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jomgiiu · 1 year

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HEAT OF THE MOMENT

The king of Hawkins high, Steve Harrington asks you out on a date but not for the reason you think. After that night, you learn who the real Steve Harrington is.. or so you thought.

paring: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

CW: ANGST ANGST ANGST, i guess bully!steve?, steve being a douchebag, king steve taking effect, swearing obviously, mentions of wounds/blood not to major.

A/N: i wrote this one a whim, got carried away it’s not the best but i need feedback to see what i should do next with it lol. i liked writing season 1 steve, i made him meaner than in the actual show but ofc i hope you all dont mind! enjoy and reblog! (not proof read and poor writing oops)

Last night was the worst nights of your life, you got stood up by Steve Harrington. He'd asked you on a date during lunch and you obviously said yes. You and your friends were giggling and whispering about it all day, they gave you advice about what to do and say, what to wear, how to do your makeup, they seemed more excited than you. The moment you got home you got ready. He said he’d be there at 6 and it was already 3, so you had enough time to plan everything out. You put on your favorite record, pulled out your lucky socks, and got ready. The outfit you picked look like it came out of a magazine, so elegant and beautiful; Steve was definitely going to fall for you. At least that’s what you thought.

Sitting on the couch, you waited and waited and waited. 6 o’clock rolled around and the butterflies in your stomach would not stop.

6:13. He's just running a bit late.

6:28. Maybe he had car trouble?

6:41. Maybe he actually meant 7!

7:15. Or maybe he didn’t mean anything at all.

7:35. You were nothing to him.

Your parents didn’t get home from work until 8, so you decided to go up and change to save yourself the embarrassment of them asking about anything. Feeling like you came out of magazine just to feel like you were a thrown-out magazine because it’s the wrong issue. You went to sleep that night, crying over a stupid boy and a stupid date. It was stupid.

What felt like forever, you finally got to your locker. Fumbling with the lock, you got it to open and put your things away, grabbing stuff for your classes. Laughter was heard a few lockers down, glancing over it was Steve and his idiot friends. You sighed and shut your locker. You didn’t want to confront Steve but you had the right too. Confidently, you walked over to them but that instantly left when Carol whispered something to Steve, making him snicker. Your stomach felt like it was twisting and winding, you felt sick.

“Hey, you!” Carol greeted; her words were sweet but was sour coming out of her mouth. You gave her a small wave and went to focus on Steve. He had on a blue polo, Calvin Klein jeans and a dark windbreaker complementing his outfit. His hair was perfect as always, he spent more time looking at himself than he did anyone else.

“Can I help you?” He asked.

“Um,” the words were stuck in your throat. His stare was burning you. Either you chicken out or you confront him.

“Where were you last night?” the words came out in almost a whisper.

“Huh? What was that?” he put his hand behind his ear, leaning down a bit to you. “What did you say?” Steve’s teasing was cruel, he has a smirk planted on his face waiting for you respond.

“I think our friend here asked about your date last night.” Tommy commented.

“Ah.” Steve moved his hand away from his ear and resting it in his jean pocket. “Listen, I was planning on going but I got wrapped up in somethings. I was going to call. Promise.” The sympathy in his voice was forced.

“Yeah, Steve was too busy studying anatomy with Nancy.” Tommy teased, making Carol slap him on the chest playfully. Steve smirked and looked at you.

“Tom, pay up man.”

What?

You tried to process what was going on. You watched Tommy give Steve a $20, shoving it in his pocket looking so proud of himself.

“Why did-”

“Oh gosh, for being a straight ‘A’ student, you really are stupid.” Carol said.

“W-what?”

“Tommy over here told me if I asked you out, I'd get the 20. I did and I got the 20.” Steves words felt like a knife to the heart.

“You put a bet on me?”

“Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner!” Tommy exclaimed, making everyone laugh.

“You really believed that Steve would go out with you!” Carol snorted.

“I-”

“Listen, you seem like a great girl, I just don’t think you're up to the Steve Harrington standard. Nancy on the other hand, well she is. Don’t get me wrong, she just like you but more put together you get what I mean?” Steve’s words were harsh but said with ease.

You began to shake, you tried to hold the tears back forming in your eyes letting one fall down your cheek.

“Aw are you crying?” Carol pouted.

“I just thought you wanted to actually get to know me.” You choked out.

“Get to know you? I’d rather talk to a freak than talk to you. But I guess that’s what I’m doing now huh?” Laughter erupted around you. People stopped and stared at you, all eyes were on you, people where whispering and giggling.

You quickly walked away from them, tears clouding your vision you didn’t want to go anywhere else but out. Your friends tried to stop you but you ignored them, you were just trying to get to your car where you could be alone. Getting in your car, you finally let it all out. They humiliated you in front of everyone, Steve placed a bet on you, everyone knew why. You were a loser. You’d never be Nancy Wheeler and you’d never be with Steve Harrington. Going home that day felt awful, you told your parents that you got sick and just needed to be home for the day, or the week. Thankfully, they took the bait and let you come home early and stay home for the week. Your mom went to the school to pick up your work you missed and that kept you occupied for the time being but didn’t distract you from your feelings.

It didn’t help either that one of your friends called you, basically screaming at you that Steve asked her out on a date and she was calling you from the diner payphone that they were at right now. Your heart almost about blew up when you heard that. The day he does that to you, he asks one of your friends out? You told her congrats and when she briefly asked about your date, you just told her that you canceled because you didn’t feel well, hence why you left school today. She instantly bought it and told you that she’ll update you later and hung up. Of course, everyone had a crush on Steve and everyone wanted to be Steve. You wanted Steve but you didn’t know his personality, you didn’t know who he was as a person until now. Every girl he’s been with was ranting and raving about him and the dates he brings them on, you just wanted to experience one. You knew you were pretty, smart and you had a pretty decent reputation, why would he do that to you. Steve made you feel like nothing. He made you feel ugly, stupid and a loser. Steve Harrington was an asshole and no one knew that expect for you.

Tuesday finally came. You begged your mom to stay home again, since you did Monday. You tired the fake puke trick but she saw right through it. Your mom convinced you if you went to school, you could buy something out of a catalog. You couldn’t pass that opportunity. If you were coming back, you were coming back looking like you haven’t been crying for the past week. You threw on the cutest outfit you could find, made sure the tear stains were off your face, kissed your mom goodbye and headed to school. The moment you walked in, the counselor grabbed you by the throat and dragged you into her office. Ms. Kelly was a nice lady; it was clear she cared about the students but it annoyed you because you didn’t want to talk. She asked how you were doing and what you plan on doing to keep your grades up. You explained that you have all your work, you just need to turn it in.

“Wonderful!” she said.

Ms. Kelly looked down at her paper, dragging her finger along until she stopped.

“Ms. Click has actually requested to see you, I told her I'd send you down to talk to her. She couldn’t wait until your period. You can also take your work for her class and turn it in then.” She said, writing a hall pass. “Just come back here when you’re done okay?” You nodded gripping your history work, taking the hall pass and walking to Clicks. You liked Click, she was nice to you and you had her 5th period which was such a calm class, you liked everyone in there. As soon as you opened the door to Clicks, everyone's eyes were on you and even pair you didn’t want. Steve Harringtons.

“Oh, perfect timing! Class, turn and talk about the question on the board I'll be a moment.”

You walked into the classroom more to Clicks desk. She smiled at you and offered you a little candy. How could you say no. You handed her your stack of papers as she sat down at her desk.

“How have you been. 5th hour hasn’t been the same!”

You glanced around the class to see the people. Steve was still looking at you. You began to fiddle with the hem of your shirt.

“Oh, I've been sick. Flu season I guess.”

“Ah, I see. Thank you for doing your work while you were sick. Not a lot of kids even do their work in class.” you nodded. “I called you here to obviously see if you were alright but also to see if a student can borrow your notes. You did them perfectly and I think it would help them. Don’t worry, he’ll give it back to me so you can have it back.” Click began to look through another pile of papers.

“Sure, who’s using it?”

“Steve.”

The color drained from your face. God was not on your side today. You didn’t want the cause of you missing school to look at your notes, it’s his fault he’s stupid.

“Ah, here we are,” She pulled out your notes and handed them to you. “Give those to Steve please and you can be on your way. We can talk more in 5th hour!” She smiled. You grabbed your notes and have her a tight-lipped smile. Turning away from her desk, you walked to Steve’s. He clearly wasn’t doing the assignment, just goofing around and flirting with the girls around him. Making it to his desk, he stopped talking to the girls and instantly looked at you.

“What-”

“Ms. Click wanted me to give you my notes to help you out.” you interrupted, holding out the notes to him.

“Pfft, I don’t need your notes. I don’t want to read mistakes.”

Hold it together.

“It wasn’t my choice. It was Ms. Cli-”

“Does it look like I care about what she has to say? No. Do I care what you have to say? No. I'm surprised you even came to school today looking like this.”

The girls around him started giggling and whispering to each other.

“I think I look fine.”

“Well, I'm glad you had the confidence to wear clothes from the salvation army.”

Don’t cry.

“For your information, I got an ‘A’ on these notes and Ms. Click said I was the only one who got an ‘A.’ And I got these from a catalog and I'm sorry my daddy doesn’t buy me every new thing like your ugly BMW you drive and at least I'm not a wannabe dickhead.”

Steve put his hands over his chest, having a shocked expression on his face which quickly switched to a smug look.

“Wow! You got me there! You showed me!” Steve scooted up closer in his seat, resting his arms in front of him looking right at you.

“I'm not the wannabe sweetheart, you are. You want to have my money and BMW so bad but here you are driving your run-down Ford Escort and thinking that catalog clothing is going to save you. It’s not. Sure, you think you're all smart but looks will do you better in the future. Remember that.” Steve snatched the notes from your hands and started to talk to his friends again.

You left the classroom so fast, before you could say goodbye to Ms. Click. The whole day you were worried about what Steve said. About how you looked and how looks will get you places. You knew it was bullshit, you had colleges already begging for you to go to school but it’s the way Steve said it. Worse of it all, you went to 5th hour, hoping for a good period. Until you got your notes back to notice he scribbled all over them, writing things, drawing crude things on all your work. You frantically began to look through the notes until one comment stood out to you.

‘When you walk out of school, make sure to wear the bag on your head I left you at your locker. You need it.’

Tears filled your eyes. You shot up from your seat and ran out of your class. Ms. Click was yelling for you as you ran down the halls until you got to your locker. There you saw a paper bag with eye holes cut out of it, tapped to your locker. You ripped the bag off your locker and fell to your knees, sobbing into the paper bag. Why was Steve being so mean to you? You should be ruining his life; he shouldn’t be ruining yours. This all started with a date that turned out to be a joke and then ever since your life went downhill. Classmates from your period found you and tried to comfort you of what happened. You broke and told Ms. Click what happened and what Steve did which led to Principal Higgins getting involved and calling your parents and Steve's. He got a suspended for the rest of the week which was a relief to you but didn’t help the situation. Now since this situation, you were known as the ‘Cry baby.’ Your friends tried to help you feel better and stood up for you when the time was right. You were grateful to have a support system but not grateful for Steve Harrington.

It’s been a few months since the whole Steve situation and some forgot about it and moved on to other things like the Byers youngest boy going missing and Barb Holland also going missing, making the whole town worried. Steve was still a dick but he didn’t pay any mind to you though, he was too busy dealing with his goons and his dream girl, Nancy Wheeler. A part of you still had a crush on him, just the smallest he was still cute but he was still a dick. You had to go see Ms. Kelly every Friday since what happened which you didn’t mind but it was still annoying. It was the same bland conversation about your week. If there's any people giving you a hard time, grades, college, just boring, stupid conversations that waste your time during 6th period but you got to leave earlier which was a plus. Before you left, Ms. Kelly told you that your mom called and wanted you to stop by Melvald’s to grab some more dish soap so that’s where you are now, looking for dish soap and Melvald’s. Why are there so many soaps? You never paid attention to what one you used it was just soap. You notice someone move at the conner of your eye, you paid no mind to it until you noticed who the someone was. The navy-blue jacket, the blue jeans, the green shirt, the hair. Yeah, it was him.

Oh god not here.

Focus on the soaps.

Glancing over at him he was looking at the band aids and ointments he looked dazed, squinting at labels trying to make it clear. Then a pair of hazel eyes fell on you, making you quickly look at the soaps. You swore your heart was going to explode it was pounding so fast, it felt like someone was squeezing your whole body you couldn’t breathe. Was this really happening? Why was he here? How could you not see his BMW in the parking lot? Anxiety riddled your body as you heard someone shuffle up to you. God don’t let it be you.

“Hey,”

Frozen in place, you moved your head slightly to look at him. You were taken back by the way he looked. The right side of his face was bloody and bruised with the wound already scabbing over, his right eye swollen, a small cut settled on his lip following one on the bridge of his nose., going slightly down to the right of his cheek. He looked awful. You tried not to stare at him too much, you didn’t want to be rude but it was impossible to look away. Who did this to the king of Hawkins high?

“Sorry to bother you. I just--I can't really read this. Is this the right ointment?”

Your eyes trailed down to the box he was holding making you huff out a laugh.

“Well, if you have hemorrhoids then yes, but otherwise no.”

“Uh, no. Not necessarily.” His face turned a light shade of red. “I need something for um,” he pointed to his face rising his eyebrows. “This.”

“I’ll help you. Hemorrhoid cream definitely isn't gonna help that.” you kicked yourself for that and made your way to where he was before. Steve stood watching you look through the hundreds of creams and ointments on the shelf. You eventually found one and replaced it the original ointment in Steve's hand for the new one.

“Zemo will help a lot it does wonders; it makes it less itchy and heals quicker. You'll thank me later.”

Steve looked at the medicine and looked back at you. There was no hatred in his eyes, no cruelness. Just hurt. He was hurt inside and out; he was guilty for what he’s done to you and so many others. He’s guilty for hurting the only girl he loves. He’s hurting.

“Thanks.” that’s all he could say to you in this moment. A simple thank you, not anything else.

“Have you cleaned them?”

“Uh no, just had an aspirin and a cold coke to put it on.” Steve shrugged.

You sighed.

“Okay, just get that, I'll finish what I need and meet me outside okay?”

The stinging sensation of the alcohol covered cotton pad on the open wound made Steve wince, making him pull his head away from you. You muttered a sorry and he just huffed and let you clean him up. Never in a million years you would be sitting here in the Milvad’s parking lot taking care of Steve Harrington. He watched you carefully as you take your time with him, carefully moving so he wouldn’t be in as much pain as he already was. It took someone to beat the absolute shit out of him for him to realize how much of a dick he was. How miserable he made people feel. How miserable he made you feel.

“Sorry, this happened to you, I can't imagine how much it hurts.”

Steve scoffed at your sincerity.

“I deserved it, you out of all people should be happy this happened to me.”

“A little part of me is,” you admitted. “Who did this to you?”

You put the cotton pad down and grabbed the Zemo putting a glob on your finger and gently rubbing it in over his wound. Steve hissed at the contact.

“Jonathan Byers.” Steve mumbled.

“Oh wow.” You were quite shocked that a quiet boy like him could rock Steve’s shit. Steve was fit, he had to be for basketball and baseball so you assume he could win a fight. You finished applying the Zemo and giving it to Steve.

“Make sure you put this on twice a day, and only once if you shower. It should help the itch and the scaring a bit. You'll be healed in no time.”

Steve held the Zemo in his hands and watched you clean everything up. You were really pretty up close. Yeah, he looked at you close up a lot of times but this time he noticed every detail of your face, every curve, every wrinkle, every texture, he was scared of looking away because he didn’t want to forget it. Steve thought back to the paper bag he taped to your locker, Tommy and Carol thought it would be a funny idea and so did he at the time. When he was in the principal's office with his dad with you and your parents, he glanced at you and his chest was tight. Your head was hanging low, tears falling down your cheeks and landing on your hands, silent sobs coming from you. Steve recoiled when heard let out sobs after him and his dad left the principal's office. Mr. Harrington made it clear if he pulled that shit again, he would be kicked off the basketball and baseball teams, he wouldn’t get into an ivy league school and end up as a drug dealer on the streets. Mrs. Harrington told him that’s no way to treat girls, there’s no reason to bully girls anyway. She was disappointed in her Stevie and Stevie was disappointed in himself. Of course, that didn’t stop him from being an asshole, if he didn’t get caught then he wouldn’t have to go through that whole fiasco again so he moved on from you and started being an arrogant prick either way to everyone around him. That ended up getting beat up, ditching his “friends” and getting taken care of by the girl he bullied.

“Thanks for doing this, you didn’t have to you know?”

“I know.” you responded.

“Why did you?”

You sighed and looked at him. He looked so vulnerable, his hazel eyes soft and looking at you. Steve looked like a lost puppy; in some cases, he was. Now he was. He had no friends anymore, he was hurt and lost, no guidance, nothing. You seemed like the only thing keeping him afloat at this moment.

“Unlike some people Steve, I care. No matter what you did to me, how you treated me, you deserve some type of -- I don’t know but I was always taught to help people that needed it. I know you know what's right. I know what you have to do, so do it. You're better than this Steve Harrington.”

You walked towards your car, quickly getting in throwing the stuff in the front and driving off before Steve could say anything to you. Deep down, you knew Steve was a good person he was just around bad people. As much as you hated it, you knew he had to apologize to Nancy, he had to make everything up to her and even Jonathan but it was selfish to think he’d do the same to you.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x fem reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things angst #enimies to friends to lovers #steve harrington angst #king steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #angst #season one steve harrington #stranger things season 1 #mean!steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n smut

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 2 years

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Rocking The Boat - Tom Bennett

He's such a chaotic douchebag...I love him (could i come up with a more cringey title lmao)

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), slight misogyny, war wounds, inaccurate WWII terms, smoking (ew, but he makes it look hot), angst, enemies(?) to lovers, pining, Tom being a menace to society (and insecure), fingering, unprotected sex (no rubbers on a battleship, I'm afraid)

(caught in) 4K Words🤙🏻

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Being the only female on a heavy cruiser of hundreds of men, it had its hardships.

Your parents begged you not to join the Navy, but you couldn’t just sit at home doing nothing while the Nazis killed and tortured their way through Europe. You had to do something.

Of course there wasn’t much you could do on the front lines being a woman and all, but you could help heal any man that was on your side of the war. That’s how you ended up on the Exeter as a nurse, Lord knows they needed as many as they could get.

It was strange being ogled and desired by all the men, but you knew they must have not seen a woman in a long time. You found that some men would even get injured on purpose just to see you, some you even had to beat off with a stick like a rabid dog. And there were times you regretted your decision, but you felt it would be worth it in the long run. You finally felt like you had a purpose and you felt good knowing you were on the right side of the war. But the one thing, well, person, that really got on your nerves was Tom.

Tom was different, in a way that he managed to get on your nerves more than others. Somehow. Just something about his attitude and how he went about his life on the ship. It’s like he didn’t even want to be there, just wanting to stir up trouble. He picked so many fights, he was actually one of the first to come to see you for that exact reason when you boarded the ship.

He seemed shocked to see a woman on the ship, but also intrigued. Mostly intrigued.

He had a busted lip and bloody knuckles and you had a hard time keeping in your disapproval for the infighting. “Problem, miss?” Tom spoke up, a smirk already playing at his lips as he watched you clean up his wounds intently.

You shook your head, avoiding his eyes. “No problem here, sir. Just find it a bit counterproductive to pick a fight with someone on the same side as you.”

“Counterproductive.” He scoffed, curling his top lip in a sneer. “Then maybe that bloke should’ve kept his mouth shut about my canary.”

“You picked a fight just because of a bird?”

“Maybe.”

After that day, Tom kept coming back, not even because of the fights sometimes. Most of the time he liked to see what you were up to, knowing damn well you were always busy helping other sailors with their injuries or illnesses. He didn’t care about that, he only wanted to distract and annoy you. And it almost always worked. Maybe it was because you were a woman and he saw you as an easy target, someone to toy with other than his fellow sailors. There were more than a few times he had you flustered, and it bothered you to no end, mostly because he was actually affecting you.

“What’s a woman like you doing in a place like this, hm?” Tom teased, leaning against the counter you were working at.

You shrugged. “Just doing my part, like the rest of you.”

“My sister went off to sing for the men, to liven their spirits and the like. What about you? You gonna liven up my spirits too? Although, you don’t necessarily have to sing to do that.” He smirked, but that only made you scoff, attempting to fight off an oncoming blush to your cheeks.

“Your charm won’t work on me, Mr. Bennett.”

He smiled, almost genuinely. “Oh, so you think I’m charming?”

You rolled your eyes. “I think you know damn well that you are.”

It was like this almost everyday, always around the same time. He must’ve been on a break or something at those times because it was like clockwork. You started to get excited whenever that specific time came around because you knew that meant that handsome bastard would be coming to annoy you in his special way. It gave you something to think about other than gruesome wounds you had to treat sometimes, or the fact that there was always a possibility that you could die.

But just before you could get in your own head about that, in the corner of your eye, you saw Tom leaning against the doorframe to your nurse’s office. “You just going to stand there all day, sailor?” You teased as you cleaned some of your equipment.

Tom shrugged with a smirk, smoking a cigarette as he watched you. “I wish. I’ve got a nice view.”

“Thank you for your prompt visit, Mr. Bennett. Now leave me be, I have to make sure I’m not distracted whenever another sailor comes in.”

“You do know that some of the men are getting hurt on purpose just to see you, right?”

“Maybe.” He hummed in disapproval, but you only smirked. “It’s not like you don’t do the exact same thing, Mr. Bennett. You are an arsehole but I never took you for a hypocrite.”

Tom scowled. “Yeah, well, I’m not like any one of these bastards. They think they actually have a chance with you when they clearly don’t.”

“Oh, and you think you do?” You cross your arms with a scowl resembling his.

“I know I do.” He replied, making you scoff in annoyance. “I see the way you look at me. How you look me up and down, how you can barely keep eye contact with me.” You freeze in place when Tom takes a few steps closer to you, feeling his body heat radiate off of him and onto you. “How your body tenses up when I get close.” You quickly look away from him with a frown, but he places his fingers underneath your chin and gently forces you to look back at him. “There’s no need to feel ashamed, miss. Your body knows what it wants…what it needs.” You allow your eyes to slowly shut as Tom leans in, feeling his breath on your lips. “See how your body responds to me when I’m not even doing anything?” He chuckled lowly.

You lightly gasped as Tom pulled away suddenly, the warmth of his body and hands leaving too soon. “What?”

Tom smirked proudly as he went to walk out of your office. “Have to go perform my sailor duties, miss.” He said with a wink.

You exhaled shakily as you were left entirely flustered, a deep scowl coming to your face as he did that to you and just left like that. He was only toying with you, that bastard. Ha, well, you’re not likely to fall for that again. No way.

Turns out, you didn’t have to worry about Tom flustering you again because after that day, you never saw him. He was avoiding you, for some reason. You didn’t think you would ever understand him. He was sending you so many mixed signals and it was confusing the hell out of you. You did find him incredibly attractive, but his personality left something to be desired. You didn’t think you could actually be with a person like him, but you couldn’t possibly know what the future held.

It was only a week later before Tom visited you again. It was at a late hour, when most of the crew would be asleep. But you were up late, studying a book of rare illnesses just in case, you always found you’d rather be safe than sorry. You were so buried in the pages you didn’t even notice Tom staring at you, the smell of his cigarette alerting you that you weren’t alone. “Shouldn’t you be asleep, Mr. Bennett?” You asked, only glancing up at him for half a second.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He entered your office, closing the door behind him, taking a seat on your desk.

“Do you have an injury that needs tending to, Mr. Bennett?”

“No.”

“Then would you kindly leave my office?” You stood up from your seat, marking your place in the book and putting it back on a shelf behind you.

You could hear the man let out a short chuckle from behind you. “Giving me the cold shoulder, eh?”

You frowned as you turned back around to face him, the sight of him resting one leg on your desk with flicking his cigarette ash in a pile on your once clean table surface irking you. “If my memory serves me correctly, it’s you who’s been giving me cold shoulders this past week?” You snarked, but that only made him smirk, which annoyed you even further.

“Been keeping track, have ya?”

You rolled your eyes. “I suggest you leave, Mr. Bennett. Sleep. You need your rest. Who knows, maybe we’ll be bombed tomorrow and you’ll be too sleepy to defend yourself.”

“That a threat, miss?”

“Like I said, just a suggestion. Nothing more.”

Tom put out the end of his cigarette on the desk, standing up and stepping closer to you as you stepped back, only to find yourself against the wall with nowhere to go. He looked you up and down with his signature smirk. “So, it’s not an order then?” You flinched when Tom ran his pointer finger along your jawline, his expression softening slightly. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya. Not unless you ask.” You exhaled shakily as he gently lifted up your chin, his breath on your lips making your eyelids droop. “Just say the word, and I’ll go.”

“Is that what you want?” You whispered. “To run away, like last time? You gonna run away from me, Tom?”

Tom’s expression hardened at your words before closing the gap between each other's lips, kissing you rough and hard, not even giving you enough time to gasp at the sudden action. You felt lightheaded and weightless as he pulled you to him by your hips, kissing you with a bruising force that made you wince. He pulled away briefly to look into your eyes, almost hoping to see some semblance of hatred or fear in them, but he only found a dark lust, definitely resembling his.

You were breathless as he turned you around and pushed you up against your desk, helping you sit up on the wooden surface. He drove his knee in between your legs, forcing them apart and promptly maneuvering his hand up your skirt and into your undergarments. You gasped loudly as he found your clit, rubbing harsh circles as he sloppily kissed down your neck. He inserted two of his long fingers inside you as he frantically undid the buttons on your top, almost breaking some off. He roughly tore down your brassiere, groaning at the sight of your breasts finally coming free. You whined and squirmed as he thrusted his fingers in and out of you at a brutal pace, not stopping even when he went to unbutton his trousers, but you helped him with that, almost just as desperate to feel him inside you as he was.

Without warning, he removed his fingers only to immediately replace them with his cock. He filled you to the brim in one fluid motion, the two of you moaning loudly in unison. He rested his forehead against yours, each other’s panting breaths intermingling as he stilled inside you, allowing you a moment to relax before he started thrusting languidly. You could feel every inch of him as he stretched you out, over and over again with each rut of his hips. He kept an intense eye contact with you, studying your face every time he bottomed out, committing to memory every pleasurable facial expression you made any time he hit that special spot inside of you, making sure to angle his hips that way each time.

It was almost too much, the eye contact. You tried to look away briefly a couple times, but he kept you looking at him with a firm grip on your jaw, so firm it was painful. But his cock was making you feel so good you had to focus on the pain to really feel it. “Fuck…” Tom moaned, picking up the pace, the desk squeaking loudly every time he thrusted harshly, all your writing utensils and other miscellaneous items falling over on the floor that you’d have to pick up later. He brought his hand down to rub his thumb on your throbbing clit, his eyebrows furrowing tightly as you moaned his name. “Yeah, that’s it. Keep clenching around me. Soak my cock with that pretty pussy of yours.”

His heavy accented words went straight to your core, adding to the already all-consuming buildup of pleasure in your body. Tears came to your eyes as he sped up his ministrations, his thumb on your clit and his cock pistoning in and out of your sopping cunt. “Oh god, ‘m gonna come.” You whimpered breathlessly, unable to catch your breath, almost feeling like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room.

“Oh, fuck, yes.” Tom groaned loudly as he felt you pulse around him, finding your release and digging your nails into his shoulders as you rode it out on his cock. He watched as you arched your back and your head thrown back in pleasure, spasming around him with little to no care for how you might’ve looked in this state of euphoria. This sight is what finally pushed him over the edge along with you, thrusting into you as fast as possible until he pulled out just in time to shoot him cum all over your pussy, watching the milky white liquid dripping down into your wet folds and creating a small puddle underneath you on the desk. It was a fucking Renaissance painting, more beautiful than whatever Da Vinci or Michelangelo could ever paint.

It was a moment of pure exhausted bliss, bathing in the afterglow and feeling like nothing could touch either of you. But that all came to an end once Tom saw the loving smile on your face, leaning forwards to kiss him, but only to be disappointed when he turned his face so you could only kiss his cheek. “Tom?” Your sweet voice seemed to bring him back to the real world. He blinked in shock, quickly avoiding eye contact and stuffing himself back into his pants, making a break for the door before you could say another word, leaving you flustered and confused once again.

What went wrong? Did he think you were bad at sex? You hadn’t gotten any complaints before. Maybe he thought he was bad at sex? But no, he was too arrogant and full of himself to think he was bad at anything. Maybe he was just toying with you as he had done before, but you didn’t think he’d take it that far. You felt empty, not just physically, you had given a piece of yourself to Tom now and he didn’t even seem to appreciate it. He left you with an aching heart and his cum between your legs.

He didn’t know why he did it. His first instinct was to run. That’s what he does now, run away from everything. From his father, his sister, his jail time, his home. Now you. Why must he run from everything in his life? Even from someone as good as you? Maybe that’s why, because you were. Good. And Tom? He knew he didn’t deserve you, but that didn’t make him want you any less. He has always been selfish, he knew that. He was selfish to take you, give you a false sense of hope that he cared for you and wanted you any more than a quick fuck. He didn’t really care for you, right? That’s what he told himself. That’s what he told himself every time he saw you, as you worked or cared for the injured crew with that sweet smile on your face. That’s what he told himself whenever he felt a pang of anger and jealousy whenever you would show any other man attention. That’s what he told himself when he touched himself to the thought of you. That’s what he told himself when he felt the need to hold you in his arms after he ravaged you that night.

Tom briefly saw the hurt look in your eyes as he ran from you, slapping himself once he reached his quarters. Idiot, he told himself, idiot, idiot, idiot. He told you himself that he wasn’t going to hurt you, and yet…

You didn’t talk to him at all after that. You saw him throughout the ship every day, but the look on your face told him to stay the fuck away whenever he made eye contact with you. He wanted to talk to you, but he wasn’t that stupid that he’d willingly go into the lion’s den. Though, he knew he’d have to face your wrath eventually. He thought he’d give it a couple weeks, to let you calm down so you didn’t knee him in the balls, though, he knew he would deserve it. But unfortunately, he was never given that chance.

Everyone on the ship froze as the sirens went off, the lights turning red as they were alerted that their other ships had been sunk by the enemies. They were determined that they weren’t going to be next. Tom saw you run about, gathering your med kit and making sure to go wherever you were needed as all hell broke loose. Your face looked calm, driven. He found himself admiring you in that moment as he felt his chest freeze up in a panic, but beneath the surface you were feeling the exact same thing. You both made eye contact with each other for a second, but that’s all the time that was needed to express to each other what you each wanted to say aloud: Be safe.

Tom tried to focus all his attention on loading the cannons to fire back at the enemy, until a blast shook the entire ship. He heard screams, and felt a sudden heat from above. Tom looked up, and as the ceiling filled with fire, he had one singular thought as he felt the flames travel down quickly: you.

Even when he was knocked out from the blast, the first thought when he came to was about you, if you were okay. Where had you been during the blasts? Were you hurt? Were you dead? He tried not to think about it as he cut off the circulation to one of his fellow crewmates. “We’re gonna need a medic down here, sir!” He shouted up to one of his officers.

“The medics are in worse shape, blown to bits or wishing they were at the moment.”

Tom froze, his heart thumping rapidly in his chest. Ignoring the howling screams of the man who had lost an arm, he stood up and faced his officer. “What about Miss L/n?” He asked lowly, only to get no response. He scowled, surprisingly himself and his commanding officer as he shoved the man against the wall, getting right up in his face. “What about Y/n?!” He yelled, making the man flinch.

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” He pleaded, ripping Tom’s hands away from where they held on tightly to his uniform. He let him, unmoving, frozen in shock and dread. He closed his eyes. Please, don’t be dead…please, don’t be dead…

After he helped the injured he found or anything else he was ordered to do, he quickly made his way down to where the injured people were and he was praying the whole walk there that you’d be there helping other people and not the one being helped. He never saw your dead body, so that was a good sign.

He took a deep breath as he pushed open the door to the injured wing.

A wave of pure relief washed over Tom’s whole body as he saw you resting in a cot, a large bandage over your arm and neck. He could see the faintest burn marks traveling up past the white cloth. You didn’t look well, but you were alive and awake. He almost chose not to disturb you, he was afraid you’d yell at him to leave as soon as you laid eyes on him. But he needed to talk to you, at least once, just to make sure you were okay. Even just to receive your cold shoulder.

“You’ve seen better days.” He teased cautiously as he approached you, also relieved that you didn’t look at him in disgust like you had once before. He could take a breath, finally.

A pang of fear and panic washed over you as you saw him, looking him up and down, wincing at his ash, dust, and blood covered skin. “So have you, sailor.” You smiled weakly, a chuckle escaping your throat before it sent you into a fit of coughs, waving him off as his expression turned into worry. “I’m alright, just some burns. Nothing I can’t handle.”

He hesitated. “I’m…glad.”

You couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. “Oh, so you care about me now, huh?”

Tom nodded with a frown, knowing he must’ve deserved that. “I shouldn’t have run away that night. You have every right to be angry with me. I know that. I was just…scared.”

“Scared?” You questioned, and he nodded once more. “Of what? Me?”

“Yes.” He whispered. “And of me. That night, I felt…” He could barely get the words out, it was so foreign to him to be vulnerable. But if he wanted to keep you in any capacity, he’d have to get over himself. “I felt something I’ve never felt before.”

“Coming?” You joked halfheartedly, your chest blooming with warmth as he chuckled in annoyance, showing his adorable crooked smile.

“No.” He huffed in amusement, struggling to keep eye contact with you, your gaze so intense and never wavering from him. “Look, I…” He sighed, “I’m not the type to…fall for someone. That’s not me, that’s never been me, and yet…”

“And yet?” You asked hopefully.

Tom rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna make me say it, are you?” He smiled as you giggled. “I have. I’ve fallen, despite my best efforts. I know I’ve hurt you, and I can’t promise I won’t do it again. I can’t promise to be a good partner, can’t even promise to remember your birthday or bring you flowers every day or anything of the sort, or even to stay alive during this bloody war. But I do want you. I do.” He leaned in close, his lips next to your ear. “And it’s not just because your pussy’s the finest thing I’ve ever felt.” He whispered, causing you to smack his chest as he laughed, happy to see that he could still make you blush like a teenage schoolgirl. “Do you believe me?”

You sighed, causing him to frown, his eyes stared up at you like a kicked puppy. “You did hurt me, Tom. I didn’t understand. And even being hurt…I do.”

He furrowed his brows in confusion. “What’re you saying?”

You smirked softly. “You’re gonna make me say it, huh?” You chuckled. “I believe you, Tom. And I do want you. Though, I also can’t promise I’ll be a good partner either.”

Tom smiled as he shook his head. “I’ll have you in any way that I can.” He almost leaned in to kiss you but stopped himself. “I’d absolutely devour you right now but I don’t think everyone here would take too kindly to that. Plus, I want you all to myself.”

“And I’d rather not irritate my burns.” You added, pulling at the ends of the bandage on your arm.

Tom settled beside you, sitting on the edge of your small cot, holding your hand in his. “Well, let’s win this bloody war, and then maybe we can live out the rest of our days on a farm with eleven goats or something.” Tom chuckled, kissing your knuckles.

You giggled. “Yeah, let’s win this war.”

~~~~~~~~~~

i demand more Tom fics pretty please🥺

#world on fire #world on fire bbc #tom bennett #tom bennett imagine #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x fem!reader #tom bennett x f!reader #tom bennett smut #ewan mitchell

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z3nitsusgf · 2 years

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like a leopards tongue in the mouth of a snake

roman roy | reader - 3.2k

cw: NSFW, fem.reader, bribery???, scummy roman, fingering, oral (f. receiving), slight power dynamics, office sex

a/n: blah blah intimacy issues, blah blah canon roman is scared of pussy I KNOW but let me have my fun

Outside, tipped street lamps have buzzed awake and shine cones of orange light onto the roads. It’s past hours, the other workers long gone by now. The office is empty, save for the skeleton crew that cleans up when no one else is around, but they're on the lower levels.

The sky is yawning into night, the dusty blue darkening with each passing minute. You can’t hear the bustle of New York from how high up you are in the tower, the shimmering golden lights of other skyscrapers mimic the stars.

You’d like to go home, like to just go to sleep so you don’t have to deal with these corporate douchebags any longer. But your boss is still here, still drinking in here his personal office like the rest of you don’t have lives. To him, you probably don’t.

He’s said it before, “What? Do you have more important things to do than me?”

Like most people at Waystar, you steer clear of having to interact with Roman incessantly, despite the fact you’re his assistant. It’s already hard enough, being his glorified babysitter. It’s even worse when he’s in a teasing mood, which is all the time.

He’s like his family, the classic “I’m too important to interact with anyone out of my pay grade” type. Only really indulging in you because you’re the type to just shoulder his weird comments without taking them seriously. Brushing off his crude, absolutely shit, remarks. And you have a great ass too, or so he says.

He calls you his “little paper pusher”, an oversimplified pet name for what you actually do. You’re so important to his well-being, if you left now you’re sure he’d dissolve into nothing. But you let him think all you’re good for is being an emotional dumpster for his whiny rants. He’s more clingy than he realizes, always calling you late at night for menial bullshit and practically nipping at your heels when you try to work.

You do your best to slip under the radar; typing away at your desk, bringing coffee when asked, shuffling, and shredding papers in the file room. Occasionally, you’ll be asked to accompany Roman to his home (where he’ll ask if you want to suck his dick or get finger-banged over his couch). But most of the time, you make sure he’s not getting into a lawsuit for making lewd comments at the interns. Which is hard when that’s his whole farce.

He’s not bad all the time. Sometimes, he buys you lunch, really expensive lunch. He’ll even sit with you while you eat, pointing out you have horrible taste and he should really help you with expanding it. Plus you get bonuses on top of your stellar pay, Christmas gifts, and your very own lovesick slime puppy who can’t help but be obsessed with you. The last part wasn’t in the contract, but you guess it’s not so bad.

Another perk of being an assistant to the Roys is that you can’t leave until they tell you to leave.

So you’re stuck in the Waystar building, watching your boss sip on Lagavulin Offerman malt, observing how he sits weirdly on his loveseat and makes crude comments to you about his brother or Tom or the fucking weather. Lavishing in the space, relishing in the fact he’s made another person listen to his bullshit.

You mostly drown him out, looking over invoices and discrepancies while he sips his whiskey, sitting in the corner while you contemplate what you’ll have for dinner. You don’t even look at the time, only knowing it’ll make you itch to go home more.

You hear him say your name, drawing you from the excel sheet of numbers on your screen. He’s lazily draped on the cushions, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and the first few buttons on his shirt are opened.

He beckons you over with the flick of his fingers. You assume he wants more alcohol, or maybe he wants you to fetch his driver. You don’t expect him to-

“Hey,” he drawls, lips curved into that cheeky bastardized smile, “I’ll give you a million dollars if you take off your shirt.”

You’re dumbfounded, standing in the office of the boss’s son, holding your little Waystar table like it’ll save you. For a minute you think he’s joking.

“Huh? What-“

“Yeah, come on. I’ll give you a million, in cash or check or PayPal- whatever, if you take off your shirt.”

Roman Roy has always had an absurd amount of wealth, you know that. Everyone from fucking New York to Timbuktu knows that.

He can make million-dollar bets like it’s nothing, throwing away pocket money that could very well pay off your student loans, that could make sure you’d never go hungry or have to worry about keeping the fucking lights on. It’s shouldn’t surprise you that he’d make stupid little bets with you. Especially, when he’s bored and slightly buzzed.

Your eyebrows draw up at his words, mouth dropping open in a mix of shock and incredulous.

“I- um, I don’t think that’s a good idea, sir.”

Not only would you get in trouble for having that much money, but you’re also not going to just strip because he asked you to, no matter how much you think he’s attractive.

Roman gives a mocking scoff, lips parting as he takes a sip of his stupidly expensive whiskey that you’re sure tastes like shit. Your confusion and disdain must show because he’s raising an eyebrow at you, looking up at you with clear moss-green eyes.

“Oh, don’t be such a prude. It’s only your shirt.” He says it so casually - like you’re the one being unreasonable, swirling the glass in his hand as he crosses his legs. He’s dressed with a casual cocktail of his usual confidence and mockery.

“Besides I can see your tits through your blouse anyways,” your eyes widen and you feel yourself get fever-hot in embarrassment, and Roman is still grinning, “not like I’m gonna see anything I haven’t already.”

He laughs at how you fluster, you can see his pearly white teeth in his mouth. His eyes crinkling to the point you can see the lines on his face. Mouth quirking as he watches your eyes get misty, it’s always been a strange hobby of his.

There’s something fundamentally wrong with him. He’s always known that. He pretends not to be the slithering black snake that creeps from the underbrush, but he can’t help it. It’s just what he is naturally.

“Mr. Roy-“

He waves his hand, your eye catching the vacheron constantin watch on his wrist as he uncrosses his legs so he can lean forward towards you.

“Oh come on, how about 2 million?” He’s dead serious, his stare piercing through you as you gape at him. You hate that you’re actually considering it. Two fucking million-

“Don’t tell me you don’t need the money.” He’s got that confident ‘you’ll do what I want’ look, and you chew the inside of your cheeks till you feel it sting. Even if you didn’t, two million dollars could last you for a long time.

“Just my shirt?” You ask quietly, despite the office being completely empty. Roman takes another sip, the large ball of ice clinking against the crystal.

“Sure, unless you wanna take it all off, just let me see what’s underneath this fucking thing.” He makes a point to flick your skirt, grazing his fingers across the top of your thigh. You twitch at the feeling, there’s an icy hot shiver that runs up your spine, a dark whisper in the back of your mind that tells you it’s worth it in the end.

You inhale before reaching up to unbutton your blouse, standing right between his knees. Slowly pulling apart each opal-colored button, watching how Roman is practically purring at how you strip. He’s set his glass down on the side table, uncaring that it’s not on a coaster and will leave ringed marks on the wood.

It’s a weird rush, the feeling in your tummy fluttering and your throat tightening. You peel off the cotton, dropping it to the carpeted floor and standing only in your pencil skirt and heels. Roman can see how the swell of your breasts move with each exhale, the subtle curve of your waist down to the pretty way you shift in your black heels.

It’s erotic in a debauched way. Borderline gross and repulsive, but arousing all in the same fashion.

You’re standing, waiting for… waiting for you don’t know what. Roman is well, Roman. He’s entitled, immature, and such a prick you’d feel more guilty about doing this if he wasn’t the coddled baby of a multi-billion dollar company.

He's spontaneously compassionate and flips on a dime. He's so used to being mean, being cut-throat and crass - it's like second nature to him. Like most people, you can't stand Roman on a good day, even less on a bad. But there's something about him, maybe it's that air of frail egocentric bullshit, the sopping sweet stench of someone so high-strung on power and his own entitlement that shows you just how pathetic he really is.

You’ve always liked men who were a bit fucked in the head. Roman is no exception.

“Got a nice pair, prettier than a fucking pornstar.” You’re resisting the urge to cover up your chest, but for some reason, you don’t. Letting his eyes roam over the dips and curves of your body, staring ahead at the glass windows that gleam in the skyline of Manhattan.

Roman swipes his tongue across the plump of his lower lip, reaching forward to hold your skirt-clad waist, thumbs digging into your hipbones. Dragging the pad of his fingers over the band, where skin meets fabric. You’re sensitive, knees practically buckling from the feeling alone.

It’s not the first time he’s touched you, he usually makes his quirky gestures at random times. It’s usually a pat on the head or a pinch on the shoulder. A peck when he’s truly drunk. Never like this, never so intimately. But you bite your tongue to keep from whining out that you want more.

His hands are soft, never having to do a hard day's work in his life. He trails the tips over your exposed stomach, fiddling with the zipper of your skirt. He smirks, leaning forward to brush his nose across your belly, up to your ribcage, his hair tickles the underside of your breasts, the licked-up strands wild.

He, thankfully, doesn’t comment on your peaked nipples, your skin flushed in goosebumps from his touch. Instead, he murmurs into your skin, “I’ll give you another million to take off the rest.”

A pitched whine catches in your throat, the vibration of his voice against your ribs is making you squirm, and you look down at Roman to see his blown pupils and rose-bud colored cheeks. The slicked-back gel in his hair starting to come undone, strands falling across his forehead. You resist the urge to run your fingers through them, biting your lip.

“Whaddya say, my little paper pusher, gonna take off your skirt for me?” He already knows you will, he’s just prodding you for more. Nipping at the exposed skin of your abdomen, dragging the tip of his tongue across it, wetting the flesh. He’s dipping his fingers inside the band, trying to weasel his way into your panties, which are fucking sopping.

It’s like Roman always says, there’s no point of having a babysitter if he can’t fuck ‘em.

You’re so hazy, head foggy and clouded over - you’d think you were the one that drank. You puff out what he thinks is a quiet okay. Giving him a soft nod, hands shakily going to unzip the tight fabric. He hums, already ahead of you and hooking his thumbs into the band and tugging down.

With it, comes your skirt. You squeak at the sudden rush, stabling yourself on his shoulders as he rolls it down your thighs, letting it pool around your ankles. He makes a muffled aw at your panties, a pretty lacy thing that makes him giggle.

He snaps the band with a finger, teeth flashing at how you squirm and yip like a puppy. “Wear this just for me? You’re so sweet.”

It’s patronizing, like he knew all along you were weak-willed and soft for him.

Roman nudges your legs apart with his knee, making you stand out in the open like his just for him. He presses two fingers against the drenched spot on your panties and gives a little circle.

“Jesus, you’re fucking soaked,” He throws his head back and laughs. Observing how you tremble around the pressure on your clit. Sliding them to the side so he can run his fingers over your slick folds, dipping them between the seam and feeling the honey-thick arousal that’s smeared against your cunt.

He pulls his fingers back and Roman looks at his fingers quizzically, spreading them to see the clear slimy strings that web along his knuckles from your slick. It makes a fluttery feeling settle in his tummy, one he hasn’t experienced. He ignores the raging hard-on in his pants.

“Get this wet because I’d pay you to take off your clothes? That’s kinda fucked, you’re kinda like my personal whore then.” Even now he doesn’t shut up, but his words make you clench around nothing.

He’s different like this, the air around him is electric and heavy and makes you want to just sink into the floor. He watches how your knees wobble, the way you grab his shoulders to keep from falling into him - he’s got you right where he wants you.

“Yeah, you’re a fucking slut.” He swipes his fingers through your folds again, hardly even caring if he brushes your clit or not.

Roman curves a hand around your back, brushing along your spine and settling on your tailbone. He pushes you backward by leaning forward, allowing your back to meet the cushions. Your legs coming up to drape over his hips. You glance down at the bulge that’s poking at your inner thighs, the faint damp spot on them has you itching to reach down and touch.

You wonder, faintly, how your relationship will change after this. If it’ll chance at all. You know Roman isn’t… the best, when it comes feelings. Maybe this is a one-and-done kinda deal, even so - it’ll still be worth it.

You get drawn out of your head when he’s playing with your pussy, fingers swiping up and down slowly, making you messier and sticky with your slick. You inhale, the tip of your tongue ready to beg for more when he pushes two fingers in your cunt, eyes wide and watching how you gasp and grab his wrist.

“Please-“ The way you say it, so breathily and desperate, it’s making him get hazy in the head.

He pushes in, down to the base of his knuckles, immediately going to hook them up and rub that sweet spot inside. It’s effective because your knees jerk and you’re half an inch from kneeing him in the chin.

The way you moan is so fucking hot, it has him twitching in his pants. You grab at his button-up, twisting the fabric as you hump his hand, it’s cute.

“I bet this is your wet-dream, huh? Getting your boss to finger-fuck your pussy.”

“So easy too, little corporate slut who’s been waiting for me to fuck her.” He says it with a pinch to your inner thigh, giggling when you flinch and try to snap them shut.

He’s taunting you, scissoring his fingers open and shivering at the sound of wet clicking that reverberates in the office. You’re tight, gripping his fingers and gushing down his wrist. He’s never wanted to see someone cum so bad before.

“That right?” He asks, his other hand coming up to grope and squeeze your tits. You shake your head, not even able to answer him with how he’s punching the tips of his fingers into your spot, the gooey sweet one that has you drooling and starry-eyed.

He slides the hand that’s pinching your nipples down to your hip, trying to settle the writhing and bucking of your pelvis.

“Making a fucking mess,” he mumbles, his other hand is occupied by pinning your hips to his sticky couch, which you’re sure is drenched with your cum. Trimmed nails dig into the flesh of your hipbone. The feeling of wetness clings to your inner thighs liberally, soaking down to the curve of your ass. You whine, hips squirming in his tight grip.

He pulls away suddenly, it makes you want to cry. You look at him with glassy eyes, the lashes wet and you’ve got bitten lips that quiver when he doesn’t hurry.

“Rome, I need-“

He’s scooting down, scooping your thighs up. His face is right in front of your heat, and he leans forward, flicking his tongue against your cunt, it makes sparks shoot through your lower half. Your hand shooting out the card through his hair, nails raking over his scalp.

You wouldn’t expect him to eat pussy so good, but god- he does. He sucks a fold into his mouth, he nips the other. You’re panting, practically grinding down against his face. His tongue lapping at you with such fervor you’re almost embarrassed. It’s sloppy and wet, and his chin is covered and shiny.

“So good, so good, it feels so fucking good.” Roman shivers, he’s not used to hearing praise. But he likes it a lot more than he realizes.

The light stubble drags across your skin, pricks the inside of your thighs from how hard you squeeze around his head. It’s like lightning, the build-up. It gets impossibly hotter when he’s pressing back his fingers and sucking your clit into his mouth. Your tummy clenching and spasming.

“O-oh fuck, Rome, I’m gonna-“ He hums, doubling his efforts, suckling harder while curling his fingers. It pays off when you gush and clamp down on him, moaning and mewling with leaking tears down your face. You tug on his hair when he licks a stripe up the seam of your cunt, jerking from the sensitivity.

Roman pulls away with a dopey grin, mouth shiny and god- he looks lovesick. Dark lashes fluttering at he crawls over you, palms resting on either side of your head. He’s so different like he suddenly doesn’t know what to do anymore. Retreating as if he hadn’t had his face in your pussy.

He presses a light kiss against your mouth. He smells of Dior Homme, the powdery iris and lavender that bleeds into vetiver, it’s intoxicating. He tastes like whisky and your cunt.

“You taste so much better than I thought you would.” Your hands flirt with the buttons of his ruffled shirt, untucking it from his waistband.

“Fuck, I’m so hard I think my dick is gonna fall off.” You giggle at his admission, leaning up to press kisses along the column of his neck.

“Well, let me return the favor, Mr. Roy.”

#val.writes ❦#succession.✥°#roman roy x reader #roman roy smut #succession x reader #succession smut #roman roy x you

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hum-suffer · 2 months

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People who appreciate my vocabulary don't know that I learn all my fancy douchebag vocabulary from Tom Riddle and Hannibal Lecter and honestly, it's the most amusing inside joke I have with myself

#desiblr #suffer ye suhana nahi #desi tumblr #hannibal lecter #tom riddle #i learnt three new words today while reading tomarry #bahahahahahahah i cant wait to use them on people

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intheorangebedroom · 1 year

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You should share more of your thoughts...just saying

Oh Anon 🧡 What a sweet, sweet thing of you to say 🥺

You know what I find myself thinking about a lot? This guy is a fucking pilot. And not just a pilot, he is, and I’m quoting Pope, here, a pilot you can trust. Granted, that chopper crashed. But that’s not on Frankie. Imma right, stfu Tom?

Explicit thoughts below the cut 🔞

No this man can fly, and I constantly think about him flying you for the first time. Because you’ve been asking for months. You love to listen to him talk about it, with a fiery passion that lights up his deep, soulful brown eyes, love the technical lingo you don’t quite understand, and you endlessly imagine, but imagination can only get you this far, so you keep asking for him to take you with him, fly you around, just a bit, a quick tour above the base, until one day, one glorious day, he finally gives in.

And you know how competent he is, you’ve seen his hands at work, crafting furniture and fixing things around the house, wringing so much pleasure from your trembling body it’ll make you beg and cry, but he can be so quiet and unassertive, he’s unlike any gaslighting douchebag you’ve known in the past, he makes it easy to forget just how confident he truly is and how commanding he can be.

When he gets you into the cockpit, a strong tug at the seatbelt strapped to your chest to make sure it’s safely fastened, when he positions the headset on your head, when he takes his sit next to you and grabs that stick (“that’s the cyclic stick”, he informs you, his low, rambling voice suddenly filling your ear, and you jolt in surprise, never mind the seatbelt holding you down), oh god, your mind swivels and reels, you start to think, thoughts you shouldn’t be having right now.

And you thought you’d be looking at the scenery, you thought you’d enjoy rising above the ground and getting a different view of the world underneath, of the fluffy white clouds, share what it is that he loves about flying, the elating freedom, the change of perspective, but that is not how your world is tipped off its axis.

You can’t stop staring at him, he is magnificent, his brow knitted in focus, the dimple in his cheek when his mouth twitches absent-mindedly, his eyes measuring, calculating, evaluating, navigating, flicking, restless, between the horizon and the endless stretch of the sky all around, the seat that looks too small to accommodate his solid, broad back, the rolled-up sleeves of his faded red shirt and the muscles of his forearms, rippling under his tanned, freckled skin, his glorious neck, his gorgeous profile, and his skilful hand on that goddamn stick.

You’re mesmerised by his grasp around the girth of the device, the way his thumb occasionally comes to rest on the round top of it, you don’t even register that he sees what you’re looking at, and you miss the smug, knowing half-smile curling his plush lips.

And you never thought you’d ever want it to end, but he can’t get you home fast enough, his hands are all you can look at, their grip on the steering wheel of the truck, their harsh tug at the waist of your jeans to pull them down, deft fingers quickly unbuckling his belt and working open the buttons of his fly.

You climb onto the large bed in a fever and you’re sprawled onto the white linen ridiculously fast, wild-eyed and feral and dripping for him, a moan spilling from you when he kneels between your open thighs.

He wraps your legs around his waist and you’re already arching your back, a wanton, shameless thing, but he pauses. You raise up to your elbows, and this time, you see it. The smug half-smile dancing on his lips. Your eyes travel down along the column of his neck, down the plane of his chest, painted golden by the orange sunset, down the trail of black hair on his lower belly.

His hand. His large, competent hand, wrapped around his thick cock, leisurely stroking.

“I saw you looking, baby,” he tells you, and the cocky inflexion of his voice has you moaning louder, and when a bead of precome trickles down over his fist, you make a conscious effort to swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth. “You wanna keep looking?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer, not that you can produce one, instead he slides a finder inside your wet heat, down to his knuckle, and slowly pumps it in and out a couple of times before he adds a second, and a third, and you can’t even feel shame for the squelching sound of your cunt pulling them in deeper, your eyes fluttering shut with the stretch.

“Keep looking, baby, keep looking,” he says, his other hand a tight grip on your quivering thigh.

Your mouth has gone slack, and your arms might give out, because he’s curled his fingers inside you and they’re brushing that spot that makes your eyes roll to the back of your skull, but you docilely keep looking, his hand moving back and forth, his fingers thrusting in and out, thumb rubbing circles over your clit, muscles undulating in his forearm.

Until you start swaying your hips to his movement, and he pulls out.

“Fuck! Frankie, please,” you cry, voice broken as your head rolls back.

“Keep looking, baby,” he repeats, and his voice has gone lower still, you’re reminded how it sounded like, distorted by the helicopter’s comlink, and you clench around nothing.

When you manage to lift up your head, your vision’s blurred out and you have to frown. Fingers circling his thick length, he’s coating himself with your slick, and you break into another plea, “Frankie Frankie please, I need–”

“You need to keep looking,” he finishes for you, and he starts stroking himself hard, pressing his fingers to the ridge underneath his stiff cock glistening with you, pumping through the squeeze of his fisted hand down to his base and up to his fat round tip, and you keep looking, your pussy keeps leaking, and fuck, this is hard for him too, he knows just how good you taste when you want him this much. His other hand’s grasp hardens, your soft flesh gushing through his fingers, beads of sweat pearling on his forehead and curling the longer curls on his nape and around his ears.

Raising himself on his knees, he moves closer to your core and taps his cock on your parted folds and you jerk with a whine, but your eyes grow wide at what he does next. It’s a wet glide of his smooth length through your folds and over your clit, again and again and again with a practised roll of his hips. It’s so much yet not nearly enough, and your elbows finally give out, your back hits the mattress as he picks up the pace.

Bucking your hips upward, you seek more pressure, and he delivers it with a groan, his cock held deftly at the base between his thumb and index.

“Keep looking, baby, I’m gonna come for you, gonna come all over your sweet pussy.”

You’re rocking your hips in a frantic rhythm against him and he lets go of your thigh, three of his fingers filling your dripping cunt again and you keen, your own hands scrabbling over the linen for purchase. You raise up your head, glassy eyes strained on the fat head of his dick shining with your slick, disappearing between your folds with each rapid stroke, and you feel your high building just underneath the surface of your quivering skin, crackling like electricity.

“Can you come like that?” he grunts.

You never thought... Turns out you can.

🧡

#I don’t know what happened i'm sorry #i don't even think it's good but i hope you enjoy it #the pilot™️#francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x fem!reader #again thank you for that ask 🧡

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jeewrites · 2 months

Text

Hold Fast | Ch. 3 - Curdles

Series Masterlist

Rating: M for language, but this blog is 18+ MDNI

Summary: We leave the gym! A little bit of angst (that resolves by the end of the chapter)!

A/N: There are things I’m not tagging to avoid giving away the story. Please remember this is a work of fiction. See the endnote for content warning/spoilers. Tyty to @bloviating-vy for being the best beta.

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags: no y/n, reader has a nickname, swearing, reader is a powerlifting girlie in her late 30's described as short and she has hair long enough to put into a ponytail, Tom is alive unfortunately (we hate Tom), Tom owns a bar called Redfly's, Pope owns a gym, reader's mother is a menace, a lot of Frankie POV oops, use of Daddy but not like that

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[text conversation]

😻🐟: Dinner Friday? Pick you up at 7? 🏋🏻‍♀️: 🎉🎉 😻🐟: Gonna to take that as a yes

🏋🏻‍♀️: 💃🏻💃🏻 😻🐟: Uhh, I don't do dancing

🏋🏻‍♀️: 💃🏻 = I'm excited for Friday 😻🐟: roger that 🫡

😻🐟: 💃🏻💃🏻 😻🐟: Did I do that right 🏋🏻‍♀️: 🎉🎉

It's been a week. Time crawled despite your full patient load. Frankie had texted you about dinner on Monday, but you hadn't heard from him since. It's not like you were great with texting either, seeing patients all day and charting in between, as fast as your fingers could humanly type. And the last thing you needed was for him to be texting and flying.

His last text had you chuckling between patients, a half smile ghosting your lips for the rest of the day. Your co-worker remarked on your good mood and you let it slip that you had a date you were looking forward to, before you remembered why you kept your romantic life private. What does he do? Is he also a doctor? Did you land another surgeon? What do your parents think? Does he want kids? Show us a picture!

As much as you liked and cared about the other physicians at the shared practice, they were also all mothers of young children, busy with playdates and the whirlwind of family life. The group practice was set up so the physicians could work part-time while also raising their babies. As the sole single and childless physician of the practice however, it felt like they lived vicariously through you sometimes. Well intentioned but prying questions into your love life or your life in general (what do you do with all that free time?). When you first started at the practice you declared any discussion about your failed engagement off limits. To distract from the drama of that whole part of your life, you sometimes offered up bits about your online dating adventures much to their interest and amusement. That is, until you heard, "I'm so glad I don't have to date anymore" for the millionth time. Ugh.

As you scarf down the last of your lunch on Friday, you feel your phone vibrate, alerting you to a new message. You take a quick peek, smiling when you see it's from Frankie. Your smile falls the next moment as you open the text.

😻🐟: have to raincheck on dinner sweets 🏋🏻‍♀️: is everything ok?

A text bubble appears after you respond, “...” flickering for what feels like eternity before disappearing. Your stomach curdles in concern and disappointment, was he okay? You didn't think he had his daughter this week. Was she ok? You were so looking forward to dinner with Frankie, especially after your last disastrous date with someone from the dating apps.

Frankie was still interested, right? He had hung around for your entire bench workout on Saturday until he absolutely had to go pick up his daughter from his mom's. He had been so protective at the gym when Mike was being an absolute douchebag.

Although he was also protective of Chloe too, that irritating voice in your head, your mother's voice, reminded you. As you sigh, staring at the phone willing him to respond, your favorite nurse Suze pokes her head into the break room alerting you of your next patient that arrived early.

"Ok, be right there," you respond, trying to keep an upbeat tone as you shove your phone and disappointment into your pocket and throw your trash away.

Frankie isn't sure when was the last time he slept more than two consecutive hours since Wednesday. Fuck, Delta-Force Ops Training was easier than this. First, Vanessa had texted Sunday morning, begging Frankie to keep Gabi this week, her week, for some opaque reason related to work being extra busy and Vanessa needing more time for herself. I never ask you for favors, Francisco, Vanessa had guilted him over the phone.

Frankie figured with his work schedule working in his favor this week, he could keep Gabi and have his mamá watch her on the days he flew and on Friday evening so he could still take you out to dinner. His grand plans came crashing down when Gabi started fussing Wednesday, clinging to Frankie and refusing to go to sleep alone. At breakfast she seemed ok, like maybe she just had a cold or something. By dinner time she was burning up, refusing to eat or drink anything. Snot nosed, congested cough, and crying unless he held her. So he did, rocked her all night in her little toddler bed. Waking up to check her temperature, listen to her breathing, was she getting enough oxygen? and jolting awake at every whimper, cough, or cry.

Gabi's congested cries snap Frankie’s attention back to her as he smooths her matted curls away from her face. She's still feverish to the touch and absolutely miserable. He briefly considers calling Vanessa in his desperation, but could already hear her biting response laced with resentment and anger. Why are you bothering me, Francisco? You're not doing me a favor by calling me when you agreed to keep her. You're the parent with custody right now, so fucking parent already.

This is the first time Gabi has gotten this sick when he had her on his own. Was this the flu? Did she have RSV? Why wouldn't she eat anything? Why couldn't the pediatrician's office fit her in this afternoon?

Call first thing tomorrow if she's doing worse and the Saturday on-call pediatrician can see her, the nurse's aide at the doctor's office tells him before relaying additional instructions on keeping Gabi comfortable and what signs to look for if she needs to go to the ER. It's only after Frankie hangs up the phone that he realizes it's Friday afternoon. He's supposed to take you out in a few hours.

Fuck.

He carefully sets Gabi down and tucks her blankets in around her before walking to the kitchen to wolf something down (when is the last time he ate something?) and text you. He hopes you'll understand he isn't blowing you off, that he really does want to take you out. You'll understand right? You have to know how much he likes you, admires you, is drawn to you anytime you are in the same place together, just wanting to be in your captivating presence. He still thinks you are miles out of his league, too smart, too pretty, too alive, to waste your time on a washed up someone like him with so. much. baggage.

The fatigue hits him from left field as he texts you to cancel. Eyelids like lead weights despite the bright afternoon sun. As he reads your text response and tries to type his own reply, Gabi lets out a pained cry that sends his fried nerves into overdrive. He drops his phone on the kitchen counter to rush to her side. He tucks her back into his arms, soft words for comfort, and gently rocks her and himself into a hazy half sleep.

It is still light out when you finally get home from work, but the apartment feels dark and cold for the first time since you left Chase and moved here. Your safe haven feels... lonely now. Too quiet. A single empty coffee mug sits on the small dining table, a ring of tacky coffee dried on the inside, abandoned where you left it as you rushed out the door this morning.

You flop on your small couch and text Frankie one more time asking if he is okay. The silence you usually welcome sits heavy — dense and gray — as you wait for a response. When none comes, you consider showing up at Redfly's to hangout with Benny and the guys, but you realize you'd have to explain why you are there and not out to dinner with Frankie. This is what Chloé must have meant when she was worried things would get complicated.

You need to get out of your apartment, out of your head, before you drown in the silence. You consider for half a second, phone in hand and thumb hovering over a dating app icon, maybe you should respond to the dozen or so messages in your inbox, before you click your phone off. No, you didn't want to make it more messy and you are just reacting. Running from fucking feelings that spread like tendrils down your spine and around your chest the more you think about Frankie and the way he looked at you with those big brown eyes, listened to you, and showed you that he was, is, interested. There has to be a legitimate reason he canceled on you tonight.

So you decide to do what you always do when you need to work out your big feelings. You go work out your muscles. Bigger muscles to handle bigger feelings. Release the not good enough, never good enough insecurities bubbling up and move through them rep by rep. Between a rare work shift tomorrow and the rest of the guys gathering at Redfly's, it feels like as good a time as any to get your SBD day in. You won't have to worry about getting in that monster of a workout after working six days in a row. Small blessings and all that. You pack extras of your favorite snacks.

"Who do we have on tap today?" you ask Suze as she comes around the corner to your work station. You cup your oat milk latte in both your hands, willing the espresso to work faster. Working Saturdays still sucks even if it is only every six weeks instead of every week. The parents are usually more freaked out and the cases often more severe. Fingers crossed you won't have to admit anyone to the hospital today. At least you got paired with your favorite nurse and you both worked together well as a team.

"Just the one kiddo with RSV-like symptoms so far. Dad's been calling since Thursday afternoon trying to get in for us to see her. Seems really worried, neither of 'em have slept much. Looks like mom is the one who usually brings her in, parents are divorced, and this is Dad's first time here." She continues with a list of symptoms she collected from the parent, adding her own observations and vitals she'd taken before you thank her and grab the tablet with the patient's chart on it to head to the exam room.

Suze lowers her voice before adding,“Oh, and between you and me, the dad is gorgeous.” Suze gives you a freckled smirk before heading back to the front. You flash her your best O, rly? face before you both break into maniacal giggles as quietly as possible. Suze always makes the work day better, you think as you make your way to the exam room.

You take a deep breath outside the door, glance at the patient's first name, and flip on your doctor demeanor as you knock on the door. At the muffled come in, you swing the door open and start to say Hi, Gabriella, I'm Dr. — before you realize you're looking at a distraught and disheveled Frankie cradling his daughter in his arms.

Was he dreaming? Did he forget to wake up and take Gabi to the doctor's? Why did the pediatrician look so much like you? Frankie rubs his eyes and looks up from his seat in the exam room chair. Nope, it is you standing there, white coat on and stethoscope around your neck looking like an angel despite the harsh fluorescent lights.

"Sweets?" he croaks. Ok, yeah, he definitely didn't forget to wake up because he can't wake up if he hadn't fallen asleep. He's sure he sounds as sleep deprived as he looks.

"Frankie?" you ease the door shut and step towards him.

Gabi lets out a congested cry and clings tighter to Frankie when she sees you approach.

"Shh, bebita, it's ok. The doctor's here to help you feel better," Frankie soothes, voice tinged with desperation.

He needs you to help Gabi feel better so he can feel better too. He looks up at you and catches you with knitted brows, chewing your lower lip for a moment before your face smooths, like you thought something over and made a decision.

You squat down to eye level with Gabi, "Hi Gabriella, I'm Dr. Sweets."

Gabi eyes you warily, "My. Name. Is. Gabi." Sniffles punctuate each word.

"Nice to meet you Gabi. Can you come sit up here for me?" you ask as you move to pat the exam table. Gabi buries her face into Frankie's flannel, shaking her head no no no.

"Oh, right, uh... she's been going through a big stranger danger phase," Frankie explains. He's worried you'll think he's the worst father, unable to get his daughter to comply.

"That's perfectly normal at this age," you reassure him, stepping back to give Gabi some space.

You hesitate for a moment before looking at Frankie and continuing, "It's kind of a gray area, treating someone or someone's kid I know... uh, socially." You pause for a moment, glancing at your tablet, appearing flustered. "But, um, I know it's Saturday and I don't want Gabi to have to wait until Monday to see someone if I can help her now. You okay with that, uh, Mr. Morales?"

Frankie nods with understanding, after panicking for a moment in his exhaustion, thinking that you are going to kick them out because he was supposed to take you out yesterday. Was that just yesterday? Also, “Mr. Morales” made him feel old.

"Ok then, please hop up on the exam table with Gabi for me then," you direct him, smooth doctor demeanor back on, as you pull the rolling stool over to the wall mounted monitor adjacent to the exam table. You pull up Gabi's chart on the screen and glance over the information.

"How about we chat a little bit about how Gabi's doing before we work on the stranger danger?"

Frankie grunts in agreement and stands with a groan before moving to sit on the exam table with Gabi. The exam table paper crinkles under his weight as he settles onto the table, checking to make sure Gabi is comfortable. You chat with him, running through his concerns, Gabi's symptoms, all the while warmly affirming the care he's given Gabi. He finds himself relaxing into the conversation as you lead him through your questions with a gentle and comforting voice. Everything is going to be fine. I'm going to take good care of Gabi. You did a great job taking care of her, Frankie. Delicate pecks on the keyboard as you document in Gabi's chart while also monitoring Gabi's body language towards you.

"Well, I think I have everything I need besides giving Gabi a once over," you conclude with a reassuring smile, standing up slow and steady, as Gabi continues to eye you, a miniature furrow in her brow identical to her father’s. Gabi burrows her face back into Frankie's flannel.

You offer soft words to Gabi who continues to shake her head “no” into Frankie's shirt before flicking your eyes up to Frankie as if to ask for his permission.

"How about I give your Daddy a quick check up and make sure he's healthy first?" you ask Gabi, a hint of playfulness in your voice, as you look to Frankie to confirm he's okay with it. You could do whatever you want to him if it would help you help his little girl, he thinks. Stab him with a needle and take his blood for all he cares.

Gabi pauses her head shaking and peeks out at you, soft brown curls falling over her eyes.

"Promise it's not going to hurt him, like it's not going to hurt you sweet pea," you soothe.

Gabi looks between Frankie and you with a bit more curiosity than suspicion. Frankie's heart swells as you talk to her with soft patience, explaining what the different scopes are used for, before demonstrating on Frankie, shining a light into his eyes, asking him to open wide and say aaaahhh, so you could look at his throat. Gabi giggles when he lets out an exaggerated aaaahhhh! He hopes he remembered to brush his teeth this morning.

Through it all, you worked through Gabi's stranger danger, peeling back layer after layer with your playfulness with the utmost patience and care. Frankie can feel Gabi relaxing her grip on his shirt, softening to you. He can feel the remaining tension he was holding in his stomach slowly unravel at your light touches and soft praise as you pretend to assess him and give gentle words of explanation to Gabi.

When you click on a disposable tip on the otoscope to check his ears, you let out a mock gasp “What's this?” that has Gabi climbing out of Frankie's arms as you magically pull a small stuffie out of his ear.

"Can you hang on to this little guy for me and keep him safe?" you ask her with your serious face on. Gabi nods and makes grabby hands before settling back into Frankie's lap facing forward towards you and hugging the stuffie within an inch of its life.

"I'm going to take a look at your ears now Gabi, okay?" you ask as you receive the smallest little nod from her. She allows you to check her eyes and throat as well. You note the redness in her throat before praising her extra loud aaaahhhh! Frankie's pretty sure you're a toddler whisperer at this point.

As you pull the stethoscope from around your neck, Gabi looks up and shrinks at the new equipment. Just going to use this to listen to your heart beat and how you're breathing, sweetpea, you explain, but Gabi starts to shake her head “no” again.

You pause for a beat before digging around the small toy box underneath the exam table before pulling out a play stethoscope. Now we have matching ones, you say as she abandons the stuffie for the new toy. You show her how to put the ear tips in her ears holding the diaphragm against Frankie's chest over his heart. Can you hear your daddy's heartbeat? Does it sound like a thump thump thump? Gabi nods with wide eyes and delight. He's relieved it's Gabi listening to his heart and not you as his heart started to race at your light touch to his chest.

It's smooth sailing after that. Gabi allows you to complete the physical exam, taking deep breaths on cue as you listen to her lungs, before you sit back down on your rolling stool. As you add to the electronic chart, Frankie catches your small grin as Gabi continues to play with the stethoscope, smooshing it against his cheek, nose, then forehead.

After a few more pecks on the keyboard, you turn to Frankie to give him your diagnosis (no, it's not RSV, thank goodness), but another viral bug that mimicked some of the symptoms of RSV. It’s been making the rounds in the community, but Gabi should recover within the week. As you move to discuss detailed care instructions and prescriptions to help alleviate Gabi's symptoms, Gabi tires of playing with the stethoscope and turns to you instead, arms outstretched.

Frankie can tell you're surprised as Gabi makes the universal toddler motion for "up." You pause before rolling over on the stool. Gabi leaps at you as you get closer and you manage to catch her in your arms despite your surprise. She immediately settles into you, tucking her head under your chin and plopping a thumb into her mouth, anchoring her other little hand on the shoulder of your white coat.

"No more stranger danger," you joke with an amused smile as Gabi cuddles into you with a sniffle.

You finish delivering the care instructions to Frankie as you rock Gabi, double checking with Frankie if he has any questions or further concerns. You reaffirm what a great job he did with Gabi the last few days, a balm to his frayed nerves and self-doubt. He could wrap himself in your reassurance and gentle patience, your soft, gentle words healing him. Is this what falling in love with you feels like?

"You can call the office if something changes or she gets worse," you offer, voice quieting. "Or you know, call me."

Frankie nods, relieved Gabi doesn't have RSV, doesn't need to go to the hospital, but also so moved seeing you with Gabi in such an unexpected situation. Your incredible care and patience for his baby girl, all softness and gentleness from your words to your touch. This side now melds with his experiences with you at Redfly's, at Pope's, the flirty fun side of you and raw strength he knows you possess. It makes him dizzy to think about the multitudes within you that he's experienced so far and hopes to experience more of it. Soft, strong, playful, and so fucking brilliant.

"I'll walk you out to the front where Suze can finish up and get everything sorted," you instruct as you stand and walk for the door. Frankie sees Gabi's grip tighten on your shoulder as you move. Baby girl does not want to leave. As you approach the exit to the waiting room, Gabi fusses, burying her head in your chest, not wanting to leave. Clinging to you as if she didn't spend half the visit hiding from you in Frankie's shirt.

"I know, sweet pea," you comfort. "Just having too much fun with Dr. Sweets, hmm?"

"Don't wanna go," Gabi pouts, refusing to look at Frankie. "I see you tomorrow?"

You look at Frankie for a beat before responding, "Well, if it's okay with your Daddy, I can stop by tomorrow and check on you. Maybe bring you some tasty chicken noodle soup? Would you like that?" Gabi nods “yes” into your shoulder.

"Sweets, uh, Dr. Sweets, you don't have to do that," Frankie balks. You've already done so much, he thinks.

You look up at him with soft eyes, "But I want to. If you're okay with it."

"Wanna see Doc-tah Weee," Gabi whines, pronouncing your name like weee!

"Okay, but you gotta go home with your Daddy first," you say as you manage to untangle yourself from toddler limbs before handing Gabi over to Frankie. "I'll see you tomorrow, 'kay?" before you boop Gabi on her nose and hand her the stuffie. "Take good care of him for me until then." Gabi clutches the stuffie and nods.

"Hey," Frankie places his free hand on your forearm as you turn to go. "Thank you. So much."

"Take care of yourself too, Morales," you murmur, patting his hand and returning his gaze before heading back to your work station.

<< prev next >>

Endnote/SPOILERS: medical jargon, mention of needles and blood once, Frankie’s daughter Gabi gets sick and he cancels his date with you without explaining why. Frankie takes Gabi to see the weekend/on-call pediatrician and it’s you. Frankie falls more for you as he sees you interact with his baby girl.

👉👈 A little nervous as the story leaves the gym (we'll be back!), but I have such fun, sweet things planned for them. As always, comments and reblogs give me lifeee and keep me writing. I am open to constructive feedback but please be gentle with this baby powerlifting writer, yeah? I might be able to squat you, but I'm a big ol' softie.

Taglist: @katareyoudrilling @christinamadsen @rebel-held @littlemisspascal @burntheedges @darkheartgatita @enretrogue @titabel @copperhalfcent

#hold fast a frankie x powerlifting!reader fanfic #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier #frankie morales x f!reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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