hotel room. More like a fucking suite, your brain unhelpfully provides and your lip trembles harder. Dave quickly wraps his arms around your shoulders, his eyes searching your face.

“But it’s what?” he implores, his features displaying a look of such genuine concern that you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen on him before. “Sweetheart, do you not like it?”

You shake your head, trying to think of some way to explain that doesn’t make you seem totally pathetic. “It’s-,” you draw a deep breath, “it’s just- this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Like, ever. I just can’t believe you would- for me…” You trail off, not sure how to explain that you can’t grasp why he would be willing to spend this amount of money on you. “What I mean to say is, it’s beautiful. Just- thank you. Really, thank you.”

You smile at him and the relief is incredibly evident on his face before he pulls you into a hug, his arms engulfing you, one hand stroking you head softly. For once, his hands don’t wander down your body, he just holds you tight and you allow yourself to think that you could get used to this.

You feel awkward after your little breakdown, but Dave doesn’t mention it again. He lets you traipse around the suite to explore and unpack and follows you when you step out onto the balcony where you inhale deeply, enjoying the salty air and the view down to the bay. You think that it might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in your life and you flash a beaming smile at him.

“You like it?” he checks again and you nod eagerly. “Good,” he mumbles and steps up behind where you’re leaning against the railing, one of his arms finding its way around your middle and his head resting on your shoulder. “That’s good.”

You stay like that a little while, taking in the scenery in front of you in peaceful silence, listening to the sound of the waves that roll against the shore and watching as the sun is sinking lower, a soft golden light spreading out across the sky and reflecting in the water.

Eventually, one of his hands slowly starts gliding up your torso. He cups your breast and his fingers graze your quickly pebbling nipple. You moan quietly and instinctually push your hips back against his crotch and the growing hardness there, which causes him to chuckle as he bends down to run his lips over your neck, leaving small kisses and bites on the sensitive flesh.

You’ve been riled up and let back down so many times today that you feel a bit crazed at this point, the need for him between your legs downright painful as you grind your hips against him and another desperate moan escapes you. “Dave, please… I need you.” Your head falls back against his chest and his other arm loops around your middle, pressing you against him as he tuts softly.

“So needy that you’re forgetting all your manners, huh?”

He pinches your nipple, hard, before his hand sneaks higher and loosely wraps around your throat. The anticipation of what is -hopefully- finally about to happen has you feeling lightheaded. You don’t care that you’re outside, that anyone could look up and easily spot you on the balcony, you would let him fuck you right there, as long as he just finally fucks you at all. You haven’t given him an answer and the hold around you throat tightens. Not enough for any real pressure, but enough to remind you of the power he holds over you.

“Please, sir,” you whine and he chuckles again.

“Not yet, doll,” he whispers into your ear and his hand leaves your throat, then he turns you around until you’re face to face. You can see that he wants you too, it’s written on his features clear as day, and you can barely fathom his level of self-restraint right now. You open your mouth, ready to beg again, ready to beg for anything to relieve the throbbing pain between your thighs, but he shakes his head curtly and even in your lust-filled haze, you know better than to keep going and shut your mouth again.

He grins at your obedience and gives your lips a quick kiss. “Good girl. You’ll get everything you want soon enough, don’t worry. Just gotta be patient a little more, okay?” You nod, and dazedly let him take your hand and lead you back into the bedroom. “But first, we’re gonna have a nice dinner. Think you’re gonna need the energy, doll.” His grin turns downright feral and a small shudder runs through you. “Show me what pretty things you packed, yeah?”

You hum your agreement and turn to rummage through the closet, pick out a dress and fresh underwear and wander off into the bathroom. You half-expect him to stop you and make you change in front of him, but he doesn’t say a word. Maybe seeing you naked would be even too much for his restraint right now.

You change into the dress; it’s one of the new ones that you bought only last week while daydreaming about how Dave would take it off of you. It’s a short silk dress, dark red and with an open back that basically only consists of a several straps that form a loose pattern over your skin, which is why you forego a bra and only pull on a black thong, a lacy, barely there scrap of fabric. You also redo your makeup, adding a lipstick in a shade that matches the dress and freshen up your hair, then step out into the bedroom again.

Dave is still wearing the black slacks that he wore all day, but seems to have changed into a new, creamy white dress shirt, while you were busy in the bathroom. The top three buttons are open, which is one more than usual, exposing more of his broad chest than you’re used to and you know that you’re wearing an expression of awe on your face. He’s so beautiful. He always is, he’s stupidly attractive, really, but it’s hitting you especially hard right now, in these new surroundings and with the prospect of having him all to yourself for one whole week.

He’s eyeing you as well, his gaze roaming hungrily over your body. You become acutely aware of just how short the dress is, how much of your naked skin is on display. You like your body, and you’re not ashamed of showing it off, but this place is fancy. You know you look good, but suddenly, you feel a bit awkward. “Is- is this okay? Because, I-,” you stammer a little, “I didn’t expect this kind of hotel and you said- you said you wanted slutty, so…” You trail off, biting you lip nervously.

Dave’s gaze softens. It’s giving you whiplash, how quickly he switches between the domineering, controlled, sexually charged persona that he’s displaying around you most of the time, and this sweeter, caring side. The side that wants to do something nice for you. He takes a step towards you.

“Turn around for me, sweetheart.”

You do, giving him a little twirl before turning back around and meeting his gaze. He looks… you don’t know how to describe it. The hunger for you that you’re familiar with is there, but it’s also something else, something… more. “You look perfect,” he assures you and you can’t help but believe him. Then he continues, “take off your underwear.” You blink at him and he cocks an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t want any panty lines when you’re looking so gorgeous with that pretty dress.”

You know fully well that the tiny thong that you’re wearing isn’t leaving any panty lines, but you also know better than to argue. The thought of having nothing to protect your modesty under the very short hem of your dress makes you feel exposed, a little uneasy, which is probably exactly what he wants. Always testing your limits, always looking to see how far he can push you, how far you’d go to please him.

You slide your thong off and make to toss it in the direction of your suitcase, but he clicks his tongue and holds his hand out towards you. You put it into his waiting hand and he stuffs it into the pocket of his pants. You suppose that he’s planning something and that you’ll get to know about it when he wants you to, which isn’t now, so you keep your mouth shut and step closer to him. “Dinner?” you ask softly and lean on your tiptoes to kiss him. He returns the kiss, his tongue entering your mouth swiftly, giving you a taste of how much he wants you, before he pulls back and grabs your hand instead, leading you out of the suite and back to the elevator.

It’s just the two of you when you get on, but two floors down, you’re being joined by an elderly couple who you greet politely. As soon as their backs are turned to you, Dave’s hand is under your dress, running a finger through your slick folds. You manage to swallow your surprised gasp, but flinch slightly, and you see him smirk out of the corner of your eye. He slides his finger up and down your slit, brushing your already oversensitive clit a few times, and you bite down hard on your lip to keep the sounds inside that threaten to spill out of you.

When the elevator finally stops, he withdraws his hand and waits until the couple is a few steps away from you, until he leans down to whisper in your ear, “Good girl, learned your lesson I see. Now, what do you say?”

“Thank you, sir,” you breathe, your legs a bit wobbly and your arousal already leaking out of you.

“That’s right.” He pats your ass in a sort of condescending appreciation and you follow him into the dining area.

The hotel’s restaurant is located on the first floor, a beautiful, light-filled space that opens onto a big terrace which seems to float over the ocean and gives you a gorgeous view of the sunset’s colors that have become even more intense since you left your room. You’re being led to a small table for two and you gape at the view, causing Dave to laugh at you again, but it’s a warm laugh, that feels like he’s genuinely happy about how much you’re enjoying yourself.

You try reading through the menu, but you know maybe half of the things that are on there, much less how anything tastes or what you would prefer. You shoot Dave a sort of helpless look and he grins. “Want me to order for you?” he asks and you nod gratefully, trying not to feel embarrassed about how out of your depth you are. He orders something, along with a bottle of red wine, which you very much appreciate. You don’t know much about wine, but this one tastes really good. It turns out that he ordered some kind of fish for you, that you still have no idea how to pronounce right, but now you know that it’s freaking delicious. You tell Dave as much and he gives you another smile that seems much too soft and overwhelmingly right at the same time.

Dinner with him is much easier than you had anticipated. Apart from your excitement about the whole trip, you had been a little nervous about spending an entire week with him, having to make much more conversation than you usually do. It’s not that you never talk, but sooner or later, you end up naked with him whispering filth into your ear. You don’t go out on hour long dates, maybe a drink at a bar, but no big dinners and extensive talks. Until now.

Now you know that he’s a great listener, making you feel heard and understood, never once giving you the impression that you’re boring him. You also learn more about him, about his past, though he stays vague about his current job and the situation with his family. But it’s nice, being with him like this. Another thing that you could get used to, but that’s also another thought to shove into some far away corner of your mind. Be thankful for what it is, don’t become greedy for more, you tell yourself.

After two glasses of wine and a dessert that you could have died for, watching the sun set over the ocean until the night sky took over, you’re buzzing with happiness, but also excitement for the next part of the evening. The whole dinner was better than you could have imagined, but you have also been turned on for hours, with the man that you want right in front of you. When Dave finally stands up and pulls your chair out for you, you all but jump up and flit to his side. He chuckles and looks at your eager face. “Don’t get too excited, sweetheart. Tonight isn’t gonna be all that fun for you.”

The dark glint in his eyes is back and you’re subconsciously clenching your thighs together. The simple thought of what he might do to you is enough to push the arousal that has been simmering inside of you to the forefront of your mind again. You’re amazed how quickly he can sink back into that domineering character that could make you do almost anything with a simple snap of his fingers. He wasn’t like that at dinner, he didn’t once give you the impression that you’re below him or that he doesn’t respect you, separating this sexual dynamic that you’ve established from other parts of your interactions with clean precision.

He leads you out of the restaurant, his fingers grazing the bare skin on your back and you’re once again reminded that you’re completely bare beneath the skimpy dress that you’re wearing. His hand dips lower, playing with the hem that feels like it’s barely covering your ass. Goosebumps are forming on you lower back and your thighs and he chuckles darkly.

He keeps playing with your dress during the elevator ride, his fingers sliding underneath and grazing your ass repeatedly, until you’re fully riled up again. You’re a little nervous now. He promised to be rough several times today and you don’t doubt that he will. You’re excited as well, you want him rough, crave his control over you, but still…

He takes out the key card and opens the door as you follow him quietly, waiting for instructions. You can feel the tension rolling off of him. As soon as the door clicks shut, he’s on you, crowding you back against it, his hands grabbing your wrists and pulling them up above your head while he leans down to capture your waiting lips.

The kiss is messy, all teeth and tongues as he devours your mouth, towering over you and keeping your wrists fixed to the door while his whole body is pressing into yours. You arch into him, helplessly trying to get him closer as you moan into his mouth when he bites at your lower lip, keeping it in between his teeth as he pulls back a little before letting it go. You whine, the quick stab of pain transforming into pleasure and traveling straight to your pussy, which causes you to spread your legs wider and grind your hips against him.

He gathers both your wrists in his large hand, still pressing them against the wall above your head, and lets his other hand roam over your body, grabbing at your waist, bunching up the dress there. “Looked so good tonight, all dolled up in your pretty dress…” he murmurs with his lips now dragging against the soft skin of your neck, occasionally nipping and sucking at the skin, “and all this just for me, sweetheart?” He bites down right below your ear and your hips buck against him.

“Yes, yes sir, fuck…”

Your breath catches in your throat when he abruptly pulls the neckline down to expose your breasts and scratches his fingernails over your nipples. He pinches one hardened bud between his nails and pulls slightly before he lets go and watches how the flesh bounces back, then he repeats the motion on the other side. You’re gasping, tears are welling up in your eyes, it hurts, but it hurts so good, your pussy is completely soaked and you just want him to finally, finally fill you up.

Then he steps back, his jaw flickers as he watches you, still pressed against the door, panting softly and with a dazed expression on your face.

“Get on your knees.”

You get down immediately, hoping against hope that maybe he’ll let you come sooner when you’re being good now. He allows himself a cold smile at your eagerness and steps closer until you have to crane your neck to look up at him. He opens his belt and slacks in sure, controlled movements, the only evidence of his own need for you being the massive bulge that’s right in front of your face. He doesn’t waste time, shoving his pants and underwear down in one move and letting his cock spring free.

You gasp quietly, your mouth opening on its own accord at the sight of his massive length and you look up at him hungrily. “Open wide,” he tells you softly, almost gently and you obey, sticking your tongue out and watching mesmerized as he lets his tip rest on your tongue for a few moments. He pulls back slightly, smearing a mix of your saliva and his pre-cum across your cheeks, then slapping you with his cock, which causes you to moan. “Filthy little thing,” he murmurs and sinks into your wet mouth in one hard thrust.

You gag almost immediately, your throat contracting around him and he groans as he grabs your head and holds you still. Tears well up in your eyes and you already feel lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. He finally lets go and you desperately suck in a lungful of air before he starts thrusting into your mouth again, hitting the back of your throat every time and causing you to choke around him. The way he pushes you around, uses you for his own pleasure has a new rush of wetness flooding your pussy and you’re itching to touch your clit, just a little bit.

He notices how you’re squirming beneath him, how one of your hands is inching closer between your legs and he stops his thrusts, his cock still taking up most of your mouth, and looks down at your face.

“You wanna touch yourself? You like having your face fucked like a whore?”

You nod as best as you can and hum desperately, gazing up at him through your tear-soaked lashes. He furrows his brow, looking down at you with that wicked glint in his eye. “You know how to ask properly, I didn’t hear you sweetheart,” he tells you, sinking even deeper into your throat and you fight to suppress another gag. You hum again and look at him pleadingly; he’s well aware that you can’t ask him anything with his cock filling your throat like this. “Guess you don’t want to, then,” he shrugs, “hands behind your back. You’re not touching that pussy without my permission.” You whine, your clit throbbing painfully for attention, but you obediently cross your wrists at the small of your back.

“Poor thing,” he coos and pats your head in mock-sympathy, then moves his hand back to hold you in place as he pounds into your throat with renewed force. You gag around him, tears flowing all over your face and drool streaming down your chin and onto your tits. He sinks into you again and again, holding you up by your head and making you sputter around him, desperate to somehow draw air into your lungs. “Take it,” he growls, “take it like the little slut you are, down on the floor for me. That’s how you like it, don’t you?” He finally pulls out of you and slaps your cheek when you don’t respond immediately. “Don’t you?!”

“Y-yes sir,” you rasp, gasping for breath, tears and spit still all over your face.

He crouches down cups the cheek that he just slapped, his thumb rubbing at the tear-stained skin under your eye. You’re positive that you look a mess, mascara running down your cheeks and your dark lipstick smeared all around your mouth, mixing with your spit. Your hands are still behind your back, the arch in your body making you push your chest out and putting your tits on full display for him. He starts toying with your nipples again and you want to cry. An orgasm feels so close, yet so far away. You feel like you could come with just a few strokes on your clit, but you have no idea how much longer he will string you along until he finally deems it enough.

“You’ve been such a good girl, sweetheart. So patient all day, I bet you’re dripping all down those pretty legs right now, aren’t you? So desperate and ready for me, yeah?” His voice is a low growl in front of you and you whine your agreement. It’s not enough for him. “Say it. Tell me how desperate my little slut is to finally get fucked.”

You hesitate, your eyes dropping to the ground in front of you. “I-,” you gasp as he roughly grabs your chin and forces you to look at him, waiting for you to do as he said. “I need you to fuck me, so badly. I’ll be so good, I promise, just p-please, sir,” you whine, feeling pathetic, your voice trembling and your face burning. No matter how many depraved things he gets you to do with him, for him, talking like this still gets you embarrassed. Which is precisely why he makes you do it.

“And what are you?”

You feel your face heating up. “Your s-slut, sir.”

He grins as he adds another slap against your cheek. “Damn right you are.”

He straightens back up, tugs himself back into his pants and looks down at you. “Bedroom.” You scramble to get up, but he shakes his head and lands a hand on your shoulder, pushing you back down again. “No no. You’re gonna crawl.” You sink back on your hands and knees, the amount of embarrassment and arousal that you’re feeling making you dizzy, and you look up at him shyly.

He nods approvingly and bends down to tug your dress up higher until your bare ass and pussy are on full display. “Good girl, right where you belong. Off you go, come on.” You bite your lip and start crawling towards the bedroom, his footsteps right behind you and you can feel his eyes drinking you in as another groan grumbles in his chest.

You stop in front of the bed and give him a questioning look. He gestures for you to stand up and you get back to your feet with trembling knees. He steps closer, his hands ghosting over your shoulders and toying with the straps of your dress.

“Such a pretty dress,” he murmurs as he slides them off your shoulders, the garment slipping down your body, leaving you bare except for the heels that you’ve been wearing all evening. You’re painfully aware of the power dynamic between you, how you’re completely naked and at his mercy while he’s still fully dressed. His hands roam over you, leaving goosebumps in their wake and come to rest at your hips. He squeezes the flesh there, then turns you around until you’re facing the bed.

One hand reaches up to your neck and he bends you over until your upper body is resting on the mattress, your back arching and your ass up in the air for him. He takes a step back and lands a slap on your backside without warning. You yelp, your body instinctively lurching forward and your legs shaking with the strain of keeping your balance in your heels. He notices, of course, and says, “You better keep those pretty legs steady, doll,” before reaching forward and massaging your stinging flesh. You hum, trying to get your muscles to cooperate, but your legs won’t stop trembling.

Dave’s touch leaves your body and he sits down on the bed beside your head, his eyes searching your face. “What’s your color, sweetheart?” he inquires, softly stroking your cheek. “Green,” you answer without hesitation. It has already been a lot and you’re sure that he’s nowhere near finished with you, but you like it like this. You crave it. He nods, his touch still gentle on your face.

“And what do you say when you need me to stop?”

“Red,” you whisper, leaning into his touch. “Good girl,” he murmurs and leans forward to press a kiss to your cheek, before he stands up again and disappears from your field of view.

“So,” his voice drawls from behind you, “I think I’ll give you twenty-five tonight, how’s that sound, sweetheart?” You gulp, but know that there’s only one acceptable answer.

“S-sounds good, sir. Thank you,” you breathe, the apprehension clear in your voice, and he laughs quietly.

“And what did you do to deserve this?”

You bite your lip again, struggling to think through the fog of arousal clearly enough to give him an answer that he’ll be satisfied with. “I d-didn’t listen and talked- talked back at you, and…” you trail off when his hand dips between your legs, swirling through the wetness there before retreating again. You inhale sharply and continue, “…and that was disrespectful. I’m sorry, sir, it won’t- it won’t happen again.”

“We’ll see about that,” Dave mumbles and his fingertips ghost over your lower back. “But that was a nice little speech, sweetheart. Starting now, you’re gonna count them out for me, yeah? Lose count and we’ll start over.” You nod and your hands grip the sheets as you try bracing yourself.

The first slap meets your flesh, not as hard as you know he can go, but hard enough to get a small scream out of you. “One,” you force yourself to say and he hums appreciatively, before landing the second slap exactly on the same spot as the first one. “T-two,” you whine, his handprint searing on your skin.

You make it until eleven before your legs give out, your trembling muscles collapsing under the task of keeping you upright in your heels while your body is scrambling to get away from the oncoming assault on your ass cheeks. You fall forward, your knees hitting the mattress right after Dave’s hand connected with your backside again. “Twelve, I’m sorry, sir,” you choke out.

“It’s okay,” he assures you, stepping closer and running his hands soothingly over your back as he searches your face, a look of soft concern on his face. “What’s your color, doll?”

“Green. Still- still green, sir,” you breathe out and you mean it. You feel like you’re on fire, but in the best way.

“Yeah?” he questions, “want me to continue?” and you nod your head eagerly. The concern washes away from his face, his jaw tensing and his eyes growing cold again. “Fucking masochistic little slut,” he growls and you moan, your walls desperately clenching around nothing.

He lets you stay with your knees on the bed, your ass still up high for him, until you’ve finally reached “twenty-five, t-thank you, sir.” You’re sobbing at this point, your skin feels raw where he hit you, but you’re also damn near delirious with want for him.

Dave strokes your skin gently, telling you what a good girl you’ve been and how proud he is of you, and you bask in his praise. Then his hand travels lower, slipping between your thighs until his fingers are running through your folds, feeling how soaked exactly his rough treatment has left you. “Fuck doll, you’re dripping. You really liked that, huh?” he murmurs as he pushes two of his thick fingers into you, sliding in easily and making you moan loudly.

He thrusts into your tight heat roughly, causing you to arch your back and spread your legs wider, your release so close that you can almost taste it. He keeps going until he feels you growing tighter, starting to clench around his fingers, and slides them out of you abruptly. You sob, feeling your orgasm subside again.

“I think you were about to come without permission, sweetheart. You just promised me you’d be good, didn’t you? Guess your greedy little cunt just can’t help herself, huh?”

You whimper an apology and receive another slap to your abused skin, causing you to jerk forward. “No doll, you stay right here. Give me your hands,” Dave’s stern voice orders from behind you. You let him take hold of your wrists, leaving you completely at his mercy in the position that you’re in, and he digs your panties out of his pants pocket, looping them around your wrists until they’re tightly secured.

When he’s satisfied with his work, you finally hear the rustling of him taking off his clothes. Without warning, you feel him swipe the head of his cock through your drenched folds, teasing you with the tip, grazing your clit and causing you to gasp, then sliding back until he’s prodding at your entrance. You whine loudly and try pushing your hips backwards, but his hold tightens around you, keeping you in position.

“Not so fast. Be a good girl and beg for it,” he requests, in a voice that still sounds so controlled, while you feel like you’re barely able to form words anymore. You’re not embarrassed anymore, the promise of his cock so close to where you want him wiping all inhibitions from your mind.

“Please sir, I need you so badly, please fuck me, I’ll do anything, just please…”

You feel pathetic begging like this, but you couldn’t care less. Dave lets out a strained groan behind you, and then he’s pushing into you in one strong thrust. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve taken him or how wet you are, his size always stings at the first intrusion and you wail, your body being pushed forward by his movement and he grips your bound wrists, holding you steady as he starts pounding into you.

“So fucking tight and wet you little slut, fuck you take me so good, being such a good girl, fuck…” Now his voice sounds wrecked behind you and you moan loudly at his words and at the way he’s splitting you open. This is what you had been craving for hours, the feeling of him thrusting into you again and again, and you push your hips back to meet his thrusts, to get him even deeper.

One of his hands grips your hair and pulls, forcing you to arch your back even more and slightly shifting the angle where he’s pounding into you, hitting something so delicious inside of you that you almost come on the spot, your walls already fluttering around him, but you’re not allowed, your scrambled brain reminds you, you need…

“Please sir, I’m gonna come, can I please…” Your voice breaks off into a sob when his movements slow down and he pulls out of you, pushing you forward until you’re laying flat on the bed, and he starts working on releasing your bound wrists.

“Good girl, asking for permission,” he praises, “but you’re gonna look me in the face when I make you come tonight.”

He frees your wrists and turns you around so that you’re on your back, looking up at him through teary eyes, desperate for your release. “Poor thing,” he coos as he gets between your legs, placing his large hands on your thighs and spreading them wide. His cock nudges at your entrance but he doesn’t sink back into you, his gaze trained on your face and his hand wandering up to play with your bottom lip.

“Open wide,” he tells you and you obey, parting your lips and sticking your tongue out. His breath has turned heavy by now and he hovers over you, hungry eyes roaming over your face, your open mouth and your wet eyes. He draws back the tiniest bit, then he spits into your mouth, his saliva coating your tongue and you whine, the filth of the whole situation making your pussy clench once more.

“Keep it open, show me.”

You hold still, your mouth wide open, feeling his spit mixing with yours as you stare up at him, waiting for his next command. “Now swallow,” he finally says and you do, showing him your empty mouth afterwards and he grins. “Fuck, you’re such an obedient slut, being such a good girl for me. You’d do anything right now, wouldn’t you? Fucked all the thoughts out of that pretty little head, yeah?”

“Yes, anything,” you whimper, and he sinks his cock back into you without preamble. Your eyes widen at the sensation of being full again and the new angle, moans of his name falling from your mouth and you wrap your legs around him, grasping at his wide shoulders to hold onto something as he starts pounding into you again with raw strength.

One of his hands wraps around your throat, squeezing until you feel light-headed, intensifying the feeling of his deep thrusts into you. Pleading whispers leave your lips, but you don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore, if you want more, if you want him to stop.

His movements speed up even more, hitting spots inside of you that have you moaning and squirming underneath him and the hand on your throat travels down to your breasts, toying with your nipples, pinching and pulling and sending delicious waves of pain through you.

You’re so close again, when his hand slides down to rub at your clit, making you scream and throw your head back, your eyes pinched close. He grabs at your face and forces you to look at him.

“Oh no, you’re gonna look me in the eyes when I make you come, are you gonna come sweetheart?”, he growls. You whine and nod desperately, your eyes shining with tears. “Go ahead then, come for me, squeeze my cock like the good little whore you are.”

He swirls his thumb over your neglected clit once more, gives you a particularly hard thrust and your vision swims, your whole body tensing up before you bear down on him and fall apart. You’re clenching rhythmically around his cock as the orgasm tears through your body in pulsing waves and you’re pulling him over the edge with you as he climaxes with a deep moan, spilling his release inside of you.

You’re a trembling mess, your breath stuttering and your mind still caught up in a blissful haze, and you’re only vaguely aware of him collapsing beside you, but you register the tender kiss that he presses to your cheek before he gets up and retreats to the bathroom.

The next thing you feel is the bed dipping as he sits down beside you again and you slowly blink your eyes open. Maybe it’s the post-orgasmic bliss that you’re still lost in, but you think to yourself that he looks especially beautiful right now, his face relaxed with a small smile playing around his mouth, where the stubble of his beard is showing through at the end of the day, and with his brown eyes warm again now as he looks at you.

“May I?” he asks and holds up a damp towel. You nod, returning his smile and watching as he brings the towel down between your legs, cleaning you up and soothing your hot skin. He gently turns you over and spreads some kind of healing balm over your burning cheeks, careful not to touch you too roughly. He also cleans your face, his soft touches almost enough to lull you to sleep.

When he’s finished, he maneuvers you around, causing you to giggle, until you’re in the middle of the bed and he can pull the covers over you, sliding in beside you and wrapping his arm around your middle. You shuffle closer until you’re securely tugged into his side, your breath fanning against his broad chest.

“You good?” he asks, looking down at you and placing a kiss on your forehead. “Yeah,” you smile up at him and stretch to reach his mouth with your lips. He kisses you back, his hand coming up to play with your hair, and you smile even wider. As much as he likes to be rough with you, you think that what he actually needs, is the softness.

series masterlist

if you enjoyed reading this, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment! <3

#dave york #dave york fanfiction #dave york x reader #dave york x f!reader #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #the equalizer 2 #the equalizer 2 fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedrostories #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom

[pedroshotwifey]

*looks around and slides money on the table* 💵

Frankie Morales and number 10

I apologize to Frankie because he’s a sweet polite broad bean who’s respectful and always asks. I…would like him not to. 👀

Reader: plus size female (because I’m in full self-indulgent delulu mode)

Also I’m kinda not sorry because side why else would you have the title of the p**** eating king Morales? Huh? Huh? 😵 Sir. 👀

Anyway. I’m gonna stop rambling now. Thank you. 🥰

*Snatches money and stuffs it into pocket*

Yeah, alright. I got the goods. (I fucking love this.)

Hope you enjoy your face sitting with the p**** eating king! 😉

Rating: Explicit

W/C: 1.2k

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!plus size!reader

A Real Man

“What the fuck do you mean you’ve never sat on someone’s face before?” 

You wince at the words coming out of Frankie’s mouth. Was it really that big of a deal? 

The two of you are sitting in bed, facing the TV that Frankie just paused. Well, it’s not like the two of you were really watching it anyway. You’d started talking halfway through the movie, and you’re not really sure how you got to this point in the conversation, but here you are.

“I-I don’t know. I just…haven’t.” You avoid his gaze as your cheeks heat, unsure of why you feel so ashamed to have admitted that. Maybe it was more of a common thing than you had thought. 

“But you’ve been in relationships before?” Frankie says it like a question, but he knows that you have. 

“Well, yeah, but. I don’t know, we just didn’t do it!” You don’t know why you’re getting frustrated with this. 

Frankie huffs a laugh and shakes his head. 

“What kind of an idiot wouldn’t offer themselves up to a goddess like you?” 

“You haven’t!” you point out. It’s a bit unfair of you since the two of you have only been officially dating for a couple of weeks and haven’t done too much sexual exploration yet. You’ve known him for much longer though, having grown up with him, and you’re not going to deny hearing…rumors of his skills. 

He gives you a pointed look, knowing that you know that’s an unfair accusation. You groan and put your hands over your face.

“My last boyfriend offered, but he seemed like he didn’t really want to. So I told him I would suffocate him, and he agreed with me.” It’s muffled through your hands, and the last part is near incomprehensible with how quietly you say it. 

“He what?” Frankie sits up a bit, and you peek at him through your fingers. “Honey, I hate to tell you, but that boy was a fucking idiot.” 

You sigh and shake your head. Like you didn’t know that already. 

“Take your clothes off.” 

Your hands fall from your face as you jolt up. 

“What? No!” 

“Yes. You’re going to sit on my face so I can show you what it’s like to be with a real man.” 

“Frankie, no, I–” 

“Clothes. Off. Now.” 

You gulp at the way his eyes darken and his voice deepens. Deciding it’s better just to listen to what he says, you slide down off the bed and start to tug off your clothes with shaky hands. You glance at Frankie as you push your pants down, watching the way he hungrily licks his bottom lip as you unveil more and more skin. 

You stop once you’re down to your bra and panties, another protest on the tip of your tongue. But Frankie’s quick, and he knows your antics. 

“Keep going. I don’t want to hear it.” 

You purse your lips but undo your bra all the same, tossing it to the side and revealing your breasts to your boyfriend. You can feel the wetness between your legs as you peel your panties off, making your face flush again. 

“C’mere.” 

It’s not a request, and your body responds to it before you can think about it. You stop in front of him, his hands coming to settle on your plush hips. His eyes drag up the length of you, slowing as they pass your heavy breasts. 

“Fucking gorgeos, amor.” 

He starts to pull you back onto the bed with him, leading you to climb over him as he lays down. You stop at his waist, feeling the way his bulge presses up against the fabric of his sweats. 

“C’mon, baby. All the way up.” 

You swallow but follow his instruction, trying and failing to avoid his lust fueled gaze. You stop again right at his chest, and he suddenly wraps his arms around your thick thighs to pull you to his face, making you fall over him and plant your hands on the bed above his head. 

“Frankie, be careful!” you scold, sitting back up on your knees. You look down at him, seeing his pupils completely blown. 

“Take a seat hermosa,” he instructs, completely ignoring your outburst. 

You start to lower yourself down, hovering just over his mouth. You’re about to ask him one more time if he’s sure, and then he pulls you all the way down, making you yelp as your pussy comes into contact with his unrelenting mouth. 

He immediately gets to work on licking stripes up and down your cunt, and you scream out his name. He’s eaten you before while you were on your back, but holy fuck. It didn’t feel like this. 

He groans into you as he slips his tongue inside your weeping hole, licking up all that he can. Your hand threads through his curls as your hips jolt involuntarily at the feeling. Your head is already starting to go blank as a pressure builds in your abdomen. 

His tongue fucks in and out of you as he simultaneously slurps up your juices. You moan obscenely, tugging on his hair as you ride his face. He whimpers at the pull, and you already know his hips are bucking up into nothing. 

He’s fucking feral, licking and fucking and groaning and whimpering. After a moment, he pulls his tongue back and shifts to take your clit between his full lips, sucking harshly. Your legs begin to tremble as your orgasm gets closer, and Frankie holds you even closer, his fingers leaving indents on your thighs as he squeezes your flesh. His tongue flicks over the swollen bud, and you’re done for. 

“Oh, fuck, Frankie!” you cry out as you come on him, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. You’re vaguely aware of the way you’re clenching his hair in a way that has got to be painful, but you don’t have enough control to release your grip. 

He keeps moving through your orgasm, letting go of your clit to trail back to your hole, drinking everything up as he moans. Your body tenses and shakes violently as you focus solely on the pleasure of it. 

You’re panting as you come down, your body leaning back over his, weak from the force of the orgasm he just gave you. You feel his grip loosen on your thighs, and you take the opportunity to roll off of him and lay down on your back beside him. 

You’re both covered in a thin sheen of sweat, breathing heavy as you look at eachother. You trade a shaky laugh, completely blissed out from whatever the fuck that was. 

“Thank you baby,” you say, unsure if you can find the words to explain to him how mind-blowing that was. 

“Shit, thank you,” Frankie responds. 

“It wasn’t too much then?” you ask, doubt creeping back into your mind despite what just transpired. 

“It was fucking perfect baby. I can prove how much I liked it if you really need.” He sounds almost bashful at this admission, and you’re confused for a second before you look down and see the dark stain in his pants. 

You laugh at him, almost impressed that he managed to come untouched. 

“No, I believe you.”

*****

Here’s the link to the prompt list if anyone else would like to request 🫶

#pedro pascal #fan fiction #ao3 #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters #smut #fluff #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales fluff #francisco morales #triple frontier fic #pedro pascal fan fiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #plus size reader #pedro pascal x plus size reader #frankie morales x plus size reader

[tvgals]

‘ CHILL OUT ‘

pt.3

READ PARTS 2 AND 1 BEFORE READING THIS !

— e42! miles morales x black! fem! reader

synopsis — you’ve been cheated on, you’ve been lied to, and you’ve been heartbroken but you damn well ain’t gon be wallowing in self pity forever.

“you’re not mad?” jess asks you, her face covered in surprise. “nope.” you shrug, grabbing your bag full of snacks and walking out of the store, jess trying to follow up behind you. “on god?” she inquires, biting the inside of her cheek. you kept on walking without any response. “i take that as a no. look, please don’t say anything to jaya. she really trusts me and-“ jess is cut off with you heaving a sigh. “you’ve been talking shit too, huh?” you confront jess, well..not really..it’s more of a yes or no question. “what? ahah! why would you say that?” jess chuckles nervously, twiddling her thumbs.

“i’ve known jaya since sixth grade and i been living in brooklyn since i was born. i know when people talk shit about me, i’m not an idiot. so i will ask you one more time,” you take a deep breath. “have you been talking shit?” jess sighs and stops walking, turning around and walking the other way. that was enough of an answer for you. “fuckin’..” you mumble, walking back to your dorm. everything fell apart within the span of two days. you learned your boyfriend cheated on you, your so called “friend” was talking shit about you to someone new. this was terrible. you missed miles, as much as you hate to say it. you wanted him to hold you and have him tell you he loves you and all of this never happened. you look on your key ring and see the key to miles’ dorm room. you change routes and head over to his room, hoping it’d just be him so his roommate wouldn’t have to hear the oh so awkward conversation. you walk up the stairs leading to the dorms and find yourself outside miles’,contemplating on leaving. before you could think anymore, you insert the key into the lock and walk in, the smell of miles’ cologne hitting your nose. you walk into miles’ room to see him on the bed, seeming as if he’s sleeping. you knew this was a dumb idea. you bite your lip and turn to leave.

“come back..” miles mumbles, rolling into the wall to make room for you. “miles-“ you groan. “just come here. please.” you take your shoes off and lay next to him, trying to not make bodily contact with your ex. in his bed. you and miles sit in silence for a while, listening to the bustling sound of traffic outside and the occasional laughter of children walking down the street. “miles.” you whisper, turning to face him. “yeah?” he whispers right back. “what really happened?” you ask, watching miles hands inch closer to your own.

“if i tell you this you won’t do nothing stupid, right?” miles turns to you, cocking a brow. “promise.” you tell him. miles sighs. “y’know that party i went to like a month ago?” you nod. “i was walking ‘round talkin’ to people, and yo’ lil’ friend jaya came up to me talking bout how she wanted to get put on with me — so i said no cause i already got a girl, right?” you nod along while miles talks. “then she was talking ‘bout how she was better than you this that and the third and i’m like, ‘what?’ you feel me?” you scrunch your face up. someone has to be lying. it’s either him or jaya. “wait wait,” you interrupted him. “jaya said you called her phone?” miles scrunches his face up and looks at you crazy.

“forreal? nah, she’s lying to you ma’.” miles chuckles lowly, pulling you into his side. “are you sure?” you question him, ignoring the fact he told you he did inafct cheat.

“mhm.”

you couldn’t help but think he was lying too, miles was prone to lie. like the time he said he would come home at 9 and came home at 2:30 in the morning or the time he told you he’d never lie to you, but he did, and you couldn’t help but think he’s doing it again. “you’re a liar, miles.” you whisper into his stature.

“i wouldn’t lie to you-“ “but you would. you’ve done it countless times and you expect me to fall for it again. well i won’t, miles morales,” you tell him, pushing yourself off of the bed and walking out his room. “baby, come back.” miles says sternly, getting up and following behind you. “no. you can’t force me to stay here wit’ yo lying, cheating ass. you told me you cheated,” you pointed an accusatory finger into his chest. “and you wanna sit here and sweet talk me? well it’s not gonna fucking work.” you sniff, turning around and walking out the door.

you were gonna get your revenge and fast.

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

TAGLIST ; — @venusluvslove @mangolog @ohmaiscool15 @ohsanghoe @iiilovemilfs @garnetj @guapaneeseb @nekoweb @samndwich @cloudniteee @azadabts @elitesanjisimp @theyfwkayla14 @lennielane @kelesisworld @aaliyahlia-babyy @dorkmuffin27 @markleedreams @violxtbxbyy @pinkluvrr @yourrfavzxri @noraloralei @anoungsoneandonly @neteyamsmunch @1lennii @

[mhsdatgo]

Since GOT they’ve been using rape and abuse to humble or break a woman/Girl because they aren’t the “right” kind of woman. They don’t ride a dragon or yield a sword. They don’t fight against their period typical role in life that they were born and raised in. They’re not “A guys girl” or the “I don’t have any girl friends, they’re too much drama” types who prefer the company of men to women, who would rather train with a sword and not learn embroidery. They don’t have dialogue that vaguely sounds more 21st century than Middle Ages.

These women are seen as of less value than our little dragon riding, sword and fist fighting tomboys. So they need to be taught that if you had just been more like this or more like that you wouldn’t have been brutalized and abused. The things that were done to you by other people is all your fault and you deserved it.

This show/franchise is not even in the same room as feminism.

👏👏👏 Nothing more to add anon. No lie was told.

The sad thing is, this is not what I got from the books of asoiaf at all. Women's experience was never told in juxtaposition to others. There is no humbling or brutalizing other women as a "punishment" for not being better, more rebellious, or bolder than others. The books tell stories of suffering and that's it. The way shows and fandoms decide to try and force other characters into another one's story for the sole purpose of comparing them so they prove that stanning one means having a moral high ground over another character's stans is the most idiotic thing to ever have happened among fandoms, to say the least. Especially when the two characters in question don't even know each other.

Just look at the way Sansa and Dany are treated in the fandom. Have a shot for every time Sansa in King's Landing is called a tradwife as if this wasn't a girl in middle school trying to survive they're talking about, or for every time she's called jealous of Dany. Imagine if a stranger girl with three dragons cames knocking on your door demanding that you and all of your people and their mama bend the knee to her and you are the jealous one and the villain because you just... Don't? Also, you deserve to be threatened with death when you pose a reasonable question, and you need to take it and be better and shut up. Then you're a "girls' girl" deserving of respect, etc.

We want strong female characters to think for themselves, except when that "thinking for oneself" isn't the same thing as kissing the ground the fan favourite girl walks on.

If only fandoms paid more mind to what makes a character likeable or unlikeable in their eyes BASED ON THE CHARACTER ITSELF, and not on their perspective on their faves, interacting with them would be way more fun. Books/shows like asoiaf/GOT or F&B/HotD aren't places where you just choose a character you like and that's it, she's an icon she's a legend and she is the moment. If it was, it would either be a story for kids or a hell for Mare Sues' fans. As long as you treat asoiaf characters like deities that can do no wrong and everyone else as villains in need of redemption, you should step back and read something else.

This is something that needs to be accepted even between writers and directors, btw. Just look at what F&B was turned into. Girlboss vs Girlfail. Blacks got the Girlboss, the virtuous rightful heir, good mother fine ruler, Greens' got the Girlfail, the rape enabler, the boy mom, the tradwife, you name it.

No, it doesn't matter that the latter is doing everything she can possibly do. She was a piece of shit the moment she stopped toiling behind the former because everyone is meant to be like or kneel before girlboss with dragon. Only then are your ambitions respectable. If not, fuck you, you're nothing. Everything that happens to you is your fault. I'll be in the front seats cheering for when everything you love is ripped brutally from you.

Even when your grown-up son rapes a maid. Even when girlboss with dragon threatens to put your people to the torch because you won't bend the knee.

TL;DR: There's no need to compare/stone certain female characters for being what they are instead of a completely different type. If all of them were tomboyish with swords or feminine with embroidery, it would be boring. You aren't better than anyone for having preferences. Also, learn how to blame men when they fuck up. It's great for the bowel.

#hotd #got #asoiaf #fire and blood #daenerys targaryen #sansa stark #alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen

[deakyjoe]

Somebody’s Watching Me Part 11

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader (“Sarge”, she/her, British, backstory)

Category: slowburn coworkers to friends to lovers with grumpy x sunshine dynamic/idiots in love

Summary: Feelings are finally revealed in the face of mortal danger. Some good, some bad.

Warnings: British terminology/slang, strong language, injury detail, war/death, mask is off and on, angst, canon-typical violence, mentions of stalking, sexual references

Word count: 3.5k

A/N: This took me two weeks to write. For a not very long chapter. Also, I hate it. Enjoy!

Consider buying me a coffee :)

Things became complicated. More so than they already were. The range of emotions you were feeling was making life difficult. You couldn't concentrate. The most simple of tasks were becoming far more complex than they ever should be because your mind was focusing on one particular subject.

Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley.

He'd ruined you. Ruined your life. Ruined everything.

It didn't help that he knew it either.

"You still haven't forgiven me yet, have you?" He uttered one evening after you'd spent the last hour or two trying to forget everything that had happened through the simple will of human touch and physical affection.

Your voice was soft when you replied, almost reluctant but not quite. "No."

"Okay." He was beginning to become more accepting of the situation. Maybe finally realising that what he'd done was not just bad. But terrible. Morally awful. No matter his initial intentions.

In short, he was starting to feel guilty. Really guilty. And not just about being caught. But he didn't quite know how to express this to you. And whilst you could see that he was becoming more understanding and could appreciate that, his inability to actually show this to you or even say it meant that forgiveness was not quite ready to be dished out.

You stayed rather quiet around him now, often silent. Never rambling like you used to. He missed the incessant chatter constantly spilling out of your mouth. Sometimes he'd walk into a room with you in it, and you'd be talking to Soap or Gaz, and spouting words like there was no tomorrow. But you hushed yourself as soon as his presence was detected. It was like you were uncomfortable speaking around him now, as if you didn't want him to know more than what was absolutely necessary about you. He knew why and he hated it.

And he didn't miss the way you avoided looking at him whenever he had the mask on. That would've been fine, many people didn't like looking at him with it on as they tended to find it intimidating, but whenever it was off you always made a point of making eye contact. The most burning, piercing eye contact of his life. And he knew why you did it. You were looking at Simon, not Ghost, Simon. He hated that too.

But it prompted another question out of him another day. "You love Simon?"

The question was odd but you understood why it was being asked, your eyes opening blearily as you answered. "Yes."

"Not Ghost?" He pushed.

"You're..." You hesitated and sighed, face scrunching in thought. "You're one in the same to me. Almost. But I fell in love with Simon first."

A startling realisation hit him. "But I don't even know who Simon is."

You mumbled something under your breath and looked at him, his glazed over eyes and forehead slicked with sweat matching yours. "Then maybe figure it out before you ask me for forgiveness."

It was biting, a low blow even, but he knew why you said it. And he thought you had a point. He hated that you had a point. Simon Riley was used to being right, always having the upper hand in situations because most of the time he knew he was correct. This privilege did not extend to you. Why? Because you were always more right than he was. And it was made worse by the fact that you were good. Morally good and just... good in general. Simon knew he couldn't fight you, especially now, because he knew that you were right and good. Meaning the situation was entirely in your hands. All he could do was await forgiveness, if you ever even decided to bless him with it.

So, even though you seemed to be spending countless hours with each other whenever you could spare the time, it felt as if the two of you hadn't really hung out properly in a while and bonded. They were just more stolen moments in his office and sometimes supply cupboards. Nothing with substance. You were trying to keep your distance as much as possible so he could figure himself out, a few weak moments of needed pleasure from him thrown in here and there, and he was trying to keep his distance to allow you the time to calm down from what he'd done whilst he collected his thoughts to grant you a proper apology, taking the random opportunities for closeness when you offered them his way.

The main problem with this though was that neither of you were succeeding in what you were supposed to be doing. Simon wasn't managing to collect his thoughts in any coherent manner in order to extend an apology and you were not calming down after the effects of his weird behaviour. As much as you wanted to forgive him for purely selfish reasons, it just was not as easy as you hoped it would be. Turns out you had more self-respect for yourself than previously estimated. 

It was obvious to outside eyes, other than Ghost's, that the turmoil raging inside of you was taking over your mind. Even if you didn’t want it to.

Soap found you one day in the rec room, stretched out across a chair with headphones over your ears and a pout on your lips. "Are you alright, hen? What's with the sad face?"

You'd just managed to hear him over the music and had ripped the headphones from your head and looked up at him with wide eyes. "ABBA are taunting me."

His eyebrows had scrunched in confusion but an amused smirk had curled the corners of his lips. "ABBA?"

"ABBA." You reiterated, slightly more deadpan and serious now.

Soap sat down on the arm of the chair and looked over your shoulder. "What song are you listening to?"

"SOS." You sighed and pouted again, thinking of the lyrics.

"Oh... here, let me just-" He picked up your phone and started scrolling through the playlist.

"If you play Chiquitita I am going to cut your dick off and feed it to you." You snapped, completely sincere with the threat.

He dropped your phone and raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, forget it then."

You groaned and stood from the chair, extending your arms above your head. "I'm sorry. Just in a bad mood recently."

"I have noticed. But it's okay. I know things have been bad with Ghost." Soap watched you walk towards the fridge, pausing for a split second at the mention of your lieutenant. That made him smile slightly.

"He's really fucked me over, y'know?" You called back over your shoulder, ignoring whatever quip he bit back with.

And when you opened the fridge door, you were greeted by a sight that both horrified and amazed you. Stacks and stacks of apple juice. Bottles of it, cartons of it, even cans of it. There was no mistaking that this was Simon's doing. Some strange, little way of apologising and proving something to you. It was unclear in your heart whether it was endearing or irritating. Maybe it was just both.

You exhaled heavily and grabbed one of the bottles, recognising it as somehow being one from the farmers' market. How he'd managed to get it out here, you had no idea. But you guessed he had his ways.

"He's fucking crazy." You turned back to look at Soap who was failing to suppress the grin on his face. "What? What are you smiling about?"

"Gifts. It's a love language."

"Oh, fuck off, MacTavish." You scoffed and threw the bottle at him where he barely managed to catch it. "Do you think I should say something to him?"

"Depends how much you want to make him pay, hen."

"I'll keep quiet about it for now." You decided. It's not like you were taunting Ghost, which is what Soap thought you were doing as a way to torture him, you were just extending the punishment into what you thought was fit. It would be over once you truly belived he'd paid for what he did wrong and had apologised profusely. Honestly, a small part of you wanted to see how far he'd go to achieve forgiveness. To see how much you were really worth to him.

But then he had to go and fuck up that plan by walking into the room just as you were grabbing another bottle of apple juice for yourself.

The two of you stood still on opposite sides of the room, like deer frozen in headlights, with Soap right in the middle ready to be mediator if necessary but mostly just waiting to see how this would play out.

One of the downsides of the mask, that he insisted on wearing, was that you couldn't easily read Simon. There were no visible facial expressions. Only what he gave away with his eyes and the little skin you could see around his eyes. And now he was too far away to see properly. So you had to gauge this on his body language alone. He was stiff and unmoving, that much was clear. But that was typical Ghost.

You raised the apple juice bottle in the air awkwardly. "This was you?"

You knew it was. And he knew you knew. So he only nodded in response.

"Thank you." You pushed out, ignoring Soap's stifled giggles. "This- this is nice of you."

He shrugged. "You're welcome, Sarge."

You'd given up on reprimanding him about the nickname. It wasn't like he planned on giving it up anytime soon no matter how much you told him to stop calling you that. Besides, it seemed like everyone on the base appeared to have at least some fraction of an idea about what was happening between the two of you even if they didn't have the full story. You blamed word of mouth and two gossips whose names would not be mentioned.

Nothing else was said after that. Simon made himself a cup of tea and silently left the room, avoiding you very obviously staring at him as he went.

"I don't know what to do." You confessed to Soap once you were convinced that Ghost was very much out of earshot.

"I don't think he does either." Your Scottish friend added with a head tilt in the direction of where your lieutenant just went.

"I so badly want to forgive him but just... can't. And I don't know how to explain how I'm feeling." You confessed, burying your face into your hands.

"Talk it out with him."

"It might surprise you to hear this, but he's not much of a talker." You snorted, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes so hard that you saw stars.

"Okay, so you talk and he listens. Then he begs for you to take him back. Easy." Soap suggested and poked you in the centre of your forehead to emphasise his point.

As you slapped his hand away with a roll of your eyes, you realised that maybe he had a point. And a good point at that. You could talk. Simon was always saying how much you loved to talk and how you could talk enough for the both of you, able to keep a conversation going without anyone else saying a word. Filling in the blanks and awkward silences was your strong suit. So, yeah. You could talk at him and have him listen until you were done and ready to let him beg for forgiveness. That was doable. So that's what you would do. Now, only to suggest the idea to the man himself...

It only took a couple of days, well actually almost a week, before you mustered up the courage to broach the subject with him. It happened after a briefing for your next mission which you barely paid attention to, as usual, and Ghost appeared very shocked that you were choosing to talk to him as you dragged him into an empty room where he immediately removed his mask.

"I have something to say and I need you to keep quiet until I'm done, okay?" You asked and he nodded simply. "I don't even know why I'm asking. I know you're very good at keeping quiet. It's one of your many skills actually. Anyway..."

Knocking yourself back into your original thought process, you failed to notice the smirk that Simon was sending you over your inability to stay on track and not stray away on tangents. He loved you so much. And all the little things that made you you.

"We need to figure this out because not knowing how I'm feeling about you is killing me. Yes, I'm in love with you but I also hate you right now and I don't know what to do about it. So we need to talk. Properly. You need to explain everything to me completely truthfully and then I'll consider forgiving you. And I need to attempt to express my emotions so you can grasp some understanding of it all. Does that sound fair?" You asked, breathless after rambling for too long.

He nodded again. "It does."

"Great. So stay alive."

He looked perplexed. "What?"

"We're doing it after this mission. I need you alive for this. So stay alive." You waved your hand around as if it were obvious.

"Sarge, I-" He cut himself off when he saw the genuine look of concern on your features.

"I might not pay attention in briefings but even I could tell Price was nervous. Like... like we're not all expected to make it back. More than usual." You paused. "This conversation and my potential forgiveness are incentives to keep you alive."

Simon wanted to kiss you. "Alright."

"And- and I don't want you dead."

Simon could double kiss you. "Got it. Don't want you dead either."

"If you die then I'll have to bring you back just to kill you. So no selfish heroic moves, alright?" You pointed a finger at him, completely serious.

He tried to hide the smile that was threatening to crack his face. He was getting his Sarge back and, as much as you didn't want to allow that to happen, it could not be denied any longer.

"I'm not much of a hero, Sarge. So I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement about this."

You scoffed at him, willing to play into his game. "Maybe that's what you think. But I don't need you sacrificing yourself just because you think you're not worth saving when we've finally decided to talk this all out. I won't let you get out of it that easily."

"Ah, you see right through me." He raised his hands in mock surrender, waving the metaphorical white flag as he gave in to your suggestions. You were right, as usual, afterall. "Okay, fine. No dying and we'll talk afterwards. Or you'll talk and I'll do some listening and maybe a little begging."

"A lot of begging. I want you on your knees demanding forgiveness out of me. I won't settle for any less."

"I've been on my knees for you before." He observed, thinking back on scenarios in your flat when the two of you didn't quite make it to your bedroom. And times when you did. "I'm sure I could do it again."

"Oh, haha. Very funny, Riley." You added sarcastically, knowing exactly what he was remembering. The ideas made heat rush to the surface of your skin. "I'm not joking. I want a genuine conversation."

"I know, Sarge." Simon sighed. "And I'm very willing to give it to you. More than you could possibly know."

That shocked you. "Fine. Good. Great, even. Then... then we'll do that."

"Looking forward to it."

But, of course, he had to break that simple promise.

"Simon!" Your voice echoed around the room, loud but still distant, and he ignored it. He couldn't drag you into this, couldn't risk you too.

In short, he'd been shot. A couple of times actually. And he was on the floor bleeding out and willing to sacrifice himself for the safety of the rest of the team. He was doing exactly what you'd asked him not to. He believed that if he ignored you for long enough then you'd give up and go away, leave him to die in peace with the hope that you would have forgiven him if things had gone differently.

But unfortunately for him you were persistent, he'd argue stubborn, and you weren't giving up until you found him. Which you did quicker than he anticipated. When you stumbled into the room, you were relieved to find him still conscious but curled up against a wall in obvious pain.

"Aw shit, Simon..." You rushed over to him and collapsed by his side, pressing one hand into the wound on his leg and the other hand over the one on his stomach. "What did you do this for?"

"I didn't get shot on purpose." He argued back, knowing exactly what you really meant.

"Simon..." The blood spilling from between your fingers was worrying. "Can you walk?"

"Yes, that's why I'm sitting here." He huffed back, dry humour still intact, and winced when the action made the damaged flesh stretch in an uncomfortable manner. "Listen, Sarge-"

"Nuh uh, not now." You shook your head at him, voice dropping into a warning tone. "We need to get you out of here first."

"And I'm trying to tell you that I don't think that's happening." He wheezed as more blood poured from him and his vision blurred slightly.

"You promised me a conversation and a proper apology, Simon Swayze. Didn't you?"

He smiled at the nickname. "I did. And I'm sorry to be breaking that promise."

"You're not. Because I'm getting you out of here even if I have to carry your six foot four butt out of here myself." You hooked an arm around his torso and used your legs to plant yourself firmly on the floor to drag the two of you up. Somehow, with a great deal of determination and adrenaline, you managed to get the both of you in a standing position where you immediately rested against the wall to gain a proper sense of balance. You couldn't lose him, not now. Not when you were so close to fixing everything.

"You're strong, Sarge." The words were slurred as the blood loss was making Ghost minutely delirious.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Now let's go." Steeling your body for his weight, you pushed off the wall and started forward through the rubble.

He didn't pay much attention to where you were going. It wasn't like he could give much input into whether or not you were going in the correct direction as he was quickly losing comprehension of the situation.

"Sarge...?" He mumbled next to you, head drooping to awkwardly lean against yours.

"Yes...?" You mimicked his tone in the hopes of brightening the situation. But it was going to take a lot more than that to actually succeed in doing so.

"Love... you..."

You let out a sudden laugh, short and snappy. "What a fantastic fucking place for a love confession. So fucking romantic, Lieutenant Riley. Really. You've outdone yourself."

"Sorry." 

The apology was mumbled, but genuine. You knew he couldn't help it. Serious blood loss and shock from injuries could really make you say the craziest of things. It just would've been nice if the first proper time he told you he loved you was not where either of you could die at any second.

"It's okay, Simon." You offered back, meaning it truthfully, as you adjusted your grip on him and dragged him along.

You ignored the burn in your own legs from carrying the weight of two and navigated your way through the building. Gunfire echoed in your ears as you weaved your way through the corridors, feeling a pinch or two as maybe a couple of bullets grazed you. But you couldn't focus on that. You could only focus on getting you and Ghost to safety, mostly Ghost. He was more important than you in this scenario, in all scenarios really. At least, he was most important to you no matter what. No matter the fuck ups, no matter the trials and tribulations that he caused and therefore put you both through. As much as you hated to admit it due to what he'd done, you needed to hear him out and let the apologies be accepted as he was important to you. You loved him too fucking much to suddenly lose him now.

And when you cleared the building, and heard someone scream your names, you allowed yourself to collapse to the floor after depositing Simon onto another pair of shoulders and fade into the blackness as blood slowly seeped out from the several bullet wounds you had been blissfully ignoring. He was safe. That’s all that mattered.

A/N: There should only be one more chapter and then the epilogue after this :)

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley fanfiction #simon riley #ghost riley x reader #ghost riley x you #ghost riley fanfiction #ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost fanfiction #ghost #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #ej’s fics #ej’s writing #deakyjoe’s fics #deakyjoe’s writing

[unhappycylinder]

Saunter (Nick 'Goose' Bradshaw x fem!Reader)

wc: 3.5k No warnings! Enjoy and please let me know what you think!! Summary: As Viper's secretary, you encounter a new set of hotshot pilots every 6 weeks, but a certain WSO catches your eye, and you can't help but fall for him...and his mustache.

---

“You boys are grounded! Until further notice, neither of your asses are gonna be up in the air under any circumstance,” Viper’s voice cut through the office, sending a chill down your spine.

You had been a secretary at North Island’s ‘Fighter Weapons School’ for some time now, hopping from admiral to commander when duty saw fit. Usually, you found yourself sitting at some small, beige, creaky, metal desk a couple feet in front of one of the higher-ups’ offices, your sole purpose fetching coffee and checking in the arrogant pilots who got called in to get their asses whooped. 

Two weeks ago however, when you got assigned to the beige desk outside of Viper’s office, you realized just how much business these Top Gun men meant. Every other day it seemed the same two sweaty idiots were wandering past your desk, muttering their callsigns with their heads low, and returning after a screaming fit from Viper, heads held even lower. You had never said a word to them, never really even lifted your head to notice them, just shrugged them off as another pair of cocky assholes who flew too close to the sun.

“Maverick, this is your last warning!” Viper yelled

“Yeesh,” you muttered under your breath, the tip of your pencil swirling over the name ‘Maverick’ scribbled into your ledger.

“And Goose,” Viper said quieter, almost disappointedly, “You’re a good backseater, you’re a gifted flyer, you gotta stop letting an idiot like Maverick play with your life like that,” he finished with an almost fatherly tone.

“Final warning boys,” Viper sighed, “do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir,” their voices intersected each other, morale completely defeated.

You found yourself tracing the two o’s in Goose’s name when the also creaky door to Viper’s office opened, startling you enough to look over to the two men coming out, heads low. The one in front was shorter, strong build, jet black hair, and the other was tall, lanky, blonde, and had a mustache…and boy were you a sucker for a good mustache.

“That sounded brutal,” you said quietly, your eyes darting to the taller one’s briefly, catching his gaze and sending a blush through your cheeks.

“Brutal doesn’t even begin to describe it,” the shorter one said, his palms darting up to cover his eyes, “ugh Goose what the hell are we gonna do?”

So that was his name. He was Goose, Viper’s so called ‘gifted flier.’

“What are we gonna do?” Goose questioned, revealing his sweet lilted voice, “Mav I love you buddy but only one of us is flying the plane…what we do up there is kinda on you.” He sounded defeated, like he felt bad for having to reality check his best friend after such a serious conversation with Viper.

“Yeah, yeah,” Maverick shrugged him off, walking instead over to the front of your desk, “hey you’re here all the time right?” 

Was he asking you? You looked up from your ledger to meet his hooded blue eyes.

“Me?” You asked, surprised, eliciting a chuckle from Goose

“Yeah, you.” Maverick responded, “you’re outside of Viper’s office all the time…does he get this pissed at all his pilots?”

“Well,” you looked down at your ledger to read his name, “Maverick,” you turned to Goose, “and Goose,” he smiled at you saying his name, “I’ve been here for all of two weeks, but I can say with absolute certainty that neither has anyone come in as frequently as you two, nor has anyone gotten Viper as riled up…”

Maverick hung his head as Goose walked over to him, patting him on the back.

“Motherfucker!” Maverick yelled, slamming his fist down on your desk, making it rattle and sending your pencil from your hand.

Goose bent down to pick up your pencil, standing to place it delicately in your hand and greet you with his tender gaze and warm smile, his teeth barely peeking through his mustache.

“You’ll have to excuse my dear friend Maverick here,” he said sarcastically, placing his hands on his friend’s shoulders to guide him up from your desk, “he’s had a bit of a rough day and unfortunately likes to handle that by making rash decisions that put everyone’s lives in danger,” Goose pat him on the back with a chuckle

“That’s about what I’ve gathered from all your little conversations in there,” you said as you gestured to Viper’s office.

“You’ve heard all those, have you?”

“Oh yeah,” you chuckled, “probably a little more than I’d like to, Goose”

He blushed as you said his name again, a smile peeking through his mustache once more.

“Well, I better be getting this flyboy home so he can forget today ever happened,” he said as he slapped Maverick’s chest, making him groan in annoyance, “ain’t that right honey?”

“As much as I love your company, I’m hoping I don’t see either of you again, for the sake of your careers,” you said, making Goose chuckle and Maverick groan again.

“My name’s y/n by the way,” you said quickly as they started to shuffle away, but they didn’t seem to hear you.

“What was that?” Goose asked, turning around and leaning back so he could face you

“Oh,” you blushed, mostly out of embarrassment, “I said my name is y/n”

“Y/n” Goose repeated, your name rolling off his tongue sending chills down your spine, “I like it…I think I’ll remember it”

You laughed, shooting them a small salute as Goose turned around and walked with his best friend to the parking lot, leaving you alone to question how you couldn’t stop thinking about a certain naval aviator. 

“Y/n!” Viper’s yell cut you out of your daydream, spinning you around in your chair to face him

“Yes sir?”

“Fix this damn door when you’re done fawning over my flyers, it's too damn creaky! 

“Oh god,” you blushed, making Viper chuckle, “yes sir”

“Listen Y/n,” his tone changed, returning to the normal calm voice you were used to when he talked to you, “I’m fine with it…as long as it's not Maverick”

“It's definitely not Maverick sir”

“So it's Goose then?”

“Why are you asking me about this, sir?” you couldn’t help but question him. You had been working with Viper for weeks now and although he had always been friendly towards you, and you had shared a few conversations in between meetings here and there, he had never asked you anything personal.

“Because I’ve been standing here since you botched telling Goose your name…and it’s hard not to notice.”

“Oh god have you actually?”

“You were so flustered you didn’t even hear the door creak…” he clicked his tongue, “I guess I’ll have to find more reasons to bring Bradshaw in here then…” he taunted as he turned around and walked back into his office, closing the very creaky door behind him.

–

“You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your liiips,” a warped voice sang from within the bar next to base. 

You had talked yourself into going out and trying to make some friends, and the best place for that just so happened to be the bar a mere 2 blocks from your work. It had been months since you moved here and you still knew virtually nobody outside of Viper who you guessed counted as a friend now? You had let your hair down after work, and had swapped your suit jacket and skirt out for high waisted jeans and a light sweater. Nothing fancy, but also nothing that screamed military, just something that would help you blend in a bit.

The awful voice continued to sing, now joined by what sounded like twenty other equally awful voices, “You’ve lost that lovin feelin!”

“Oh god,” you thought to yourself, wondering how you planned on accomplishing anything in there.

Once you were inside you saw a crowd of navy men in their dress whites dissipating from the bar, some laughing, some continuing to sing the remainder of the song. At the epicenter of it all was none other than Maverick. Of course. Sitting next to him was a rather flushed blonde woman wearing a very similar outfit to you, and Maverick was obviously trying to work his charm.

Your gaze traveled from Maverick to other parts of the room, glancing at couples sitting in booths along the walls, aviators trying to chat up women at tables scattered around, and lone men in white nursing their beers throughout the bar. Eventually your eyes settled on one blonde, mustached man in particular, Goose. He was sat at the opposite end of the bar as Maverick, beer in hand, eyes wandering the label of the bottle.

This was your chance. 

You sauntered over, hands deep in the pockets of your jeans fiddling with the fabric. Goose didn’t even look up when you approached him, too lost in the contents of his beer to even notice your presence, you just stood there amused, watching him lost in thought.

“Evenin’ sailor,” you said softly, a blush creeping along your cheeks as Goose’s eyes drifted up the barrel of the bottle, up your frame, and eventually to your eyes.

“Well I’ll be damned!” He beamed, scooting over and patting the bar stool beside him, “if it isn’t miss secretary herself.”

“You keep calling me that and I’m gonna think you forgot my name, Chicken,” you teased as you purposefully messed up his callsign, eliciting a sweet melodic laugh from his lips.

“How could I ever forget a name as beautiful as y/n,” he said as he tilted his head down, his eyes looking up at yours through his lashes.

“Well well, the Goose has a good memory,” you smiled, flagging down the bartender to order a beer for yourself

“I’ll have whatever he’s having,” you said, resting your elbows on the bartop

“Put it on my tab,” Goose interjected, shooting a quick wink your way

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were trying to flirt with me sir,” you shot him a suspicious look

“Well who says I’m not?” Goose asked, shooting the same look your way

“I just find it hard to flirt with a man who’s only identification is the name of a bird” you said sarcastically, accepting your beer from the bartender and taking a sip

“Lieutenant Nicholas Brashaw, callsign Goose,” he drawled out, holding his hand out for you to shake

“Y/n L/n, secretary” you said with the same tone, placing your hand in his

Goose brought your hand up to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of it, his mustache hairs tickling your skin and giving you a chill.

“So, Nick, I gotta ask you,” you began as soon as Goose let your hand go

“Shoot,” he prompted you, taking a sip of his beer

“Why on earth do you all let Maverick sing if he’s so damn bad at it?”

Goose threw his head back in a laugh, “It's a bet.”

“A bet?”

“Twenty bucks…he’s gotta have carnal knowledge of a lady on the premises…and that is our top selling approach”

“Top selling huh? So you’ve done this before?”

“Once for Mav, he crashed and burned…never for me though”

“And why not? The bet doesn’t extend both ways?”

“Well I guess it's cause you weren’t here to catch my eye,” he smiled a confident smile at you, “had I seen you sitting across the bar all by yourself, well it wouldn’t have been Mav up there singing today”

“Oh you would have done that for me?” You chuckled

“Honey I’ll sing you whatever song you want whenever you want it”

“You’re one smooth man Goose,” you smiled at him, he smiled back, making you both blush.

Just as Goose was about to speak, the blonde woman from earlier walked by, fixing her lipstick with her finger

“Your friend was magnificent by the way,” she chimed as she walked by, causing your and Goose’s mouths to drop. Maverick followed close behind, a spring in his step.

“Nah,” Goose said, his eyes on the woman, “nah!” he said even louder as his eyes found his best friend.

“I can’t believe that actually worked,” you said stunned, turning to face Maverick as he approached you and Goose.

“What can I say,” Maverick shrugged, a cocky smile plastered on his face.

“There’s no way,” Goose said, mouth agape, “there’s really no way Mav”

“Where there’s a will, Goosey, there’s a way,” Maverick said, slapping Goose on the shoulder, “I see you’ve found our secretary from earlier”

You tilted your beer up to cheer Mav, who was now sitting on Goose’s other side.

“You know Goose here hasn’t shut up about you-”

“No no no no,” Goose turned to face him, placing a hand over Maverick’s mouth, “we don’t need to talk about that Mav, we don’t need to bring that up I don’t think”

“Oh yes we do Goose,” he muttered through Goose’s hand.

“No, Goose, let him talk,” you bit your lip as you smiled at Maverick, “I want to hear what he has to say about you”

“The woman wants to hear,” Maverick muttered

“Mav, it's not happening. I’ll stay here all night if I have to”

“Goose!” You whined, “I want to know!”

Maverick pried Goose’s hand from his mouth for enough time to blurt out, “hasn’t shut up about you since we left base today! Said he thinks you’re gorgeous!”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Goose said, getting up and facing his best friend, “that’s it, Mav, you’re a dead man”

“Awww,” you chuckled as Goose grabbed Maverick by his collar and threw him off his stool, sending Maverick into a laughing fit nearby,

“Pretend you didn’t hear any of that,” Goose said as he sat back down

“That’s not happening” you said as you shook your head

“And why not?”

“Cause I’ve been thinking the same thing,” you blushed. Maverick returned in time to slap his friend on the back in congratulations.

“Yeehaw!” Goose exclaimed, his cheeks burning red and his smile beaming towards you. You couldn’t help but smile back at him.

–

Now you were sat at your desk, pencil in your hand, waiting to check in whoever Viper was gonna sink his teeth into next. Your mind however was replaying the events of several nights ago, when you and Maverick and Goose became a sort of inseparable trio at the bar: Goose’s sweet flirtations filling your ears every chance he got, and his arm swung around the back of your seat in Maverick’s car as they drove you to your house, and Goose’s gentle kiss on your hand as he said goodnight to you.

“Goodmorning ma’am,” a voice cut you out of your daze. Your eyes traced up the slender frame to Goose, a goofy smile plastered on his face.

“Morning lieutenant,” you spoke softly, “am I meant to check you in? You and Maverick get up to trouble again?”

Goose laughed, “no, no, Mav left his ego at home today and we landed early, so I wanted to stop by and say hi”

“Well hi,” you blinked up at him

“Hi” he said back confidently, “listen I was hoping you’d want to uh-”

“Bradshaw!” Viper’s voice rang from the other side of the door.

“Oh god,” you laughed, eyes darting down to your ledger

“I'm in for it now honey,” Goose said as he stood up straight and prepared for Viper’s reprimanding

“Lieutenant,” he began, the squeaking of the door muffling his words, “you're not distracting my secretary are you?”

“I hope not sir”

“I don't know if I believe you Bradshaw. Whether or not distraction was your intention, she looks pretty distracted to me,” Viper smiled down at you

“Sir,” you shook your head as you plopped your face into your hands to conceal your blush

“She was working perfectly before you arrived Lieutenant, and now she can't even lift her head high enough to read what's on the page in front of her!” Viper yelled sarcastically, gesturing to you, “you better right your wrongs or I'll have you and that hotshot pilot of yours grounded for another week!”

Viper spun around, shooting you a wink as you raised your head from your hands, and closed the door to his office, satisfied with his work. 

“Well…” you began

“Commander's orders miss L/n…what could I possibly do to rectify the situation,” Goose jokingly pondered

“Hmmm let's think,” you said, twirling your pen

“How's about I take you out…” Goose blushed, his mustache curling up into a smile, “on a date.”

“A date?” You teased

“Yeah. Just you and me. No idiot Maverick to tease us the whole time,” he smiled

“Yeah Bradshaw, I’d like that”

“You free tonight honey?” He drawled

“Pick me up at six Lieutenant, not a minute later,” you shook your pencil at him

With a salute and a “yes ma'am,” Goose was walking down the hallway head held high.

–

5:59 the clock blinked as you sat in front of it, makeup and hair done, a light blue slip dress gently hugging your frame. This had felt like the longest minute of your life, sitting in front of your digital clock just waiting for the minute to change and Goose to arrive.

6:00 blinked and your heart started racing uncontrollably. The noise of it thumping was so loud it just about drowned out the knocking at your door. Breathing sharply to calm down, you stood up and smoothed out your dress, heading slowly towards the front door.

Opening it, your eyes scanned up Goose’s frame, taking in his pressed khaki pants, his white button down tucked into it, sleeves rolled up and top buttons undone, and his mustache curled up into a smile.

“My goodness,” he hollered, “don’t you look mighty fine darlin”

“Back at ya flyboy,” you blushed

“You ready for the best date of your life?” Goose asked, his soft eyes gazing down into yours.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day, Viper hasn’t heard the end of it,” you said as you locked your door and followed Goose to his bronco.

“Is that right, sugar?” He asked as he helped you into the passenger seat, goofy smile curling his mustache

“Oh yeah Lieutenant”

“Even the part about Viper?” He asked as he walked around to the driver’s seat and hopped in

“Especially the part about Viper. You better be on your best behavior or he’ll be hot on your tail,” you joked

“Ah-ha,” Goose hollered.

Goose drove you two down the sunset-lit road, gentle rock music playing from his stereo, his aviators resting gently on the bridge of his nose as his hand grasped the headrest of your seat. 

–

Your date with Goose was full of laughter, good food, many drinks, and even more flirting. He told you the story of how he joined the Navy, and how he met Maverick in training and they became attached at the hip, and even how he was nervous about Maverick’s flying sometimes but he trusted him with his life. He asked you all about yourself, and as you told him about your upbringing and your career and your family, he sat with his head in his hands staring at you with bright eyes and curiosity. You loved listening to him talk about himself, and from the looks of him it seemed he felt the same about you. 

After offering to pay multiple times, Goose finally wore you down as he set cash, plus a generous tip, down on the table. 

“Thanks Goose,” you said genuinely, grabbing his hand in your own and looking him deep in the eyes.

“Anything for you, sugar,” he returned your gaze with a smile, his mustache curling over his lip, “ready to hit the road?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, keeping your hand in his as you stood up from your booth and walked towards the door, “where to next?”

“If it's not too forward,” he began, leaning down to speak softly into your ear once you exited the restaurant, “and tell me if it is…but I was hoping you’d want to come back to my place for a little?”

“And what exactly is there to do at your place?” You feigned confusion.

Goose simply shrugged, a smirk threatening his lips, as he walked to the passenger side of his car and opened the door for you. 

“Never leave room for the imagination, Bradshaw,” you muttered, getting in the car and watching Goose saunter around to the driver’s side.

With a smile on his face, Goose’s hand traveled across the center console until it found yours, his fingers gently lacing with yours as his thumb rubbed gentle circles while you drove the short distance back to Goose’s house.

–

#top gun #top gun fic #top gun goose #nick goose bradshaw x reader #goose x reader #nick goose bradshaw #goose bradshaw #goose top gun #nick bradshaw x reader #nick bradshaw

[undercoverpena]

vi. hate my car

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter six of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. flirting. idiots who are so in love it’s stupid. feelings. smut. praise kink. car sex. p in v. jealous!frankie, moody!frankie for a small part.

word count: 4.6k

an: thank you, as always, to @thetriumphantpanda for always reading my work even when she has a headache because she loves me.

Even though you had given him a key to your place, Frankie never used it.

He preferred knocking. Liked waiting to be invited in. Never wanting to be an inconvenience—as if he ever could be.

It’s for this exact reason why it takes you by surprise when you step out of your bedroom, finding him coming in through your front door.

No explanation, no reason.

Your thoughts stolen, ripped from your throat when his eyes land on you, taking you in. You’ve noticed he does that more and more recently—take your breath away, leave you thoughtless.

He does it again when he shuts your door without looking, doing the littlest of head shakes before he closes the gap between you in several strides.

No warning, nothing vocalised.

The jacket in your hand falls to the floor, hands busying themselves with pulling him by his jacket as his mouth slants itself over yours. He tastes of mint and happiness, the latter something he always seems to leave lingering in your mouth when he’s gone.

But it’s his hands. His fingers which purposefully find themselves on your waist before even a hello could be muttered. Keeping you close to him, thieving any question you may have had about what the fuck brought this one.

But you know. Deep down, you know.

It’s for the same reason why you let I’ve missed you, escape in a whisper. It gets stifled between kisses, as your hands hurry to remove his jacket, it dropping with a thud before you’re pulled flush, little to nothing between the two of you.

“I’m driving your car,” he rasps, walking you to your sofa.

Like the spark from a scorched match, it all unravels. Your earlier work of being ready—on time—quickly vanishes, it all coming undone.

Fingers are all dexterous and moving like they have a mission, all aiming to pop open and free you from your jeans. Temporarily, you lose his mouth from yours as he rips your trousers down your thighs before palms glide under your top and remove that over your head—all discarded, forgotten.

And, you don’t care. Not even a little bit.

“You are?”

Nodding, he kisses you—all open-mouth, breath dancing over your lip. “Because when we’re done, I can take my time taking you apart. Not rushing—like we’ll have to right now.”

Swallowing, your fingers slide up his jaw—feeling his cheeks rise, the pulse in his neck throbbing against your wrist.

“We could wait—“

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head—one hand rising to cup your jaw and chin. “No. You deserve this,” he adds, sliding his other hand into your underwear, “You do, so enjoy it, querida. This is about you”

It’s easier to moan against him, to vibrate your want against his lips, than begin to puzzle together what he could mean.

Which is precisely why you rock up to the bar late.

For as fucked out as you feel, he assures you that you don’t look it. Although, his hand is on the small of your back, guiding, propping, as he passes you your keys before opening the door for you.

Ever the gentleman—if he hadn’t been already for what he’d done to you at yours.

A part of you, a part that doubles, and triples, in size between the milliseconds, wants to face him, take his cheeks in your hands and ask him to take you back home. That you’ll make it worth his while, get on your knees for him; that you’ll make an excuse—

Even if there isn’t one.

There’s only truth. And that truth is that you want him to take you home because you had missed him. Both the friend and the other parts.

Swallowing, you offer a smile. Not asking him. Feeling disappointment slide down inside of you like mud, adding to the swirling concoction of complexities you don’t have the processing power to unravel.

You both spot the others, offering a wave, and pointing to the bar as you head to get drinks. A slither of you grateful for the moment to catch your breath.

“You want a drink qu…” his voice trails off, your name falling quickly, replacing it, attempting to cover the near slip-up.

And it makes your throat tighten, something growing there—large, pulsing and thick.

Your feelings rise, fighting their way out of the box you keep stuffing them in—all hands, fingers and toes, scratching and pulling, desperately wanting to claw their way out of your throat and embed themselves in his ear.

But you’ll lose him. Lose this if you do.

Steadying your forearms into the bar counter, you press down—hoping it’ll ground you, almost hurt.

Because if it hurts, you’ll stop thinking; you’ll find a second to take a breath that will calm you.

It doesn’t. It never does.

Curling your lips into a smile, you stare at him. “You should be careful, Morales.”

And he snorts. “So I’ve been told.” It’s your turn to snort, shaking your head until you feel him lean closer. “But, I think you liked me slipping up. Bet it made you—”

You’re just grateful the bartender interrupted his sentence.

For the last hour, Frankie has had his arm resting behind your head. The scent of him washing over you in waves you hope embed themselves in your soul.

But it’s his fingers occasionally squeezing your shoulder when he laughs, that you hope leave a mark. Each time you make him laugh, he wheezes ever so lightly.

It’s normal. A thing you do a lot—make him laugh. It’s not special. Yet, somehow, it is.

Your thigh pressed against his, curling into him as the table erupts, Benny sinking into the leather of the seat as his lips curl up.

And then, a drink gets placed down—taking the good time with it.

The bartender, a new guy (one you’re not used to) politely interrupting to offer it to you. It’s colourful, a fruit slice slotted into the rim—more ice than you know what to do with—and then the words that kill the last semblance of the night, “It’s from the man over there.

You feel Frankie still before your heart sinks. It further shatters when you feel his arm slide out from behind you—leaving you cool, cold. A chill brushes across the table, the other two not reacting either. Each pair of eyes staring at it.

But, you suspect the others aren’t struggling to swallow. They don’t feel like the happiness that had ballooned in their chest, had exploded.

“Go over there,” Benny says, poking your arm.

Narrowing your eyes, you swat at his finger as he goes for another poke. “I’m not interested.”

Glancing from the corner of your eye, you take note of the way Frankie is focused on the label of his drink. Not looking up—Will looking from you to the others all in turn.

“C’mon, when’s the last time you even got laid.”

Biting your tongue, you twist your head to meet Benny’s stare. “Last week, actually. How’s your dry spell, Ben?” Benny’s face drops and you smirk. “I don’t need drinks being bought for me, I have money.”

“It’s only a drink,” Will says, shrugging.

“It’s fine—can you move?” you huff.

Hands pushing at Benny, finding him unwilling to move quickly enough. Your body trying to clamber, to put enough distance between you and the person unwilling to meet your eye. Your thigh cooling to a freezing temperature too, the burning fading from being against his—leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

Sliding from the booth, you grab the drink—not making eye contact with anyone—walking up to the bar to find the man straightening up in his seat.

Hating that he of course has to be handsome. That he has nice eyes and a fucking charming smile.

“Thank you, it’s very kind of you. But I’m not—I don’t need a drink buying for me.”

“Just being a gentleman.”

Smiling, you place it down, sliding it across to him. “Well, I’m being pleasant, and saying it’s okay.”

The man eyes you, narrowing them, placing his elbow onto the bar top as he wipes his mouth, brushing over the hair above the top of his lip.

“I will say,” you continue. “It is bold to buy someone a drink when they’re surrounded by other men.”

Tilting his head, he smirks. “So, which one is it?”

“What?”

“The reason you won’t accept my drink—is it the conventionally pretty one who’s been eyeing up women? No, can’t be him. You’ve not reacted.”

Gritting your jaw, you narrow your eyes.

“So, it has to be the one glaring.”

Steadying your voice, you soften your smile. “Which one?”

“Blond.”

Your heart sinks, but you try to hide it. Stuff it down. Smother it—

“Which means, it’s the one I didn’t mention—who is staring, by the way.”

Your face burns, eyes dropping to the bar—trying to not show that your heart is racing. Trying not to focus on the fact you can feel Frankie staring. Them piercing, digging in, practically clawing.

It shouldn’t feel good. It shouldn’t feel like anything.

But it does. It does. It does.

“You should laugh.”

Snorting, you shake your head, digging your forearms into the bar. “I don’t do that on command.”

“Guess I’ll have to be funny then.”

Smirking, you tilt your head—because in another time, you’d be into this. Him. The quick-witted nature and charming personality. Another time, you’d find it more than appealing.

“You’re annoying.”

He takes a sip from his drink. “And, you’re very pretty. Hey, if you laugh, the guy who won’t stop staring might shatter his bottle.”

Rolling your eyes, you tap your phone against the machine. “Goodbye…?”

“Javi.”

“Enjoy your evening, Javi.”

“And you.”

He shouldn’t be jealous.

Shouldn’t be clutching his bottle with more firmness than he used to do a rifle.

There shouldn’t be things circling—doubts, and thoughts all pulverising him.

But then, they’d begun doing that earlier when he’d watched you head off to play darts with Will. His blood secretly simmering. He knows it should be, knows he’s being foolish. His body however wasn’t aware of that, least of all when your top rose up your back when you grabbed a stray dart from the floor—because you’ve always been bad at playing—and Will had the chance to bask in how you looked bent over.

He had needed to talk himself down from dragging you to a bathroom stall when you’d finally got a bullseye, had wanted to remind you that your calendar was synced with his, when you threw your arms around Will and jumped up and down.

Because all of his feelings were suddenly too much.

They felt too large. Bigger than him.

Jealousy weaves its way in, let in by the slither of darkness he always carries with him from bad days that led to bad months.

In truth, Frankie knew he had you to himself, but somehow it felt both too much and not enough all at once.

A sudden hunger, all unable to ignore, at wanting to have you all completely to himself, even if he knows he has nothing to offer you.

He’s a man with a blip on his record, a sketchy past of bad decisions, and some scars that show more proudly when it’s stormy, and the rain doesn’t stop coming.

Frankie knows this in great detail because he’s been here before.

He’d been stood in front of someone he cared about, being read his rights about why it wouldn’t work—and yet he’s no more prepared.

Bitterness worms further into his chest as he continues to watch you talk to him—the man at the bar. It buries itself deep, spreading its poison, reminding him he’s a secret, worth nothing more, nothing less.

You love her, don’t you? What the fuck are you asking me, Pope? I’m asking you if you lo—

He only snaps out of it when Benny slides out of the booth. Suddenly able to release the bottle, let out a sigh, sliding his eyes away, happily finding a new point to fix them on as he tried to get a hold of himself.

But, from the corner of his eye, he’s always watching.

He had been earlier, when he’d gone to get a round—you texting him to stop looking at me like that, Morales. He almost wonders if he’s always done it, or if you’ve only just caught on.

“So, how long?”

Snapping his head in Will’s direction, he blanks. Watching as his friends lean back in the booth, doing that head tilt he does.

“Alright, better question, you know what you’re doing? With her, I mean?”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Frankie swallows. A frown tumbles out across his forehead, somehow able to mutter a what do you mean as innocently as he could.

But, even he knows it holds nothing when it emerges. It’s wrapped, practically encased in the simmering annoyance that you’re still over there talking to him.

Will, though, is already not buying what he’s being sold. Likely hasn’t been way before tonight, before this. Frankie can tell. Should have guessed it when he spotted him ticking about an hour ago, two beers ago.

Even if they all had the same training, you couldn’t teach the level of observation Will had. The way he saw through things, people—more than ticks, secrets and lies, but truths and hidden woes. He was always watching, always aware.

“Y’know, I hadn’t put my finger on it until she said last week,” Will continues, “Then, it made sense. The shift—the difference between the two of you. So, I’ll ask again, you know what you’re doing, Fish?”

No. It almost falls out, all pitiful and weak.

But, he manages to claw it back, roll it to the back of his throat and submerge it back down his throat.

Because he can’t have this conversation with him. Not of all people.

Will who is both his friend and is somehow also yours.

The man who he often finds you huddled with, gossiping in low whispers, your smile wide, broad, fucking spreading up into your eyes as Will stares at you like you’re the one who hung the sun. He knows the two of you have your own things—ones he and Ben never get invited to.

And Frankie gets it, he does. Why wouldn’t Will look at you like that?

You’re wonderful, funny—practically the reason there’s a moon, stars and sun in Frankie’s world. He just wishes he deserved it, wishes he had more to offer.

Because unlike his friend, his job is unstable, practically rocky. His home is barely more than a one-bedroom, one-bath. He comes with baggage, often unable to close both his eyes comfortably and achieve more than five hours of sleep.

All things he knew Will didn’t struggle with. His job was good, his home nice, a body continuing to be curated in a gym—even around training Ben—and all he had was—

“Fish?”

“It’s fine.”

“Is it?” Will continues, tilting his head, dropping his voice. “Cause your fingers are turning white.”

Rolling his jaw, he fidgets with the bottle, running his tongue against his teeth. “She can talk to whoever she wants.”

Frankie almost believes his lie.

He suspects you’ve known something was off before you’d taken a seat at the table—choosing to slide in next to Will and not him.

You’d likely already spotted the mist hovering above the three of you—Benny still somewhere else, likely attempting to undo his dry spell.

It’s you who asks (suggests) you head home. A silent request, please take me home, Morales.

The two of you walk back to your car in silence, him still opening the door, watching you lingering on his eyes as you nod—searching, digging.

And, he can feel it, the way you’re pleading for him to open up, while he silently begs for you to stop.

But, the stare has already dug in. Is already driving him insane. It’s there when he blinks, sketched in concern, drawn into him, making his chest ache.

Because it’s a look you should never wear, never. Yet, he’s made it appear on your face far too many times.

It’s the only reason as to why he puts your car into park, killing the engine.

“Why are we in an abandoned parking lot, Morales?”

Trying to stretch his legs, he rubs the bridge of his nose. Unsure where to start, where to begin. A mixture of the evening mashing into the slowly building feelings he’s had since he synced the calendars.

Because now he’s had you, it’s all he wants.

Addicted, in only the best, fucking way.

“Just wanted to talk to you—before I dropped you off.”

From the corner of his eyes, he sees you fiddle, playing with the edge of your top. Twisting it around your finger, a habit you’ve always done.

Unlike before, you’re watching him through your brows, as he wipes his hand across his jaw—tongue swiping over his bottom lip, a punched breath escaping his nose.

“About the guy—at the bar—“

“Frankie.”

He hears you, but he’s already going, falling through his mind. Kind understanding flowing from his tongue, because he needs you to know you’re a good person, a person who deserves good things, nice things, a happy life.

Each thing wrapped in a compliment he isn’t sure if he should let slip, yet does—knowing each is tainted with a blend of truth and sadness.

Because of course he doesn’t want to give you up, doesn’t want to lose you. But he wants the best for you. He wants you happy, content—beaming like you were earlier without it ever having the chance to be stolen—

“—and so, if you wanna use that number the guy gave you and go on a date, you should—“

“I didn’t take his number.”

Whipping his head, he sees how you’ve twisted your body to face him. A sheepish, but slowly growing smile spreading. The streetlights put focus on it, on the two of you, illuminating the car, making every bit of you twinkle—and he’s sure there must be stars in his dark brown from the way your smile grows up into your cheeks.

Because he’s lost for words. Silenced.

His brain struggling to catch up. Even more so when you unbuckle your seatbelt, and he hears you take a steadying breath.

“I didn’t take his number,” you repeat, more forcibly, more sternly. “Because I didn’t want to.”

Sliding up onto your knees, you swallow, holding his gaze, placing a hand on his shoulder as you try and swing your leg over his—almost hitting the centre console—brows stitching, frustration mounting, until he reaches out, worrying you’ll get your fucking ankle stuck in the steering wheel.

“Be careful, querida.”

You inwardly groan, and he can’t be sure, but it sounded so close to an I’m trying, with it dying when he grasps your hips, his fingers brushing over the softness of your skin, all to aid your movement—but he can’t hide how glad he is to feel you.

Even more so when you’re straddled over his lap, all picture-perfect, something from a dream.

For a moment, he just stares. Processes. He’s sure you’re letting him catch up to what you were hoping to say without words being said.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he whispers back.

Unable to stop staring, his heart begins to do that thing again—the double beat, the little hammer. The thing it does whenever he’s around you, long before the movie night when things blurred over the line, and has only increased in its strength since.

Slowly, your hands slide around his neck, his mouth instantly moving to press a kiss to your skin. Leaving it against your forearm, all invisible marks he hopes you’ll think about long after they’ve faded.

Then, you part your lips—but nothing emerges.

No words, no confession.

Even if he’s adamant something is there, gurgling at the back of your throat. Words. Sentences. Likely even paragraphs.

You don’t spill them, don’t share them. Holding them close to your chest—just like him. Except, instead of words, you dip your face under the beak of his hat. Not wanting to speak, to share anything more, and so he leans into it—this thing which courses through him. The thing which is tough to cage, and harder to ignore. Choosing, rather, to slot his mouth over yours—tasting the remnants of your last drink, the gum you’d poached from Will, and bask in the feeling of you moving your lips against his.

And, he hopes he’s not wrong, but he swears I want you is breathed into his soul.

Hopes it is what is thrumming in the air because he feels the same.

Knowing it’s just fear holding him back, it having stitched and embroidered itself all around how right this all feels. Because it does feel right, as scary as that is to admit. He’s lost in it, descending further into it. Just as a needy moan is suddenly buried against his mouth, his fingers trace a path up your neck and along your jaw. Desiring more. Needing more.

“Always sound so pretty for me,” he whispers.

You groan, light, delicate at his words—just as he slides his hand back around your hip, tugging you closer, keeping you right there. A silent, but loud demand of do not move, and he’s hoping you’d never want to, praying you don’t want to be anywhere that isn’t on top, under or alongside him.

A thought which makes his throat dry, makes him pause against your mouth.

Because he’s been wanting to kiss you all night in that booth. Had been wanting to forego all the secrecy and just wrap his fingers around your cheeks, pull your mouth to his—and publicly declare that there’s something (small, large—he’s not even sure) going on between the two of you.

Something he’s fought wanting, something he’s tried not to wish or linger on, because…

You mean so much to him.

It’s the backbone to all his movements as his fingers skim over your cheeks—searching, trying to read what’s going on in your mind as he looks into your eyes. Trying to ride through the storm that’s swirling around and around, wondering if it’s named after him—because of him.

Because he’s riding out one too, and it eerily is named after you.

“You want me to take you home, hermosa?”

You smile—whether at the name or the implication—and then it unfolds, twisting, changing into a smirk. Leaning closer, he spots something darkening in your eyes, something that makes his stomach knot and heat wash over his spine.

Because he knows that look now. He sees it in his dreams, thinks about it—

“I think we should fuck in my car, Morales…”

He swallows, just as you roll your hips.

Dragging his tongue across his teeth, he flicks down to your spread thighs—wondering how drenched his fingers would be if he dipped them into your underwear. Wondering how long you’ve been thinking about him—whether you had been as affected by being sat so close to him, as he had been by you.

For the last few hours, he’d just been bathed over and over again in your perfume. Felt the heat of your leg against his, your laugh reverbing through him each time it emerged.

“You want me to fuck you in this parking lot, hermosa?” he asks, biting down on your lip, forcing your hips to roll against his, swearing he hears a little fuck escape from your mouth. “Cause, I’ve thought about that all night. Fucking you in this shitty car that I hate.”

Your answer comes in your movement, pushing your head into his neck, grabbing the level of the seat before he’s pushing it back as far as it can go. Buying you both more space, more room—something you further aid when you twist the dial, around and around, his eyes able to stare up at you, watching how your tongue swipes across your bottom lip, until the back of the chair slowly sinks to meet the backseat.

For a moment, there’s a pause. A few breaths. A few beats.

“Do you want that, baby?” he whispers, cradling your cheek.

And you nod, slowly. “Please, Frankie. Want to feel you inside me.”

Then, it’s hurried.

Both of you attempting to bury something, run from it, hide. Your bottom layers gone, awkwardly, but discarded all the same, bunched up in the footwell as you help free him from the confines of his jeans. Those fucking jeans—the ones he knows you like him in, you confessing it once, a while ago.

“Didn’t know you’d were into exhibition, hermosa.”

Snorting, you tilt his chin up—his hat unlodging from its place, falling freely from his head into somewhere in the backseat. “You don’t know what I’m into, Morales.”

Your hand teases his length, palming him, torturing him beautifully. Taunting him.

“Bet you’ve been half-hard since we left mine.”

He groans, his hands finding purpose on your waist, guiding, aiding as you emit sweet noises that echo around the car as he helps you sink down on him, taking every inch of him. Because you’re not wrong.

“So big,” you whine.

Licking into your mouth, he swallows another moan, another groan. “So tight around me, hermosa.”

His hand sliding down, grasping your ass, slamming your hips down on his. And you’re perfect. All of you—your fucking ass, your thighs, all at the top of your perfect legs.

Everything about you is perfect.

Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

“You like it, taking my cock in your car, baby?”

“Please, please, please.”

He grins against your mouth, feeling hot breath on his skin—your nails digging into his neck, his shoulder. “Can think about this when you’re driving to work—how good I feel inside you.”

You whine, louder, soft begging following.

“I’ve got you. Touch yourself for me, querida,” he moans.

Watching you nod, watching your hand slide from around his neck until it’s between the two of you. A little gasp emits from your pretty mouth when you begin circling, swiping over your clit as your walls flutter around him, reaching your peak.

Him burying against your neck how close you have him—feeling your pulse against his lip.

“Taking me so well...”

Your body stiffening, his feet planting on the floor of your car—thrusting up, watching your eyes clench shut as your fingers curl, digging, desperate to hold on to him. He hopes you leave more than half-moons that fade in time, he hopes it’ll bruise, it’ll be there when he showers later, can brush over it.

“You’re made for me, always feel so fucking good.”

You moan, loudly, his name never sounding so fucking good until he first heart it fall from your lips. And right now, it’s divine. Your lips parting, more hisses and pants filling the small space. They’re all embedding into the increasing steam on the windows—it clouding you both from view if anyone were to pass by. It all misting—a light sheen spreading over your skin. Another look he’ll dream up, conjure, of you.

For the second time today, he watches you unravel—how it floods you, him continuing to pound into you as you collapse against him, breathing heavily, painting his neck in it.

And, he’s nearing his own climax. So close to the edge. So close, so close, so close—

“I know you wanna come, I know you wanna finish inside of me,” you whisper, all sultry and soft into his ear.

His head turns, catching your eyes.

"Please. For me."

Hands full of your hips, he continues to feel your walls flutter around him as he fucks into you, body alight, burning, searing—

"I need it," you add.

And then he curses—a cascade of them—burying his spend in you as he pulls you close, pressing his lips against your neck.

CHAPTER SEVEN ->

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales smut #Frankie morales x reader smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #jo: iltwy #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #frankie morales smut #triple frontier smut #frankie morales x f!reader smut #pedrostories

[joys-of-everyday]

On the fifty shades of morally grey

So quick thoughts on how MXTX writes morally grey.

Sorry, I mean, excessively long meta post on how MXTX writes morally grey. Light spoilers for all three books.

A gazillion caveats to begin with. Firstly, I don’t want to argue about whether character x is morally good, bad, grey, pink or whatever. In my books, arguing about whether someone is or is not morally grey is like arguing whether a colour is green, blue, teal, or turquoise – we’re arguing definitions. To add to that, I’m not saying that concepts like ‘this person is overall good’ doesn’t exist, but I would posit that a morally unquestionable person does not exist. Secondly, I also don’t want to pass moral judgements on any of the characters. That’s for a different post. I strictly want to focus on the storytelling techniques that make the reader think ‘hang on a second, are they good or bad?’. Thirdly, this whole post is mainly based on How Arcane Writes MORAL AMBIGUITY (9 Methods, 4 Rules) - YouTube. Great video, great channel (no knowledge of Arcane required). Would recommend if you are interested in story writing techniques!

1) The information gap and the poor narrator

Best example is Shen Jiu from SVSSS. We barely know anything about Shen Jiu. Almost everything we know is from SQQ’s notoriously unreliable perspective, so we’re left to fill in the gaps ourselves. Depending on exactly how those gaps are filled, you can get two completely different people. E.g. Did he have designs of NYY, or was he just ridiculously misunderstood? Who knows! We’re never told. Even if we were told, we should doubt it because it’s SQQ telling us.

2) 4D characterisation

Schnee’s video goes into this in more details, but this is where you build two narratives on top of one another. Best example is Jin Guangyao from MDZS. Is he an underdog who did what he could out of his situation and tried his best to be a better person working for the good of the common people? Or is he a selfish, manipulative, ambitious snake who at every stage pretends to be good in order to win the favour of those around him? The point is that both narratives make sense in the story. There are moments that lean more one way or another, but you can never quite pin him down completely.

3) Moments of weakness

Best example is Xie Lian from TGCF. On the whole, XL is a wonderful human being who you 100% want to root for. Except… there was that one time he made a mistake. He let his hurt and pain overcome him; he became hurtful himself. The point here is to add in just a few ‘moments’ which fundamentally impacts how the rest of the world perceives them from that point forwards. They are forever trying to redeem themselves, forever weighed down by what is a tiny proportion of their life. The underlying question is ‘is a moment of weakness a moral failure?’

Another good example is Qi Rong from TGCF. On the whole, he’s a piece of s***. But then there are moments when he’s a genuinely good father to Guzi, and that’s confusing.

4) Well-intentioned idiot

Trying to do the right thing and absolutely failing. Best example is Wei Wuxian from MDZS. His intentions are always good. There are extremely few moments where he is selfish or overly cruel. He is always fighting for justice, always self-sacrificing, always kind. And yet the outcome of his actions is pretty bad. The underlying question is ‘should you judge a person based on their intent, or on the consequences of their actions?’

(btw the name of the method is from schnee’s video. No shade on WWX. He is very smart… well, unless it comes to LWJ’s feelings.)

5) Excuses

Yes, they’re bad. But we feel sorry for them! Almost everyone fits into this boat, because doesn’t MXTX love trauma dumping? As one example, let’s look at Jiang Cheng from MDZS. JC’s behaviour towards WWX is pretty bad on its own. But given the context of his childhood being compared to him, of having his self-esteem brutally crushed by both parents? Knowing how much he’s done and sacrificed for him, how much he truly cared for him as family? It hits different.

A small point: ‘excuses aren’t enough’ we say a lot (and I agree, to an extent). But compare, for example, Jin Guangshan vs Xue Yang. JGS seems to be a power-hungry asshole for absolutely no reason. On the other hand, put XY in different circumstances and we feel like he might have been a better person. Just as food for thought, there was a Japanese monk Honen (1133-1212) who said: ‘The good person can reach the Pure Land, so of course the evil person can as well’. The point being that the people who struggle with anger and hate because of their circumstances are most in need of salvation.

6) World building and presenting hard questions

What is acceptable sacrifice in war?

Is it okay to make a super dangerous weapon for the sake of deterrence?

How much personal responsibility does someone hold for a lifetime of circumstances pushing them towards a morally questionable path?

What are the responsibilities of a leader – to do what is right, or to do what is best for their people?

The world of MDZS is imperfect. It’s full of horrors and disasters, as well as a mob of outsiders all trying to impart their opinions despite knowing little about the situation. An imperfect world presents unanswerable questions. We see the characters struggle with these questions, come to decisions, and make mistakes, all naturally arising within the complex world that’s been presented. 

TGCF does this most explicitly. We literally have Kemo and Pei Xiu arguing about the ethics of war and XL concluding that it’s a Hard Question. In fact, every backstory of every Heavenly Official presents a new Hard Question. I don’t know if I like this method over the more subtle style of MDZS, but I have Thoughts about the storytelling styles of both (long story short, I love them both for different reasons).

7) Worlds are colliding

A slightly complicated method that takes a huge amount of set up. To summarise, set up two arcs that we the reader both feel invested in. Then set up a point where the ‘good’ outcome of one is the ‘bad’ outcome of another. For MDZS, we have 1) JC and WWX’s brotherhood arc. 2) WWX standing up for justice arc. They’re both merrily developing all the way through the conflict with the Wens… right until the moment WWX has to make a choice: stand up for justice and leave JC behind, or to fulfil his promises to JC and turn a blind eye to the injustices against the Wens. The decision is a lose-lose scenario because of the way these arcs have been set up.

8) Spectrums, Spectrums, we love Spectrums

Gongyi Xiao is a cinnamon roll. As is Wen Ning and Quan Yizhen. Meanwhile, the Old Palace Master? Literally no redeeming qualities. Wen Chao? Absolute scum. Then there’s everyone lying somewhere in between. We like Lan Wangji more than JC (I think that seems to be the case for most people?) but we certainly like JC more than JGS. Having a spectrum of morality is important because it gives us reference points to contrast and compare. It also emphasises the moral greyness of everything, because sure, Mu Qing isn’t a noodle like Shi Qingxuan, but is he worse than White No Face?

9) Spectrums aren’t enough – adding depth

Almost all of WWX’s moral ambiguity comes from the fact he has hard decisions to make. And for each of these decisions, the outcome is murky. He developed a new technique to fight against the Wens, but at what cost later down the line? He defended the Wens and gave them a few years of life, but was it worth it?

Compare with JGY. JGY does a lot of good. He also does a lot of bad. The magnitude of both lists is ridiculous. Sure, you wouldn’t usually find someone who’s killed most of their family members in any way likable, but how often do you come across someone who literally ended a war?

So one way of creating moral ambiguity is to make each decision difficult, but another way to go about it is to just… make them do loads of things. Like loads of things. Good things, bad things, all the in between things. Judging each thing is not that hard, but then trying to judge the overall person based on it is extremely difficult.

10) Pulling from the real world

Often, moral questions in fiction is hard because (surprise, surprise) moral questions are just hard full stop. Idk enough Chinese history and culture to accurately pin down all of MXTX’s references, but things like stupid misunderstands leading to conflict, poverty and inequality, less than ideal family situations, the horrors of war… these are all things that happen irl. No matter how fantastical the setting, grounding moral conflicts in reality makes us feel more emotional and invested.

Anyway, I hope that was an enjoyable rundown! This is an imperfect list, so comments, criticisms, suggestions greatly appreciated!

#i cannot get over how good mdzs is #a moment of appreciation here #mxtx #mxtx meta #svsss #mdzs #tgcf #svsss meta #mdzs meta #tgcf meta